Thursday, May 7, 2015

The Dead Moms Club





There is a common trope in YA fiction…the ever-popular dead mom. There are a couple of reasons it works.
  1. It conveniently gets one of the parents out of the way, giving the protagonist more freedom.
  2. Having that dead mother ups the character empathy.
I’ll admit, as a writer I’m a proud member of the Dead Moms Club. Three of my main characters have mothers who are beyond the veil.

There are lots of ways an author can inform the reader that mom is now worm food. The old “show don’t tell.”  Here are a few:

The "this reminds me" method. I used that one in my novella Second Sight. The MC has just bought a pair of magic sunglasses with orange-tinted frames:
We squeezed into Juniper’s Mini Cooper and were soon on the road. I sat back, gazing out the window. Rain clouds don’t look as drab when viewed through an orangey tint. It was really cool, like it might start raining Cheetos. And the thought of Cheetos always brought back memories of my mom. That’s what we snacked on while watching her old favorites, Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. She loved those movies so much, Dad had them play “Don’t You Forget About Me” at her funeral. She would’ve liked these sunglasses too.
There’s also the mom’s imparted advice method, as used in The Girl from the Well by Rin Chupeco.

I remember my mother’s voice, warm and vibrant before the sickness crept inside her. I remember her telling me how chochin bear the soles of those who have passed away. It is why we light these representations of their essences, she said, and float them in rivers—to allow the waters to return them to the world of the dead, where they belong.

It can come up in dialogue, like in my novel Spellbound and Determined:


“So, what about you?” he asked.
I looked up. “What about me?”
“I mean, it’s none of my business or anything, but do you live with your grandmother?”
“Yeah, my mom died of cancer when I was three.”
“Oh. What about your dad?” He took a sip of his Sprite.
“He ran off to join a polygamist cult in Arizona.”
Zach sputtered and gagged, holding back the classic spit-take.
I laughed. “Are you okay?”
He gulped, then coughed. “I’m glad I wasn’t eating a Corn Nut.”
“Me too,” I agreed. “’Cause I don’t know the Heimlich.”
Fully recovered, his eyes widened. “Your dad really joined a polygamist cult?”
“Nah, I made that up. It sounds a lot more exciting than the truth.”
He looked reluctant. “Which is?”
I did a palms up. “The truth is, we don’t know who he is. Mimi said my mom was plagued with the three P’s. Pretty, popular, and promiscuous.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Say no more. I get it.”
I peeked through them to meet his eye. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay? This is a case of the apple falling miles from the tree.”
And there’s the guilt trip, as used in Danielle Doolittle’s novel Regret:
“I could have healed her. I had the power to take away illness and death this whole time and I did nothing to save her.” 
“She didn’t want that, Pen. Somewhere deep down she knew it was dangerous for you to use your gift. Like it would act as a beacon to whomever it was Charles had warned me about. She made me promise not to let you heal her.” 
“That’s why she wouldn’t let me touch her in the end. She didn’t want to risk it.” A tear slid down my cheek and I felt Kane’s rough thumb smooth it away.



Or if you want to go for shock value, you can start your book as Julius Lester did in When Dad Killed Mom:
My mom is dead.
Dad killed her.

Needless to say, I’m a fan. But how about you? How do you feel about the Dead Moms Club? Lazy? Overused? Or impactful?