Following the Scent
By Sarah Callender | July 9, 2024 |
I’ve always prided myself on having a pretty talented schnoz, and I’m not shy about touting it. I am, it seems, a snout-touter. As a result, my husband will turn to me, holding out a carton of milk with a Use By date of three days prior, his eyebrows raised as he silently requests my assessment of spoilage. When my middle school students walk into the classroom, I know which ones have hit puberty over breakfast or during the bus ride to school. I can tell, from fifty feet away, when my colleague, a secret smoker, has just indulged. The summertime smells findable in a downtown Seattle alley, the sooty stench of truck exhaust, and the odors of other people’s feet make me queasy.
In June, after hugging my 8th graders goodbye, after finishing report cards, after removing the candy wrappers, empty Cheetos bags, eraserless pencil stubs, someone’s forgotten Invisalign, a half-eaten crusty cupcake, used tissues, and naked Dum-Dum sticks from those ridiculous under-desk cubbies (all the while muttering, I am NOT your mother!), I crawled around my classroom, nose to carpet, trying to identify the source of the stinky smell I had been noticing for weeks.
But after ten minutes of aggressive sniffing that left me dizzy, I had to accept defeat. I could not find the stinky thing in my classroom. What did this mean? Was I losing my gift? Should I let my husband know he could no longer trust my milk-nose? And if I had lost my nose-o mojo, did this portend cognitive decline? The possibility was distressing.
An additional source of distress: on Day 2 of my summer break, I returned the most recent round of Book #1 revisions to my very patient, very long-suffering editor, and sat down to work on Book #2. After rereading the manuscript (which I had not done in years), I could sense that something was off, but even as I spent time crawling around the room of my story, I could not detect the source of the offness.
Great! I thought. Fantastic! In a mere forty-eight hours, I had lost my sense of smell and my sense of story. The second loss was particularly concerning because my summertime writing clock was ticking. I did not have time to be stumped and stuck. I needed to sniff out the problem and deal with it, preferably in the next hour, worse case, by lunchtime.
After some moments of panic, (during which I googled how to write a novel), I returned to the two seeds of the story. The first was a question: To what extent do our memories affect and inform our identity? The other was an image: Leonardo da Vinci’s ornithopter, a contraption that the 14-year-old narrator and his grandfather build together as the grandfather copes with early-stage Alzheimer’s.
I googled Leonardo’s sketch of the flying machine and studied it, realizing I knew very little about this man who had created the blueprints for this and other wacky inventions: scuba gear (including a pouch for underwater urination), shoes that would allow someone to walk on water, and a humanoid robot with (obviously) an anatomically perfect jaw.
So delighted was I by Leonardo’s quirks and curiosity, I proceeded to study pretty much anything related to him. While walking the dog, I listened to two children’s books about Leonardo, as well as Walter Isaacson’s biography, Leonardo da Vinci. I poured over internet sites. I studied Leonardo’s codices. I wondered about his mental health.
All the while, I was wary of this rabbit hole. Was I stalling? Procrastinating? Squandering precious summer hours by putting ideas in my brain but no words on the page? How would studying Leonardo’s life help me understand the stink of my manuscript?
Something, however, nudged me to continue digging into the richness of yes, Leonardo’s life and work, but also of Leonardo’s colorful, complex humanity. He, for example, rarely completed his commissioned works, even those for which he had been paid. He was a terrible perfectionist, often to his detriment (and to the dismay of others). He was constantly distracted by shiny new ideas, questions, and mysteries. He was also kind and generous (except in his interactions with Michelangelo). He wore snazzy, rose-colored tunics. He adored animals, often purchasing caged birds simply to set them free. He was passionately curious about machines, transportation, the human eye, light, and birds.
Suddenly, it was all so clear. Leonardo was a bouquet of rich aromas, a captivating mix of freshly sketched parchment, tinged with the aromatic essence of finely ground pigments and oils, layered over with the faint, metallic scent of meticulously crafted inventions.
My characters were sterile and odorless. They were hurried sketches of robot-people walking around the landscape of my story, not an ounce of personality (nor an anatomically perfect jawline) as far as the reader’s eye could see. The problem with my book was not the stink; it was the absence of fragrance. I needed to make my characters real: living, breathing, farting, singing, laughing, dancing, pooping, lying, selfish, broken, stinky-footed, lovable, frustrating human beings.
Worse (and even more concerning) was this: What my characters wanted and needed, what they were willing to risk in order to obtain what they wanted, and what happened when they failed to get what they wanted (or, how they felt unsatisfied even after they got what they wanted) was not in the story.
As our own David Corbett writes in his book, The Art of Character, “[A character’s] desire is the crucible that forges character because it intrinsically creates conflict” (51).
Yes. If our characters desire nothing, or, if our characters’ desires are too easily fulfilled, there is no conflict. And without conflict, a manuscript is simply a collection of words, a fresco with flat, fading, poorly-formed figures. Leonardo might be the guy behind the “perfect” Vitruvian man, but it’s Leonardo’s messy, imperfect, personhood, the blend of perfume and pungency, that makes him truly memorable.
Your turn! Consider the main character in your work-in-progress. What makes this character as intriguing as the Mona Lisa or as fascinating as the Vitruvian Man, where, as Walter Isaacson writes, Leonardo “weaves together the human and the divine”? In what ways is your character both human and divine? Both fragrant and reeking?
Or, here’s a different idea to consider: How can you tell when following your sniffer is a good use of your time (as opposed to mere procrastination)? When has the decision to follow rabbit holes offered Eureka! moments? How can you tell when ancillary research will benefit, rather than harm, your book and your progress? (And if you want to feel a bit sick to your stomach, take a look at this disastrous rabbit hole.)
Thank you as always, dear WU-ers, for reading and sharing!
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
I do my best to have self-control in doing so much research during the drafting phase. As a planster, the goal is to write the story first for myself. Then in the editing, I have to make sure it makes sense HAHA 💙
I love that, Nicole! If we aren’t writing for ourselves first and foremost, then why bother! I was talking to my critique partner yesterday. She had just finished the first draft of her novel, and she said it wasn’t until writing the final scene that she realized what she was actually writing about. Sounds about write/right.
And thanks for introducing me to “plantser.” I am often late to the party with trendy lingo, so I appreciate your help. Happy writing to you, Nicole!
I have moments like that, too! I don’t have everything figured out at the beginning. Then once I get to the end, it suddenly hits me what kind of story I’m writing hehe and you’re very welcome! 💙💙💙💙
Sarah, you had me at snout-touter! My ‘something’s off in the work’ sniffer comes in the form of tummy talk. I feel it in my gut when something isn’t working. Not right away and not specific, but ‘there’ enough to make me go hunting in whatever forest I’d been wandering most recently. It happened yesterday and I’m about to go root out the source of the chatter. Wonderful post. You always make me smile!
And you always make ME smile. Yes, tummy talk. I just wish my tummy, nose, and eyeballs worked in unison a bit more often. Then I wouldn’t have to spend so much time in the revision process. Good for you for listening to your gut. xo!
Oh, the stinky 8th graders and their Cheeto bags! Your essays always make me laugh and touch me deeply. This sentence should be posted on every writer’s bulletin board: “I needed to make my characters real: living, breathing, farting, singing, laughing, dancing, pooping, lying, selfish, broken, stinky-footed, lovable, frustrating human beings.” And as for research digressions, I usually find that they have a purpose my pea brain can’t fathom in the moment. Thank you, Sarah!
I’ve got to agree with S.K.–your essays rule, Sarah. If there’s ever been an essayist who’s consistently utilized humor, quirkiness, humanity, humility, and kindness to shine a light for others, it’s you. Off to put a clothespin on my nose and attend to my stinky cast of divinely-flawed human-like characters. Thanks, as always, for the inspiration!
Thank you, dear Vaughn. Stinky characters are the BEST. I guess that’s the name of the game: slather them with French camembert, surround them with skunks, give them a goal and fifty or sixty hurdles, and watch the magic and hijinks ensue.
Happy writing to you. I’m so grateful for your presence here!
Thank YOU, S.K. for reminding me I’m not the only pea-brain here.
I have a friend who teaches 7th grade at a different school. Each spring, she buys a bunch of those travel-size deodorants, puts them in a cute little basket, then stands at her classroom door, offering her gift to each student who enters. It’s not cheap, but she says it’s worth every penny.
Hi Sarah, this is wonderful, as always. I fell back to my teaching days, once again walking the classroom after the 31 eager high school juniors had left. And you know, they don’t “walk” out, they push and shove out, dropping books, pieces of notebook paper, even their assignments as they go. But oh, how I loved them, mostly. And oh, how I love reading some of my own work…hoping that some day an agent will do the same, find my email address…and just let me know.
Yes, Beth! The students leave all sorts of detritus in their wake. It reminds me of Pig-Pen
… https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pig-Pen#:~:text=Pig%2DPen%20is%20known%20for,dust%20rises%20briefly%20around%20him.
And I am absolutely certain an agent will fall in love with your work. Hope + Hard Work + Butt in Chair = Love for Beth’s Writing.
I’m no math teacher, but I know how to do that kind of calculation!
Research is my favorite get-out-of-story-jail card. I use it whenever I’m stumped for story, stymied by a character, or blocked. I think it works because I’m introducing “good chaos” by way of New Ideas. I let my imagination wander around in those new ideas and allow my story to consider the boundaries of the territory I’ve established for it. I let it bend and stretch and exercise its right to change on me — because it knows best how to prevent a stiff story spine.
Thanks for being here. A Sarah Callender day aways smells like Delight. (And I cannot wait for the release of Lucy In Between!)
Oh, thank you for the phrase “good chaos”! That is beautiful. In fact, thank you for each of your beautiful words. It can be scary to let my imagination take the reins, especially when I know it might go traipsing, barefoot, through fields of cow patties and earwigs. But a story with a stiff spine? No thank you, ma’am.
You’re the best, and you’re such a beautiful writer.
xox!
(I hate earwigs.)
[If anyone is having trouble leaving comments today, please ‘like’ this. Trying to get a read on how wide the stink might be!]
I had to respond via the back door. 😊
Oh, no(se)! “Nonce” error? I had hoped it was just me.
Yes! I know not what “nonce” means, but I kind of like the sound of it. Like something Juliet would say to Romeo.
Years ago, I worked briefly in the Fragrance Industry. FYI, Anyone with your sniffing skills was highly valued and called a Nose.
Thank you for sharing the “colorful, complex humanity” of da Vinci. He suddenly sounds so like other brilliant minds I’ve known, that I can now see him as a real person. I’m off to see what little actions I can add to my characters, that will show their humanity, too.
Oh my goodness, Ada. I missed my calling! And now I want to write a story about a Nose. I believe it would be a romance with a saddish ending … or maybe a thriller! Or a cozy dystopian? Oh, the pungent possibilities!
As for Leonardo, I totally agree. I have loads of relatives with mental health issues (and a few mental health issues in my own DNA), and my best friend likes to remind me that people with mental health conditions, at least the ones who are fortunate enough to have the team and the resources to manage them, are secret superheroes. That’s just one example of why she’s my best friend. As for Leonardo, I wouldn’t be surprised at ALL if he would today be diagnosed with bipolar (that’s my diagnosis) and probably an unsmall amount of ADHD. Such a brilliant and creative fellow. A superhero for sure.
Thanks for taking the time to write, Ada!
“…robot people walking around the landscape of my story, not an ounce of personality…”
Oh man, you have hit upon a problem that I see in so many, many manuscripts. Characters who yearn or have something to do, but who could be anyone. Uninteresting. Ordinary. I wish they had just one quirk or bad habit. Morphine? A vanity license plate? Anything.
Trust your nose. It’s telling you something. Something stinks or , maybe worse, has no aroma at all. Thanks for this post!
Thank you, Don. I just started listening to You Are Here by David Nicholls, and I am tickled by the main characters. Nicholls makes character-building look effortless. I swear these two characters are just ordinary, regular people, yet I have never met anyone like them. And his dialogue?!? My goodness. The guy’s a genius.
Happy summer to you! Thanks so much for taking the time to comment. So much of what I know about writing has come from you and your books.
Part of EVERY scene I write is a very long set of prompts – things to think about, in writing, before I attempt to write the scene itself – and it includes a reminder to think about each of the senses (including the less traditional ones such a ‘gut feeling’ or ‘dejà vu’ or ‘esp’ or spatial awareness) from the point of view of microtension sources (from The Fire in Fiction, Donald Maass) for this particular scene. It reminds me of the dictum to choose the less obvious senses to include in details.
It’s a discipline to go through all these prompts, and I let my imagination go wild even when I know I won’t use but a small part of the best of what it might inspire.
When I’ve tried to skip this step in preparing to write, because it takes time and results in rabbit holes and detours, the scene will be curiously flat. I can’t just grab one idea and go with it; I have to ruminate and smell the just-cut hay and the recently-mown lawn.
I love this comment so much, Alicia. (I also own and love The Fire in Fiction!)
I am always marveling at the concept of one’s imagination. What IS it? Why do some people have a more active version? It really is a discipline to wade and wander through the prompts … thanks for sharing your experience with it. I LOVE efficiency, but I have finally accepted that there’s not much that is efficient about writing a novel. Still, lucky us!
And thank you for the reminder that spatial awareness, deja vu, etc. are brilliant and fresh senses to explore.
Happy writing, Alicia!
Thanks! Writing takes time – especially if you want it to not be your first impression about anything. Those first, second, third thoughts – it’s what’s already under the heating light at the burger place.
You want the hamburger made to order.
I’m going to write it once, and it will stay that way for all eternity. No excuses for me not to plumb the depths.
Excellent post. Please locate that odor and report back. and the Sara Gruen article needed a warning label. OMG.
Regarding the Sara Gruen piece, I know! It’s heartbreaking … horrifying too!
Regarding the smell, I heard that the fabulous facilities folks are giving the carpets a much-needed deep cleaning this summer. If that’s true, and if the fragrance remains, we’ll at least know it’s in the walls … or the ceilings … or in MY desk! :)