Susan, that's a lovely bit about Anna, and I don't think it's Mary Sue-ish at all. I think that Mary Sues happen when authorial self-insertion happens without authorial self-examination, if that makes any sense. Not all authorial self-insertions are Mary Sues. Otherwise, what would that say about Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man?

The painter I'm referring to in my drabble is Edward Hopper, BTW. The diner painting is probably his most famous, and it's called "Nighthawks," I think.

And it's at the Art Institute of Chicago.

Deb, I'm working on "Famous Flower", and I'm getting obsessed with openings again. Is it assumed that the reader has read the blurbs and knows going in that this is going to be a ghost story, and, as such, is expecting a particular mood and a certain sequence of events? Or is that the function of the prologue, to set the mood?

Also, being as this is part of a series, how much character introduction to do you do? I understand that you can't always count on the reader having read the first book, so you have to lay the character's groundwork, but how do you avoid annoying the person who said, "Hot diggity, there's a sequel! What happens next?"

I have an original novel kicking around in lame-assed first draft form. The front's plot doesn't quite match the back's plot, but I haven't gotten the motivation to fix it yet. And people keep asking for more parts of various fic, so I tell myself "You could work on a novel that may or may not go anywhere, or you could write for the vocal, appreciative audience that's right there and waiting."

Anyway, any hypothetical blurb for this novel would state that the main character is quite rich and privileged, with a secret from her past about to blow up in her face. So a reader would have that knowledge and be waiting for it to happen. How much time should be spent, therefore, on establishing the wealth and privilege of the woman's life? Do you write assuming the reader is a complete tabula rasa?

Susan, that's a lovely bit about Anna, and I don't think it's Mary Sue-ish at all. I think that Mary Sues happen when authorial self-insertion happens without authorial self-examination, if that makes any sense.

It does. I've been worrying about the Mary Sue thing lately, given that pretty much every major character I write has a piece of my personality, large or small, woven in there somewhere, and that some of my favorite fictional characters bear certain marks of Mary Sue.

pretty much every major character I write has a piece of my personality, large or small, woven in there somewhere

I think that's pretty much unavoidable, and it's not a bad thing. I mean, how else are you going to create characters who have any kind of depth or believability?

some of my favorite fictional characters bear certain marks of Mary Sue

I know that fear of the "Mary Sue" has caused me to second-guess myself whenever I want to make a character likeable or if I need to make that character really good at something.

Upon more thought, I realized that readers want to be able to admire characters, sympathize with them, be interested in them, and spend time with them throughout the course of a novel.

I think that true "Mary Sue" territory begins at the point where the author relies on an abundance of surface detail: accessories, whether they be clothes or boyfriends; glamorous jobs; beautiful appearance; overabundance of "attitude" that has only one, strident note; quirkiness in the place of character; and so on.

And when an author decides that having a sibling in a wheelchair or a dead parent/best friend/pet is sufficient to claim the character has "depth."

And when an author decides that having a sibling in a wheelchair or a dead parent/best friend/pet is sufficient to claim the character has "depth."

Yes. This. I think that the dead parent/best friend/pet falls under the category of "cool accessory" rather than "character development."

OK. I'll stop worrying about Mary Sue for now, despite the fact that three of my four protagonists have excellent singing voices.

Personal ad drabble:

SEEKING: A child at heart—male, female, or any combination in between. I am incurably romantic and well-preserved (if underappreciated), and I’ve been told I’m a “Spring”. You should be prone to daydreaming, with spontaneous flights of fancy a big plus. A passion for fairy tales and fantasy is also a must, as is a natural attraction to the lush and the sensual as well as the ethereal. Rigid realists need not apply. Gold body paint not necessary (but respected); rose-colored glasses completely optional. Direct all serious inquiries to the National Museum of American Illustration in Newport, Rhode Island, please.

Maxfield Parrish, Daybreak

It won't let me link directly; to see it, you have to click on the Parrish icon, and then go to "Daybreak." Sorry.

Morning. Weirdly, I knew about mantel-mantle, but I do occasionally have the free rein thing, because either spelling works, definitionally: if it was missepelled as reign, you would define as free rule, a king thinking he was George Bush and trying to rule everything. But of course, it's the bit and bridle rein, not the "where the hell is my sceptre?" reign.

Deb, I'm working on "Famous Flower", and I'm getting obsessed with openings again. Is it assumed that the reader has read the blurbs and knows going in that this is going to be a ghost story, and, as such, is expecting a particular mood and a certain sequence of events? Or is that the function of the prologue, to set the mood?

Um. I don't assume any prior knowledge on the part of the reader; I just write the thing. I know it sounds facile, but it isn't, it's just basic simplicity; I have a story I want to tell, I work out the details needed to get me (JUST me) past the "once upon a time" stage, and I let it rip. If it's a ghost story, I can see that in my own interior room. My job is to write well enough, believably enough, engagingly or compellingly enough, to make the reader put aside their expectation and just strap in for the ride. In this instance, the prologue was an addition at the suggestion of my agent, Jenn Jackson; she felt that a modern frisson of mood-setting and stage-setting would push the reader who hadn't read the first book closer to Penny. And she was absolutely right; all my DING DING DING receptors went happily off and she got her prologue. In this case, it works very well. Weaver's prologue happened organically.

One thing to remember is that I don't tend to write "throwaway" characters of any description; even if they're only there for a scene or two, I want them vivid and real. I prefer not to hire extras for my stuff.

Also, being as this is part of a series, how much character introduction to do you do? I understand that you can't always count on the reader having read the first book, so you have to lay the character's groundwork, but how do you avoid annoying the person who said, "Hot diggity, there's a sequel! What happens next?"

Damn, good question. Tricky to answer, because what you're reading in FFoSM is precisely how I would always do it: just write the character. The details are in their lives as told, their personalities as drawn. You don't need to have read Weaver to get a strong sense of who Penny is and what she does for a living, by the end of the first chapter of FFoSM. But it ought to flow naturally enough in the second book to where readers who have got interested in the characters and their ongoing stories are nodding and saying, cool! we get more of Penny in this one!, rather than spitting damn, more blather about her theatre stuff.