Monthly Archives: October 2010

further adventures by letter

Here are some things I’ve relearned, from reading through my letters from highschool:

1. Things were all-important and world-ending. I know we all remember this about highschool, but there’s this gorgeous letter from a close friend of mine, apologising for the way she used me, and acknowledging that we could probably never be close again after what had happened.

It sounded like a biiiiig bust-up. I do not remember it.

Reading our reactions to those things – how we coveted our secrets and how we dreaded them coming to light and how we needed everything to be recorded – brings back viscerally how our world was finite but immense.

2. I tried, for a small window of time, to go by “Bad Goddess”.

the Blameless review

I didn’t review Changeless because it didn’t make all that much sense to me as a novel. I mean, it did but it didn’t. Clear?

I enjoyed reading it, but I couldn’t really figure out what it was about. The whole book seemed to be about the last chapter, which lead into this book – and reading Blameless confirms that. It’s like Part II. The more satisfying part.

Sort of.

I gushed about Soulless because it was such an oddity – a new, fast-paced, funny steampunk novel with some pretty cute world structures. By the third book I’m starting to figure out what keeps me-as-a-reader always hanging about on the fringes of Carriger’s world.

The stories are, first and foremost, farce. She does farce very well and it makes for a funny, enjoyable read. But it doesn’t invite you much deeper than the surface.

I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, by the way. Farce is the province of the greats – Shakespeare, Wilde, Wodehouse, Heyer. (haha, my definition of greats…) And in a way it does make the poignant moments punch a lot harder, because they are in no way overworked, and they come from left-field.

The style also suits Carriger’s heroine, who is without a soul and takes things head-on, without sentiment.

But where Soulless had the structure and emotional journey of a romance novel, books two and three don’t. It was fun to read about Lord Maccon getting plastered on formaldehyde, but it making him ridiculous to that extent kind of ruins him as a romantic hero.

There were some developments I really enjoyed in the novel, though – things that dipped a little below the surface into complexity and emotional intrigue. Professor Lyall plays a big part, and finds himself in a complicated – but very interesting – position by the end of the book.

And Lord Akeldama, though playing a mostly absent figure, arrives with more of a punch than his usual entertaining role.

Overall, these books are worth reading and enjoying, but I’m not consumed by the need to devour them as I read. Which is possibly a good thing.

the closet Masochist

I had an enlightening conversation with a friend today.

I was, once again, ranting about what didn’t work about Vishous‘s book for me. I explained to her his Domination/Submissive sexuality, and how it worked when he was verbally controlling, but not when he let her strap him to the table and drip wax over him and whip him.

This was an emotional climax (apparently), as he never, ever allows himself to be submissive to anyone. I know it worked for some readers. Didn’t for me.

This was when the conversation got interesting. My friend said:

“A sadist has impulses that can’t be expressed, because they’re violent and illegal and they would hurt people. So they create these ‘games’ which allow them to safely enact what they will never be able to act out.

“But fiction is already make-believe, so to just have the fantasy and not the act itself seems like a waste of time.”

Woh.

We went on to talk about whether it’s possible to have real sadistic acts in a romance context. She made the point that most sexuality in books is closet-masochistic, because most people have masochistic tendencies, to whatever degree.

A sex scene where no means yes, or where boundaries are getting challenged and stretched and comfort zones intruded on all have elements of (mostly) masochism already.

She also made the point that sadists are only ever brought in as a means to subjugate the masochist. “How can I put this?” she said. “If the masochist is getting off on it, then it’s not giving the sadist what they need.”

I don’t quite know what to take from this conversation, except that it was enlightening, and just adds another layer to what I think romance novels are able to explore.

writing out loud vs. honing your craft

The reason Ward’s advice to “write out loud” resonated so much with me is that after a year of studying writing I’m looking around wondering where the hell my voice went.

I’ve been studying Professional Writing and Editing at RMIT, and it is a mind-blowingly good course. My novel teacher is Sonia Orchard, and she knows her stuff. Her critiques are to the point and always pertinent.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that I have become a much better writer this year. I’ve learnt about the drama underlying a scene and the 80% of the story underlying the novel. I’ve learnt about detail and showing and about what can be ruthlessly edited out.

But it’s taken me the whole year to realise that all those things are important…to a second draft.

I was trying to re-write the first chapter of my novel, and I wasn’t feeling it. Then half-way through it dawned on me: I was writing a really good scene. And I was writing the things that agents and editors “look for” (they don’t, really – what they look for is passionate writing, whatever that looks like).

I wasn’t writing what I love. What makes me fizzle and spark inside and want to know more.

I had Sonia in my head saying Melodramatic! What does this mean? Would they really say that back then?

We all know that a first draft should be uninhibited. But I think Ward’s advice goes beyond that. She’s not just saying be uninhibited, she’s saying be so honest you find parts of your brain you never even knew you had.

Craft is important. Voice and passion are vital.

write. out. loud.

I’ve been reading the insider’s guide to the Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Yes, it’s completely daggy. But that’s just how this series is – once you’ve read all the books there are to read you’ll take any way back into the world you can.

(There’s a hilarious review of Dark Lover here. What I love most about it is the self-conscious comments from readers who just can’t help themselves.)

There’s a section in the guide that’s J. R. Ward’s advice to writers. She says a couple of things which really got me.

1. Writing and getting published are two very distinct things. Being published and having people buy your book are not the only things that validate you as a writer. If you write, you are an author.

2. Do the best you can do now. This bit of advice is great, huh? Ward gives a really warm, funny account of when it was first passed on to her. I think you know when you’re pushing your own boundaries and it’s relaxing to think that that’s enough.

3. And the one that spoke to me most: Write out loud. By this she means – push your ideas as far as they go. Write what’s in your head without concession to readership/market/internal censor or inhibitions. You can edit it back later.

This last piece of advice is also what I think has made her series so stratospherically successful. Her characters are big, cheesy and far too much. But they are so unrestrained, so true to themselves, that you fall right in with them.

everybody loves a bad boy

for anyone who doesn’t watch Vampire Diaries, here’s all you need to know:

This chick in the middle is “in love” with lame good-boy brother on the left, but the reason we all keep watching it is because she just might be the only person that evil bad-boy brother on the right is vulnerable to.

Seriously. That’s it.

And the thing I love about the show is that Damon really is bad. After last season it looked like the writers might have wussed out a bit with him – you know, he really has a good heart, etc. But this season’s opener took care of that: He broke Elena’s brother’s neck when she rejected him.

So the brother was wearing a magic ring that brought him back to life, but Damon didn’t know that.

And then just as it looks like he’s getting a bit too “good” again, in the latest episode he rips a werewolf’s heart out of his chest – after some good old fashioned torture. The werewolf wasn’t even really a bad guy, just in with the wrong lady.

To me, this is really good writing.

A bad boy has so much currency – but so many writers try to use that currency without paying what it’s worth. They have a “bad” hero, whose inner motivations are pure as snow. Who protects and shows his – albeit reluctant – worth.

The only problem is, to have someone be bad they have to actually, er, do bad stuff. My teacher’s constantly pulling me up on how unlikeable my heroine is, and whilst I think it’s something to watch, I also think: Well, yeah, she’s not a very nice person right now.

I recently came to an agreement with blogger Decadence that we’re very different readers, because of how differently we reacted to a heroine doing something “bad” in one of the Black Dagger Brotherhood books. For Decadence this made her unworthy of being the hero’s mate.

For me, it meant I could trust the character because she wasn’t just a hard person as a separate thing to any of her actions.

love song

I’ve had this old song in my head very often lately. I just love the words:

The water is wide I cannot get o'er,
And neither have I wings to fly.
Give me a boat that will carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.

O, down in the meadows the other day,
A-gathering flowers both fine and gay,
A-gathering flowers both red and blue,
I little thought what love can do.

I leaned my back up against some oak
Thinking that he was a trusty tree;
But first he bended, and then he broke;
And so did my false love to me.

A ship there is, and she sails the sea,
She's loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as the love I'm in:
I know not if I sink or swim.

O! love is handsome and love is fine,
And love's a jewel while it is new;
But when it is old, it groweth cold,
And fades away like morning dew.

I also love that the original title of the song was “O waly, waly”. This is a condensed version – and the one I grew up singing. You can find a full version of lyrics and a very cute rendition of the tune here. I’ve tried to find a good version on YouTube, but couldn’t find anything that hadn’t completely lost the vicious simplicity of the original.

business

[dictation taken from special k as he eats the last of my Danish pastry]

There are two types of people in this world: [as an aside] terrible opener, sounds prejudiced – there’s me, and there’s everybody else!

People who’ve run a business and people who haven’t.

Living in modern society, pretty much anything – any career, anything that people do – is part of a business. And running a business, or starting a business, or running your own business, is risking your belief in what you choose to do.

Saying “This is what I want to do, and this is how I want to live” and being prepared to fail.

Even if you’re not prepared to fail and you do, coming out the other side is some of the best education you could ever get.

me – “is that it?”

special k – “Well I’m kinda trying to say this to writers, to your demographic…to you.

“It’s easy to look at somebody else’s business and say “I like how they’ve done that” or “I wouldn’t have done that” or “why on earth did they do that, that’s so dumb”. But when you have to make decisions in real time and reactively to other people and businesses around you, you don’t always make the right decision. And even when you do, it may not be one that you would choose in an ideal world.

“But running a successful business is being able to make these decisions and live with them and work with them every day. Which is not writing.”

writing characters who are smarter than you

I love my new and improved hero. He’s so…unpredictable. Unfortunately, he’s also meant to be, like, the most intelligent person on the planet.

That’s a little bit intimidating to write.

It’s the same feeling I get when I want a character to be really funny. I have to dig in and find the inner comic. I don’t think there is one. But there has to be one. Somehow.

Lucky for me, my critique-partner-extraordinaire has a Machiavellian brain. Some things we talked about:

1. The reader shouldn’t have a plan explained step-by-step either before or after the fact. The plan should unfold and they should see what the mastermind gains by it.

2. The mastermind should be less impressed by the plan than the plan warrants.

3. If you intend for the reader to have figured something out by a certain point in the plot, this event shouldn’t take the mastermind by surprise – we should see them calmly accept the thing when it happens, as though of course this was obvious to them.

And of course, 4. plant your seeds carefully and well, so that things happen almost incidentally. (This is something I really love about J R Ward’s books – it feels like the goodies and baddies run up against each other almost incidentally, as though what they each want just happens to be mutually exclusive.)

 

chemical love

occasionally when a hero kisses a heroine and she melts in his arms, I think “Puh-lease”.

But I really don’t have a single leg/toe/molecule to stand on. I am psychologically unable to stay rigidly upright when kissed.

When you think about it objectively this is really weird. A soft bit of my face touches a soft bit of his face and I melt. Hmmm. These are the moments when I wonder what on earth is zipping through my body.

Special k wants to understand the chemistry of coffee roasting and brewing. Maybe I should attempt to understand the chemistry of kisses. And love.

It’s never made sense to me to dismiss love as “just a chemical reaction”. Wouldn’t it be stranger if we felt something so fervent independently to the body? Er, would that be possible? It’s pretty chicken-and-egg stuff.

It reminds me of this amazing video I watched recently. A scientist explains the universe – the weight, shape and life-span of it. And then he more or less says:

We can only understand it this way, because it is the universe we see this way. In another billion years scientists will see a different universe altogether and that is the universe they will describe.

(He takes the simpler (narrower/more cynical/more sensible?) view that because the universe can be explained, religion is discounted. He wouldn’t allow that a chemical reaction is the physical manifestation or expression of love. Probably.)

I don’t think physical phenomena and the myths we tell about them can never be independent of each other.