In the third act of any story – from Wizard of Oz to Star Wars to Harry Potter – there is a spiral. It’s just one damn thing after another. The character is in a whirlwind of challenges, such that they can hardly breathe. It’s what we need in a story… bec
Sometimes, that happens in real life, too.
I’ve recently been in my own third act – the near death experience. The hard learning phase. The time of life when it’s just one damn thing after another. When you’re not sure you’re going to see your way out!
I don’t want to enter into a litany of my complaints – but travel, working remotely, death, house guests, illness, and a 4-year old dog whom I thought we were going to have to euthanize – is the long story, short.
I cannot in good conscience place my mother-in-law’s death in a list or on a par with house guests. So I’ll pause to do her justice. Jacky Philips, at the age of 85, left us. We visited with her daily for two weeks, while we stayed with my brother and sister in law. (And worked remotely.) Jacky was sleeping nearly 20 hours a day, had been diagnosed as terminal, and was receiving guests a couple of hours a day.
For a while, she was holding court – telling stories about her mother and romance with my father-in-law, Mike (who died in 2019). A saxophonist, Mike penned this poem to Jacky in high school – which she had, framed in her bedroom as she lay dying.
Sex in a Sax
Mike and Jacky – their love’s not lax.
They hold hands in the bell of a sax.
The sax is big, its tone is bass
and the bell’s a warm and cozy place.
The Sax is big is true enough,
but how two people all grown up
Can fit inside to hug and kiss –
Something here must be amiss.
But also, there is no mystery.
The answer now I clearly see –
They don’t climb in, both flesh and frame.
They just hold hands and watch the game.
They were together since the age of 14. Indeed, Jacky told a story of a time they broke up bec Mike was going to summer camp. (Though we have to say goodbye for the summer… I’ll send you all my love in a letter, SWAK). And Jacky’s mother took pictures of her in the backyard in a two-piece bathing suit, to send to Mike. “It worked,” Jacky said, gleefully.
She was sweet, encouraging and almost always responded to my weekly emails as if they were written just to her. We already miss her dearly.
But, as I was spiraling, and facing one damn thing after another, and not actually coping with my life so very well, it occurred to me, I was in the third act of every book ever.
I knew I was pulling out of the downward spiral when I recognized the shared human experience. We writers are often trying to bring drama and emotion to our characters, especially in the third act:
- when Dorothy has to battle the Wicked Witch of the West and save Toto
- when Harry Potter has to admit something he’s doing or thinking is wrong and face Voldemort
- when Luke Skywalker has to use the force and all his courage to defeat the Death Star (which I think of as the Baby Head – bec of its one obvious vulnerability)
It wasn’t easy – in fact Jacky’s been gone a month, and that’s how long it has taken me to blog about her. But little by little I got some perspective.
So, if you’re too busy to breath air, or too sad to partake in polite company, is there anyway you can find perspective? Can you relate to a long-suffering, challenged character in the third act of the novel, or movie?
See if you can describe the actual feelings. We often write about characters’ thoughts, but not so much their feelings.
Thoughts occur in the head, feelings happen in the body.
Capitalize on your feelings…Where do they show up in your body? What triggers a new rush of feeling? What is overwhelming? How does overwhelm feel? What is the hardest part? How are you adding to the pain – self-pity or guilt?
Before anyone suffering from real pain and loss takes offense, I will not pretend we can all just write about it – in real time. And I will certainly not judge you for thinking I’m being Pollyannish. But there is a gift hidden in grief and sadness that we might – just might – be able to harvest as writers.
Jacky would have liked this one. Mwuah! We will always miss you.