How do authors create engaging characters? Let’s take the animal characters in The Great Brassmonkey Bay Jewel Robbery. What shaped those characters? Like most writers, when I created Pilfer Possum, her personality was based to a significant degree on some real possums who live in my garden, my trees, and sometimes, my garage.
Called by some readers an ‘out-of-control Diva’, Pilfer Possum is a relentless source of antics in the book. Two of her adventures inspired the teaser song at the bottom of this article. But were they invented? Not entirely. I got quite a bit of inspiration. Let me give you two examples.
Some people think Australian Brush-tailed Possums are nuisances, but they are also irresistible. Their scientific name Trichosurus vulpecula means ‘furry tailed’ and ‘little fox’. They have big, intent eyes, and improbably pink noses. Like many critters, they have become increasingly confident in their interactions with humans. They are adaptable, but also territorial. Unlike their attitudes to cats and dogs, Brush-tails get used to people coming and going onto what they clearly believe is their turf. When you have been sound asleep and they run across the roof over your head in the middle of the night, you can’t ignore them: because it sounds like they are wearing Army boots.
One night I heard something more than the usual thrashing about on my metal roof: a resounding thump that sounded like it was coming from my living room. I blundered sleepily out of my bedroom and switched on the light. To my astonishment, an adult possum was sitting on the top of my bathroom door. We stared at each other. It took some time to consider my options, as I didn’t fancy her using me as a scaling ladder or my chasing her through the house if I scared her down from her precarious perch. Eventually I fetched a chair and a towel. She braced herself for a scramble down my back to the floor but was successfully wrapped up (which, fortunately, makes them go quiet) and released into the garden. She bolted into the darkness.
But how on earth did she get into the living room, I wondered. There were no open doors or windows. I abandoned the mystery and went back to bed. The next morning, I looked around. I finally stopped in front of my gas fireplace. It has a glass front and sides. On the inside, which I rarely cleared of dust and soot, I noticed two sets of parallel ribbon-like streaks.
The clues were irrefutable: the possum must have crept from the roof into the chimney, looking for shelter. She had slipped, making a desperate effort to cling to the interior of the chimney as she fell. The streaks were made by the soft pads on her paws as she made a futile effort to grip the smooth surface of the glass. Why she chose to claw her way up a wooden bathroom door and perch on the top, I’ll never know. I suspect the door may have been the first object she encountered that promised an escape route back to the roof.
To be honest, I had always found Brush-tail Possums endearing. On days when I’d be working in my office, I’d sometimes spot movement from my window. I knew the culprit would be crouching among the branches of a big paperbark tree. I’d pause my work and bring out an offering. A possum would creep closer down the tree at my approach. She would find a spot in the notch of the tree at about my head height and reach out to accept my slice of apple or carrot.
After a while, we became pretty comfortable with each other. Sometimes possums would show themselves when I had guests too. I guess they figured more people might mean more handouts.
One afternoon, I hosted a dinner party outdoors. The couple I had invited to dinner called shortly before they were to arrive to say they were getting unexpected visitors, family from overseas, should they cancel? I told them not to change their plans. I had plenty of food. Why not bring their relatives?
What I didn’t count on was that one of my friends’ in-laws was self-absorbed and excessively talkative. He had recently acquired a new job he clearly thought was pretty stellar and wanted to talk about it. It didn’t take me long to regret my hospitality. I guessed we were in for a long evening.
Bored into silence by an endless monologue, I cast about for a distraction as my guests helped themselves to the plates of food on the table. A movement above my head caught my eye. One of my possums poked her head out from a cluster of leaves on a branch above us. Her eyes were glittering with some emotion, probably greed. For the first time I realized that I hadn’t taken into account that the position of our table was near, indeed under, my possums’ favorite tree.
When the speaker reached a point in his story that he found particularly riveting, he raised his voice. I didn’t feel I could interrupt him to point out the possum to my guests. In the fading light, I appeared to be the only person at the table who had seen a full-sized brush-tail possum edge out onto a branch that overhung the table.
The possum was creeping along the branch perhaps three meters above our heads. When the animated brother-in-law grinned at his audience with what he seemed sure was shared delight, the possum paused, but still, no one noticed her. The speaker continued waving his arms in the excitement of his tale about people I didn’t know–and at that moment was convinced I wouldn’t wish to.
In the light of the candles on the table, the possum’s eyes eyes shone like obsidian. I saw her swish her tail from side to side. She edged further down the branch and turned quietly, her back to me now. She lifted her tail.
Suddenly, a golden stream of liquid hissed as it descended from the branch. Not a drop splashed onto the tablecloth as the near-empty wine glass of the speaker was miraculously filled.
I stifled a hoot of admiration.
For the first time since his arrival, my unwelcome guest was silent as a stone. He stared at his now-brimming wine glass. The moment turned into a freeze-frame tableau of five people, four who were speechless with horror, and one–I admit–with glee. I watched the possum sidle back across the branch toward the safety of the broad tree trunk.
Although quips ran through my mind like a rat pursued by a terrier, I settled for a syrupy smile. “Would anyone care for another glass of wine?” I asked. I expect no one mistook my tone for sincerity.
My guests shook their heads. They hastily made excuses and packed up to leave.
Once they had all decamped, I cleared the table –but not without bringing with me some slices of apple.
My possum was watching contentedly from her tree. The evening, our evening, she seemed to be thinking, had been saved. She took her reward from my fingers. I left her to spend the rest of the evening with a book and a glass of wine–one fresh from a bottle safely chilling in the fridge.
Those stories not only informed Pilfer’s character but also became the lyrics of a song about her stowing away on a yacht bound for Brassmonkey Bay. There is quite a bit of detail in this story, not all of which is needed to move the plot along, but it establishes the characters’ personalities.
I hope you enjoy the version of Pilfer’s antics in ‘Stowaway’s Stomp’ BTW, we used music and guest readers to introduce characters in some of the book’s marketing for a couple of reasons. First, because most book trailers are dominated by the author’s talking head, and we wanted something different and memorable, that could also be applied to later books in the series. Second, several readers asked whether a performance script based on the book might be in the works. When I imagined the story’s action on a stage, I could only imagine it performed by a youth theatre group, and I wanted to introduce songs kids could sing. The lyrics to this song were written by me, but the music was composed and sung by Nashville musician, Jon Ross. He tries our songs out on his own kids. They are hardened critics. If the songs don’t pass muster with them, they don’t pass!
We will explore different marketing tactics under the ‘Getting Noticed’ page, so stay tuned and in touch!
The Artful Gluffster 