Everyone needs a break. I realized I should give Lyra one, too.
The idea comes from an online post I read that was written by Divergent author Veronica Roth on her website (www.veronicaroth.blogspot.ca) about her writing process for the wildly successful YA novel about a futuristic world where teenagers have to choose their “factions”–societies based on certain characteristics (i.e.: bravery, selflessness, intelligence, etc.). There was a scene, she explained, that her editor suggested she include:
Many of the bigger changes came from a single question: if Dauntless [the main character’s chosen faction, which prides itself on bravery] is so awful and brutal, why on earth would Tris [the protagonist who chose it at the expense of her family] stay in it? Isn’t she brave enough to defect and be factionless, if the Dauntless environment is that bad?
That was where the ziplining scene and the ferris wheel scene came from, as well as all the interactions with Uriah, Lynn, and Marlene. I needed to show that just like every other faction, Dauntless was a mixture of good and bad, and had veered from its original intentions– but its original intentions were still there, in certain members and activities.
In all the darkness that Tris has to cope with, Roth added light. The moments she mentioned–the ziplining and ferris wheel scenes–were brighter, more hopeful. They were a breather from the drama and intensity of Tris’s experiences.
I realized that’s what Lyra needs, too. I have set her up for an incredible amount of suffering, to the point where she wants to quit. She won’t, of course (not much of an ending if that were the case), but how do I give her a reason to go on?
By showing her there’s some good in the world, some fun, some life.
So I’ve added a new scene. Not yet sure it reflects my final vision, but I like the concept: David lays off Lyra about her role as saviour and shows her an interesting part of Rahma, the new city they’re in. There are parallels to the market scene from Stone Town, but now I keep all religious discussion out of it. I decided, for once, to give Lyra a break.
David escorts Lyra from the beach up a set of wooden stairs to a small boardwalk, thinner, narrower, than in Stone Town, more like a stage above the harbor, framed by the mountains like a natural coliseum. Along the edge of the boardwalk closest to town is a series of stalls and easels, each overflowing with paintings and prints, all in the care of an eclectic mix of people: a skinny woman in a grand, elaborate, African-print turban, sits in front of banners of vivid block mosaics, an old man, wrinkled like a hangdog, paints a pointillism seascape, a young couple, whose close-cropped heads and wide eyes are so much alike, their genders are almost indecipherable, work with shards of brilliant glass.
“They’re all street artists,” Lyra notices. “You said we’re going to a museum.”
“It is the most natural of all museums,” David says, with a gleam in his eye. “Here, you do not have a stuffy expert telling you what is or is not art. Here, you choose for yourself.”
David lets Lyra guide them now and she drifts, like a song on the wind, from one vendor to another, picking up a small painting or running her fingers over sculpted metal. Though it is early, they still encounter other tourists, early risers returning from sunrise cruises and families setting off for a day at sea. David explains they are moving into the summer high season and before long, these wharfs will be unrecognizable for all the people.
It’s not much–Lyra will still have to make her choice about carrying out the mission–but I’m happy for Lyra that she gets at least a few calm, peaceful minutes to herself.
She deserves it.