Debra Castaneda's Blog, page 2
April 1, 2021
Why I Chose Not to Italicize Spanish Words in The Monsters of Chavez Ravine
One day, I was scrolling on Twitter and came across a tweet I found fascinating.
A young traditionally published author announced in very bold terms she does not italicize Korean words in her novels. In fact, she said she REFUSED.
Another author chimed in. This woman is Latina, like me. She also said she does not italicize Spanish words in her stories. Then I recalled reading a book by a Latino author who did the same. At the time, I didn't give it any thought. It just seemed natural.
While editing my urban fantasy novella, The Monsters of Chavez Ravine, I was dealing with several dozen Spanish words. Every time I had to stop and italicize, I became more annoyed. Not because it was such a burdensome task, but because it didn't accomplish much besides announcing to the reader, “Hey! Foreign word alert!”
So I got to thinking about these other authors. There were probably many more of them out there. And they were onto something. Something I wanted to try.
The reader recognizes a foreign word when they see one.
I am not advocating every author defy convention and throw out italics. Some editors and publishers would not allow it, anyway.
However, since I publish my own books, I am free to make my own choices.
I chose NOT to italicize. Here’s why:
~ I set my novella in a Mexican American neighborhood with Mexican American characters who speak English, but sometimes throw in a Spanish word. Italicizing a common speech pattern among this group of people seemed, well, odd. After all, the reader is (hopefully) immersed in the characters’ world, words and all.
~Italics are also used to emphasize certain words, as in, “Are you really going to wear that?” This is a convention I sometimes use. With the number of Spanish words used in the novella, I preferred to rely on italics for emphasis.
~While italics serve to highlight foreign words, they do nothing to solve the fundamental challenge of using a foreign word in the first place. It remains an unfamiliar word.
~Whenever I used a Spanish word, I placed it in context to help the reader figure it out, even if it meant a slight repetition in the sentence or paragraph. Like, an old lady calling the main character Trini a “mentirosa,” with Trini’s internal reaction, “Great. Now they were calling her a liar.”
I included a short glossary at the back of the book.
~Which might be handy in some of the science fiction books I’ve read with the amount of unfamiliar (to me) science terms, plus all the words the writer has made up. And don’t get me started about the crazy words and name places in fantasy novels that we all roll with just fine.
Ursula Le Guin invented the useful device name of “ansible” that allows for instant communication, and readers didn’t throw their books across the room and shout, “But where are the italics!”
~Which is my way of saying, I think people can handle a sprinkling of Spanish words in a book about Latinos without it impacting the reading experience.
To this author at least, those italics do something I don’t like: throw off the flow of a sentence.
That said, the experience belongs to the reader, so if a bunch of reviews rolled in complaining, “Where the hell were the italics when I needed them most,” then I would, of course, reconsider. But only after considering the true nature of the complaint. Because maybe they were uncomfortable with the Spanish words themselves, and the use of italics would do nothing to change that.
Thoughts? I’d like to love to hear them.
A young traditionally published author announced in very bold terms she does not italicize Korean words in her novels. In fact, she said she REFUSED.
Another author chimed in. This woman is Latina, like me. She also said she does not italicize Spanish words in her stories. Then I recalled reading a book by a Latino author who did the same. At the time, I didn't give it any thought. It just seemed natural.
While editing my urban fantasy novella, The Monsters of Chavez Ravine, I was dealing with several dozen Spanish words. Every time I had to stop and italicize, I became more annoyed. Not because it was such a burdensome task, but because it didn't accomplish much besides announcing to the reader, “Hey! Foreign word alert!”
So I got to thinking about these other authors. There were probably many more of them out there. And they were onto something. Something I wanted to try.
The reader recognizes a foreign word when they see one.
I am not advocating every author defy convention and throw out italics. Some editors and publishers would not allow it, anyway.
However, since I publish my own books, I am free to make my own choices.
I chose NOT to italicize. Here’s why:
~ I set my novella in a Mexican American neighborhood with Mexican American characters who speak English, but sometimes throw in a Spanish word. Italicizing a common speech pattern among this group of people seemed, well, odd. After all, the reader is (hopefully) immersed in the characters’ world, words and all.
~Italics are also used to emphasize certain words, as in, “Are you really going to wear that?” This is a convention I sometimes use. With the number of Spanish words used in the novella, I preferred to rely on italics for emphasis.
~While italics serve to highlight foreign words, they do nothing to solve the fundamental challenge of using a foreign word in the first place. It remains an unfamiliar word.
~Whenever I used a Spanish word, I placed it in context to help the reader figure it out, even if it meant a slight repetition in the sentence or paragraph. Like, an old lady calling the main character Trini a “mentirosa,” with Trini’s internal reaction, “Great. Now they were calling her a liar.”
I included a short glossary at the back of the book.
~Which might be handy in some of the science fiction books I’ve read with the amount of unfamiliar (to me) science terms, plus all the words the writer has made up. And don’t get me started about the crazy words and name places in fantasy novels that we all roll with just fine.
Ursula Le Guin invented the useful device name of “ansible” that allows for instant communication, and readers didn’t throw their books across the room and shout, “But where are the italics!”
~Which is my way of saying, I think people can handle a sprinkling of Spanish words in a book about Latinos without it impacting the reading experience.
To this author at least, those italics do something I don’t like: throw off the flow of a sentence.
That said, the experience belongs to the reader, so if a bunch of reviews rolled in complaining, “Where the hell were the italics when I needed them most,” then I would, of course, reconsider. But only after considering the true nature of the complaint. Because maybe they were uncomfortable with the Spanish words themselves, and the use of italics would do nothing to change that.
Thoughts? I’d like to love to hear them.
March 29, 2021
Family Secrets and The Monsters of Chavez Ravine
There is a character in my urban fantasy novella, The Monsters of Chavez Ravine, nicknamed Ripper.
The residents of the old neighborhoods of Palo Verde, Bishop, and La Loma were big on nicknames. In photographer Don Normark’s stunning book, Chávez Ravine: 1949: A Los Angeles Story, he includes two pages of nicknames.
There is one nickname that makes my heart race.
Ripper.
Growing up, I’d never heard his name mentioned. Not once. But then my mother came to visit when my second daughter was born. She went from being lucid to seeing things that were not there. I called 911. While I waited for the ambulance to arrive, she kept mentioning the name Ripper. After we’d processed the diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s, I asked my father about this mysterious person.
Ripper was my mother’s first husband.
My father did not want to talk about Ripper. He’d only say my mother had married him when she was very young, and the relationship didn’t last long.
I didn’t have to ask why mother had kept this a secret from me. She had old-fashioned, old-school Catholic feelings on divorce and no doubt didn’t want me to think any less of her because she was a divorced woman.
This former marriage also explained my mother’s outsized dramatic reaction to a certain boyfriend of mine. She probably thought I’d make the same mistake. Of course, an honest conversation about the perils of forming too-early attachments might have been useful, but she portrayed herself as an obedient young woman who did not climb out the window to steal away with her young man.
When my mother died, her childhood friend attended her funeral. Mary had also lived in the Palo Verde neighborhood of Chavez Ravine, so I asked her about him.
If only I had a camera to capture her expression. Her eyebrows shot up. Her jaw dropped. One hand fluttered to her heart. “She didn’t tell you she’d been married before!” she said.
No. No. And definitely not.
Mary told me what she could remember about the relationship, which lasted several years. She called him the love of my mother’s life, which was a rather shocking thing to say with my father standing not far away.
I got the gist of things, even though Mary was short on specifics. Ripper lived a few doors down from my mother. My grandmother wasn’t a big fan and disapproved of him, but then, my grandmother was a proud woman who thought her family was better than some others around Palo Verde, according to some stories I heard. Mary said my mother married him against her mother’s wishes. This probably doomed things from the start. Grandma Kika was a tough lady with strong opinions, accustomed to getting her way. My mother and my aunts revered her and usually did what she asked. My grandmother approved and loved her two other sons-in-law, both from Chavez Ravine.
Ripper no doubt found himself the odd man out. I can’t imagine my mother holding out against that kind of maternal pressure. Or maybe the relationship between my mother and Ripper didn’t work out for all the usual reasons a marriage can fail. Or a combination of things.
I had many years to fill in the blanks about Ripper.
With a nickname like that, I can be excused for thinking he’d been pretty good with a knife. And that he’d been one of those good-looking bad boys in his youth. I don't know if the Ripper named in Normark's book is the same man my mother married, but how many Rippers could there be?
Later, I was to learn his actual name and that he died within three months of my mother. Coincidence, but somehow, it felt strangely significant. I know it would have upset my father if he’d lived long enough to find that out. Not that I would have told him. I never mentioned Ripper again.
Ripper, my imagined version of him, first appeared in my short story set in Chavez Ravine called The Emissary.
You can read it for free on my website. He makes another appearance in The Monsters of Chavez Ravine, and I must admit, next to the protagonist Trini Duran, he’s one of my favorite characters.
There’s a lesson somewhere in all of this about family secrets.
They don’t stay secret forever. And if there’s a writer in the family, that secret is going to end up in a book.
The residents of the old neighborhoods of Palo Verde, Bishop, and La Loma were big on nicknames. In photographer Don Normark’s stunning book, Chávez Ravine: 1949: A Los Angeles Story, he includes two pages of nicknames.
There is one nickname that makes my heart race.
Ripper.
Growing up, I’d never heard his name mentioned. Not once. But then my mother came to visit when my second daughter was born. She went from being lucid to seeing things that were not there. I called 911. While I waited for the ambulance to arrive, she kept mentioning the name Ripper. After we’d processed the diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s, I asked my father about this mysterious person.
Ripper was my mother’s first husband.
My father did not want to talk about Ripper. He’d only say my mother had married him when she was very young, and the relationship didn’t last long.
I didn’t have to ask why mother had kept this a secret from me. She had old-fashioned, old-school Catholic feelings on divorce and no doubt didn’t want me to think any less of her because she was a divorced woman.
This former marriage also explained my mother’s outsized dramatic reaction to a certain boyfriend of mine. She probably thought I’d make the same mistake. Of course, an honest conversation about the perils of forming too-early attachments might have been useful, but she portrayed herself as an obedient young woman who did not climb out the window to steal away with her young man.
When my mother died, her childhood friend attended her funeral. Mary had also lived in the Palo Verde neighborhood of Chavez Ravine, so I asked her about him.
If only I had a camera to capture her expression. Her eyebrows shot up. Her jaw dropped. One hand fluttered to her heart. “She didn’t tell you she’d been married before!” she said.
No. No. And definitely not.
Mary told me what she could remember about the relationship, which lasted several years. She called him the love of my mother’s life, which was a rather shocking thing to say with my father standing not far away.
I got the gist of things, even though Mary was short on specifics. Ripper lived a few doors down from my mother. My grandmother wasn’t a big fan and disapproved of him, but then, my grandmother was a proud woman who thought her family was better than some others around Palo Verde, according to some stories I heard. Mary said my mother married him against her mother’s wishes. This probably doomed things from the start. Grandma Kika was a tough lady with strong opinions, accustomed to getting her way. My mother and my aunts revered her and usually did what she asked. My grandmother approved and loved her two other sons-in-law, both from Chavez Ravine.
Ripper no doubt found himself the odd man out. I can’t imagine my mother holding out against that kind of maternal pressure. Or maybe the relationship between my mother and Ripper didn’t work out for all the usual reasons a marriage can fail. Or a combination of things.
I had many years to fill in the blanks about Ripper.
With a nickname like that, I can be excused for thinking he’d been pretty good with a knife. And that he’d been one of those good-looking bad boys in his youth. I don't know if the Ripper named in Normark's book is the same man my mother married, but how many Rippers could there be?
Later, I was to learn his actual name and that he died within three months of my mother. Coincidence, but somehow, it felt strangely significant. I know it would have upset my father if he’d lived long enough to find that out. Not that I would have told him. I never mentioned Ripper again.
Ripper, my imagined version of him, first appeared in my short story set in Chavez Ravine called The Emissary.
You can read it for free on my website. He makes another appearance in The Monsters of Chavez Ravine, and I must admit, next to the protagonist Trini Duran, he’s one of my favorite characters.
There’s a lesson somewhere in all of this about family secrets.
They don’t stay secret forever. And if there’s a writer in the family, that secret is going to end up in a book.
March 26, 2021
A Map for The Monsters of Chavez Ravine
My daughter asked if I planned to include a map for my urban fantasy novella, The Monsters of Chavez Ravine.
The answer was no. But as soon as she said it, I thought it would be a good idea. While the characters and plot are fiction, the setting is real. Or it was before the bulldozers arrived and knocked everything down. And it would be nice to show readers how the three old neighborhoods of Palo Verde, Bishop and La Loma stood in relation to each other, as the characters often walk, and sometimes run, between the hilly villages.
I had a general idea of how the neighborhoods were situated in Chavez Ravine, but most of the maps I came across all lacked something that made them a bit difficult to understand at a casual glance.
What the book needed was a simple, yet stylish map, like those often seen in fantasy and science fiction novels.
This artistic endeavor was way beyond my skills, so I turned to someone I discovered in the writing community on Twitter, a talented young British fantasy writer and illustrator by the name of Dewi Hargreaves.
This map needed a few anchor points, so Elysian Park and the neighborhood of Solano are included. Both exist today in Los Angeles. Solano once bordered the old Chavez Ravine neighborhoods. Also included are the Arroyo Seco Parkway, now called the Pasadena Freeway, and North Broadway.
We added a few features, too. One existed: the shacks belonging to Los Viejitos. Old gringo bachelors once occupied the tiny, rustic rental cabins. A couple of key scenes play out there, one involving a favorite minor character, the impetuous Pete Chevira, so on the map it went.
While there were wells around Chavez Ravine (in fact, I have a picture of my mother and uncle posing next to one), the well shown in La Loma was placed there at my direction. It’s also there for a reason, but that would involve a spoiler, so I’ll move on to the next feature: Duran Market & Liquor in Palo Verde. This is a fictional store owned by our heroine’s father, Salvio Duran. The store that twenty-two-year-old Trini takes over after her father is attacked under mysterious circumstances.
Several stores existed in Chavez Ravine, like the Ayala store pictured in chavezravine.org. Both markets, Duran Market & Liquor, and the one belonging to the character Henry Loya in Boyle Heights are fictitious.
This leads me to the last bit about the map.
Images get scraped and end up on the internet, often without context. The last thing I wanted was for this map—a mixture of fact and fiction—to end up online for people to discover and use, believing it was an actual representation of Palo Verde, La Loma and Bishop. So, at the bottom, you will see, “The Monsters of Chavez Ravine.”
Hopefully, the mention of monsters will throw up some red flags!
The answer was no. But as soon as she said it, I thought it would be a good idea. While the characters and plot are fiction, the setting is real. Or it was before the bulldozers arrived and knocked everything down. And it would be nice to show readers how the three old neighborhoods of Palo Verde, Bishop and La Loma stood in relation to each other, as the characters often walk, and sometimes run, between the hilly villages.
I had a general idea of how the neighborhoods were situated in Chavez Ravine, but most of the maps I came across all lacked something that made them a bit difficult to understand at a casual glance.
What the book needed was a simple, yet stylish map, like those often seen in fantasy and science fiction novels.
This artistic endeavor was way beyond my skills, so I turned to someone I discovered in the writing community on Twitter, a talented young British fantasy writer and illustrator by the name of Dewi Hargreaves.
This map needed a few anchor points, so Elysian Park and the neighborhood of Solano are included. Both exist today in Los Angeles. Solano once bordered the old Chavez Ravine neighborhoods. Also included are the Arroyo Seco Parkway, now called the Pasadena Freeway, and North Broadway.
We added a few features, too. One existed: the shacks belonging to Los Viejitos. Old gringo bachelors once occupied the tiny, rustic rental cabins. A couple of key scenes play out there, one involving a favorite minor character, the impetuous Pete Chevira, so on the map it went.
While there were wells around Chavez Ravine (in fact, I have a picture of my mother and uncle posing next to one), the well shown in La Loma was placed there at my direction. It’s also there for a reason, but that would involve a spoiler, so I’ll move on to the next feature: Duran Market & Liquor in Palo Verde. This is a fictional store owned by our heroine’s father, Salvio Duran. The store that twenty-two-year-old Trini takes over after her father is attacked under mysterious circumstances.
Several stores existed in Chavez Ravine, like the Ayala store pictured in chavezravine.org. Both markets, Duran Market & Liquor, and the one belonging to the character Henry Loya in Boyle Heights are fictitious.
This leads me to the last bit about the map.
Images get scraped and end up on the internet, often without context. The last thing I wanted was for this map—a mixture of fact and fiction—to end up online for people to discover and use, believing it was an actual representation of Palo Verde, La Loma and Bishop. So, at the bottom, you will see, “The Monsters of Chavez Ravine.”
Hopefully, the mention of monsters will throw up some red flags!
March 16, 2021
The Root Witch: An Urban Legend Caught on Tape
I almost feel guilty for using the amazing Pando quaking aspen forest in central Utah as a setting for a horror story.
Sorry, Pando!
All those pictures of your massive single root system not only stuck with me for years after I first saw them, but they also creeped me out. As in, I kept imagining terrible things involving the very thing that makes you a one-in-the-world wonder: your roots.
And because I have an overactive imagination, this led to the conjuring of The Root Witch. It invaded two bits of valuable real estate: my head and your quaking aspen forest of one hundred and six acres.
Pando has a perfect name. It means, “I spread” in Latin. New trees sprout from the massive single root system. The USDA Forest Service says the aspen forest is just one tree.
Unfortunately, the naming happened too late for the story, set in 1986.
Why did I choose that year?
For several reasons: 1) I’ve always wanted to write about what it was like to work in a newsroom before cell phones, before the internet; 2) It was a great time to work in local TV; 3) I worked as a brand new news producer in Salt Lake City, and it was great fun to recall the challenges of working at the assignment desk without the benefits of instant communication.
So, what if such a story assignment went wrong? I mean, spectacularly wrong?
And what if that story involved a terrifying urban legend called The Root Witch?
So that’s what I set out to do in The Root Witch: An Urban Legend Caught On Tape, a horror novelette.
As for the wonderfully creepy cover, credit goes to James at www,GoOnWrite.com.
Sorry, Pando!
All those pictures of your massive single root system not only stuck with me for years after I first saw them, but they also creeped me out. As in, I kept imagining terrible things involving the very thing that makes you a one-in-the-world wonder: your roots.
And because I have an overactive imagination, this led to the conjuring of The Root Witch. It invaded two bits of valuable real estate: my head and your quaking aspen forest of one hundred and six acres.
Pando has a perfect name. It means, “I spread” in Latin. New trees sprout from the massive single root system. The USDA Forest Service says the aspen forest is just one tree.
Unfortunately, the naming happened too late for the story, set in 1986.
Why did I choose that year?
For several reasons: 1) I’ve always wanted to write about what it was like to work in a newsroom before cell phones, before the internet; 2) It was a great time to work in local TV; 3) I worked as a brand new news producer in Salt Lake City, and it was great fun to recall the challenges of working at the assignment desk without the benefits of instant communication.
So, what if such a story assignment went wrong? I mean, spectacularly wrong?
And what if that story involved a terrifying urban legend called The Root Witch?
So that’s what I set out to do in The Root Witch: An Urban Legend Caught On Tape, a horror novelette.
As for the wonderfully creepy cover, credit goes to James at www,GoOnWrite.com.
March 4, 2021
About the Cover of The Monsters of Chavez Ravine
My new urban fantasy, "The Monsters of Chavez Ravine," comes out 4/5/21. Here's a bit more about the cover that you can see by clicking on my GR's author profile.
Luckily, I have a graphic designer who talked me out of some pretty terrible ideas and with limited input, came up with a cover that captures what this book is about. A big thanks to James at GoOnWrite.
The story is set where Dodger Stadium now stands. The eminent domain evictions of thousands of Mexican America families happened. They happened to my mother and her extended family, too. (All of this took place before the Dodgers arrived in LA)
When I was thinking about the different ways I could tell that tale, I kept returning to the idea of interjecting ghosts or monsters to this story of social injustice.
In the end, monsters won.
It’s impossible to shoot at a ghost, and the young lady I conjured as the feisty main character came with sharpshooting skills.
So back to the cover and my horrible first concept.
Most of the photos of the old neighborhoods of Palo Verde, La Loma, and Bishop are in black and white. But it’s Los Angeles and there was lots of sun, and hills and some green, too. My mother recalled her former home as a place with wide-open spaces. The book cover captures its rural beauty, the place many did not want to leave, the place some tirelessly fought for.
This brings us to the protest sign that holds the title of the book.
It’s perfect because the story centers on the two hundred holdouts resisting eviction. There’s even a scene in the book that includes some of the residents making protest signs. Of course, there’s a hint of a monster, and another thing too: a rather dilapidated house.
By 1952, the three neighborhoods of what we now know as Chavez Ravine were fast becoming ghost villages. That sad, rather spooky white house is a stand-in for the state of things in the mostly vacated neighborhoods. It also resembles the house at 1838 Bishops Road where my mother was born, built around 1922.
Interested in learning more about the old neighborhoods of Chavez Ravine? In my next post, I'll share a list of recommended books and resources.
Luckily, I have a graphic designer who talked me out of some pretty terrible ideas and with limited input, came up with a cover that captures what this book is about. A big thanks to James at GoOnWrite.
The story is set where Dodger Stadium now stands. The eminent domain evictions of thousands of Mexican America families happened. They happened to my mother and her extended family, too. (All of this took place before the Dodgers arrived in LA)
When I was thinking about the different ways I could tell that tale, I kept returning to the idea of interjecting ghosts or monsters to this story of social injustice.
In the end, monsters won.
It’s impossible to shoot at a ghost, and the young lady I conjured as the feisty main character came with sharpshooting skills.
So back to the cover and my horrible first concept.
Most of the photos of the old neighborhoods of Palo Verde, La Loma, and Bishop are in black and white. But it’s Los Angeles and there was lots of sun, and hills and some green, too. My mother recalled her former home as a place with wide-open spaces. The book cover captures its rural beauty, the place many did not want to leave, the place some tirelessly fought for.
This brings us to the protest sign that holds the title of the book.
It’s perfect because the story centers on the two hundred holdouts resisting eviction. There’s even a scene in the book that includes some of the residents making protest signs. Of course, there’s a hint of a monster, and another thing too: a rather dilapidated house.
By 1952, the three neighborhoods of what we now know as Chavez Ravine were fast becoming ghost villages. That sad, rather spooky white house is a stand-in for the state of things in the mostly vacated neighborhoods. It also resembles the house at 1838 Bishops Road where my mother was born, built around 1922.
Interested in learning more about the old neighborhoods of Chavez Ravine? In my next post, I'll share a list of recommended books and resources.
July 20, 2020
Writing a YA novel with historical subplot
While plotting out my YA supernatural mystery The Box in The Cuts: A Supernatural Mystery, I immediately ran into a challenge. How to tell the backstory of the creepy old mansion at the center of the novel. And then I remembered the convention Bram Stoker used in Dracula. A combination of short diary entries and letters would work nicely!
The mansion is loosely based on the Ralston Hall Mansion in Belmont, California. It's halfway between San Francisco and San Jose. I eventually settled on the 1860s as a good time period for my subplot. The setting? The rough and tumble Barbary Coast of San Francisco. While reading about the history and demographics of the place, the character practically introduced herself. Hello Marguerite. A seventeen-year-old girl desperate to escape a life of prostitution at a gambling salon where she lived with her mother.
Through this device, I was able to tell Marguerite’s story and explain what happened to her when she took a job at the mansion to escape her fate in the city. A few letters from her distraught fiancé capped the subplot.
I have to say I was happy with the way it all turned out. The way the contemporary story intersected with the historical chapters, revealing dark and deadly secrets.
Now, I couldn’t have done it without the help of a key book. The Writer's Guide to Everyday Life in the 1800s. It answered most of the questions I had about the period: style of dress, manner of speech, birth control methods and marriage customs. Even what to call that funny little cabinet in the corner of the parlor.
As for the writing style of the diary and letter entries, the internet is an amazing thing. I was able to find enough letters from the 1860s to give me a good sense of how people expressed themselves back then.
I love historical fiction, but I was nervous about giving it a go myself. But now, I’m excited about returning to that world. On my writing list is now an historical fantasy set in the era of the Gold Rush.
The mansion is loosely based on the Ralston Hall Mansion in Belmont, California. It's halfway between San Francisco and San Jose. I eventually settled on the 1860s as a good time period for my subplot. The setting? The rough and tumble Barbary Coast of San Francisco. While reading about the history and demographics of the place, the character practically introduced herself. Hello Marguerite. A seventeen-year-old girl desperate to escape a life of prostitution at a gambling salon where she lived with her mother.
Through this device, I was able to tell Marguerite’s story and explain what happened to her when she took a job at the mansion to escape her fate in the city. A few letters from her distraught fiancé capped the subplot.
I have to say I was happy with the way it all turned out. The way the contemporary story intersected with the historical chapters, revealing dark and deadly secrets.
Now, I couldn’t have done it without the help of a key book. The Writer's Guide to Everyday Life in the 1800s. It answered most of the questions I had about the period: style of dress, manner of speech, birth control methods and marriage customs. Even what to call that funny little cabinet in the corner of the parlor.
As for the writing style of the diary and letter entries, the internet is an amazing thing. I was able to find enough letters from the 1860s to give me a good sense of how people expressed themselves back then.
I love historical fiction, but I was nervous about giving it a go myself. But now, I’m excited about returning to that world. On my writing list is now an historical fantasy set in the era of the Gold Rush.
July 12, 2020
Writing about narcissistic parents
A long time ago, I had a blog about dealing with narcissistic parents. I had no idea so many people experienced the same thing I did growing up. My mother was self-absorbed. My father was diagnosed with full-blown narcissistic personality disorder. Both parents suffered trauma growing up, so they came by their disorders the hard way. I ended up with issues of my own which I eventually dealt with.
And I also ended up with lots of stories to tell. Some I shared, like a piece I did that ran on the public radio program This American Life about my ridiculous battle with hypochondria (parent induced). Mostly, I just bored friends with stories about the crazy things my parents did and how much time and money I spent trying to fix myself as an adult.
Here is the funny thing: I am happier now than I have ever been. I hardly ever think about the darker aspects of my earlier years.
And then I started writing my first young adult novel, The Box in The Cuts, and suddenly my main character’s mother isn’t just controlling, she’s straight up narcissistic. And then there is the mother in the subplot (set in 1860s California) and she’s arguably worse. But it wasn’t enough to write about two not-so-great moms, I decide to introduce a third mom – one who could win Worst Mom Ever contest.
Apparently, this stuff isn’t quite out of my system yet. But at least it’s made for some (hopefully) entertaining if unsettling scenes.
A young adult reader of an early version of The Box in The Cuts expressed disbelief at the way one mother behaved. But a mother would never do that, was the objection.
As it turned out, this reader had an amazing, loving mother attuned to her needs. She simply could not imagine that any mother could act in such a way. One scene involving a haircut, to her, seemed impossible. Yet it happened to me. And oddly, some women who visited my old blog experienced similar things.
So those difficult scenes still stand. And I can’t help but feel both relieved and happy that for some people, this dark stuff is truly fiction. The Box in The Cuts: A Supernatural Mystery
And I also ended up with lots of stories to tell. Some I shared, like a piece I did that ran on the public radio program This American Life about my ridiculous battle with hypochondria (parent induced). Mostly, I just bored friends with stories about the crazy things my parents did and how much time and money I spent trying to fix myself as an adult.
Here is the funny thing: I am happier now than I have ever been. I hardly ever think about the darker aspects of my earlier years.
And then I started writing my first young adult novel, The Box in The Cuts, and suddenly my main character’s mother isn’t just controlling, she’s straight up narcissistic. And then there is the mother in the subplot (set in 1860s California) and she’s arguably worse. But it wasn’t enough to write about two not-so-great moms, I decide to introduce a third mom – one who could win Worst Mom Ever contest.
Apparently, this stuff isn’t quite out of my system yet. But at least it’s made for some (hopefully) entertaining if unsettling scenes.
A young adult reader of an early version of The Box in The Cuts expressed disbelief at the way one mother behaved. But a mother would never do that, was the objection.
As it turned out, this reader had an amazing, loving mother attuned to her needs. She simply could not imagine that any mother could act in such a way. One scene involving a haircut, to her, seemed impossible. Yet it happened to me. And oddly, some women who visited my old blog experienced similar things.
So those difficult scenes still stand. And I can’t help but feel both relieved and happy that for some people, this dark stuff is truly fiction. The Box in The Cuts: A Supernatural Mystery
