tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13781516264293242272024-03-14T02:02:20.184-05:00Purple Prose and Other Literary NonsenseAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-70002004576863542852014-11-02T20:42:00.001-06:002014-11-02T20:42:10.400-06:00The Blog is Moving!Quick announcement: For the few of you who follow this blog, I will be gradually migrating posts over to the new website:<br />
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<a href="http://daughterofkieran.com/">Amalie Cantor, Daughter of Kieran, Writer-in-Progress</a></div>
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I have had a blast meeting people on blogger for the short amount of time it was up, but I essentially had an offer I couldn't refuse. Hence the migration. I will slowly add older posts to the new site. Once they've all been moved, this account will be deleted.</div>
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Again, many thanks to those of you who have been reading! I hope to see you on the new site soon!</div>
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Love, Amalie</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-9323755283870410262014-10-27T20:18:00.002-05:002014-10-27T20:18:53.879-05:00To Retweet or Not To Retweet?I honestly never believed it would happen to me. "No way!" I argued. "Why in the world would I do that?" I thought it was pointless, silly, and a waste of my time.<br />
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But I finally did it. I finally joined <a href="http://twitter.com/amaliecantor">twitter</a>.<br />
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Before I knew it, I was a tweeting monstrosity, retweeting and plugging random blog posts with no clue of what I was doing. Truth be told, I still don't know what I'm doing most of the time. But I've figured out a couple of things that have worked for me. Maybe they'll work for you, too.<br />
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<a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/Writers?src=hash">#Writers</a>: hashtags you should follow if you don't already: <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/SeptWritingChallenge?src=hash">#SeptWritingChallenge</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/wwwblogs?src=hash">#wwwblogs</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/Mondayblogs?src=hash">#Mondayblogs</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/MSWL?src=hash">#MSWL</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/amwriting?src=hash">#amwriting</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/ArchiveDay?src=hash">#ArchiveDay</a><br />
— Amalie Cantor (@AmalieCantor) <a href="https://twitter.com/AmalieCantor/status/514833673850351617">September 24, 2014</a></blockquote>
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When to Retweet</h3>
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Retweeting is (almost) everything on twitter. The best way to be noticed is to retweet. You gain the attention of the person you're tweeting (which can result in a follow). More importantly, you're essentially pre-reciprocating. People who retweet often, with quality tweets, get retweeted themselves later. And if someone in my measly following of less than 500 (as of the publication of this post) retweets something of mine to their 10,000 + followers, then my words (and my name) gain a bigger audience. I can't offer them much in return just yet, but perhaps they'll make connections with some of my followers, and meeting the right person at the right time can change your life.<br />
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So what should you retweet? Almost everything I retweet comes not directly from my followers but from searches of particular hashtags. Some of them are general, others more specific. <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/octwritingchallenge">#OctWritingChallenge</a> is an awesome place to get community support with your writing goals. (Check out <a href="http://writingchallenge.org/">writingchallenge.org</a> for details in other months.) Then there are several blogging hashtags that are particularly active on certain days of the week: <a href="http://twitter.com/hashtag/MondayBlogs">#MondayBlogs</a>. <a href="http://twitter.com/hashtag/wwwblogs">#WWWBlogs</a> ("Women Writers Wednesday"). <a href="http://twitter.com/hashtag/archiveday">#ArchiveDay</a>. I love these three in particular because they are almost linked to interesting content. I post links to my blog on those specific days (with the hashtag), and I spend my free time reading and retweeting others' works in return.<br />
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But here's the key: Retweeting everything you see will get you blocked. No one wants to see your name in their feed every five seconds. Knowing <i style="font-weight: bold;">what</i> to retweet is crucial.<br />
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What I look for in a good tweet:</h4>
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<li>The tweet (or blog post) is interesting and eye-catching. A tweet has 140 characters to really get the reader interested in what the writer has to say. Make it good! Don't spam your followers with drivel.</li>
<li>The post to which the tweet links (if it does) is interesting and well-written. If the blog post is littered with errors in grammar, or if the writing is dull and uninteresting, I won't retweet it. Under no circumstances do I tweet something I wouldn't personally promote. Take the time and read the post! I've seen authors who I sincerely believe set their profiles on auto-retweet (even if there is no such thing). It's like they retweet everything with specific keywords or hashtags. It's annoying, and I at least usually respond to such activities with a mute or an unfollow.</li>
<li>The tweet can be edited down if necessary for comments. I like to give my wholehearted approval or add an idea to a particularly good post, but sometimes you can't do that and still get the essence of the tweet across. I tend to avoid doing straight retweets (even if it drives the original authors crazy).</li>
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So tell me, what are your requirements for a good tweet? What could I or other aspiring writers do to make our tweets more relevant, interesting, and worthy of a retweet? Leave your ideas in the comments below! </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-76408141471006897512014-10-24T18:36:00.002-05:002014-10-24T18:36:45.398-05:00Weaving in the Ends - Fear of the FinishI have mentioned once or twice before on <a href="https://twitter.com/amaliecantor">Twitter</a> that, when not writing or at my day job, I'm often crocheting or knitting. I've been crocheting for a few years now, but I've recently decided to take up knitting as well. Of course, for my first major project I pick <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/stormborn-shawl">this beast of a pattern</a>.<br />
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It's turning out relatively well, all things considered. I'm about 82 rows in, and here's what I have to show for it:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_11CJ_zcfUM/VEjtPGUBksI/AAAAAAAAAHM/7KpCbkrETmk/s1600/stormborn%2Bshawl%2Bin%2Bprogress%2B10.23.2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_11CJ_zcfUM/VEjtPGUBksI/AAAAAAAAAHM/7KpCbkrETmk/s1600/stormborn%2Bshawl%2Bin%2Bprogress%2B10.23.2014.jpg" height="223" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please forgive the dirty couch. Nowhere better in my tiny apartment to take pics! :-(</td></tr>
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It doesn't look like much now, mind you, but when I finally finish binding off and getting it blocked, it will at least roughly resemble the pattern. I hope. Possibly.<br />
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To me, yarn work and writing are analogous processes. You start off with a pattern or idea, a generic feel for how a particular project is going to look at completion. But by the time you reach the end, your final result is sometimes less a reflection of the pattern you started with and more a reflection of the choices and changes you made along the way. <br />
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Mind you, there's less room (and fewer chances) for error in yarn work, I think, than there is in writing. If I'm following a specific pattern (as I almost always am), the number of stitches in a given row is vital to continuing the project in a recognizable pattern. However, if you're experienced enough, you have a pre-established bag of tricks for hiding your errors as you go. No one other than your fellow yarn snobs will ever know the pattern was disrupted. In the end, you just have to follow the directions as perfectly as you can.<br />
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In writing, the end result is so subjective that the possibility for "error" is limitless. Maybe I should not have taken that plot twist in chapter 23. Maybe the twist is fine, but I should have set it up in previous chapters better. Maybe that speech in chapter 11 is pure drivel written in a moment of NyQuil induced insanity. In the end, that's what rewrites are for -- for finding those errors and fixing them before anyone notices the disruption in the pattern.<br />
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Here's the catch: I knit or crochet for myself or for my close friends. I have no desire to do it professionally. (Soapbox: Do you know how much we'd have to charge just to recoup the yarn alone? The skein of yarn for this pattern was $40. No joke. Remember that when you see these things ridiculously priced at craft fairs. End soapbox.) That means that I don't have to take my errors as seriously. Very few people will ever see them, and those who will don't care.<br />
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But I hope to write for more than just those closest to me. I want to produce work that can be widely appreciated (or even loathed--notoriety has its perks). And I hope desperately to eventually get paid for it. Therefore, I have no choice but to work desperately on eliminating errors before anything goes to press. Working the kinks out of a manuscript, particularly one you've spent a lot of time on already, can be the most frustrating task on the planet.<br />
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For both knitting and writing, the final step is always weaving in the ends: tucking in those rough edges and making something beautiful out of an imperfect design. And that's the frightening part. Once the ends are woven in, the journey is over. You gift that completed project to the world. Or to yourself. Or whatever. But any unresolved errors are there, glaring at you, mocking you for all eternity.<br />
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For me, that fear of the finish is my greatest source of writer's block. I have such a blast crafting, whether it's beautiful patterns or beautiful words, that when the product is close to completion, I inevitably have a moment of panic. Last weekend, I'd finished drafting all but the concluding chapter of my current novel. I was so excited to be so close to entering another re-write. And you know what? I had to stop writing entirely for several days before I could bear to tackle that final chapter. The idea that the draft might be fully on paper and ready for me to re-sculpt was terrifying.<br />
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Similarly, this past week I received a letter for acceptance of publication on a short piece (scheduled for publication November 5 -- I will be sure to plug it once it's out). And although I was thrilled to get that first acceptance letter, I am also terrified. That work will be OUT there, despite its flaws, forever accessible by those who choose to read it. And how frightening is that? It almost makes me want to give up writing altogether.<br />
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But I won't. I'll just keep stitching words into phrases, phrases into sentences, paragraphs into chapters. Eventually I'll have stories that I might one day call finished.<br />
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If only I didn't have to weave in all those ends to do it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-12434618070909369302014-10-07T21:52:00.002-05:002014-10-07T21:57:15.569-05:00Why Marriage MattersOctober, for those of you who do not already know, is <a href="http://www.lgbthistorymonth.com/">LGBTQ History Month</a>. This time of year always inspires in me a need to reflect, to write about myself as a self-identified lesbian in context of the world in which I walk, live, and breathe. Usually I end up settling for a post regarding <a href="http://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/808449">why coming out still matters</a>, or what self-love might mean in the context of identity.<br />
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This year, something remarkable happened, and my whole planned blog post went to hell. Just yesterday afternoon, I saw a headline I never expected to see:<br />
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<a href="http://newsok.com/same-sex-marriage-now-is-legal-in-oklahoma/article/5349007"><i>"Same Sex Marriage is Now Legal in Oklahoma"</i></a></h3>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKvf_9AfplU/VDPe2aRF-EI/AAAAAAAAAGw/smeeVE16GRw/s1600/Oklahoma%2BPride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKvf_9AfplU/VDPe2aRF-EI/AAAAAAAAAGw/smeeVE16GRw/s1600/Oklahoma%2BPride.jpg" height="152" width="320" /></a></div>
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I always wondered what I would feel like when this day came for me. As a teenager, I didn't think I'd see the day when it was legal in any more than a handful of super blue states. As a new adult, I didn't think I'd see it legal in my home state in my lifetime. And as a betrothed thirty-year-old woman, I didn't think I'd see it legal in time for my own wedding.<br />
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Why Marriage Matters</h3>
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My partner and I met on September 19, 2010. We hit it off pretty much immediately. Our first date, which we'd planned to be a trip to the OKC Zoo, became coffee and then the zoo. That became coffee, the zoo, and dinner. That became coffee, the zoo, dinner, and a movie. And if it hadn't been a Sunday, we probably would have continued with more coffee, desert, etc. I knew right away that this meeting would result in something special. By October 23, 2010, she'd gotten down on one knee (very cutely, I might add) and asked if I would be her girlfriend. It's still one of the cutest memories I have of our early romantic relationship.<br />
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A little less than a year later, I was in a very rough place. I'd made the decision not to pursue my Ph.D., partially because I didn't want to leave Katherine behind. I'd had difficulty finding a decent paying job and was making a bit more than minimum wage working a job for which I had no love at all. I was miserable, and I couldn't even afford the love of my life a birthday present. But, as sure then as I am today, I asked whether we might upgrade from "girlfriend" to "partner." She accepted immediately. From then on, no word less permanent than that would do.<br />
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Another year later, I asked her to marry me.<br />
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Yet another year later, we set a tentative date.<br />
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Yet another year later (as of this month), we began actually making plans.<br />
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And next year, when we finally do finish up our wedding plans and "tie the knot" it will be legal for us to do so. We had planned on using our honeymoon to go somewhere we could make the marriage official. Now we don't have to. We can go on the trip we'd always dreamed of rather than the trip we needed to make.<br />
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I should be thrilled (and of course I am) that the thousands of Oklahomans without legal protection for their partners can now more easily obtain those protections. I should be bouncing off the walls with joy. But in the light of day, I must force a very grim reality. If, after our wedding, my partner and I drive home to visit my family in Mississippi, those legal protections disappear in an instant. It's as if we no longer exist as a legally bound couple. If, God forbid, something should happen to my family, I might not be allowed to care for/foster/adopt my sister's children. If we have a wreck out on Highway 82 and I am gravely injured, my power-of-attorney very well might revert back to my parents. They could, if they chose, take those rights away from my partner.<br />
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That's why marriage MATTERS. This issue can no longer be a religious issue--even Christian denominations and individual churches <a href="http://newsok.com/religious-leaders-reactions-to-same-sex-marriage-decision-varies/article/5349093">differ with regard to same-sex relationships</a> and their associated legal protections. It's still, however, a moral issue.<br />
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It's <b>immoral</b> for anyone to deny other people the right to define their own family structures legally. Neither blood nor gender makes a family; love does.<br />
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It's <b>immoral</b> that grown adults intentionally make young people feel lesser than their peers because of their attractions or gender expression. People's sense of worth should be tied to their personal achievements and their inherent value and humanity; gender and sexual expression should not even enter the equation.<br />
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It's <b>immoral</b> to equate my love for another consenting, mentally competent adult to pedophilia or bestiality. When the U.S. allows underage children or animals to enter into legally binding agreements, I will be happy to join the masses in the protest line.<br />
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It's <b>immoral </b>for one person's right to freedom of religion to extend so far as to deny me the right to practice mine. My religious beliefs require that I be faithful and monogamous to my one chosen partner; I welcome you the right to be faithful (or not) to yours.<br />
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It's <b>immoral</b> that the church of my birth will host a woman's third marriage with joy (even when its savior specifically decried divorce) but will not even validate my first marriage to my one and only long-term partner.<br />
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And it's <b>immoral </b>that my relationship to my partner is somehow seen as less valued--non-existent even-- when I cross state lines because of the genitalia I was given at birth. That's not only homophobia; it's sexism, and it's disgusting.<br />
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At the end of the day, I don't care what you think of me or of my life choices. I don't even ask that you respect them. I ask only that you give me the freedom to pursue my happiness the same way you're allowed to pursue yours, and to allow me to protect my loved ones just as you'd like to do.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-82041063334220899282014-10-04T18:56:00.001-05:002014-10-04T18:56:45.082-05:00Writing What You Don't Know<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Write what you know."</b></h4>
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I've never heard any more clichéd (if at least superficially true) piece of advice on writing. And I've heard it millions of times. I imagine you have, too.<br />
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The basic sentiment behind the statement, that writers can best express those things that they have experienced or felt, is absolutely true. Those stories that best immerse the reader in the human experience, in the depths of love and hope and fear and despair and treachery, become inevitably grander for the author's empathy for and experience with those emotions. Likewise, a good autobiographical (or semi-autobiographical) story, when told well, will reach its readers by its sheer authenticity.<br />
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Some of the more superficial implications of the statement are likewise true. A writer who has no knowledge of the basics of police procedure, for instance, will have difficulty producing a believable protagonist who is a by-the-books law enforcement officer. A heterosexual man will have difficulty writing from the point-of-view of a post-transition transsexual woman. An author with no previous experience in classical musicianship will have difficulty understanding just why the simplest of Bach preludes will drive a great pianist mad. These deficiencies in knowledge and experience can be nigh-on-impossible to overcome--or at least to overcome <i style="font-weight: bold;">well</i>.<br />
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But, if we take the oft-repeated adage literally and apply it to every situation, where then will we find the elements of fantasy? Of speculative fiction? Of paranormal horror? Heck, how can a person who self-identifies as cisgender female write from the point of view of her male counterparts? And yet writers do all these things--with varying degrees of success--every day.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sinfest.net/btphp/comics/2010-11-23.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Write What You Know" border="0" src="http://sinfest.net/btphp/comics/2010-11-23.gif" title="Write What You Know" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tatsuya Ishida is my idol. <a href="http://sinfest.net/view.php?date=2010-11-23">Sinfest</a> is the awesome. Go love the comic and buy the books.</td></tr>
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I recently came upon <a href="http://socialindc.com/write-not-what-you-know-write-what-you-understand/">an article</a> that argued that we should not be limited to writing what we know: we instead should write what we <i><b>understand</b></i>. If love (by its presence or absence) is a universal experience, then a writer should be able to place that emotion within the bounds of almost any context and produce a believable story. Or at least one entertaining enough to allow its readers to suspend their disbelief. Furthermore, that suspension comes more easily to readers if the author has paid particular attention to the world of the story, even if it's entirely fictional. A writer cannot necessarily <b><i>know </i></b>that world of pure imagination. But a writer <b><i>should </i></b>understand it.<br />
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I want to take that argument a step further. I believe that sometimes, we write what we know. Sometimes, we write what we understand into the context of those things we don't know. And sometimes, we write about what we don't know specifically because we want to understand. <br />
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I have <a href="http://amaliecantor.blogspot.com/2014/08/a-change-in-scenery-setting-and.html">written before</a> on how my current novel-in-edits, <i>Choosing Her Chains</i>, began with a chance meeting of a character. She intrigued me from the moment I met her, and I dove right into the process of discovering who she was. But my journey from that strange first meeting to the present, as I attempt to clean up the final manuscript, was much more than character discovery. Through the writing process, I began to better understand myself.<br />
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The story has transitioned through three compositional stages. First came the vignette. I'd imagined this woman standing on the edge of a lake bed waiting for something. I knew she longed desperately to step out into the water, but that she was waiting for something to call her into its depths, to grant her the power and freedom to move. I wrote that first vignette to discover what--or who--she'd been waiting for. In the process, I realized that her desire, her longing, her courage and her fear, those were all just my own attributes projected onto an unknown character's form. As I wrote what would become the final form of that short scene, I had to delve into myself. What would most force ME to wait barefoot in freezing water? Could I have done what she was doing? What did I have to confront in myself before I could portray her decision authentically?<br />
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That 1500-word vignette grew a plot, and before I knew it I had outlined a 20,000 word novella. In that particular version of the story, I spent a great deal of time getting to know my protagonist. The outcome at story's end depended heavily upon a sensitive understanding of the plot points that came before it. I had to force myself farther than I had before. My own boundaries regarding writing had to be broken, or I would never be able to portray the kind of emotion I KNEW my protagonist felt at story's end.<br />
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The novella was never going to be able to stand on its own, because although I understood the protagonist's motives and decisions, I didn't really understand the characters that pushed her into those decisions. Outlining the full novel became a process of looking into each character's mind and discovering who they were, and how their own pasts and personalities contributed to their decisions within the story.<br />
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And that's when the epiphany came. I had known the story I wanted to tell. I more or less understood the "moral" I wanted to portray. But until I'd examined it from every possible angle, worked out each person's motivations and why they felt the way they did, I could not have articulated <i><b>why</b></i> I wanted the story to come out the way it has. And without the "why," the whole story (and its underlying premise) fell flat.<br />
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Now that the novel's about to enter its second stage of rewrites, I believe I've discovered why "write what you know" fails to work for so many writers, myself included. For many of us, there is a demonstrable difference between "writing" and "editing" and between "editing" and "publishing." <br />
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"Writing" is about discovery, about asking yourself what you do and don't know, and about seeking answers for what it is you don't understand. It's about giving yourself permission to push yourself beyond your comfort zone, even if the attempt fails miserably. Sometimes pieces never move beyond this stage, nor should they.<br />
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"Editing" is about synthesis. It's about taking those things you've learned while "writing" and turning them into something cohesive and clear. This stage turns ideas into beliefs and thoughts into knowledge. I have had many stories languish at this stage simply because I'm not yet quite at the point where I feel I've come to the correct knowledge with regard to the story.<br />
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"Publishing" is about taking what you've learned, what you now know, and presenting it as best you can to your readers. It's about taking your well-formed beliefs, knowledge, and passions, and letting them move in the world. The best stories, fiction or non-fiction, do well once published not only because the author wrote what they know, but because they validated that knowledge within themselves long before the story ever went to press.<br />
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So, I've decided to strike "Write what you know" from my bag of writing truths. Forevermore (or at least until next week), my mantra shall become:<br />
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<u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Write</i></span></u> what you don't know.</h3>
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<u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Edit</i></span></u> to come to know it.</h3>
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<u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Publish</i></span></u> what you know that you know.</h3>
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Then if, at the end of the day, you change your mind, that's okay. The day we stop learning is the day we die (an apothegm seventy million times more true). But don't only write what you know. Write what you want to know. Pay attention to the details of what you're writing and eventually, you will know what you have written.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-34814001345360539402014-09-30T07:55:00.002-05:002014-09-30T07:55:40.657-05:00Fear and Genre Jumping - Writing What I Would Read<span name="myContent">When I decided to refocus my efforts on learning to craft fiction, I assumed my gifts would best serve the dramatic genre. After all, up until that point all of my best short stories (and the one novel I finished for <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a> back in 2008) were LGBT dramas. I loved writing those sorts of literary tales of love lost and regained, of personal epiphanies and modern degeneration, and most of all, of hope in the here and now and the promise of a better tomorrow.</span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br /></span>
<span name="myContent">But the more I thought about it, the sillier my assumption seemed. I didn't really like <i style="font-weight: bold;">reading</i> those sorts of stories most of the time. Why would I want to <i><b>write</b></i> them? If you asked me what genre I preferred as reading material, I would have answered speculative fiction and fantasy, no questions asked. But I was absolutely petrified to cross that bridge, to tackle a story that was too fantastic. What if it came off as <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">cliché</span>? Silly? What if my world-building was unbelievable? What would I do then?</span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br /></span>
<span name="myContent">As it turns out, I'd do what I always do. I'd go back, start from scratch, and re-write the piece. In my own methods, I've found no difference between revising speculative fiction and revising realistic drama. At least with speculative fiction I wrote pieces I'd genuinely enjoy reading (at least the first thirteen times). My first novel, due out this spring, is a lesbian feminist drama. It's also fantasy. And it's the book I've been dying to read (even if someone else might have executed it far better than I). Instead of feeling bogged down at the prospect of rewriting, I'm excited, because with each revision I come that much closer to something I hope others can enjoy as much as I do.</span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br /></span>
<span name="myContent">I believe that every author finds more success in specific genres than perhaps in others. These variations in quality naturally reflect our talents and our personal preferences. But I also believe that if someone is afraid to tackle a particular genre--not uninterested, but afraid-- they owe it to themselves to make an attempt.</span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br /></span>
<span name="myContent">In the spirit of my own ever-present fear and attempts to overcome it, I'd like to offer my readers a short piece I wrote a year or so ago. It was written for a very small-scale prompt-based contest, and is definitely <i><b>not</b></i> one of my favorite pieces. The multiverse in which the story takes place is much larger than I have the time or energy to tackle right now, but perhaps in the future a novel or two will come out of the ideas. We'll just have to wait and see. </span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br /></span>
<span name="myContent">So, without further procrastination, in honor of my 300th Twitter follower (hey, you've gotta start somewhere), I present to you "The Gate." </span>Enjoy, comment, burn, etc. Just keep in mind that I blister easily. ;-)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cdn.theatlantic.com/static/infocus/ngt080213/s_n01_thunders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://cdn.theatlantic.com/static/infocus/ngt080213/s_n01_thunders.jpg" height="205" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Thunderstorm at False Kiva," by Max Seigal (copyright 2013). This picture was the prompt/inspiration for the piece below. Check it out at <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2013/08/winners-of-the-2013-national-geographic-traveler-photo-contest/100566/">The Atlantic</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span name="myContent"> * * * * * * * </span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br /></span>
<span name="myContent">The Gate</span><br />
<span name="myContent">by Amalie Cantor</span><br />
<span name="myContent" style="font-size: x-small;">**Note: An earlier version of this short story is housed at my online portfolio at <a href="http://www.writing.com/main/portfolio/view/fallenmercury">writing.com</a>. If you like this little piece, be sure to go check out some of my other stuff!**</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
“Blindfold off,” the harsh voice snapped. Isra lifted the black velvet
wrap from her eyes as the Jeep's asymmetrical jerking lurched to a stop. She squinted, blotches of blue and green swimming in her vision. Her eyes stung with the salt of sweat as they readjusted to the faint light.<br />
<br />
<span name="myContent">Six hours of almost constant shifting
over rugged terrain had left her shaky and unbalanced.
Isra braced an arm on the Jeep's frame as she stumbled onto jagged
stone. Her eyes finally focused as she examined her new surroundings.</span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br /></span>
<span name="myContent">She’d expected the base to be hidden in some remote military
bunker, sterile and devoid of life. Instead she gazed at a vast canyon, its ruddy walls
lit sporadically by the yellow lightning crossing the purple sky to the
northwest. The Gate--for it could be nothing else--stood upon a surprisingly small stone platform flanked by
an assortment of monitors and control panels. The surrounding ten or so
technicians flurried from screen to screen in preparation for--</span><br />
<br />
<span name="myContent">--for what she couldn't be precisely certain. Each wore an unpretentious Egyptian blue uniform, their cream and crimson badges firmly attached to the right
breast pocket of each wool jacket. Isra's own uniform, which Red had thrust into her hands earlier that afternoon, stretched uncomfortably around her chest and lay
overly baggy around her torso. The top few buttons refused to stay
snapped, which had entertained Red endlessly as the two women traveled. </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span name="myContent"><i>"I'm glad you accepted the mission. At least I've got a great view for the drive," Red snickered as she hit another bump in the gravel road. Isra could hold either the torn leather seat or her chest, not both. Unfortunately, she valued her skull more than her dignity.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span name="myContent"><i>"At least mine are real," Isra sneered before they hit another pothole.</i></span></blockquote>
Isra stared after Red, who had approached the platform and now shared whispers amongst the technicians. A young man snorted under his breath as she'd whispered something into his ear. Red smiled that same coy smile she'd attempted on Isra that very afternoon. Rationally, Isra should not fault her. Why not use your charms to get what you want? <br />
<br />
Isra despised her nonetheless. Kari would have--<br />
<br />
--but it didn't matter now did it?<br />
<br />
<span name="myContent">“The guest of honor arrives!” A deep voice, smooth with humor and
charisma, called from behind the platform. </span><span name="myContent"><span name="myContent">The gentleman--The Colonel, Isra assumed--approached with certain footsteps and offered her his hand. </span>“Welcome, Violet!”
Isra’s lip curled at the pseudonym but she said nothing. “You made great time! The storm is rolling in faster
than anticipated, so I’m afraid we won’t have time for introductions.”</span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br />
Isra nodded and accepted the handshake. She barely restrained a sneer when
his eyes flickered toward her chest. “I understand, sir.” She studied
him for only a moment. His dark hair and eyes twinkled as an impish grin stretched across his face. Exactly as
she’d been forewarned. Best not to encourage familiarity then. “I am here
strictly for the mission. If we succeed, we will have plenty of time for
introductions later. If not--" A giant clap of thunder shook the very ground as it rumbled. She raised her eyebrows. She needn't finish the sentence.</span><br />
<br />
<span name="myContent">
“Few words and strong intentions: the two things I love most in a woman.” His grin brightened. He glanced toward his technicians, who froze at his gaze. The hairs on the back of Isra's neck prickled as he placed a hand on her back and guided her to the platform.</span><br />
<br />
<span name="myContent">
Isra, for the first time, turned her full attention to the mechanism in
front of her. The cylindrical base, no more than three meters wide,
grew organically from the surrounding stone, yet its smooth surface shone as if polished. Standing vertical its very center, a flat metallic disc sporadically flashed white in time with the ever intensifying lightning. She approached the side of the platform to examine the disc’s mirrored
surface. Silver, perhaps platinum, polished
to a flawless shine, reflected her image perfectly. Still, the image felt
unnatural. Synthetic. Aberrant. For one, it displayed none of the equipment, make-shift
chairs, and consoles scattered around the apparatus. Nor did it reflect
the mountainous orange slopes behind her. The device displayed only the reflections of herself and The Colonel, who’d stepped up behind her. She stared at the strange aura of
light surrounding each of them in the reflection: hers, a murky
blue-gray; his, a dark copper.<br /><br />
“Amazing, isn't it?” Even at a whisper, his voice cut through the speeding wind and thunder. “Vertolium,
the most unique substance yet known to man. I personally refuse to call it
a 'metal;' it’s too fluid, too unstable. But when polished and prodded just the right way, it produces the most astonishing reflections. They show the grounded things,
those things that are eternally true, those things that cross time and space and even from one universe to the next. Your essence never changes, though your personality, your looks, everything
else might fade away.” </span><br />
<br />
<span name="myContent">"It's beautiful," she whispered. She reached a hand out as if to touch the smooth surface, but jerked back as a streak of lightning crashed into a tree not thirty meters away. Isra couldn't help but deeply inhale the fragrance of burning pine.</span><br />
<br />
<span name="myContent">"I suppose we should proceed," The Colonel called as he turned his gaze on Isra. “They’ve told you why
you’re here?”<br /><br />
Isra swallowed the hard knot that had formed in her throat. Perhaps
she wasn’t so resigned to this mission as she pretended. “Yes,” she whispered. “To
seek her out, to measure whether our connection can be sustained, even now.” She took a deep breath. “To discover whether I might
successfully cross The Boundary.”<br /><br />The Colonel nodded. His grin disappeared. With a snap of his fingers Isra was surrounded by
the flurry of his team. They systematically and efficiently placed
wireless electrodes at strategic points of Isra’s skin: temples, heart,
navel. A particularly rotund gentleman pressed the barrel of some sort
of gun to her left wrist. With a slight hiss, the gun pierced the skin
and placed the final microtransmitter. Isra examined her wrist,
tingling with an almost imperceptible current. Her hazel eyes
widened. No mark.</span><br />
<span name="myContent"><br />
“We’re in,” a new voice from the left called, but Isra ignored it. She
watched intently as The Gate began to glow an electric blue. The
Colonel clasped her unaltered wrist and gestured to the platform. She
refused to face him but nodded and stepped forward.<br /><br />
Isra exhaled slowly as she stepped onto the cylindrical base. As soon as she stood in its center, a visible barrier snapped into place around her. The slight discoloration of the atmosphere separated her from the flurry of activity beyond the mechanism’s
invisible walls. Though she could still see each team member working
diligently to prepare the machine, their images were overwhelmed by
auras as clear to her as spotlights, and as natural to her as breathing.
What had seemed foolish speculation was suddenly comfortable, real,
even inherent to the nature of existence.<br /><br />
“You’re feeling it already; that’s good.” She glanced back over to the
Colonel, who eyed her with that same grin. “This will be both the simplest
and the most difficult thing you have ever done.” He gestured to the sky
above them, startlingly dark as the purple faded to deep blue and yellowed
lightning created an electric charge in the air. Though power surged
all around her, she felt as comfortable as if she’d taken this journey a
million times.<br /><br />
“You have,” the Colonel’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Isra’s brow
furrowed in confusion, but he made no attempt to enlighten her. “Your
instructions are simple. Stare into that disc and study yourself, until
you see the image of that which you seek. The lightning will provide a
power surge, during which you must release any remaining anxiety, and
do what you will know to do. Once you’re on the other side, we have no
way of knowing how long your body will be able to sustain the paradox.
Here, you feel more confident and at home than you’ve ever felt in your
life; you will not have that luxury there. You will be the outcast, the
abomination: every cell in your body will try to call you back. You
must ignore it. The longer you are on the other side, the more
information we can gather.”<br /><br />
“If I don’t return?”<br /><br />
“Neither success nor failure is ever absolute. We’ll still get what we need.”<br /><br />
Isra took one last look at the Colonel before she turned to focus on the
disc. She could hear endless activity surrounding her, but it reached
her ears as if through a dozen walls, each thicker than the last. The
commotion around Isra faded into white noise, insignificant and
irrelevant. Each tiny hair on her body rose as the growing electric
current surrounded her like a halo. As the halo grew, the murky
gray-blue aura surrounding her fanned out in every direction until she
could see it not only in the disc’s reflection but also radiating from
her skin. The aura snaked out in tendrils, searching, searching--<br /><br />
--And then a snap. The murky gray condensed into a solid, almost
tangible line, extending from Isra's navel and reaching into the depths of the mirror
in front of her. Her reflection faded into a hazy maze of colors: pinks,
reds, and mauves. The cord from her navel reached into the haze and
merged with it. It gradually faded into a bright green and
reached out into the distance. The Colonel had been right. She knew
exactly what was at the other end, and her chest filled with familiar longing.
The lightning surged, and feeling more like herself than she ever had,
she stepped forward and through the open doorway. She felt a cold
tingling rush as the atmosphere of the world beyond fell upon her skin,
and with an explosion of light, sound, and electricity, all was
darkness.<br /><br />
<br />
</span><br />
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;">* * * * * * *</span></div>
<br />
<br />
The irritating prickle of light pressed tiny needles into her closed eyelids. A bitterly cold breeze brushed across her
exposed fingers. The air felt charged in a way Isra found disconcerting,
even repulsive. Her skin throbbed as if submerged in a churning vat of
electrified slush. Her mind could not integrate the physical pain with her awakening vision. As her eyes awoke, she gazed upon an orchard in springtime, a dozen spindly trees
covered in tiny pink flowers, occasionally swept from the branches by a
light breeze and gingerly tossed onto the lush grass beneath her. Yet,
as she swept her hand along that lush grass, the sting of
thousands of tiny razors licked at her fingertips. She jerked her hand to her face in pain. Her skin remained perfectly intact. <br />
<br />
The Colonel was right. Every atom in her body vibrated with longing to
return from whence she'd come. Yet she could not, would not, leave just
yet. She hadn't found her; her mission was yet unfulfilled. <br />
<br />
"I wondered when you'd arrive," a melodic voice called from behind her.
Isra moved achingly slowly, using all her hard-won concentration to
ignore the pain as she turned to face the voice. Her face flushed in anger as the voice chuckled. <br />
<br />
"Always were the stubborn one," it called again. Isra furrowed her brow
as she managed to turn toward the new arrival. The cord at Isra's navel had
grown even more tangible, the blue-gray reaching out, twisting into a
brilliant green, and connecting her to the unearthly form standing before her.
The woman looked like no one she'd ever known: dark skin, violet
eyes, hair so deep and dark it shone purple as the sun danced upon
it through the branches above. The woman wore only a light tunic and skirt as
she strolled towards Isra. Isra's heart clenched in
pain even as she gazed upon her. <br />
<br />
"Amaranthe?" Isra whispered, though she was sure she’d never known that name. She shook her head. "Kari?" <br />
<br />
The woman smiled and cocked her head to one side. "I was called that once. I've been called many things,
both before and after. You were most correct the first time. I'm
Amaranthe." She gave a deep curtsy, and Isra realized she was being
mocked. Without thinking, she reached out to swat Amaranthe's arm, but
met only air. Amaranthe had ducked out of the way and landed several
feet away. Isra frowned. <br />
<br />
"You mustn't touch me," Amaranthe warned. "The paradox would not be
sustained, and you would be ripped from this world with a speed that
would destroy you." The corners of her lips turned up, her teeth bared
in a gruesome smile. "I learned that one the hard way. Let's say our first few meetings have made me more cautious." <br />
<br />
Isra stared. "The first few?" Amaranthe sat on the grass a
few yards away, perfectly content in her bare feet, digging her toes
into the soft earth. Isra--and why did thinking of herself by that name feel so disconcerting?--continued to grit her teeth in pain as the
grass inflamed every inch of skin it touched. <br />
<br />
"Yes, dear Peregrin." Peregrin. Yes, that was her name. Why had she
never known, not until this very moment? "This is at least the fifteenth such time I've stumbled upon you in
this place. For some reason you're always drawn back here." Amaranthe's eyes danced casually over her form before they focused with interest at the still-exposed
cleavage. "You didn't look quite this good the last time, though." She smirked and returned her eyes to Isra's. "But, oh,
how I’d love to tug at those fiery curls now." <br />
<br />
Isra’s facial muscles spasmed with the first genuine smile she’d felt in
months. “God, I’ve missed that. Missed you.” Water gathered at the
corners of her eyes.<br />
<br />
Amaranthe sighed. “I know, love, I know. I often seem to leave you a
bit too soon.” Her eyes hardened. “But that’s no excuse for your
cowardice." Isra flinched, but Amaranthe pressed on. "You shouldn't be here. What would happen if you ran into
yourself? It might rip apart the fabric of every universe, not just
yours or mine." Isra's eyes widened. <br />
<br />
"You mean...I'm here?" She looked at the cord connecting the two of them
and realized there was a second, less visible protrusion extending from
Amaranthe's navel into the distance. <br />
<br />
"Where else would you be? Of course you're here. You’re meant to be with me; you were destined to eventually arrive here.” Her lips thinned even as her smirk continued. "Just, not yet."<br />
<br />
Isra’s face heated as her blood began to rush. The increasing ring in
her ears reminded her that she didn't, in fact, belong here. They wouldn’t have
long; she hadn’t meant the conversation to turn this way. “This is a
regular occurrence, then? You abandon me and I follow you here?” <br />
<br />
Amaranthe sighed. “I’d forgotten your propensity for melodrama.” Isra
smirked as Amaranthe’s serene facade cracked, evidenced by her
down-turned lips and shadowed eyes. “But no. Many times you abandoned
me. Suicide. Accidents. Old age a few times. In one sense death is very reliable; in another, he has a bit of a fetish for variety.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “I at least was
never fool enough to try to cross The Boundary to find you.” <br />
<br />
Amaranthe’s eyes glowed faintly as the world began to melt into
blurred colors and lines. Isra’s body couldn’t sustain the displacement much longer.<br />
<br />
Amaranthe shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here. You are giving him too much information. He’s
using you as his damned guinea pig. He has ambition grander than you can
imagine and will never be satisfied with power in one reality: he wants
control of them all. Should he finally discover how to cross himself,
he’ll do everything he can to make that dream a reality, even if he must
annihilate everything in the process.”<br />
<br />
Isra frowned. “What am I to do, then?” Both voices now rang hollow, as if the words themselves traveled through water to reach her ears.<br />
<br />
“Stop following me, Peregrin. Each time we’re separated, he seeks you
out, lures you in with promises he won’t fulfill.” Her eyes dimmed.
“Yes, I’m she whom you've loved and lost, but I’m not Kari. In each
universe, time and time again we are reborn; we meet, we fall in love,
and we are eventually heartbroken as we part ways. We feel the heights of both ecstasy
and pain, and it is terrible and wonderful and breathtaking. Eventually, we both are
born here, and we are happy. Be patient, and that time will come for
you--unless you allow him to destroy it all.”<br />
<br />
“But I can’t, Amaranthe,” she whispered. “I could never stop myself from searching for you, even if I wanted to.”<br />
<br />
Amaranthe smiled. “Well, you’ll admit that much at least. I suppose you’ll just have to figure out a way to stop Him.”<br />
<br />
“And how should I do that?”<br />
<br />
“Live. I warned you: it’s your cowardice, your fear of being alone that
drove you here. You <i><b>hoped</b></i> to find me, yes, but you <i><b>expected </b></i>to
die. Your ultimate goal was to stand by my side once again, no matter what that cost you or anyone else. But Peregrin, you are the only person in your world who has experienced what you
have and who knows what you know. There is much good left to be done in your world even now, even on your own. The world--all worlds--need your help. Use your brain and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.” As other colors
faded from Isra’s vision, the violet of Amaranthe’s eyes pierced into
Isra’s. “Even now you make a choice: to die, to move onto your next
life where you will find me once again; or to live, to face the rest of
this life with courage. Please, for me, make the right decision.”
Unable to fight any longer, Isra gave herself over to darkness.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;">* * * * * * *</span></div>
<br />
“We’ve lost the connection,” Red snapped as the activity on the monitors spiked and then crashed to almost nothing.<br />
<br />
The Colonel’s smile didn’t diminish. “Five minutes of data this time. A
new record, ladies and gentlemen!” He turned and gestured toward the
platform. “Take care of the mess, would you Greenie?” He fondly slapped
the rotund man on the back. Green’s eyes narrowed, but he moved to
obey nonetheless.<br />
<br />
The Colonel turned his gaze to the monitor and begin the painful process
of scouring the data. Red frantically typed away at the primary control panel. She periodically shifted screens as The Colonel called out instructions. He groaned under his breath. He always hated this part. Brilliant though he may have been--and he was neither naive nor humble enough to deny it--making definitive conclusions based on millions of minute pieces of data was still tedious as hell. He could only hope that the The Subject's hard won measurements could produce a clearer picture this time. With each attempt the formulas gained clarity and precision. Another few
tries and the team might be able to attempt the crossing with an
Untethered Subject.<br />
<br />
“Boss,” Green’s voice called from the platform. “You might want to come take a look at this.”<br />
<br />
The Colonel’s smile slipped for the first time that evening. “A bit busy here, Greenie.”<br />
<br />
“Trust me; you definitely want to see this.”<br />
<br />
The Colonel furrowed his brow and scowled as he approached the platform.
The electric hum had ceased as the power had shut down. The barrier had vanished, its metal disc melted back into its gelatinous state. The Subject lay
perfectly still in the middle of the platform.<br />
<br />
“Green, what’s the meaning of this?”<br />
<br />
Green gestured to The Subject. Frowning, the Colonel knelt and pressed two
fingers into the limp body’s throat. His eyes widened as he recognized
the faint thump of a still beating heart.<br />
<br />
The Colonel flew back to the monitors. At the top of an auxiliary screen, a weak
but slow and steady beep pulsed almost silently. The Colonel’s eyes
lit up in wonder, his restored grin stretching the sides of his face.<br />
<br />
“Well, team, tonight has gone even better than expected!” The team
crowded around the monitor in astonishment as that slow and steady pulse
refused to cease. They watched for five minutes. Ten. And still the
heart kept on beating.<br />
<br />
“Initiate Plan B! Finally!” The team immediately dispersed to enact the
emergency protocols. The Colonel went back to the platform and grinned
down at the still Subject. “Welcome back, Violet. I suppose we’ll have
to introduce you this time.”<br />
<br />
He pulled out his phone to begin the necessary flurry of calls. With an
excitement he’d not genuinely felt in lifetimes, he spoke. “White? Prepare
for Phase 2.” Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-9694022435553411312014-09-23T20:13:00.001-05:002014-09-23T20:13:18.389-05:00In Defense of MicroambitionsI have a rather large confession to make. I am, despite my best efforts at personal reform, a devotee of the art of YouTube surfing. I have made several attempts at sobriety, but I have yet to see meaningful change in my way of life. My partner is likewise afflicted with the horrendous affliction. We cycle relentlessly in an ever-widening gyre of days of remission only to inevitably fall back into relapse. Ours can be a painful existence, and I cannot say I'd recommend it to anyone.<br />
<br />
Yet, even in that dreadful darkness can we find beacons of hope. I was engaged in a multi-hour viewing binge about a week ago, when I came upon this delightful video of an address at UWA given by Tim Minchin. The whole speech is full of chuckle-worthy plays on words as well as meaningful--and meaningless--advice. I particularly recommend a stretch beginning at 3:15:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/yoEezZD71sc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">"...I
advocate passionate dedication to the pursuit of short-term goals. Be
micro-ambitious. Put your head down and work with pride on whatever is in front
of you. You never know where you might end up. Just be aware the next worthy
pursuit will probably appear in your periphery, which is why you should be
careful of long-term dreams. If you focus too far in front of you, you won’t see
the shiny thing out the corner of your eye. "</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">As a child, I was guilty of sins far worse than YouTube gluttony. You see, I was a dreamer of dreams. But not just realistic dreams, oh no. I had delusions of grandeur the likes of which the world had never seen. (Obviously, I've never quite grown out of them.) You see, fate had predestined me to be the world's most brilliant figure skater. In the evenings, I would consult on high-risk surgical procedures whilst preparing gourmet meals for my five-star restaurant. On weekends, I would paint landscapes worthy of the Louvre and read poetry to thousands of adoring sycophants. I would find the life I was destined to live.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">Of course, the two times I attempted ice skating I could not maintain my balance for more than thirty seconds at a time. I had neither the stomach nor constitution to give my mother her weekly allergy shots. I didn't learn to boil spaghetti properly until I was at least 27. My only contributions to art were the scribbles on my bedroom wall, and my poetry stayed relegated to the catacombs of deadjournal, where I hope they yet rest in peace.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">None of these things were in and of themselves bad. They were sparkling dreams contrived by a young girl who had been taught that there was no goal so high she couldn't strive to reach it. The problem was never the dream. The problem was its execution. I never learned how to work for those dreams, and so, when I realized their </span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">non-sensibility, their impracticality, </span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">I gave them up, changed them, shifted them into what I assumed were more meaningful long-term goals.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">I have come to realize though, as Tim Minchin did, the value of the micro-ambition. I value these bursts of desire for achievement for two primary reasons. First, as he suggests, they promote flexibility. I cannot imagine what opportunities I might have missed had I been too focused on an ultimate goal. Had I been determined to stick with music education as a career, I wouldn't have moved 700 miles away from the only home I'd ever known to learn a new trade. Had I been determined to continue my doctoral studies, as I had planned to do, I would have both likely lost the love of my life and been another hundred thousand dollars or so in debt. Had I not seen the value of entering one small writing contest, then another, then another, I never would have even considered the possibility of becoming a writer. Had I not been fortunate enough to win one of them, I likely would not be nearing completion of my first novel. Each of these accomplishments arrived thanks to one small shiny thing that managed to distract me from what I thought was my final goal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">Second, micro-ambitions give you something small and achievable to which you can apply yourself much more effectively and consistently than if your life is defined by enslavement to a particular path. My whole adult life has come down to discovering and chasing a series of micro-ambitions. Complete this class. Finish this degree. Get this job. Be admitted to this program. Move to this place. Write this story. Publish this poem. Finish this novel. Whether I knew what I was doing or not, I set myself goals which, while rather large, were small in comparison to my childhood dreams. Because these goals were smaller, I achieved them with an awareness of what could be done now and well, rather than what would take a lifetime of work and might still never see fruition.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">At the end of the day, I do still have dreams. I'd like nothing more than to end up on the bestseller list one day. My dreams may be flighty, but I value them more for their fickleness. Every day is another opportunity to make my dreams come true, because every day is an opportunity to bring a new dream to life. For now? My dream is to finish Book 1. Then perhaps Book 2 and Book 3 (both already in the initial planning stages). After that, who knows? Maybe I'll throw in the towel on writing and go back to school, finish that Ph.D. Maybe I'll open a restaurant selling gourmet grilled cheese* or a bookstore or a corner coffee shop with lattes that don't taste burnt (Sorry, Starbucks).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">I don't know just yet. I've honed in on the shiny thing of the moment. But as to what comes next? I'm still watching the periphery.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: small;">*I'm serious about the gourmet grilled cheese. Ever tried a <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/jeff-mauro/jalapeno-popper-grilled-cheese-recipe.html">jalapeno popper grilled cheese</a>? Mine are <i>phenomenal </i>-- definitely better than his<i>. </i>I also make a killer feta/red pepper grilled cheese. Watch out world. It's coming.</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-62307558153490154052014-09-10T17:53:00.001-05:002014-09-10T17:53:11.076-05:00Character Development - Secondhand Character InterviewsIt's no secret that I prefer character-driven plot, both as a writer and as a reader. I fully admit that my skill at designing plot is far inferior to my penchant for character design. Plot is my weakness. The only way I can make it work is with my characters' full support. And sometimes they are STUBBORN. Go figure.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c0EFcue2Jhw/VBDS-DlIf7I/AAAAAAAAAFs/Dd1fR9xWpoM/s1600/fictional%2Bcharacters.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c0EFcue2Jhw/VBDS-DlIf7I/AAAAAAAAAFs/Dd1fR9xWpoM/s1600/fictional%2Bcharacters.png" height="224" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank God my friends are all as sane as I am.</td></tr>
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Since I am so fond of discovering characters, it's no surprise that I am a big fan of character interviews. In <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Outlining-Your-Novel-Map-Success-ebook/dp/B005NAUKAC/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1410375625&sr=8-3&keywords=k.+m.+weiland">Outlining Your Novel: Mapping Your Way to Success</a> </i>(which I highly recommend)<i>, </i>K.M. Weiland provides a few examples of these sorts of interview questions, etc., which can provide us with real insight into our characters and thus help us portray them as consistently (or, as I see it, <a href="http://amaliecantor.blogspot.com/2014/08/realistic-characters-created-by-design.html">accurately</a>), as we can.<br />
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Character interviews, when they work best, allow authors to really immerse themselves into the mindsets of their characters. When tackling a character interview, I discover certain facts about my own characters, obviously: "My name is Janet, not Jane you ridiculous woman!" Those facts are important, of course, but perhaps more importantly, I also begin to understand how they talk, how they think, whether they chew their nails when they are nervous or refuse to make eye contact when we speak. Knowing these sorts of details, even if they never make it into the final manuscript, helps me to produce prose suitable to the character's personality.<br />
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There are many, many good character development tools out there. Weiland provides an excellent outline in Chapter 7 of her book. Recently I've also used <a href="http://gather.com/100-character-development-questions-for-writers/">100 Character Development Questions for Writers</a>, which has enough in-depth information to help writers really delve into the heart of their characters. But for all of the things that are available, I had trouble finding something that I thought would help me with a little problem I tend to encounter in my character development.<br />
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The problem with interviewing your characters is that they have a tendency to talk only about themselves. And why wouldn't they? I'm asking about my protagonist, am I not? It makes sense for her to talk about herself. Unfortunately, I sometimes get a very skewed perspective of who a character THINKS he or she is. The reality of who she is or can become is sometimes hidden behind a wall of insecurity or even arrogance. So how can we get around this wall? <br />
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I considered, therefore, how I might utilize a series of interview questions written FOR one character ABOUT another character. What does the average inhabitant of my world think of my protagonist/antagonist? What do the antagonist and protagonists think about each other? What does the lover really think of her beloved?<br />
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So, I present to you my work in progress: a worksheet for performing character interviews, secondhand. If you use the list and find it useful (or completely useless), let me know! Link backs make me happy, and a happy Amalie is an Amalie who isn't tearing the wings off her fairies. Save a fairy. Add a link back.<br />
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Also feel free to submit your own questions. If I like them, I'll add them and credit you with a link back. The one great thing about the online writing community is that it's incredibly friendly. Let's continue to work together to make ALL of our stories the best they can possibly be. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Character Development: Secondhand Character Interview Worksheet</span></b><br />
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For this exercise, pick a character which you'd like to know better. Then, write (in first person) from the POV of a <b><i>different</i></b> character in the world of your story. You might write as your antagonist about your protagonist (or vice versa). You might write as the "best friend" about your protagonist. You might write as "random hot dog stand owner" about the antagonist. Whatever you can do to get out of the head of the character in question. The point here is to get to the heart of a character from the perspective of those around them. Write as much or as little as you want, and feel free to dive off of these starters into other questions or even rants/raves from characters. <br />
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<b>Individual Perspectives</b><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1. How did you meet [character]? What were your first impressions?<br />2. How long have you known [character]? Would you consider yourself friends? Enemies? How would you describe your past together?<br />3. What (good or bad) physical trait would you say is [character's] most distinguishing feature? Why?<br />4. What one thing most annoys you about [character]?<br />5. What one thing is most endearing about [character]?<br />6. What is the one thing you'd love to do with or to [character]?<br />7. What is the one thing you fear most with regard to [character]?<br />8. What would you do if [character] died tomorrow?<br />9. What would be different for you (or for your world) if [character] had never been born?<br />10. What one thing do you wish you understood about [character]?</blockquote>
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<b>Community Perspectives:</b><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1. What is [character]'s role within the community?<br />2. How is [character] seen within the community? Would you say [character] is well-liked? Despised? Feared?<br />3. Who would you send me for more information about [character's] place in the community at large?</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Eternally in Progress - Post suggestions in the comments! </b></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-91868824127968382112014-09-07T15:05:00.001-05:002014-09-07T15:05:09.126-05:00Pen Names and PrivilegeOne of my friends sent around a blog post on Facebook this week that used a <a href="http://alittlemoresauce.com/2014/08/20/what-my-bike-has-taught-me-about-white-privilege/">biking analogy</a> to provide one possible explanation of what we mean when we speak of "white privilege." It's an excellent (if imperfect) blog post, but it reminded me that quite often we don't recognize privilege as its recipients: it's only when we suffer under a particular type of privilege that it becomes apparent.<br />
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As writers, we are granted a certain amount of anonymity that sometimes protects us from some of the inequalities of privilege. Yet the more I consider it, I realize we are just as much victims/perpetrators of racial/financial/heteronormative privilege as anyone else. Nowhere does our acceptance and perpetuation of this privilege become more apparent than in the historical adoption of the "nom de plume."<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--PC_TTX1_Rw/VAy1zo0DPRI/AAAAAAAAAFc/y_UYQtmiPFk/s1600/writing%2Bpen.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--PC_TTX1_Rw/VAy1zo0DPRI/AAAAAAAAAFc/y_UYQtmiPFk/s1600/writing%2Bpen.png" height="210" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By <a href="http://haphephilia.deviantart.com/art/Pen-Stock-276959093">haphephilia</a></td></tr>
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For instance, the adoption of masculine pen names has historically been a socially accepted way for female authors/poets to overcome the patriarchal prejudices of readers (and publishers). The Brontë sisters all published under masculine names, in part to keep a bit of anonymity, and partially to avoid the <a href="http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/bronte/cbronte/thormahlen.html">prejudice of femininity</a>. George Sand was born <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Sand">Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin</a>.<br />
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The phenomenon, however, is not merely historical. J.K. Rowling and K.A. Applegate both chose (or were pressured) to write under their initials to preserve a bit of ambiguity about their gender. Neither have been secretive about the fact that they are women, but we might argue their readerships under those names were helped (or at least not hindered) by the blurring of their gender presentation.<br />
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Carrie Cuinn wrote an excellent short piece on the problem with <a href="http://carriecuinn.com/2011/08/29/the-problem-with-pen-names/">publishing under pen names</a>. She made a conscious decision not to use a pen name because she wanted "to be read and judged and known for who I really am." And I agree wholeheartedly, even as I publish this post under a name that differs from my own legal name. <br />
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When I selected my own pen name, I chose something dissimilar enough from my legal name that I could safely write academic pieces under my legal name while publishing fiction and poetry under another. However, the two names are similar enough in ethnicity/gender that, since the very first time I tried it on, my pen name felt like me. In the online community I am very comfortable being referred to as "Amalie." She is me, with my history, my prejudices, and my (perhaps imagined) talent. "Cantor" is even more personal; it is a tribute to a long-standing discussion between my partner and myself on how we should combine our last names when we are finally granted the legal right to marry. <br />
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I am fortunate, however. I write fiction that features primarily lesbian characters. Were I to publish under a masculine name, I would run the risk of alienating my primary audience (other lesbian readers). My partner confessed to me a few days ago that when she seeks out lesbian fiction, she intentionally avoids authors with male-sounding names. She says she can't trust them to adequately get to the heart of her concerns as a feminine lesbian woman.<br />
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So what does that say about me? Though I am hesitant to admit it, I like to think I'm operating under oppression, that I'm fighting the good fight by intentionally being as true to myself and to my potential audience as I possibly can be. But it turns out that, because of the audience I'm seeking, my name may in fact imbue me with a level of privilege I didn't realize existed. It's not a moral issue, not really. It just is what it is.<br />
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And it demonstrates exactly what our bike-riding blogger was talking about. I'm driving an automobile in a niche market that's been built to allow me free access, when others might still be riding their bikes to work. What if I wanted to write about the adventures of a male wizard (as an homage to Ms. Rowling)? Would I need to shorten or completely change my chosen pen name just to get an honest reading from my intended audience? It's a question that deserves continuing discussion. <br />
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Our pen names can grant us a level of privilege we may not feel we can earn under our legal names. Whether we intentionally play into that privilege or not, it's our duty to consider how the system that created that privilege might be hurting our fellow authors.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-64696687564774945062014-08-28T18:41:00.001-05:002014-08-28T18:41:49.724-05:00Realistic Characters: Created by Design or Inspiration?Whether in plot- or character-driven fiction--and I am becoming less and less convinced there is a definitive distinction between the two--character design is central to maintaining an audience's interest in our storytelling. How characters act and react to the obstacles strewn in their path demonstrates who they are (or who they are becoming). A character who acts in a manner inconsistent with his or her personality quickly becomes a slave to whatever urges the author has. I've read enough fanfic to know that playing God with your characters, allowing them to behave inconsistently, almost inevitably leads to boring storytelling.<br />
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So how do we create consistent characters?<br />
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We don't.<br />
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They have to come to us.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmJhu3DaHgQ/U_8TwgymHGI/AAAAAAAAAFM/ZeJGZ1aiHOk/s1600/gemina_soul_by_kattattak-d5ahudn.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Gemina Soul" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmJhu3DaHgQ/U_8TwgymHGI/AAAAAAAAAFM/ZeJGZ1aiHOk/s1600/gemina_soul_by_kattattak-d5ahudn.png" height="162" title="Gemina Soul" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gemina Soul</i>, used with permission by <a href="http://kattattak.deviantart.com/art/Gemina-Soul-319959563">kattattak</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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As a reader, I don't have to like who a character is or what a
character does. I just have to be able to understand why they do what
they do. That understanding allows me to give the author the benefit of
the doubt, to trust that they truly understand their stories, and to simply get lost in the storytelling. If characters make no
sense to me, if I can't understand their flaws, then I cannot give
myself up to the power of their stories.<br />
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Falling in love with a character in someone else's work is not so different from becoming enamored with our own. I've written recently about <a href="http://amaliecantor.blogspot.com/2014/08/a-change-in-scenery-setting-and.html">meeting one of my protagonists</a>. Purple prose aside, inspiration struck me in a moment when I most needed it to appear. Alisandra was already there, fully formed from the ether, or from my own mind, or from a crack in time and space between our two worlds. However she came to me, I cannot claim to have created her.<br />
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But for her story, I escape neither responsibility nor blame. In the end I will lay claim to having told her story as beautifully and accurately as I was able. But the work has not been in the inspiration: it has been in the craft.<br />
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Darcy Pattison wrote an excellent little blog post on <a href="http://www.darcypattison.com/characters/5-ways-to-keep-characters-consistent/">keeping characters consistent</a>. Of her methods, one of my favorite exercises for discovering characters involves a full immersion of myself into their world. What does life look like on a daily basis? How have the edges of that life, sharp or silken, carved the characters' personalities? What things have these story people seen or done that have contributed to the people they are becoming? <br />
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<a href="https://www.autocrit.com/editing/library/four-methods-for-interviewing-characters/">Character interviews</a> are another excellent tool for getting to know your characters. I particularly love the long outline in chapter seven of K.M. Weiland's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Outlining-Your-Novel-Map-Success-ebook/dp/B005NAUKAC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409226378&sr=8-1&keywords=outlining+your+novel"><i>Outlining Your Novel: Map Your Way to Success</i></a>. It gives a novelist a very in-depth idea of the kinds of things you should know about your character when writing them into a piece of fiction, and particularly into one the length of a novel.<br />
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I've also found altering my usual POV to be another excellent method of getting inside the minds of my characters--particularly if they are antagonists or minor players in the main story. I just slip into a first-person mindset and let their words run wild. I am always surprised at what they tell me about their own experiences. Even those characters I hate most have a right to have their stories heard; I don't have to ever repeat them to find them valuable.<br />
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These methods are indispensable to us as writers, because they help bring our characters to life in our own minds. I am wholeheartedly convinced that the real work is not in "coming up" with a character. It's in <i><b>understanding </b></i>the characters we've already met. We will never understand our characters' motivations, their actions
and reactions, if we do not understand them as people first. What does that scar over her left eye mean? Why does he always flinch when he hears the sound of running water? Why does she smirk when she gets angry?<br />
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In the end, designing a character for me is never about designing her to behave in subservience to my desired plot. It is always about getting to know her, meeting her at her level, and discovering who she is, was, and may yet be. If she trusts me to listen, to understand her story even if I don't agree with it, then she will trust me to tell it to others the best way I know how. My job is not to create. It's to take what's already there, a secret known to me alone, and to give it manifestation in the here and now, so that others can meet the characters that have entrusted me with their stories. <br />
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Crafting stories is both a buoying joy and a heavy responsibility. We have a sacred obligation to our characters to tell their stories the best way we can, and until we can embrace them, understand them as old friends, their stories will be little more than collections of pretty phrases without meaning.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-73818599499873037392014-08-24T20:29:00.005-05:002014-08-24T20:29:59.498-05:00A Change in Scenery - Setting and Stagnant WaterI met Alisandra on an unseasonably warm Sunday in February. My partner Katherine and I, glad for the warming weather after a relatively mild winter, decided to spend an afternoon out on the banks of a local lake with a picnic basket and a bottle of cheap wine. <br />
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Before long, we had devoured our lunches and were halfway through the zinfandel. We lay together on a ratty pink quilt and allowed our thoughts to wander. Katherine carefully observed the skyline on the opposite bank. As they often did, her eyes wandered over each flickering branch in awe of the way sun and shadow played amongst the sparse leaves rustling in the late winter breeze. I, on the other hand, was lost in the feel of crisp air brushing against my skin, and in a moment of impulse I stood and crossed barefoot to the water's edge. I dipped the toes of one foot into the frigid water. Although it was cold enough to bring pricks of pain to my skin, I couldn't move, frozen by a feeling in the center of my chest that I couldn't describe.<br />
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That's when she appeared. Within my mind's eye Alisandra stood, almost fully formed, on the banks of a frigid lake. I could not move out of sheer fascination. I wanted to know everything about this woman: who she was, how she'd come to be here, and perhaps most importantly, what she was doing.<br />
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I felt in my chest her longing, her desperation, her yearning. I asked her what she was waiting for. "I'm choosing my mistress," she whispered back. She stared into the distance as she waited faithfully for her hopes to manifest.<br />
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It took weeks for Alisandra to trust me enough to explain what she meant. Even then, she wouldn't trust me with her story all at once. First she gave me but a vignette, an image of the choice upon that bank. Then she gave me her novella, the shortened version of how she came to make the choice. The story that eventually grew from that initial meeting became <i>Choosing Her Chains</i>, my novel currently in the middle of major re-writes. And none of it would have come about had I not been foolish enough to dip my toes in frigid water on a cool day in February.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-av-5NlNwzb0/U_pRcuU0ERI/AAAAAAAAAE8/XBsQtLhqE9E/s1600/WP_20131116_029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-av-5NlNwzb0/U_pRcuU0ERI/AAAAAAAAAE8/XBsQtLhqE9E/s1600/WP_20131116_029.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken in October, not February. Sue me.</td></tr>
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Alisandra has been particularly silent lately. I normally count on her to drive me one way or another, to let me know when my story is falling short or when I'm getting the details wrong. The past few weeks, she seems to have left me to my own devices. She's confident with my plot choices, with my characterization, and the inevitable climax the novel will take. But something just hasn't been right. The atmosphere has been all wrong. I can't convey exactly the emotions I know she and her fellow characters have been feeling.<br />
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The lake's waters have fallen stagnant. Something has got to change. <br />
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My partner and I often take mini-vacations or day retreats with her family. We always have a great time together, and it allows us all to bond as well as relish in the fact that we're all adults (sort of) and don't have to drag whiny children around on our adventures.<br />
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As the summer fades into fall, one of our preferred retreats is <a href="http://www.turnerfallspark.com/">Turner Falls</a>, a beautiful park in Davis, Oklahoma. There's tons of hiking, picnic areas, etc., but we most love swimming in the various "natural swimming areas" surrounding the falls. The water is always cold and refreshing, even in the hottest days of summer, and the sheer volume of visitors more or less ensures safety from any unwanted serpentine residents. It's absolutely <i><b>brilliant</b></i>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_S_-CdW4caw/U_pPXBpxtQI/AAAAAAAAAEw/-MM-GuF7fps/s1600/WP_20130824_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_S_-CdW4caw/U_pPXBpxtQI/AAAAAAAAAEw/-MM-GuF7fps/s1600/WP_20130824_002.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water slide, anyone?</td></tr>
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This past Saturday, we found ourselves at a particular place in the park where a number of rocks sit underneath a series of small falls. If you have the fortitude (and balance) to climb over the algae-covered rocky bottom, you can make your way onto one of these rocks and enjoy the falls as they splash over your head and back. After much trial and error (and a few extra bruises), I sat on a particularly wide rock and watched as the others splashed around and avoided the rocky bottom. <br />
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A familiar hypnotic compulsion overtook me. I couldn't stop running my fingers over the rough stone edges of the fall. As the chilly water washed over me, I sat motionless, entranced. I was frozen, just as I'd been on the banks of that lake months before. I had a sudden realization. Of course the atmosphere in my novel had been wrong! I had been basing the whole time of year on my initial meeting with Alisandra in February. But no! The timing was all wrong!<br />
<br />
"Oppression is not cold and empty," Alisandra whispered to me. "It's the beating of the summer sun on a hot day, blistering and stagnant. The rush of water, no matter how frigid, whispers the song of freedom." She shook her head and chuckled (rather uncharitably) at me. I'd lost my footing in her story, not because the plot was "wrong" or the characters poorly portrayed, but because I was trying to fit them into my preconceived notions of setting. <br />
<br />
I've spent time the past day and a half re-reading old notes and drafts and re-sketching scenes as necessary to incorporate this new revelation. It's as if all those plot elements that were poorly tied together now flow along like rapids on a hot summer day. I can't guarantee the end result will be any better than it might have been, but at least now I'm no longer sitting stagnant, wondering what in the world I should do next.<br />
<br />
Sometimes all it takes is a change of scenery.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-82587866445539752692014-08-22T14:07:00.001-05:002014-08-22T14:07:53.966-05:00Creating the "Write" AtmosphereI had an itch to work on some dark prose this week, so I did what I normally do with short pieces. I sent off the second draft (because who wants to read the first one?) to people I trust (both published and unpublished authors and poets) for their preliminary thoughts. <br />
<br />
My favorite reviewer (one of my frequently published friends) spent most of his comments on the opening few lines. He wanted to remind me of the importance of establishing ambiance immediately.<br />
<br />
In writing poetic prose, plot isn't necessarily the most important part of the work. In fact, it might not even be a fully formed element. Instead, language reigns supreme. Emotion and setting become the primary characters. <b>Atmosphere means everything. </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<i>Time is rarely an excuse.</i></h3>
<br />
<br />
I spent some time last night on a webinar on "How to Find Time to Write" (hosted by <a href="https://twitter.com/Kevin_T_Johns">Kevin T. Johns</a>). I thought I'd find it useful, since I do have a full-time job and sometimes wonder how I'll ever find time to get writing done. <br />
<br />
Within the first twenty minutes, I realized that time has never been my problem. I've got it. Obviously. Right now I'm using the half an hour between the time I get out of the shower and the time I have to wake up my partner to work on blog posts. I pretty regularly take short writing breaks at work (rather than actually taking lunch). In the evenings, I tip-tap away at the keyboard while watching television.<br />
<br />
For me, the time is all right there. It exists. I can't use lack of time as an excuse. <br />
<br />
During the webinar, Kevin said he felt sorry for people who feel they have to write in particular settings, that they were missing opportunities for productivity by insisting on writing only when in the right mood, or at the right place, or at the right time. I'm sad to say that I may or may not be one of those people.<br />
<br />
I do get a lot of writing done in the midst of chaos. But that productivity usually takes the form of blog posts, short poems, etc. I have a lot of trouble fitting fiction into my writing day. And I think I've identified the root of the problem.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>In real life, as in prose, <u>atmosphere</u> <u>means</u> <u>everything</u></b></i>.</h3>
<br />
<br />
I am incredibly easily distracted. I don't know whether it's undiagnosed Adult ADD or just my penchant for getting lost in my head at random moments, but keeping my mind focused on a particular task can be incredibly difficult for me. Even now, I can't stop from periodically flipping over to twitter or Facebook, or from wondering whether I really ought to go ahead and start making coffee. Then my mind flits to the terrible coffee we have in our office and I think that yes, I really ought to make myself a giant tankard of coffee each morning before going to work. You know, I bet I could set that up the night before as well as make my lunch and I'd save time for writing in the mornings--<br />
<br />
--and I've come full circle, back to my working on this blog post and wondering whether it makes any sense because of my nonsensical ramblings. Perhaps, as I've just demonstrated, I'm perfectly capable of working on these sorts of projects in between thoughts as they flicker. It just works.<br />
<br />
Fiction is another beast entirely. For me, good storytelling requires me to step out of my reality. I have to look into my characters' world: to see what they see; to hear, touch, and feel what they feel; to be in that moment completely, or else I can't find just the right words. And therein lies the problem. How does one really focus on immersing herself in an atmosphere if she can't really get out of the distractions in real life?<br />
<br />
Right now, my lack of setting is hurting my fiction productivity way more than my lack of time. I live in a tiny studio apartment (no doors except for in the bathroom) with my partner and our feline compatriots. Because of our respective schedules, I am never home alone, which means truly immersive writing for me can ONLY take place in the morning before she's awake.<br />
<br />
I've also tried writing in my office at work. It helps, but only if it's in the early mornings or late evenings when the office is empty. I occasionally get some good work done in the local public library or in coffee shops. But I don't yet have a space of my own that I can dedicate to undistracted writing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>So how can we set the atmosphere, wherever we are?</b></i></h3>
<br />
I don't claim to have all the answers. Obviously, I still struggle with distraction on a daily basis. However, I do have some suggestions that I've found at least partially helpful.<br />
<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>1. Headphones -- </b>I have a pair of awesome (but inexpensive) headphones. They don't block out all sound, but they do at least give me a semblance of privacy. I could never get anything done in a coffee shop without them. In this particular instance, I don't suggest earbuds, but instead the larger, more traditional style of headphones. This suggestion is based on my personal experience--I have yet to get a set of earbuds that give me as much privacy as the larger style can. Perhaps they frighten would-be distractors away. :) <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rKb_wDucTYA/U_cwd95sExI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/AuhqwDopowY/s1600/zu8127475_main_tm1392992524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rKb_wDucTYA/U_cwd95sExI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/AuhqwDopowY/s1600/zu8127475_main_tm1392992524.jpg" height="320" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't need Dr. Dre to jam.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>2. Find some music or background noise -- </b>I know, I know. Why create background noise when you're trying to get away from distractions? The object here is to find some sort of sound that not only sets you in a good mood for writing but also helps cancel out any extraneous noise (that you have no control over) going on around you. Some writers swear by setting their own playlists and writing while listening to those. Some prefer Pandora or other streaming services that allow you to pick a "genre" you find inspiring. I'll listen to Pandora occasionally, but I actually much prefer the background noise generator at <a href="http://noisli.com/">Noisli.com</a>. If I can't be out by the water at least let me pretend I am. :)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EzvsMaWg4Ek/U_cym4BuR6I/AAAAAAAAAEc/UpuMQceFf1o/s1600/WP_20130824_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EzvsMaWg4Ek/U_cym4BuR6I/AAAAAAAAAEc/UpuMQceFf1o/s1600/WP_20130824_006.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Will someone please buy me a waterproof notebook?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>3. Sit facing a wall -- </b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Writing-Stephen-King-ebook/dp/B000FC0SIM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1408732694&sr=8-1&keywords=on+writing+stephen+king">Stephen King advocates working facing a corner</a>. If you've got visual access to lots of interesting things, they're very likely to draw your thoughts away from your work. Sure, an item or two might help inspire you--your character's eyes are just that shade of aquamarine--but having an abundance of visual distractions is just asking for trouble.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Have all supplies at hand -- </b>Before you sit down, make sure you've got anything you might need to work. Laptop, books, kindle (because yes, I have references in e-book), pens, pencils, whatever items you might need to work on your chosen project for the day. There's nothing worse than having to get up and down all morning or afternoon because you have to go searching for something you need but didn't have on you.<br />
<br />
<b>5. Close all extraneous computer windows -- </b>If you do most of your work on a computer (like I do), then close out any windows or tabs you don't need before you start. Seriously. Leaving them open will KILL your atmosphere. Even now I see a second tab opened to Twitter, and as I watch that little (55) move up to (74), it takes all of my will power NOT to check it. Don't do it. You're here to write, not to stalk people on social media.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Blogging has demonstrated to me that I have the power to write in a variety of atmospheres, and even to switch between them relatively quickly. But sometimes, the demands of your story insist upon a certain atmosphere. Do what you have to do to make it. Your work deserves it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-8281567050114744832014-08-20T18:50:00.001-05:002014-08-20T18:50:38.067-05:00Fake It, Baby! The Power of a F.I.B.This morning, one of my dear friends shared with our writing community a
(true) story about her daughter. The little girl woke in tears from the
middle of a dream. In this disturbing nightmare, a horde of mischievous
faeries threatened to take away her mother, the writer of their destiny, if she
didn't complete a (perfectly positive) story about them. The little girl
would not be consoled. Even though one of the faeries got gobbled up by
their Great Dane. She absolutely insisted her mother write the story,
lest she be carted away by a horde of faeries. <br />
<br />
What strikes me about this amusing little anecdote is not so much its humor
(though there is plenty to be found), but its earnestness. This little
girl sees her mother as a writer, a writer with the power to create her own
salvation, or to doom herself with her own negligence. What a wonderful
gift, to be seen as such a powerful woman by someone who loves you!<br />
<br />
Writing is at the heart of my friend's identity. It is what she loves,
who she is, and that simple "being" reflects in her daughter's
attitudes and opinions.<br />
<br />
But what about the rest of us? I am but one of a flood of unpublished
amateurs out in murky waters wondering whether I will ever be comfortable
enough <a href="http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/at-what-point-can-you-call-yourself-a-writer">to
call myself a writer</a>. I work an ordinary day job, where I push papers and
manage administrative "emergencies" on a day-to-day basis.
Those tasks pay my bills, but they do not define who I am. When meeting
new people, I introduce myself by name and job title. Their primary
understanding of my identity comes from my place of employment. And
usually, I allow the misconception.<br />
<br />
When I was teaching high school band, we had a saying we would tell our
students when performance anxiety took over: "F.I.B. - Fake It,
Baby!" We didn't need their confidence. We just needed them to
<b><i>act </i></b>like they had it. Funny how that works. As many
of them learned to fib, to fake their way through the paces, they actually got
better. What had been holding them back was neither talent nor lack of
discipline, but fear. They just needed to push through, to put on an air
of confidence until some magical day when they actually had it.<br />
<br />
For a long time I considered writing a hobby. It was this task I did
in my spare time that brought me pleasure, but it was not something to be proud
of, to tell my family about, to post about in blogs or chat rooms. It was
just something that I did under the cover of darkness, when I was too
emotionally wrought to express myself in any other way.<br />
<br />
But what happens when hobby becomes vocation? When you begin waking each
morning planning your writing day, or going to bed each night hoping your
dreams will bring you new ideas for the next day? What happens
then? How do you burst from the closet with fountain pen in hand and say
"Guess what? I'm a writer!"?<br />
<br />
Maybe fibbing is the key to making that transition, to going from a hobbyist to
someone proud of a chosen vocation (whether or not it ever pays us a
dime).<br />
<br />
Bryan Hutchinson argues that, as writers, <a href="http://positivewriter.com/fear/">fear is not our enemy:</a><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> "On the contrary, courage, confidence and even so called
fearlessness are the results of facing, embracing and finally, dancing with
your fears." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>~Bryan Hutchinson, <a href="http://positivewriter.com/">PositiveWriter.com</a></i></span></blockquote>
<br />
His point is that we need not be fearless. We only must keep writing
anyway. I believe we have to take it a step further. We have to
share that writing with others, even through the fear. When we meet
someone at a party, we can't limit ourselves to saying "I am a sales
associate" or "I am a homemaker" or "I'm a
contractor." For many of us our day jobs are only a way to pay the
bills. Let's act like it, ignore the fear, and tell it like it really
is--even if we don't believe it yet.<br />
<br />
I'm Amalie Cantor, and I'm a writer. Who are you?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-56861261312659201642014-08-18T21:07:00.001-05:002014-08-18T21:13:20.441-05:00Keeping the Darkness InThis past week, a blog post has been making the rounds on Twitter (again) on <a href="http://booksbywomen.org/writing-toxic/">toxic writing</a>. Colleen McCarty poses an interesting question: "<i>But what about the flip side?</i> What happens when what you’re imagining and creating on the page starts to become your reality?"<br />
<br />
I'm not known for writing <a href="http://amaliecantor.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-unsympathetic-protagonist.html">sympathetic characters</a>. My protagonists are oftentimes selfish cowards, some of whom find redemption, but some of whom exist only to shed light on the humanity of those around them. I gain catharsis from writing these sorts of characters. There's something alluring about sinking into their heads, about getting into the darkness that both plagues humanity and makes it beautiful.<br />
<br />
For most writers, characters, and particularly protagonists, are mere extrapolations of the way we see ourselves. Some might argue that I, therefore, have a somewhat dismal viewpoint of myself. That much is at least somewhat true. But it's therapeutic to take these character flaws, the ones that represent the worst of myself, and bring them into the open. It allows me to examine them objectively, to set them at a distance, but also to learn how to integrate them into the whole of my being. My flaws, and the scars they have created, are as much a part of me as are my virtues.<br />
<br />
Not that McCarty doesn't have a very valid point. The truth is that, when I'm writing a particularly dark scene, when I'm mining myself for that almost sadistic part of me that becomes excited by cruelty, by selfishness, by violence, I can become unbearable for days afterward. I get snappy. I become withdrawn. I am more interested in losing myself to the darkness than I am in exploring the light. My poor fiancee often gets the brunt of it. Sometimes it's so bad that I have to pull myself completely out of the project for a few days, lest I become irretrievably lost.<br />
<br />
But I think my partner also gets it. By writing characters that are so like me, I learn how why I should not make the same choices they do. I learn what it means to be selfless, to give, to be bright and cheery and caring. My darkness is not expunged, never that. But I learn to use it in balance, to allow both parts of myself time to shine. In my day-to-day life, my bubbly personality and desire to help others shine through almost everything I do--at least that's what my coworkers tell me.<br />
<br />
But at night, with the lights low and the laptop screen burning, the darkness bubbles up from inside the depths of my heart, bleeding onto the page in thorny characters and misshapen opportunities. I long to cultivate that darkness, to bring from within it something haunting and dirty and lovely. To allow it to fade would be to lose the beauty of who I am as a person.<br />
<br />
So, yes, Ms. McCarty. I am one of those authors that writes to keep the darkness in. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-69838373647363472202014-08-16T21:09:00.003-05:002014-08-16T21:14:58.405-05:00The Power of Words, The Power of DoubtI wrote today's post in response to the contest over at <a href="http://positivewriter.com/writing-contest-doubt/">Positive Writer - Overcoming Writer's Doubt</a>. In the week or so since I've found it, Bryan Hutchinson's work has become a much needed source of inspiration for me. Thanks for running such a great contest and such an inspirational site! :) <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * * </div>
<br />
Neither faith nor doubt are instinctual. Each is cultivated from the gradual outpouring of words. A single word, sentence, or phrase may float past us with little notice. But over time, each shouted taunt or whispered praise blasts over us like grains of sand. From both within and without we are eroded, sculpted; the people we might have been are molded into the people we become.<br />
<br />
I learned to read fairly young. By three, I was mispronouncing words in my mother's nursing textbooks. I mimicked the curves of letters as words blossomed on the margins of my Barbie coloring books. I read voraciously, usually without much concern for pictures on the page. They could not match the images that drew themselves in my mind's eye. <br />
<br />
By third or fourth grade, I had learned that to be smart was to be different. That being different made you a target for ridicule and shame. My bullies were but scared kids themselves, but their words had power, the power to destroy, to ruin. I chose to stick to myself, to keep company only with others who hid among the shadows. Words sculpted me into an elementary school hermit.<br />
<br />
Of course, words also allowed me to explore myself and the world around me in relative safety. I devoured the words of my favorite authors and wanted nothing more than to emulate them. I began my first novel in 7th grade. I wanted to create something as dark and beautiful as my favorite Christopher Pike stories. I showed it to my mother. She sent those first chapters to a friend at a local university. I never read her response. I couldn't handle the assured heartbreak. I knew quite well I "couldn't do it." Why invite criticism?<br />
<br />
Still, I loved to write, to twist those 26 characters into strange and unusual combinations. I wrote some poetry. Toyed with fiction. Posted on deadjournal, xanga, whatever "blogging" site was popular at the time. I never really expected anyone to read anything. Looking back, I'm pretty sure I didn't want them to.<br />
<br />
Years passed. I stopped writing creatively and started writing academically. The university embraced me. I could put the right words in the right places, could easily meet and often exceed my instructors' standards. I knew how to give them exactly what they wanted. I thought, "I could do this for a living." Praise for my work became a drug for me. I had no high so euphoric as receiving a paper back from a professor full of praise, light correction, and even thoughtful consideration. For the first time, I believed I'd found a place where I belonged.<br />
<br />
Then grad school happened. I'd spent a few years out of my element, teaching full-time, but I'd needed more than anything to be back home in academia. If only my professors had felt the same way. They challenged me in ways I couldn't imagine. Was I acceptable? Yes. But I felt as if I was just barely reaching the bar.<br />
<br />
Then came my master's thesis. My adviser became more irritated with me which each draft. "Amalie," she once said, "you have a talent for putting together pretty words that <b>don't mean anything</b>." On that day, my dream of becoming a professor shattered all over her office's dirty grey linoleum.<br />
<br />
I hated how her words broke me, how they continued to break me, until the day I finally finished. I walked away from grad school with my GPA, if not my ambition, intact. All confidence I'd gained in five years as an undergraduate vanished in six months as I tried to finish one goddamned paper that no one would ever read.<br />
<br />
I wrote nothing--fiction, essays, poetry, prose--for almost a year, one of the harshest of my life. I was a woman in crisis, employed, but at just above minimum wage. I had three degrees but used none of them. Worst of all, I didn't believe I deserved anything more.<br />
<br />
Slowly, I climbed out of my depression. I realized, in retrospect, what my adviser had been trying to accomplish. She'd wanted to craft me into the kind of thinker, the kind of <i style="font-weight: bold;">writer</i>, that she knew I could be. But her words held power, and rather than build me up, they'd eroded all my confidence away. It would be up to me to get it back.<br />
<br />
I turned once again to prose. I hoped to express the doubts that followed me like a cluster of vipers snapping at my heels. In writing, I expelled the venom of a life I didn't know I hadn't wanted. I wrangled myself a new job and a brilliant fiancee. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could take my writing seriously again.<br />
<br />
The day the doubt lifted, I'd been writing feverishly for hours. My partner and I were at one of our favorite coffee shops, sipping meltaway lattes, when I handed her my laptop. "I've been toying with this short story all day. Read it and give me your opinion?" She put her own sketchpad away and nodded. I headed toward the ladies' room. I couldn't watch her face as she read.<br />
<br />
When I came back, she had tears in her eyes. I looked at her in concern, but she lifted her face to me and said, "Baby, it's beautiful." In those three words, the rip in my soul--the one that had torn me apart since that day in my adviser's office--began to heal. I'd given a professor's words the power to destroy me. I'd never thought to let my partner heal me with hers.<br />
<br />
Words are powerful. There are still days when I fear the power intrinsic in my voice, in my hands, on the tips of my fingers. Each and every word I say, whether shining and brilliant or dull, dank, and dark, has the power to erode away who another person might be. But it also has the power to sculpt them into the kind of person they want to become.<br />
<br />
I only hope it's the latter.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-90216448968616565802014-08-15T13:31:00.002-05:002014-08-15T13:31:40.050-05:00Riding the ChangesThis week has been hell on my normal writing schedule. <br />
<br />
My partner (a beginning artist) and I had a plan all mapped out to increase our productivity levels, which has been lower this summer than we'd like. We were going to spend all day Saturday getting our tiny studio apartment reorganized. Space is at a premium in our home, and we thought doing a bit of rearranging would give us both some much needed work space. <br />
<br />
Saturday was VERY successful. We got a LOT done and our living room opened up quite a bit to allow for Katherine's painting. We were exhausted and hot, so about 7 pm we decided to put the rest off until the next day.<br />
<br />
Procrastination is a dream killer. Seriously.<br />
<br />
By 8 am Sunday morning, the temperature in the apartment had climbed to about 85 °F. The air conditioner was out. Again. So for the next several days, I spent my days commuting between the apartment (to see what work had been finished) and my sister-in-law's house in the city. She and her roommate were lovely and hosted us (and our two very unhappy felines) in their guest room while the air was out of commission.<br />
<br />
I tried to write some this past week. I really did. I even pulled my laptop out. Once. But I was out of my element. I was still working my normal schedule, but I lost 30 minutes of my precious schedule (in each direction) to the morning commute. Of course, the loss of that extra time coincides with my office's final week of the summer semester, a week which is historically our busiest. Each night this week I've arrived at the house tired and cranky and only half-fluent in some previously undiscovered dialect of English. My carefully crafted dreams of spending this week in creative ecstasy with our newly reorganized and tidy apartment were obliterated right there on the unexpectedly hot linoleum floor.<br />
<br />
I am, by nature, a scheduler. I live and die by the clock, and while at work, by my Outlook calendar. I would never know when I am supposed to be where without it. So for me, the only way to ensure I'll do ANY significant writing is to create a time-slot for it.<br />
<br />
I did try. Each night on the way back to the house, I planned. "This house usually eats dinner at about 8. I'll get home at about 5, say hello to everyone, and then lock myself in the bedroom to write from about 6 to 7." What actually happened:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Me: I need to write a bit before dinner tonight.<br />
Katherine: Of course, sweetie. Do what you need to do.<br />
Me: *starts to head to bedroom*<br />
Katherine: By the way, Jenn and I randomly decided we should clean the pool for the very first time all summer. Wanna go swim for a bit while it's still warm?<br />
Me: *brief pause* Sure. I should have a bit of time for that.</blockquote>
<br />
Four hours later, we're still in the pool, the sun has long set, and no, we never did have dinner. My carefully planned schedule was interrupted, which meant the whole rest of the day was obviously blown. Repeat this scenario three more times and you've got a relatively clear picture of my week.<br />
<br />
My partner has exactly the opposite predilection. She can't schedule anything to save her life. "It'll happen when I get to it" seems to be her life mantra. I'm constantly harassing her to get herself on some semblance of a schedule so she can accomplish what she wants to accomplish. Never works. She finds it stifling.<br />
<br />
Yet in this week, when she was at the mercy of both my work schedule (and thus the absence of the car) and the schedule of her sister AND the unpredictability of the maintenance crew, she managed to actually get a lot of things done: cleaning the pool, working on some painting, etc. It's as if a switch inside her flipped and said "Wow, I have this opportunity to do these things that I didn't think I'd have. Let me go do it." Now, if she knows that she will have between 3 and 5 today to herself to paint, she's not interested. Go figure.<br />
<br />
I envy that spirit of adventure that follows Katherine around like a little spastic cloud of paint balls wildly destroying (and beautifying) all my hard-laid plans. My point of view is usually limited to "How can I make this thing happen/not happen?" Hers is more "I wonder what's going to happen now?" The discrepancy makes me crazy, but for some strange reason I'm still marrying her. I must be a bit of a masochist.<br />
<br />
There are many excellent blog posts out there about how to schedule a writing career or hobby around another full-time job or other commitments, and almost all of them emphasize the need for a writing routine. (<a href="http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/7-writing-routines-that-work">"Writing Routines that Work"</a> is one of my favorites.) I can't say I disagree with any of them. But sometimes things happen, and my routine is pretty much thrown out the window. How then do I learn to ride the changes? How can I become more flexible to changing currents and less like an iceberg?<br />
<br />
Looking back on the week, I can identify a dozen small choices that, although they might not have resulted in my designated 1500+ words a day, would have gotten me closer to my goals. I could have sat on the side of the pool and read the short stories I'm working on aloud to my partner. I would have caught my own grammar mistakes that way AND gotten her feedback. I might have turned on the voice recorder on my cell phone as we lounged in the waters and told her about some of my new story ideas. I would have gotten her ideas as well as played with turns of phrase that might shine up into something sparkly. When her sister wanted to drink wine and play cards with us that one night, I could have had a notebook and pen sitting aside so that when someone said something particularly outrageous or funny, I could jot it down for possible use later.<br />
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I often over-emphasize the importance of a schedule. I miss opportunities to hang out with friends, to have lunch at that new Thai place, to go see an excellent movie, because it interferes with my preconceived ideas of what I'm supposed to be doing at that time. Then, when those oh-so-precious plans fall apart anyway, I'm totally useless. I don't know how to cope.<br />
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The truth is, by focusing on what I didn't have time to do (which is almost always untrue anyway), I miss out on experiencing the things in life that would make me a better writer. Moreover, I miss out on the things worth writing about. <br />
<br />
My narcissism has mumbled to myself a million times why my partner isn't more like me. Why she can't abide by schedules, why doing what she knows she can seems to be such a chore. Then, something like this past weekend happens, and I remember that sometimes, only sometimes, I need to learn to be more like her.<br />
<br />
Here's to air conditioning restored, to routines reestablished, and to riding the changes. May we all make the most of what we've got. <br />
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Even if it wasn't on the schedule. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-6716942191317524482014-08-14T10:40:00.001-05:002014-08-14T10:40:01.339-05:00Writers in Community - Reading, Reviewing, and the Self-Publishing CommunityNo one, not even a curmudgeonly old hermit of a writer, exists in total isolation.<br />
<br />
The beauty of writing is that, although it can certainly be an exercise in self-exploration, it is just as often an activity partaken in community. (Why else would blogs be so popular?) Many of the best authors of at least the last three hundred years were guided by mentors and colleagues, sometimes through formal education, but oftentimes through simple companionship. Mary Shelley spent a summer with Lord Byron and her lover-turned-husband Percy Bysshe Shelley. The Brontë sisters shared a love of writing that helped push all three to publication. Closer to modern times, Margaret Atwood, with several colleagues, founded the Writers' Trust of Canada. Clearly, these women understood the value of writers helping writers.<br />
<br />
For most of my life, I chose to write in isolation. I sometimes shared a poem or short story with a trusted friend or family member, but I had neither the courage nor the determination to share anything with the outside world. <br />
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My life changed when I joined <a href="http://writing.com/">writing.com</a> in June 2013. At first, I was totally lost, flailing wildly amongst a sea of amateurs and professionals of all writing levels, and I had no idea what to do. One of the groups on the site took me under their wing, and introduced me to the wonderful world of reviewing. I have been hooked ever since.<br />
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Let me clarify, for the sake of this post, what I mean by a review. I am not referring to those lovely pieces that fans (or critics) of works list on Amazon.com, personal blogs, or in the New York Times. These pieces are written as critiques of works that have been published/completed and presented to the public for review. No, when I think of a review, I'm not thinking of those authors who send around mass requests for 5-star reviews on their published babies (which may or may not deserve the 5 stars in the first place). Instead, I think of a particular form of helpful, encouraging critique given to fellow authors/poets on their works-in-progress. I love giving them, I love getting them, and I want you to learn to love them, too.<br />
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<br />
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Why Should I Review?</b></span></h2>
Reviewing, particularly for works-in-progress, can be a winning
situation for everyone involved in the process. Writers receive honest
opinions of their work, which can help them improve it. Readers (if the
review is public) get an honest appraisal of whether they might enjoy
the work before reading it. Reviewers get the opportunity to read
unpublished/incomplete works, which can be both informative and
encouraging--it's always nice to know we aren't the only ones who make
mistakes! Personally, as both a reviewer and a recipient of well-constructed reviews, I honestly believe the reviewer receives just as much--if not more--out of the review as does the recipient. Here's why:<br />
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<br />
<h3>
<b> 1. Name Recognition</b> </h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Do a great job on a review and you'll lure new readers into your own works. Sometimes a well-thought out review will gain you special recognition on someone else's blog, twitter, etc. Before you know it, people are coming to you with review requests, which means even more traffic to your own work. Everybody wins!</blockquote>
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<h3>
<b>2. Receive More Reviews </b></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Giving a great review makes it more likely that others will provide great reviews to you. If you're in self-publishing, getting unbiased, encouraging, and honest reviews from your readers can help you identify flaws in the writing and also help gauge the response of potential readers. </blockquote>
<h3>
3<b>. Learn What To Do</b></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The most important benefit of reviewing other people's work is that it teaches you what makes a successful piece of writing. When you intentionally read something with a critical eye, and not strictly for pleasure, you start to notice more and more the kinds of elements that really draw you into the work. These insights can assist you when you're revising your own work.</blockquote>
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<h3>
<b>4. Learn What Not To Do</b></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The corollary of learning what to do is learning what NOT to do. As you're helping other writers identify potential flaws or problematic aspects of their work, you're also learning how to identify them in your own, which makes self-revision a much more fruitful (if not less painful) process.</blockquote>
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Until the past year, I don't believe I've ever offered anyone an extensive critical review of a work-in-progress (informal discussions of classwork not included). I also have written one or two, maybe even three poems or vignettes in a given year. Yet in the past year, I've seen my own productivity explode, which directly correlates to how much time I've spent reviewing. Reading the works of other people can be one of the most exciting and inspiring parts of my writing day.<br />
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<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Why is Reviewing Important in Self-Publishing?</b></span></h2>
<br />
More and more, authors are turning to self-publishing as a way of distributing and marketing their works. The reasons for choosing self-publishing over traditional are as complex as reasons for choosing a book itself. However, self-published authors concede some valuable assistance when foregoing traditional publication. The most important of these is use of the all-important professional editor.<br />
<br />
Please let me preface what follows with a disclaimer: <b>There is almost never an adequate substitute for the services of a professional editor/proofreader. </b>Professionals have the experience. They know exactly what to look for when taking apart a piece of work and stitching it back together again, and your work will almost always be better for their assistance. <br />
<br />
But let's also not ignore the fact that, when you're self-publishing, you may or may not have the budget that professional editing requires. Realistically, a very good writer may spend forever in obscurity because they needed a bit of help in editing that they never received.<br />
<br />
And here is where reviewing comes in. Reviewers are no substitute for the line-by-line editing of a professional, but they can help give an author the best possible shot at fixing errors before they become overly problematic. A good reviewer will encourage you, but also alert you to things that can really effect the opinions of your readership. <i>"If I read the word 'chagrin' one more time..." </i><br />
<br />
That being said, a certain amount of emotional distance from reader to reviewer is crucial. If I want glowing praise from a piece, I send it to my mother. If I want glowing encouragement with grammar edits, I send it to my partner. But if I want a down and dirty, nitty gritty, outright destruction of anything subpar in my work, I go to my writing groups or to critiquing partners.<br />
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In the end, whether going the traditional route or self-publishing, having extra eyes on your work is almost never a bad thing. Listen to the opinions of others, offer your own opinions in return, and then decide what to heed and what to throw out. In the end it's your work; you must take responsibility for the final product. You might as well make it the best you can.<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>How Can I Get Started?</b></span><br />
<br />
So maybe you're thinking you'd like to get into this whole "reviewing" thing. How do you start? Remember, trading reviews is a social activity, which means somehow you're going to have to put yourself out there and just dive in!<br />
<br />
<h3>
1. Find and join a local writing group.</h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
There is something irreplaceable about meeting with other writers face-to-face to examine one another's work. You gain invaluable experience along with friends and allies on your writing journey. Check out local libraries, bookstores, or even the internet to find possible writing groups that exist in your area. You might be able to find a group through sites such as <a href="http://www.meetup.com/">Meetup</a> or <a href="http://www.craigslist.org/">craiglist</a>, but do proceed with caution.</blockquote>
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<br />
<h3>
2. Find a writing group online.</h3>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Websites for events like <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a> and <a href="https://campnanowrimo.org/">Camp NaNoWriMo</a> are excellent for finding like-minded individuals either in your area or across the world. You might also check out sharing and reviewing sites such as <a href="http://writing.com/">Writing.com</a>, <a href="http://writerscafe.org/">WritersCafe.org</a>, or <a href="http://www.writers-network.com/">Writers-Network</a>. Each site will have its own pros and cons, so explore as many as you can before settling down with one (or all) of them. I personally recommend <a href="http://writing.com/">Writing.com</a>, as I myself frequently review there, and there are all sorts of free (or very very inexpensive--think $1 in "gift points" or so for most) courses run by volunteers to help you hone those reviewing skills.</blockquote>
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<h3>
3. Explore social media.</h3>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
You'd be surprised how many people are actively seeking reviewers online through other forms of social media (Facebook or Twitter, anyone?). Read a good book? Write a review and post it on a blog. Maybe you'll get a re-tweet or a follow out of the deal, and either way you've had the opportunity to really delve into a fellow writer's work.</blockquote>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
At the end of the day, few writing exercises, in my opinion, give you as much bang for the buck as time spent in reading and reviewing others' work, particularly with works-in-progress. You get all the benefits of writing with all the benefits of reading, and you get to do your part to serve the larger community of writers out there. Give it a try. The worst that can happen is that you get to explore the work of another writer. Even the most curmudgeonly of old hermits need a connection once in a while.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<i><i>Check out examples of my reviews at <a href="http://www.writing.com/main/profile/reviews/fallenmercury">Writing.Com</a>. </i>In an event earlier this year, I was honored to be awarded the 2013 <a href="http://www.writing.com/main/forums/item_id/1376303-The-Quill-Awards">"Quill Award,"</a> for "Best Reviewer." If you're ever interested in a review swap, drop me a line! I love getting to read the work of new writers and gaining my own readers in return.</i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-28027903990199547052014-08-13T10:30:00.001-05:002014-08-13T10:30:19.397-05:00Mental Illness and the Creative MindMonday afternoon, as I was preparing for a quick nap before dinner, I read that Robin Williams, one of the greatest comedians and actors of our time, has <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2014/08/11/showbiz/robin-williams-dead/index.html">passed away</a>. I didn't want to post anything until official confirmation of the cause of death had been reported, but news outlets have now confirmed that he died by his own hand. He had apparently been suffering from severe depression for some time. In one unfortunate decision taken by a desperate man, the world lost a brilliant, creative mind.<br />
<br />
Although Williams was adored by many, the conversation has already begun shifting away from fawning memorials to questions about his life, his intentions, the dark things from his past. I heard evidence of it on the radio on the way to work both yesterday and this morning. My coworkers are all discussing how their Facebook feeds have essentially exploded with both memorials and criticisms of the man. His struggles with addiction, his three marriages, his somewhat criticized relationships with his kids--all these things and more are slowly but predictably coming under the microscope. Already in many of the more popular (even if I don't understand why) blogs, he has been criticized for being selfish, or for being cowardly, or for being responsible for his own choice. I will not give them traffic by linking them here, but all you have to do is perform a google search and you'll find them, I promise you.<br />
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Mental illness is a deadly disease, for which suicide often seduces a sufferer with promise of an ultimate cure. Williams is only the latest in a long dark history, paved with the lives of countless artists, writers, musicians, and comedians, some of the most creatively gifted of their times. Kurt Cobain. Ernest Hemingway. Sylvia Plath. Vincent van Gogh. Virginia Woolf. At least anecdotally, the rate of mental illness amongst those in the creative professions seems higher than among the general population. Some more recent studies have confirmed <a href="http://ki.se/en/news/link-between-creativity-and-mental-illness-confirmed">there is a correlation between those in creative professions and mental illness</a>.<br />
<br />
In one 2013 study, researchers noted that <a href="http://www.journalofpsychiatricresearch.com/article/S0022-3956%2812%2900280-4/abstract?cc=y?cc=y">writers specifically were at greater risk</a> for any number of mental illnesses, including schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, substance abuse, and yes, even suicide. The brilliance and tragedy of the creative mind is its gift for seeing things in new ways, not all of which are bright and sunny and joyous. Sometimes the darkness draws us in without our knowledge. Sometimes we dive into it willingly, choosing to hide within the shadows of human consciousness. Unfortunately, danger lurks in those shadows. We swim through the darkest of humanity, and we are not left unscarred.<br />
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I once thought that suicide was a "permanent solution to a temporary problem." The very good intentions of the statement--intended to inspire sufferers to look for hope in a better tomorrow--ignore the fact that sometimes mental illness is not temporary. For many people, these diseases are manageable but chronic. To suggest otherwise, that somehow a miracle cure is the only desirable outcome of such a battle, is ill-advised at best and horribly callous at worst.<br />
<br />
I myself struggle with <a href="http://www.mentalhealth.com/home/dx/dysthymic.html">persistent depressive disorder</a> and have since I was very young. I have fought off the urge to take drastic self-harming measures more times than I care to admit. Is it true that the condition sometimes goes into remission? Absolutely. Is it true that some people have eventually found themselves free of the disease? Of course it is. But to tell me that my only goal should be to overcome it entirely detracts from all of the efforts I have taken to <i><b>live</b> </i>with it, each and every day of my life, no matter how hard a task that seems.<br />
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Suicide <i><b>is </b></i>permanent. <b>It isn't selfish, it isn't cowardly, and it isn't its victims' fault.</b> But it <i><b>is </b></i>permanent. The very beauty of life is that, from moment to moment, it contains infinite potentialities for change. To be fair, not all of those possibilities are positive. In five minutes, I might get a phone call announcing that everyone I love is dead and gone. Tomorrow morning, I could discover I'm suffering from an incurable cancer. A week from now, I might be evicted from my apartment. These are all very real worries, some more realistic than others, but real. To imply that everyone's tomorrow <b>will be bright and beautiful</b> is not only shallow--it's demonstrably <b>wrong</b>. <br />
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But then, there are other possibilities. Some are perhaps pipe dreams. My novel in-production might sell 7,000,000 copies and make me rich, eliminating all my financial worries. My mother might call me to tell me she won a million dollars and is giving me a cut of it. I might wake up with no health issues at all, with my knees and joints in better shape than they have been since high school.<br />
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But then there are other perfectly possible scenarios. I might get offered a promotion at work. My partner and sister-in-law might have a delicious fajita dinner ready for me when I get home. I might get a publication acceptance letter. I might get to spend an excellent day out by the pool. Just because my life tomorrow might actually get worse doesn't negate its ability to get better.<br />
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To me, it's the positive possibilities that make the negative ones, if I can't ignore them entirely, bearable. Every day I fight to embrace those possibilities, to keep pushing forward in the hope that tomorrow, even if not perfect, will be better than today.<br />
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Robin Williams, at least in this life, has run out of possibilities for change. It's tragic and heart-wrenching and I pray that he's found rest from the demons that were plaguing him. It wasn't selfish. It wasn't cowardly. It wasn't his fault. But he'll never sign another movie deal. He'll never get another comedy special. He'll never get to help a friend in a time of need. Those possibilities are now over for him.<br />
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Don't ignore the infinite potential of your life, no matter what shape it may be in now. It could be taken from you in a moment. Don't let it go without a fight.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wJo4z_ECSbI/U-t1Y_pzl8I/AAAAAAAAAD8/U-Q1nM4REJ8/s1600/Ribbon-with-logo-lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="National Suicide Prevention Lifeline" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wJo4z_ECSbI/U-t1Y_pzl8I/AAAAAAAAAD8/U-Q1nM4REJ8/s1600/Ribbon-with-logo-lg.jpg" title="National Suicide Prevention Lifeline" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/">http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
If you are interested in learning more about mental illness, about how to cope with it yourself or to cope with helping loved ones who suffer, I highly encourage taking a look at some of these links by some of the professionals out in the field. They have much better things to say than I would.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml">What is Depression?</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.nami.org/Content/ContentGroups/Helpline1/Coping_Tips_for_Siblings_and_Adult_Children_of_Persons_with_Mental_Illness.htm">Coping Tips for Siblings and Adult Children of Persons with Mental Illness</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/mental-illness/basics/coping-support/con-20033813">Coping & Support - Mental Illness</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.webmd.com/mental-health/coping-stigma-illness">Coping with the Stigma of Mental Illness</a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-22905294453565500822014-08-09T21:11:00.001-05:002014-08-13T10:28:52.074-05:00Retention & Racism at Hogwarts -- The Importance of What We Don't SayMy fiancee
and I are nerds. We tend to obsess over fictional characters more than we do the people in our lives. Why discuss mom's new diet when you could argue over the alignment of timelines in <i>Doctor Who?</i><br />
<br />
As an example, yesterday afternoon we were enjoying a midday snack at a local restaurant. Enjoying the emptiness of the venue, we decided to discuss matters of great importance to us: namely, what the retention rate for muggle-born students at Hogwarts might be. Obviously, they can perform magic just as well as pure-blood/half-blood students (shout-out to Hermione Granger & Lily Evans Potter, eh?). Lily is nigh on deified in the story. And Hermione's knowledge of the wizarding world could put some pure-blood brats to shame.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BrXcShemFig/U-U10e4ZDAI/AAAAAAAAADs/NFd8Ed7u39A/s1600/hermione-granger-magicienne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hermione Granger - Deathly Hallows" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BrXcShemFig/U-U10e4ZDAI/AAAAAAAAADs/NFd8Ed7u39A/s1600/hermione-granger-magicienne.jpg" height="266" title="Hermione Granger - Deathly Hallows" width="400" /></a></div>
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But where are all the "first generation" muggle-borns? Lily Potter seems to be the exception rather than the rule in Harry's parents' generation. Most of the mentioned characters are either half-blood or pure-blood. There are a handful of older muggle-born witches (Kendra Dumbledore as one possibility), but very few of them are active characters in the world of the novels. It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume some of those muggle-borns simply hid their heritage to be more accepted in a highly prejudiced society.<br />
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But I cannot help but wonder. How many muggle-born witches and wizards might have existed who simply chose to leave the wizarding world behind, either during Hogwarts or shortly thereafter? I am sure there are many individuals out there who know better than I do the details of the books and will probably knock me right off my pondering stool, but I do wonder why there isn't more visible evidence of their existence in the novels.<br />
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I once read a fan fiction in which some of the most prejudiced of Hogwarts students were given the opportunity to describe the reasons for their prejudice. One Slytherin argued that muggle-born students rarely fully adapted to the wizarding world, so they eventually returned to the muggle world to make lives for themselves. Their presence at Hogwarts, therefore, only endangered all wizarding kind by making discovery by muggles more possible. Obviously, I'm not the only person who has wondered where the heck all these muggle-borns went.<br />
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Perhaps J.K. Rowling was making a statement about the invisibility of oppressed minority groups in inherently prejudiced society. Perhaps she meant something even deeper. Perhaps she meant nothing other than that there were fewer muggle-borns than pure-bloods or half-bloods.<br />
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The point is, fans of well-done fiction can take an author's words and glean a great deal of insight--erroneous or not--about what the author might have meant, what he or she might have intended by laying out particular details in a work. J.K. Rowling doesn't hide the wizarding world's general disdain for those born to non-magical parents, yet the attitudes of her heroes tell us a great deal, not just about the wizarding world, but about own her beliefs regarding prejudice in the real world as well.<br />
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When writing all fiction, but particularly allegorical fiction, I think it's important that we as authors pay attention not only to what we <i><b>do </b></i>say explicitly, but also to what we <i><b>don't </b></i>say. How sharply divided are the "good guys" from the "bad guys"? What makes the bad guys bad? Have we portrayed them in a way that might negatively (or positively) reflect on certain groups of people in the world "outside the book"?<br />
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I leave you with a copy of a video that went viral a while back: "To J.K. Rowling, from Cho Chang." Whether you agree with the poet or not is irrelevant to the point. What's more important is what Rachel Rostad read in JKR's work. What strikes me most about the piece is how a poet, more sensitive to cultural issues surrounding the ethnically Asian community than JKR could be, makes an argument for racism in something as simple as a choice of character name. She makes other valid points as well, but that one argument almost cinches the deal for me.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/iFPWwx96Kew?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I highly doubt J.K. Rowling set out to be known as racist against any community. Most of the series seems to be about the futility and danger of harboring ridiculous prejudices. Yet her choices hurt a group of readers who needed her understanding and ended up feeling left hanging.<br />
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We would do well to learn from this example. You can never have control over what a reader thinks of your work. And there are indeed readers who will take offense at any portrayal they disagree with simply because it challenges them. Challenging readers is GOOD. We shouldn't write only to confirm what others believe is true. We write to entertain, to entice, but also to educate, to force others to think.<br />
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Still, we all should do our best to mitigate critics' misunderstanding of our intentions. Our work should say exactly what we intend it to say, even when we remain silent. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-75062567096193457642014-08-08T08:06:00.000-05:002014-08-08T08:06:28.211-05:00Embracing the Revision ProcessI first tackled <a href="http://nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a> in November 2008. I hadn't even heard there was such a thing until maybe a week before, but my girlfriend at the time was very into the idea, so I decided to join her in her efforts.
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It was an unmitigated <b>disaster</b>. I had no characters, no plot, and no storyline. I came to the end of my hastily constructed outline at about word 30,000. I had to make up a whole "tagged on" story arc to get to 50,000 words by November 30.
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On December 1, I saved the final file. Then I promptly threw it away. Even the thought of tackling revision on such a blemish on the face of the literary world sent me into dry heaves. I feared to even attempt NaNoWriMo again until 2013.
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As a young writer in my teens and early twenties, I hated the very idea of revision. Why change what inspiration drove me to write? Sure, I would go back and proofread, but revision? I didn't really understand what that meant, and I certainly didn't know how to do it.<br />
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Then, I got older, and though my revision and rewriting skills improved, my patience did not. My July 2013 <a href="http://campnanowrimo.org/">Camp NaNoWriMo</a> project is still waiting for its promised round of revisions/rewrites. It's been put on the back burner. I haven't quite decided to scrap it yet, but I'm not sure when I will feel the desire to work on it again. <br />
<br />
I wonder how many writers have that same attitude toward the revision process. I wonder if fear of changing, of losing the beauty of what we've painstakingly written, freezes many of us from ever aspiring to improve as writers.<br />
<br />
It's amazing how time and experience can force one's perspective to change. Now editing and revising are my favorite parts of the process, for one simple reason.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>I loathe first drafts.
</b></i></span></div>
<br />
There is nothing more intimidating to me than a blank screen or empty page. It doesn't matter if an entire scene, story, or novel <span style="font-size: small;">has been swimming </span>around my literary womb, waiting for the orgasmic ecstasy of birth. When I see that empty page, devoid of all life, my creative well dries up like Oklahoma's water supply in mid-July. I wonder whether I will ever write another story, another sentence, another word that might color that lifeless desert.<br />
<br />
At heart, writing is about creating. It's about bringing forth something from nothing. Yes, one could argue that just an idea already gives you a starting point, but setting an idea into words, somehow conveying that idea to people who don't have the benefit of living within your mental landscape--that's beyond challenging. Sometimes it feels impossible.<br />
<br />
But I push through. A "sloppy copy" somehow appears on the blank screen--I'm still not entirely certain how--and I feel an immediate sense of deep relief. The hard part--emotionally anyway--is over. Now comes the fun.<br />
<br />
There's nothing quite so amazing to me as watching a complete load of manure be crafted, compacted, and sculpted into something that can truly sparkle. Therein lies the true craft--and I would argue the true joy--of writing.<br />
<br />
It's not that different from bringing up a child, really. Through some great gift of the cosmos, you are given the ability to create life, to bring forth something from nothing. But when she arrives she's completely helpless, defenseless, and frankly has <b>no idea</b> what she's doing. So you guide her. You read every book you can, ask for every bit of advice you can get, and implement every (good) idea you stumble upon. It takes years, but she grows into something vaguely person-shaped. Then one day, you look at her, and your work is done. She's ready to fly, to spread her wings and venture into the terrifying, dangerous, and wonderful world. Once she's gone, you no longer have any control where she goes. You live on the edge of fear, terrified that something awful will happen to her. But she's grown up. She's become what you've always hoped (or perhaps what you had no idea) she would become. That's when you let her go.<br />
<br />
Writing is similar. It would be irresponsible to send a toddler out into the world on her own. She isn't done growing yet! She takes years of practice and perseverance, and our writing can grow no other way.<br />
<br />
Remember, though there are days when that piece is sitting on your desk throwing the equivalent of a four-year-old temper tantrum, refusing to bow to your will, there will also be days that you look at it, and you will think, "Wow! I created that!" The dirty diapers are just as much of the process as the hugs and kisses and whispers of "I love you, mommy."<br />
<br />
Cherish it all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-67903929179216366992014-08-06T12:38:00.001-05:002014-08-13T10:29:14.711-05:00Writing for Myself: Fiction, Fear, and the LGBTQ Community<br />
A few months ago I was participating in an online novel writing workshop, working on the outline for what would become my novel-in-progress, <i>Choosing Her Chains</i>. One of my well-meaning classmates (a cisgender, white, affluent male) asked, as we were discussing the implications of my outline, why I had selected what he considered a possibly controversial theme for the work. He was concerned for me, that though I might complete an excellent novel, my readership would remain low, that it would continually fight to stay afloat in what he considered a relatively niche market. "Why would you risk failure before you've even begun?"<br />
<br />
He had the best of intentions in his comments, but he didn't understand. I couldn't have selected another theme even if I wanted to find one. The story had been bubbling for months, developing in the darkest recesses of my mind. The protagonist refused to let me ignore her for even a day. Even now, as I type away on this post, she's poking me in the back of my head and asking why I haven't worked on her story more today. And the sun is just now cresting the horizon!<br />
<br />
At the end of the day, though, even her persistence is not always enough to keep me working. Tapping into that mysterious subconscious realm where our characters exist is exhausting. Sometimes the fear of getting a detail wrong (and your characters will definitely alert you when that happens) prevents me from wanting to write at all. What keeps me writing from from day-to-day is the desire <b>to write the story I wish I could read.</b><br />
<br />
As a member of the LGBTQ community, I often find that the selection of stories that portray "characters like us" are limited, if not in scope (thank you independent publishing!) then in quality. My deepest desire drives me to produce work that meets my own standards in both quality and readership while maintaining the integrity of exactly the kind of characters and scenarios and I would want to read in my own spare time.<br />
<br />
I am far from alone. Writers of all genres of LGBTQ fiction are even now actively striving to create high-quality fiction in greater numbers than ever before. Mainstream literary agents and publishers are gradually picking us up, giving us writing contracts, and publishing our books. But publishers can never accurately predict their readership. Unfortunately, for right now, the fan base of such books is more or less confined to the same readers who have been following independent writers in the community for years.<br />
<br />
How often are we discouraged from writing what it is we really want to write ("controversial" or not) because of fear of how others might respond? And how do we overcome that fear?<br />
<br />
A few days ago I picked up <a href="https://twitter.com/ADDerWORLD">Bryan Hutchinson</a>'s book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Writers-Doubt-Overcome-Create-Matters-ebook/dp/B00J9959GI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407336997&sr=8-1&keywords=writer%27s+doubt"><i>Writer's Doubt</i></a> through Amazon's new Kindle Unlimited program. I'm only a couple of chapters into the book, but already I've found excerpts with which I can commiserate.<br />
<i></i>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The moment will come when you realize exactly what you want to write about because you absolutely love writing about it and you can't stop. You'll find yourself driving down the highway when an idea suddenly comes to you and you'll desperately search for a place to pull over just so you can jot down a quick note so you won't forget. That's when you'll know you've found your niche.</i><sup>1</sup></blockquote>
When I write something that's intensely personal to me, whether it be fiction, poetry, or blog post, I cannot set the keyboard aside. I'm driven to complete it. But completing the work is only half the battle. Sometimes I write purely for myself, and I have no desire to share it elsewhere. But sometimes I feel the need to share it with others. Whether that desire to share comes from some drive to enlighten someone, from the hopes of conversing with other like-minded individuals, from an instinct to provide entertainment to others like myself, or even just to stroke my own narcissistic ego, the reason eventually proves wholly irrelevant. So long as I enjoy reading what I write, I've accomplished my goal.<br />
<br />
But then the doubt creeps in. What if potential mainstream readers are driven away by expressly LGBTQ themes and scenarios? What if they refuse to even consider the book if they suggest it supports a lifestyle with which they are still uncomfortable? Or even worse! What if my family in the LGBTQ community somehow feels I have done them a grave injustice? Have I portrayed them in the light I hope to promote? Have I become just another hackneyed independent author trying to get my $5 out of those people desperate to read genre-specific titles?<br />
<br />
Then I remember: there's really no way to know how an audience will receive your work. Your 500 beta readers and editors might love a piece of work (or hate it). Once you've released that work of soul into the world, the reception of your readers will be determined by a tangled web of perseverance, marketing, and luck.<br />
<br />
So to myself, and to any writers out there in the LGBTQ community, ride the fear. Embrace it for the exhilarating experience it can be. And when you've got that story written, send it to me. You might be writing just for you now. But perhaps you're also writing for me.<br />
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**********</center>
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P.S. -- Everyone should be sure to check-out Bryan's website at <a href="http://positivewriter.com/">http://positivewriter.com/</a>. If you need a pick-me-up on the dark days, you'll be sure to find some inspiration.<br />
<br />
<sup>1</sup>Hutchinson, Bryan (2014). <i>Writer's Doubt: How You Can Overcome Doubt and Create Work That Matters </i>[Kindle version]. Available from http://www.amazon.com/Writers-Doubt-Overcome-Create-Matters-ebook/dp/B00J9959GI/<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-90797152255552781972014-08-05T19:54:00.000-05:002014-08-05T19:54:55.997-05:00The Unsympathetic ProtagonistWhen writing character-driven fiction, an author presupposes, in a way, that a reader's love for the characters will carry the story through any slower-paced plot elements. As a result, authors of all genres have written a host of articles and even entire books on creating well-developed sympathetic characters. (<i>See Mette Ivie Harrison's <a href="http://www.intergalacticmedicineshow.com/cgi-bin/mag.cgi?do=columns&vol=mette_ivie_harrison&article=026">"How to Write a Sympathetic Protagonist"</a> or Amie Kaufman's <a href="http://amiekaufman.com/do-i-care-make-me-how-to-create-sympathetic-characters/">"Do I Care? Make Me! How to Create Sympathetic Characters,"</a> for starters.</i>) Such guides to character creation often promote many of the same basic principles. Give the character something to love and to protect. Make them the underdog fighting against injustice. Give them some sort of connection to the other characters around them.<br />
<br />
Then, my personal favorite: <i><b>give them flaws.</b></i> No one wants to read a story about Perfect Payton or Extraordinary Erin. Readers need to connect with the raw humanity of the characters, that part of them that makes us all think, "If they can do it, why can't I?" For me personally as a reader, the hearts of well-written characters shine not in their light, but in their darkness.<br />
<br />
My favorite character in the Harry Potter universe is Draco Malfoy. Full stop. He's a brat, a bully, a coward, and a bigot. His only truly redeeming quality is his love for and devotion to his parents, who are also brats, bullies, cowards, and bigots. In fact, his only truly sympathetic moment in the whole series (in my opinion) comes when he and Harry find themselves locked in a duel that almost costs Draco his life. Even then, as Harry stands shocked by his own capacity for evil, the malicious part of me cackles in glee to see Draco get what's coming to him.<br />
<br />
Then my heart stops as I wonder, "What if he's dead?" I can't bear to watch that scene in the movie anymore. That I've committed the storyline to heart--that I know he will be fine, if still nigh on unbearable--means nothing. I need him to keep on living, to keep on giving Harry that foil against which Harry will quite obviously always overcome.<br />
<br />
I think I love Draco Malfoy not so much for himself, but
for how his repetitive confrontations with Harry shatter Harry's
perception of himself as a good person. Harry realizes in that bathroom
that he could just as easily be the villain as the hero were he to make
different choices. Draco, for all his flaws, provides Harry with that
moment of insight, and I love him all the more for that.<br />
<br />
When viewed objectively, many of my favorite characters in fiction border on the unbearable. Catherine Linton, nee Earnshaw, in <i>Wuthering Heights</i>, is little more than a pretentious coward. Katniss Everdeen from <i>The Hunger Games</i>, throughout most of the series, uses the people around her as tools to get what she wants. In Catherine's case, we can still feel sympathy because we realize how stifling the social structure of her time would be to a woman. Even as we scorn Katniss as selfish, we can value how she becomes the face of justice, even if her overarching desire is to protect only herself and those few she loves. Both of the women have some redeeming qualities, but it's fairly easy to understand why critics might disparage them as sympathetic characters.<br />
<br /><br />
My fiction often bears the inevitable result of my personal tastes in characters. My stories (when I am most satisfied with them) are littered with characters that I recognize some readers might find unsympathetic. When writing fiction, the question for me becomes not so much "how do I write a sympathetic character?" as it does "how do I take this downright terrible person that I love and make an audience fall in love with her--or even just love to hate her?" Similar questions, different foci.<br />
<br />
As I was just beginning to expand my horizons as a storyteller, I put together a little "anti-romance" short story called <a href="http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1962349-Purple-and-Pumpkin-Spice">"Purple and Pumpkin Spice."</a> The one thing that startled me about my audience's response was how vehemently they embraced one character over another. Some loved the protagonist. Some loved her husband. Some loved her secondary love interest. Some loved the quirky best friend. None of my readers seemed to agree on which character they liked most, and in some instances readers expressed diametrically opposed opinions of the characters. Mind you, I intentionally wrote the piece so that there were no "bad guys." At the end of the day, each character was a human who sometimes made a poor choice (or series of choices). Some of those choices led to others getting hurt. I'd like to think the characters were somewhat sympathetic, but I knew they were very far from perfect.<br />
<br />
My all-time favorite comment from a reader really nailed why I think some people enjoyed the piece:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I actually had to delete some of my initial review comments and rethink what I really thought about the story. So, before I start the review let me explain what I am talking about.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I hated your main character. I thought she was selfish and self-involved. I initially transferred that hate to your story and was writing to you about having a main character that resonates with a reader and blah blah blah. But as I was writing and referencing back to your story, it dawned on me that my strong reaction to Susan was a perfect indicator of how well structured and written this story is. I stepped back and read the story again and was so glad I caught myself before finishing my review.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I am a husband and I realized I was projecting my feelings on your character with the idea if my wife had done the same to me I would hate her. So long story short (too late, right?), I checked myself and came at your story from a fair perspective. But, the strong emotional response you generated is a testament to the strength of this story. Susan became real to me - real enough to hate.</blockquote>
Strangely enough, reading that story of hate turned to appreciation became the moment that I thought maybe, one day, I would be good enough to call myself a writer. I have no delusions that my story was perfect, or even really well done. But the connection one reader had to a character he hated made me a devotee of the art.<br />
<br />
And therein, I think, lies the secret to successfully writing an unlikeable, perhaps even completely unsympathetic protagonist. We as readers must somehow connect with the character, regardless of how much we loathe her. We have to understand why she does the terrible things she does, even if we would like to think we would handle things differently. Moreover, we have to watch how other characters interact with her and identify with the connections there. Susan's story, unlikeable though she may have been, found an audience because people could connect with the characters who loved her.<br />
<br />
As an author, I relate well to the otherwise unlikeable protagonist, and inevitably, those are the characters whose stories I love to tell. What do you think? Have you ever found a protagonist you loathed, even though the story itself left you breathless? Have you <i>written</i> a story around a protagonist you love to hate? Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1378151626429324227.post-42176096513242451722014-08-03T09:42:00.001-05:002014-08-13T10:29:39.750-05:00First Post! -- Fun with HeterophonesWell, after months of debating whether or not I should open my blogging up to the wider wilder world of the intarwebz, I have finally decided to begin a standalone blog dedicated to my adventures in writing. To those of you who may stumble upon this poorly designed first post, welcome! And I apologize. To those of you whom I personally guilted (or blackmailed) into visiting this blog, welcome! And I apologize. And to the archaeologist two hundred years into the future who is going to spend an absolutely ridiculous amount of time on the "blogosphere" in an attempt to understand the social structure of humans in the twenty-first century, welcome! And I apologize. In advance.<br />
<br />
As I considered what topic I might address first, I decided I would begin with my personal nemesis when preparing first drafts of anything: heterophones.<br />
<br />
Strictly speaking, the word "heterophone" has been defined in two distinct but related ways. The first <a href="http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/heterophone">definition</a> describes any of a limitless list of word pairs in which the words are spelled differently, have different meanings, and have different pronunciations. (By this definition we might consider "orange" and "apple" heterophones just as easily as we would "red" and "reed.") The second <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heterophone">definition</a> more specifically applies to words that are written identically but have different pronunciations and meanings (i.e. "does," the present tense form of "to do," versus "does," meaning multiple female deer).<br />
<br />
However, my use of the word relates specifically to a personal phenomenon. It refers to my unusual proclivity toward replacing one word with a sometimes (but not always) vaguely similarly sounding word. Sometimes the replacement word might not seem even remotely similar to the word I intended, but it may somehow be etymologically or cognitively connected to the topic of conversation at hand. For instance, a few times a week, variations of this particular conversation might be overheard as my partner and I eat dinner and binge-watch bad BBC television on Netflix:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Katherine: "Honey, can you pass me the remote control?"<br />
Me: "I don't see it. Are you sure you didn't put it under the fish?"<br />
Katherine: *slow blink*<br />
Me: "Fish. Plate. Blanket."<br />
Katherine: *lifts blanket and finds remote*</blockquote>
<br />
Indulge me as I explain my oral composition process. My brain processes ideas very quickly. Oftentimes too quickly. The moment a thought has fully-formed in my head and I've begun speaking said thought aloud, my brain has already moved on to what I might say next. Perhaps my thoughts have already completely derailed and I have begun mulling over some other topic. In the above scenario, Katherine happened to have been sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a dinner plate sitting on her lap. My intent was to ask whether she might have set the remote control under the blanket sitting right next to her. But even as the words stumbled off my tongue, my attention had already wavered. I watched as she seasoned her plate of fish, and I began to salivate over the delicious piece of tilapia that had just come out of the pan. By the time I got to the word "blanket," the word "fish" had replaced it in my mental foreground. It took me three full attempts to retrieve the originally intended word.<br />
<br />
My writing is not immune from such errors. I've just finished up a month of working on my upcoming novel during <a href="http://campnanowrimo.org/">Camp NaNoWriMo</a>. For those who haven't participated in any of the various "NaNo" projects before, the premise is simple. You dedicate a particular month to completing a draft of some project, whether it's a novel, a screenplay, some nonfiction paper, etc. For novels, the general goal is to complete 50,000 words in 30 (or 31) days.<br />
<br />
I've been working on the aforementioned novel for almost six months now, but I have not yet created one beginning-to-end fully realized draft. I decided that, for July 2014, I would complete at least 50,000 words of the draft within 31 days. The end result is that, amongst all the insanity of my sister's wedding, 1400 miles of driving, and my ordinary work responsibilities, I had to write a bit less than 2,000 words a day. I'm not saying that the task is impossible (it obviously isn't), but it takes a particular level of dedication that many lose midway through the month.<br />
<br />
I make a valiant attempt to disregard my inner editor during these writing sprints. I have to kick her to the curb, or else I'd be lucky if a single complete sentence ever made it onto the page. Some writers will intentionally disable the backspace key during these sprints. While I'm not quite <i><b>that</b></i> determined to avoid editing entirely, I do try very hard not to re-read unless I need to remember details of something I'd drafted earlier. The end result? A draft so full of heterophones that Katherine (the only one who seems to be able to interpret them) has to go back and make a note for each one she finds. The result can sometimes be more interesting than the intended sentence. Just yesterday I stumbled across a sentence where I referred to a particular character as a woman's "lady husband" (i.e., "late husband"). <br />
<br />
The point to all of this discussion is that sentential construction is rarely the simple task we tend to assume it to be. Language is complex, the brain moreso, and there are a million microsteps along the way at which we might stumble, perhaps not even noticing we've tripped until a third or fourth proof-reading. Be kind to those who present their souls to you in the written word. Hold them accountable for poor proofing perhaps, but give them the benefit of the fish, too.<br />
<br />
In my case, I choose to blame some underlying undiagnosed <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aphasia">aphasia</a> which will certainly eventually turn me into an inarticulate puddle. Better get to writing then. Those nouns won't verb themselves.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02844673914216514226noreply@blogger.com0