S.C. Wright's Blog, page 2

Interview With Shannen Wright

Little Interview! Of me! Yay!

John Castle

 

Interview With Shannen Wright

Introductory Note:

It’s always a pleasure to get to know an author a bit better, both for other writers and for readers alike (and aren’t all authors also avid readers? I think so.)

I was happy to get the chance to ask a few questions of Shannen Wright, whose debut novel Bad Reception is launching this month from Snow Leopard.

Your main character, Kana Lindvist, introduces herself by telling the reader about a story her mother used to tell, of a monster that runs away from the world just to get some peace and quiet. What was your favorite story in your childhood? Which stories sparked your passion for storytelling?

Oh god. That’s a difficult one. My mum taught me to read when I was young. I mean, really young. I have a vague memory of flashcards and so on and reading the paper at…

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What do nightclubs and Swamps have in common?

So last night was another interesting night in the nightclub I work in. I was expecting a nice, relatively quiet and easy shift so naturally that didn’t happen. Apparently some fancy football game had been going on all day so all the football hooligans had come out to play.

For all of you considering work in a bar. Don’t.

It must have been around twelve when the fun began…

I’d just finished collecting all the empty glasses I could see in the bar I was posted to, so I wandered into my bf’s bar to check how he was doing. As I reached the bar, I was greeted by the flood that rocked England’s farming areas in 2015 and no boyfriend. Clearly he had been washed away by the deluge. Blinking furiously, I dive for the “twisty bit” (technical term) on the front of the dishwasher that manually drains the water from inside it in the hopes it’ll stop leaking and slam a large jug under it to catch the excess. It filled up rapidly. I grabbed another and swapped it out to pour into the nearby sink. Keep in mind this is in full view of a crowd of drunk football hooligans, but I am far too SWAMPED to care.

In order to drain the machine I have to kneel in the puddle of dishwater, luckily I was wearing tights – and to be honest, you get so soaked in alcohol working behind a bar, water is hardly an issue – and at this point I didn’t care. The area manager came over, called by one of the bar-girls on the radio,  and he swapped out the jugs to help me reach up. (I’m short, lol.)

He said to me.

“Is it draining? Has it slowed down?”

I told him no because I think it’s still in a cycle.

“It’s not on a cycle… have you tried telling the machine to drain?”

I had not. I turned the machine to drain, and although slowly, the spuming torrent of Niagara Falls trickled away to a slow river, and finally slowed.

“Turn it off for a few minutes.” The manager told me, just as my boyfriend was returning. Turning off the machine at the wall, he asked me if I had a knife. Naturally I didn’t, so I said no, but I headed upstairs to grab one. Why? I didn’t know.

So I grabbed the knife for cutting limes and lemons from the top bar and headed back down, through a busy nightclub, brandishing a knife. I’m not sure what bothered me the most; the fact I was WADDLING AROUND WITH A KNIFE IN MY HANDS IN A CROWDED NIGHTCLUB, or the fact that the doorman and nightclubbers neither seemed to care, nor even notice that I HAD A LARGE SERRATED KNIFE IN MY HAND. Ah, the trustworthy doormen we have.

Once back at the dishwasher from Hell the knife was plucked away by a boyfriend who proceeded to jam it into the wall socket. Clearly the stress had become too much for him. Instead of trying to help him kill myself, I feigned ignorance and wandered off to the bar I was supposed to be at, gathering glasses as I went. I was greeted at the bar by a rather irate young girl who claimed in words to the effect of;

“Some lassie in the loos just kicked me in the fanny.”

I had to take a few seconds to process this as, although in America “Fanny” means “Butt”. In Scotland, it does not. As I was trying to make sure if I heard this right, one of the other bartenders had leaned forward to hear.

“-And I wanted to make sure I didn’t go fucking raj at her. I came right here, how dare she-”

So the bartender headed off to find a doorman, and I did my best to make sure the girl did not “go fucking raj” at anyone. Though at this point, a good fight would have been very stress relieving to watch. We headed over to the loos in wait for the butt-booter and the large male doorman stood at the doorway in wait.

(I was oddly reminded of last week when there was a barricade of girls huddled around some poor girl who’d had her skirt ripped off and had to be escorted out the loos by the manager…)

Naturally, when the girl came out, they almost started fighting. Remember that the kickee was an ex-employee, I quickly tried to grab her and pull her back to avoid a fight, only to have one of the bargirls barge passed with her arms wide crying out

“For fuck’s sake!”

Which was hysterical for two reasons.

The girl who did it had, not three weeks ago kicked a guy lying on the bar floor because he was “in her way”.
She is mad as a bee in a tumble-dryer
She generally doesn’t give a damn.
The kicker and her bag went flying.

This completely defused the situation and the doormen dragged the numpties out, leaving the assaulted ex-employee to her dancing, and I decided to go extricate my boyfriend off the electrical wires in the socket.

Apparently, the socket doesn’t switch back on easily and that’s the only way to get it back on again after a manual reboot aka “turning it off and on again”.

So, yes, all in all, I wanted a nice quiet night. Thanks for that, fate. That was… something.

Ironically enough, the only people who didn’t give me bother last night were the football hooligans. Go figure!

 

Aurelio Voltaire – Gig Review

So this week was my birthday! Finally turned the big two-four and my boyfriend decided to take me to see Voltaire at the Audio in Glasgow!

For those of you who may not know, Aurelio Voltaire wrote the music for a small cartoon by the name of “The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy” and a series of Dark Cabaret songs filled with satire. What can I say, I love sarcasm and satire in my music. If you enjoy gothic cabaret, and a man with a voice rich as molasses, I highly recommend it. Let’s not tell the boyfriends, but ladies, he’s delicious on the eyes too.

Book One – Prelease: Salamanders

Thought I’d pop up this little short story to celebrate over 1000 followers on facebook and that my book is soon to be released in paperback! Please enjoy

My Diagnosis with Autism.

When it comes to telling someone they are different, it’s a hard battle. If you tell them they are wierd or “not like everyone else” it leaves a mark. If you don’t tell them they aren’t like everyone else, chances are, at some point they are going to figure it out anyway and dislike that you never mentioned it. Know the term “Damned if you do, Damned if you don’t?”

I guess in some way I always knew I was different from other kids, particularly when every adult in a three mile radius was more interesting than the other children. Children were self obsessed and like boring things. They didn’t want to read or talk about the same things I did. I remember an obsession to learn everything about cats – big and small – and a desperation to avoid large groups of screaming children.

Children were wierd.

I remember strings and teams of child psychologists, frequent doctors checks ups and adhd and ritalin and how I was bound to start showing learning difficulties. Well, it’s not my intention to brag, but those learning difficulties never turned up. Just behavioral ones. Turns out I wasn’t fond of being kicked under the table while I tried to work on my school stuff while trying to ignore loud children and harsh glaring lights and brilliant bright primary colours or loud screaming rooms full of children. I remember my first few weeks in my first year of schooling where I threw up almost daily and the teachers would complain, telling my to stop making myself throw up. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t even know why.

Nowadays, I put that down to being overwhelmed.

I never went to special schooling. I spent the entirity of my school career in mainstream schooling and in a neurotypical world that is considered a good thing. Why? I dread to think how bad special schooling is if sensory overload or lack of social skills is a reason to throw away someone’s education.

Regardless, due to my smarts, problem solving and bold ability to push myself and put my point across, everyone thought I was just occassionally acting out on ADHD. After all, I am a girl and I talked from an early age. Hell, I was speaking in sentences at 18 months. I couldn’t be autistic. That was ridiculous. I’ve never LOOKED autistic.

Please. Tell me. What do the physical manifestations of autism in a six year old girl look like? Enlighten me.

When I was eight years old, I was taken for a diagnosis. Being oblivious to the world at that age, I have no idea how hard my mum must have pushed to have me seen for a diagnosis, but looking back on how hard it is for people to consider females worthy of diagnosis (After all, girl’s can’t have autism!) she must have been trying for a while. After all, we had to figure out what exactly was “wrong” with me. I just wasn’t playing with the other kids right! The others kids just kept bullying me, what was I doing wrong?

Three people took me into a room walled off from my mother with a tiny camera through watch my mum could watch me. I wasn’t stupid, I knew exactly what the camera was for, but mother wasn’t in the same room so she couldn’t tell me to “stop acting like that” or “don’t do that.”. My mother has a case of misophonia, so presumably my stimming must have got on her nerves.  This was nearly 16 years ago, so bear with me if my memory is hazy.

I remember the room having white walls and a bookcase at the far corner. A single desk with childlike seats sat near the back wall. The man stood behind the camera filming everything while one woman asked me to “play with her” and another stood back collecting things and observing as she moved around. She brought out dolls.

I hated dolls.

A mum, a dad, and a toy airoplane. Now at the time, I wasn’t aware I was to be diagnosed for anything, so I was quite content with messing with the doctors. The previous day at school, one of the bullies had upset me and I had said to them “that hurt me.” and they replies with “so, why should I care?”. As we played with the toys, I had the airoplane run the mother doll over because I hated her stupid pink dress. I specifically remember the woman looking shocked (a facial expression she greatly exagerated. God they were so patronising, that’s probably why I wanted to mess with them.) and saying “that’s not very nice.”

So, naturally, I replied. “Why should I care?”

(At this point, I would like to point out that at 8, I was extremely presumptious. I was smart and “very switched on” as people liked to say. I had a large vocabularly and understood a lot of things that went on around my current vicinity due to my inability to switch things off. As a result, I have almost always been aware of when people are patronising me. I fucking hate it.)

That memory has always haunted me. For years, I’ve always wondered, if I didn’t say it, would I still have been diagnosed with autism? What if I hadn’t said anything? Would I be considered normal and not have the struggles I did? But I couldn’t have given a shit about two rotten plastic dolls playing house. Still couldn’t. Could you? But nowadays, when I think about it, I’d still have had the same struggles, only I wouldn’t be able to say why. I’d still have been tripped down stairs for being wierd. I’d still have been ostracised for saying odd and inappropriate things at the wrong times. I’d still have been laughed at in the girls changing rooms just because I was the token wierd kid, only now I can say it’s those kids’ issues with their own insecurities. Not mine.

I’m glad I have autism.

For those of you at the back?

I AM GLAD I HAVE AUTISM.

Do you know why?

My autism makes my perspective alternative. And funny. People think I’m funny and laugh at my dry jokes. I have a natural aptitude for learning and languages and I’m really rather good at spelling, so I took to writing quickly. I have an acute eye for detail and so drawing comes natural. I am an artist. I love to draw. And due to years of bullying, I know how to pick out a victim from the crowd. I know what it’s like to be pushed to the edge, and I know how to pull someone back from the edge. I’ve done it for myself so many times.

So, to all of you. Neurotypical, Autistic, Black, White, Polkodot. Abled, Disabled. I don’t care whats wrong with you, or whats right with you; If you need someone, anyone at all, to vent to, or to just know that they care. Email me. We’re all wonderful in your own way and no-one else needs to accept it.

Just you.

~Shan. x

 

 

 

The “A” Word

BBC One decided to do a drama based around an Austic boy and the community around him, and as a Aspie; a girl with Aspergers/ Autism, I feel it HAVE to give my thoughts. So… here’s my thoughts on how it went!

Okay, so we’re 40 minutes into this show, and we’re yet to have any detail on the point of view of the kid. I know it sounds pedantic, but surely the point was to show how the kid feels and how autism affects him, no? We’ve seen him have a meltdown, thrown some echolalia into the mix but everyone’s okay with that?

The mother, true to life, seems to be touchy about anyone thinking anything is wrong with her child, and that’s fair. There is nothing wrong with him. Just different.

We see the kid go off to school and then had no feedback about what happens to him at school. Where’s the bullying? Where’s the struggling to sit down and stay still in a stifling classroom? All we have the point of view of the family. None of the kid. I’m sorry to say, I am finding it lacking.

That said; in terms of the diversity of the family – yes. The family is certainly having a diverse reaction to the autism, so if the point was to show how diverse family is to having an autistic kid, yes, that was acheived. However, diversity in autism has not been shown. We’ve seen a neurotypical’s perspective of autism, not an austistic’s perspective of the world…

 

That said!

We have, through the eyes of the family, discovered that Joe likes music and water themes. He, like me, adores his music and never takes his headphones off. The diagnosis was spot on. The reaction of the parents was spot on. I particularly noted how a lot of the time the parents spoke about the kid as if he wasn’t there. The parents struggled to accept his diagnosis and still want to mould him into something he isn’t. The kid wasn’t invited to something all the other kids were. That I can relate to heavily; and it’s a fact of the truth. It happens.

In relation to me, I could relate highly to the prioritising auditory responses. In fact, the doctor’s waiting room and the whole diagnosis part was spot on. But I need more from the kid!

I did like the point about how the other kids/families did not invite him to their parties. That is a given. It happens. I want to see more from the kid’s perspective, I want them to show how the kid feels about things.

Show me how the kid feels about the world, not how the world feels about him.

Christoper Eccleston however, – I found him absolutely hilarious. You could tell his character was ignorant to the whole thing, but he was trying so hard. more so, I think, than the parents.

I expect good things from this from what I’ve seen! And more about his school life. And more about him. There is no way he doesn’t understand that everyone is acting different around him. We are sticklers for normality; tension and deviations from the norm is one of the first things (I) noticed.

In terms of realism, 10/10. In terms of perspective, I need more from the kid.Overall? Good show.

 

 

Update again

It’s been a busy few days for me, lately. Mostly I’ve been busy with my retail work and bar job and I’m sorry to say I’ve just been far too exhausted to write, draw, or even game to the extent I would have liked. Apologies for not posting as often as I would have liked, but I’m only just getting a little peace and quiet because the boyfriend is making me dinner tonight! Yay.

I have Deeecon (in Dundee) on Saturday 9th April and I will be there as a guest – hopefully next year at a table! – but I will be around to anyone who just wants to say hi! The costume I’ll be in is a secret for now, but I will reveal it when the costume is ready!

Book three is back in the works as well – I’ve been writing! – , and although I don’t have an exact date for the paperback of the first book, I have been quoted May, which means that the presales shall start in April. I’m very excited.

Last piece of news is I am off to Paris in September. Off for a hopefully more relaxing holiday than the last ones have been. The less chaos the better!

Hope to give more frequent small updates as opposed to weekly posts… so I will try to stick to that! :)

~Shan

 

First hand Experiences

Someone asked me recently how I do the research for my stories. I know every author/writer has their different methods, but, aside from wikipedia, the best way to get the research is to go out there and hunt out the information first hand.

 

First Hand Experience

Looking for a wooded place to set your story in? Somewhere in the woods? Sometimes a series of pictures, even ones you take yourself, thrown together, can provide inspiration.

Take these pictures below for example.

 

Just because these four pictures are from different places – the scenery around where I live is pretty good – doesn’t mean that the reader of your story knows this. Use things you know and see every day to inspire your writing. You can write more and more detailed descriptions of things you know in detail and that’s the best way to start.

The same thing works for experiences. If you are writing about something that has happened to you – like a wedding off the top of my head – then it’s easier to write as you have first hand experience and know what happens! On that note; I have never been to a wedding, so if I ever wrote about one, my descriptions of the ceremony would be extremely limited unless…

Research

It always comes back to research.

Youtube is a great way to find research if you’re looking for visual learning and you’re good at avoiding distraction.

Wikipedia, too, it you don’t mind looking up how to catch a fish and ended up on the origin of spoons.

Books and Libraries work if you’re brave enough to ask the librarian or saunter around looking through the reference sections. And google is your friend! ;)

I will share a little secret with you however! A good site for learning about black market dealings vis-a-vis guns, weapons, and other such things without googling down a strange and worrying path,  Havoscope is a good reference site. :)

I hope this helped!

 

~Shan

Writer’s Block

 

Writer’s block is a menace. The writer’s version of being unable to get it up. It has plagued writers and author since the dawn of writing – probably – and well continue to plague us until we rage quit and go make another coffee and pretend to write for the rest of the night but really are just watching youtube videos.

Or is that just me?

Yeah, that might just be me.

But Writer’s Block is a very real and very annoying thing.

When I first started Bad Reception, I had muse for weeks. I would sit and type till 4am and sometimes longer and the entire thing was completed without incident. Book two was the same. The muse was forgiving and in copious amounts, and things got done!

Then book three came along.  I didn’t know how to start it so I did something I had never done before. I wrote down a list of all the things I needed to do, all the things I needed to acheive, and a large summary of how I would acheive these things in each chapter. For me, plotting out takes a long of the fun of writing away. After all, you’ve already written it down, why write it again in a long winded way in a chapter? (My brain is stubborn and wierd and the concept of organisation puts it to sleep. On that note; you should see my work space!)

So, after all the planning and organisation was done. I set down to write; pleased with my – for once – complete plan of action.

I readied my open office document. I cracked my knuckles. I plonked on some inspirational – if piratey – music. I put the synopsis/summary to my right and looked over what I needed to do…

And did not type up a word for two weeks.

Writing is a fickle hobby/career and I can understand why George R.R. Martin has done everything but get another book out. Sometimes the brain doesn’t want to write. Sometimes the brain wants to rewatch an entire four series of Teen Wolf or draw your characters if they were born in the opposite sex or cement mixers. Sometimes the thought of writing makes a write cry their way into the kitchen and eat an entire loaf of bread (I still need to do that one).

But the trick is not to  push yourself. Writing isn’t like any other job with set patterns and goals, writing at it’s best, needs to be inspired. I don’t write without inspiration, in the same way I wouldn’t draw without a mechanical pencil. You work around your own skills and abilities and if something doesn’t work, you have to let it lay until you can work around it.

 

Unless you have a deadline. Then you’re pretty much scuppered. ^^”

Me right now? I’m watching Teen Wolf and drawing because chapter three is being difficult. If you get bored and find the urge to see what I’m drawing, find me on Deviantart at this link

Good luck beating the block!

 

How I write part 2: A deeper look

Looking over last night’s blog, I thought perhaps I should delve into a little bit more detail to get the point across…

Life has not been easy for me as an autistic individual for many reasons, but today I want to focus on the positives! Many people think that, because I am autistic I struggle with creativity or empathy and all the usual sorts, however, I have one thing on my side.

I live in my own little world.

As a writer, this is a blessing and one I want to share with the rest of the world, or at least, anyone who wants to take a gander into my world!

I started writing when I was a kid. I honestly couldn’t tell you how long ago because I’ve been writing and telling stories for a long as I can remember, it’s a part of who I am, always has been. In a sense, it is my coping stategy. I work two jobs, albiet not easily, and thought I don’t look outwardly autistic (or so I’m told at least. I’ve always found that expression highly insulting.) I have days when I physically and mentally cannot cope.

I’d like you, if you can, to imagine a world filled with noise. It’s not too difficult as the world is full to bursting with it. Let’s take a supermarket for example. You have the basic noises; shop radio, and customers chatting. That’s two noises fighting for dominance. In the background there are the roll of trolley wheels; a ssssss of noise against the smooth flooring – flooring I might add, that is shiny, and reflects the bright and harsh halogenic lights from the cieling. Then there are children, crying, laughing, screaming, shouting, running and sliding, and skipping around in the supermarket, followed by someone shouting at them to behave. You are aware of all of this; including the brightly coloured everything on the shelves. It’s been a long day; you’ve been working hard all day but you are the only person where you work who speaks the language you do. Everyone at work or school or college laughs at something you don’t find funny, and then sends you strange looks when you don’t laugh along. At least, you think it’s a strange face; you can’t understand that facial expression, despite seeing it before. But because of that, you know you won’t be invited to the office party. Okay, you didn’t want to go, but it would be nice to know you were wanted there.

You reach the aisle you’re looking for. It has your favourite snacks in it. Your favourite. And you are really really hungry. You didn’t have time for break or lunch because you’re behind on work. Mostly because it takes a little longer to make sure you understand what is expected of you and you don’t feel comfortable enough with your boss enough to ask for help. She might laugh; or fire you. And you need the cash.

You reach the aisle. Everything has been moved around. You begin to panic.

You would ask someone for help, but everyone looks busy; or mean….

No! Wait! There’s someone.

Oh, but there’s a tension headache building up because of those bright bulbs and the shouting people.

The someone asked you something. Maybe it was “How can I help you?” but you couldn’t focus. It’s hard to process all this at once. You hope for the best and try to ask.

“Uh, do you know where the….such and such are?”

It turns out they don’t stock them anymore. Very few people were buying it. YOu’ve bought it for years though and love them. The taste is unique and not too overbearing on your tongue. You panick. You burst into tears. You cry. Or scream. It’s impossible to deal.

Everyone stares.

Is this twenty-something year old throwing a tantrum because they didn’t get their snack?

No. This twenty-something year old is having a meltdown because they have to deal with all of this on a similar level every single day without the ability to switch off.

It’s maddening.

So, contrary-wise. Imagine how it feels to get in. Slip on your noise reducing headphones and play something beautiful. That song with the twinkling parts and the soft, lilting tune that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up on end. It feels safe, comforting. Like home. You boot up the laptop with soft hum. A gentle vibrating hum that feels nice and warm on your knees. You take a deep breath, your bedroom door shut – keeping out the world. It’s just you and your online friends. No speaking – no body language to focus on, just words and music. Mixing together in a beautiful symphony. These are people you’ve added. People you feel safe around. People no-one is forcing you to talk to or be around.

And there is Openoffice; a blank white sheet. Desperate and begging for creativity. You can almost see the words before you type them. It’s like a meditation and you write and type down the world you wish you could escape to; the better place where everything fits into one neat little package. Where everything makes sense to you… because the other one does not….

So, imagine how I feel, when I finish one part of my world, and a publisher emails me back saying yes. Yes, they want to show my world to the world….

Won’t you come and experience my world with me?