Road to Echoes: 4 Lessons I Learned Writing Maxwell Wallace

I learned a lot about myself writing Maxwell Wallace.  I’ve mentioned before that my ability to write female characters has been difficult and why that is (here), but Max is the first female character I’ve written fully formed without having to do much of anything. That was new for me, and I think a testament to the power of who she is as a character. So real. So alive. 

When the Echo Answers is a companion novel to In the Echo of this Ghost Town

When the Echo Answers is a companion novel to In the Echo of this Ghost Town

In honor of her, here are 4 things I learned from Max while writing this book:

Speak your mind

I grew up with the “be a good girl” lessons rooted in white, patriarchal, Christian home.  I’m not disparaging my experience. I had a wonderful childhood with amazing parents and family, but this “good girl” expectation didn’t serve me when I walked out into the world without the safety net of my loving family. My naivety opened doors to major mishaps. If I’d been taught that my voice mattered equally, I wonder how things might have been different.

Cal, Maxwell’s dad, has taught her that her voice matters. That her voice is equal to everyone else and she doesn’t have to be “the good girl” but instead just a smart one. Maybe, on some level, this is the kind of girl I’d wished I’d been. Maybe Max can empower a young woman to find her voice, know her worth, and speak up (even when the expectations are to be a “good girl”). What I would tell that girl: You are still a good girl even when you speak up. SPEAK UP!

Don’t Apologize

Asking forgiveness is a good thing. That’s not what I mean when I say “don’t apologize.” Instead, this is referencing those apologies for existing, for having an opinion, for being different, or using your voice to care for yourself.  It goes back to speaking up, but not feeling like your voice matters so you need to somehow disparage it by offering the “I’m sorry…”

Max doesn’t apologize unless she should. Goodness.  Cal has taught her that she matters. And as she says in the book, “My father has shown me that everyday.”  This!

Be Rude

One of my favorite podcasters—Crime Junkies—say this all the time. “It’s okay to be rude. Be rude. Stay alive.” Max is “rude” but maybe it isn’t so much as rude as assertive, confident, and self-assured.  She knows her worth (even if she struggles sometimes, because don’t we all), but the lessons from her father lead her to the path of trusting herself.  She says, “One of dad’s lessons: trust your instincts.”

I’ve gotten better at this, especially when it comes to my art. There’s this really great book I HIGHLY RECOMMEND to all creatives and especially women, and for women in general. Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, PhD. It’s a dense read, but ultimately, the idea is that as women we have shut down our intuition (due to all sorts of cultural and societal factors), but we need to reconnect to it. It is in our innate knowledge that we find the truth of our identity, our power, ourselves. It’s beautiful.

Don’t Hesitate. Just sit down

In the scene at the beginning when she sits down with Griffin outside the convenience store, Max says, “I leave the confines of the store and approach moody boy like he’s a wild animal in the zoo. Okay, too tentative. I actually just sit down. I don’t do too much with hesitancy and never have. Hesitancy hasn’t gotten me much, and besides, there isn’t time for it. Lessons from my father haven’t been about hanging back or blending into the background.” 

 I love this. 

This lesson has so many applications. Whether it’s putting myself out there as an author with local bookstores, submitting that query to an agent, offering insight on my latest blog, or teaching a webinar, I can’t be hesitant. Sure, there’s a time to ponder and reflect to find the best plan of action, but then it’s time to commit. To step forward. To put myself on the line. 

Max does this.  I love it. I love her.

I hope you do too.

The Road to Echoes: Loud Characters

Sometimes there are characters that pop off the page. I call these “loud” characters which perhaps mischaracterizes them. I’m referencing those characters that connect to the audience in a way that in many respects is intangible. But we know people like this, right? People who feel larger than life. Those humans that somehow speak to our hearts without saying a word, or those souls who seem to connect with us in a way that is powerful beyond words. That’s the kind of character I’m referencing.

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Tanner in The Stories Stars Tell was like this for me. I had assumed Stars would be Emma’s story (and half of it is), but then Tanner jumped off the page whenever Emma interacted with him, and I wasn’t able to keep him from telling his version of events (and is the reason The Stories Stars Tell became a dual perspective story). It’s also why he’s an important part in Griffin’s story. Tanner is just… is it weird to say that when I think of Tanner my heart does a little dance in my chest? Yeah. Probably. But it’s the truth.

Maxwell in The Echo of this Ghost Town did the same thing. She’s freaking amazing!! Every time I think about her, I grin. She’s strong and opinionated. She’s gutsy but vulnerable. She doesn’t have it all together, but she’s trying to figure it all out. Plus she’s got Cal (who is another of those amazing characters). When she showed up in Griffin’s story (completely unplanned and randomly stopped to talk to Griffin), I did a double-take (just like Griffin). Here’s that scene that took me by surprise:

“Hey.”

I look up at the sound of a voice, grateful to be jerked from the train of my thoughts.

The girl. She’s standing on the other side of the table in her dark t-shirt and cutoff shorts, her back to the gas pumps and road. The light from the store illuminates her, and I think she’s cute, but obviously not all there if she’s talking to a stranger.

“Yeah?”

She sits down with a Slurpee, and I look at it longingly but also wish I had some vodka to spike it with. I conjure Danny’s words from the night before. I’d told him I’m always drunk. What had he said back? “Yeah. Maybe that’s the fucking problem. It’s time to grow up, Griff.” What if I do have a problem? Then I’m annoyed by the stupid thought—of course, I don’t. What the fuck? Can’t this weird girl tell I’m busy sulking?

My face must screw up because she says, “I’m not carrying any diseases.”

I take a sip of my water, not sure what to do about this stranger who’s sat with me at a table outside of Custer’s. I glance to check if someone is playing a joke on me, but all my friends have abandoned me. So yeah, there’s that. I look at her. She’s got a round face, but it’s smooth and pleasant looking. Brownish hair, I think, because it’s pulled back in a bun or something off her face. Black eyeliner. Black T-shirt with the words Def Leppard inside a Union Jack.

She pinches the straw and moves it around the slushy. It squeaks. “Decide I’m not a serial killer?” She smirks, and my eyes are drawn to her blunt black nails at the end of her long fingers holding the red straw.

“Jury’s out.” I look away and take a sip of my water, annoyed but kind of curious.

“Why’s that?”

I shrug. “What if I’m the serial killer?” I can’t look at her, though I’m not sure why. It isn’t like I’m nervous, even if she’s a little unnerving. Why have I said that? The idea of being compared to a killer takes me backward. Griff Nichols, son of a murderer, when I’d been alone, but I’d shed that persona with my crew. I shove the reminder aside.

“It’s a distinct possibility.”

When Maxwell arrived on the page of Griffin’s story with her powerful character voice, I anticipated  that I would write another dual perspective tale.  So, as is part of my methodology,  I took the above scene and wrote it from her perspective:

Ignoring all the lessons my dad has given me that translate to talking to strangers outside of convenience stores in the middle of the night, I leave the confines of the store and approach moody boy like he’s a wild animal in the zoo. Okay, too tentative. I actually just sit down. I don’t do much with hesitancy and never have. Hesitancy hasn’t gotten me much, and besides, there isn’t time for it. Life lessons from my father haven’t been about hanging back or blending into the background. His lessons are, “go after what you want.”

Do I want this boy? Hell no, but I wouldn’t mind helping him smile. Maybe if I pay it forward, I’ll receive it in the future, you know? Like Cassie in fifth grade, who approached my lunch table where I sat alone. She sat down with me.

“Hey,” she’d said and smiled.

I’d smiled back, and it was like kismet.

I channel that moment when I sit down across from wild-animal guy. “Hey.”

He looks at me like I have two heads, his upper lip curling, and his eyebrows scrunching together. He has really nice eyes, a mix up of colors: green, gray, gold, brown. “Yeah?” Even as unattractive as that sneer is, he’s actually cute.

“I’m not carrying any diseases,” I say and draw an incredibly sweet pull of Slurpee through my straw. Strawberry, my favorite, though in a pinch I’ll drink cherry. I hate any other flavor. This delicious goodness is my secret vice. Since I’m always harping my dad about his soda habit, I can’t let him know I’m being a hypocrite with this diabetes slushie.

The guy looks around like someone might be pranking him, which makes me smile around the straw. Then he looks down at his water bottle and swirls it around a little, as if he isn’t sure what’s happening, and the water is the one place where reality exists.

I’m wondering why I haven’t done this before. His reaction is super entertaining. Then again, I don’t know him, and he could be a serial killer in training or something.

I move the straw around in the Slurpee cup so that I can sip up more of the magical unicorn goodness. It squeaks loudly, and I look at the guy. He’s just watching my movements and maybe assessing if I’m safe, which makes me say, “Decide I’m not a serial killer?”

He lifts the water bottle to his mouth, and is it terrible that I think he has a very attractive mouth? God. Upper lip has this beautiful bow shape, and the bottom is full. I imagine he’s probably a good kisser and realize I’m being creepy.

“Jury’s out,” he says.

I like his voice. Full, kind of melodious, like a ballad with one of those amazing kitschy pop riffs, but deep. Not baritone or bass deep. More like a low tenor. I wonder if he sings.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

He shrugs his sharp shoulders under his dark t-shirt. “What if I’m the serial killer?”

“It’s a distinct possibility.” I smirk at my cup.

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Max’s voice on the page was so flamboyant and powerful that it was a joy to write scenes for her, but when the narrative of In the Echo of this Ghost Town swelled to 190,000 words, I knew I had to cut, and the easiest answer was to create Max’s own story. That is how When the Echo Answers, as a companion came to be. While there are scenes common to both stories, the narrative is uniquely Max’s because Max was a unique character with her own story to tell.

The Road to Echoes: Writing Difficult Characters

I had a conversation with my friend Misty early in the drafting stage for In the Echo of this Ghost Town during one of our writing sessions. Note: she’s been a huge advocate for The Stories Stars Tell from the beginning and even featured me in a lovely conversation for her podcast Rainy Day Collective where we discussed purity culture (here’s a link if you’d like to listen to it). 

During that writing session she asked what I was working on, and when I revealed I was writing a book about Griffin, she said “What the hell for?!?!” I laughed at the time because I understood her incredulity. Seriously. Griffin was horrible in The Stories Stars Tell. Toxic as toxic can be. Now, I feel warmth in my bones because she’s read In the Echo of this Ghost Town and asked me “I don’t know how you can get me to go from hating a character to loving him. How do you do that?”

I’m not sure. I remember telling her during that same writing session that I was really struggling to develop Griffin because he was so freaking unlikeable. Look, I know this isn’t selling you on his story, but please stick with me. I think you’ll fall in love with Griffin as much as I have. And ultimately, this is a post about how sometimes we have to look closer at those difficult characters. 


While I don’t have a magic bullet, here are five things I did to excavate Griffin as a difficult character.

  1. First, I had to let go of my bias. I hated him. In The Stories Stars Tell he was such a jerk and so disrespectful to… well, everyone. There’s a scene in that book that solidified my dislike of Griffin. Tanner wrote a poem about Emma in his notebook, and Griffin makes fun of him for it. Not only did it break my heart for Tanner, but it sealed my dislike and informed every other scene moving forward with Griffin.

  2. I had to use what already existed in The Stories Stars Tell to begin to understand Griffin’s perspective. While these clues were superficial at best, they offered some perspective about Griffin’s world view. For example, Tanner mentions Griffin’s dad being in prison. He also indicates that his older brother has left. There’s a scene when Tanner arrives at Griffin’s house at noon, and Griffin is just getting out of bed. Then there are all of the moments Griffin opens his mouth and tears things apart.

  3. I started with a pivotal moment for both Tanner and Griffin—the fight. It was already drafted from Tanner's perspective, so I changed it to Griffin’s to see what would happen. My understanding of him began to shift. It made me wonder about hitting rock bottom and what would happen to someone who’s lost everything?

  4. Next I had to dig a little deeper. I started with asking questions about his family. Who were his mom and dad and brother? What was their family dynamic, and if the father was in prison, why was he there? How did that impact the family? Griffin? And what about his brother? What would it feel like to think he felt like he’d been abandoned by both his dad and his brother? How might that inform his behavior? His motives? His wants? And if his mom was never around because she was trying to hold the family together financially, how might that impact his teenage perspective? What did Tanner mean to Griffin, and how might the fight have impacted him? This exploration made me begin to see Griffin in a new light, one that made me empathize with—though not excuse—his choices.

  5. Next, because I saw a theme emerging in the character development, I began doing research about male culture, toxic masculinity, and abandonment. I’ll write more about my research in a future post, but for now, I knew I needed to ground myself in being respectful about these topics.

Developing characters is already challenging, but I find it always comes down to the question: why?  The more you’re willing to ask that question of your characters, the deeper they will take you into their motives, the roots of their own why. For the author, this only helps writing their stories. Difficult characters are no different, as long as we’re willing to ask those questions. If you’re familiar with The Cantos Chronicles, you know that I’m not a stranger to writing the difficult, morally gray character. Seth from The Ugly Truth was a villain in Swimming Sideways and The Bones of Who We Are.  So, I guess I find difficult characters interesting and challenging.

Next time: Writing Secondary Characters