Kate Genet's Blog, page 12

One Brain, Two Brain, Left Brain, Right Brain

Photo Credit: Artem Chernyshevych

In the 1930's, brain surgeons tried the first experiments in severing the two halves of the brain, in order to reduce the likelihood of seizures in their epileptic patients, and it seemed to work.

In the 1950's doctors started looking into why and how this might have worked. What was the mass of nerve fibres called the corpus callosum or commissure for? Previous speculation had suggested ironically that its purpose appeared to be to transmit epileptic seizures, or perhaps it was simply to prevent the brain from sagging in the middle.

In the end, it was determined that we actually have two brains and the commissure bridges the two so they can work together.

It's very interesting that a split-brain operation gives the patient two separate minds, and it also seems to restrict his or her identity or ego to the left side. That's right – the person you call 'you' lives in the left cerebral hemisphere, which is the half that deals with language and logic. We could call it something of a scientist, especially when we consider that the right brain operates in terms of patterns and insight and might best be regarded as an artist.

Now, writing is an act of close co-operation between these two amazing brains of ours. It seems the right brain comes up with the ideas (have you ever had the thought that ideas just seem to walk into your head? Well, that's your artistic right sending its brilliance over to the conscious you in the left). If you're too tired, stressed or you've drunk too much, the right brain retreats into hazy sleep and you'll find yourself staring at the page unable to come up with any even half decent ideas.

I was busily writing away the other day, coming up fast on the end of the new Michaela and Trisha book when suddenly my mind started squealing at me. You're writing yourself into a brick wall! This isn't what we planned! Stop, turn around, delete, delete, delete!

It definitely wasn't going as I'd half-pie planned it would. Trisha was supposed to be standing up fighting, instead – she was running away!

I'm not a writer who plots books out in advance. I start a new story with a vague idea of what I want it to be about, and a good idea of the characters. I don't make detailed notes about what each chapter will be about. I just sit down and start the story from the beginning and write until the end. Each day I have an idea what will happen in the current scene and I dive in and start putting words on the page.

Quite often it happens that the scene I'm writing heads in an unexpected direction. Or clues or red herrings are dropped in at all the right spots. It feels as though the story and characters are taking over. They're not of course; what's really going on is that the right brain is working full steam ahead and the left is keeping quiet and translating. This is what happened the other day when it looked awfully like I was writing myself into a brick wall. I hate going back and deleting whole paragraphs, however, so I stuck a sock in my left brain's mouth and kept going. At the very least it was going to be interesting to see what happened next.

The weird thing is that what happened next turned out to be far better. Sure the character ran away and the situation wasn't resolved like I had thought it would be, but as it happened, by taking my analytical left brain out of the equation and letting my right brain share its ideas uninhibited, the scene actually turned out better and in the end everything made perfect sense and had much greater depth to it than it would have had I stuck to my original thoughts on how it should go.

This is of course, the sort of thing that happens to us all when we're in 'flow'. Our usually noisy and often fearful ego takes a back seat and the two halves of our mind work in a finely tuned balance.

But guess what? It still kinda feels like magic to me.

Filed under: Writing Journal

Enter Trisha, Exit Cat From Bag

I should have known Trisha would show up again, sooner or later. God save me from my own characters.

"Shove over will you? Your laptop's digging into me."

"Go sit somewhere else then. I'm trying to work on a new blog post."

"Uh uh. I'll sit right here because we need to have a chat. You can write it down and there's your blog post. You were only going to talk about world-building in fiction anyway. Boring."

"You want me to take dictation from you?"

"What? Just write down everything we say. Fuck me Freddy but you're uptight. When was the last time you got laid?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard. It's good for relieving tension, you know."

Maybe, but it's none of your business. What would you say if I asked you when you last got laid?"

"I'd say yesterday, thank you very much and it was out of this world good. Hey, I never thanked you for giving me a girlfriend who, you know, knows her way around…"

"Ah. Well. My pleasure, I guess."

No, actually – my pleasure. Ha, look at that, little writer girl's blushing. Come on, tell Aunty Trisha then, when was the last time? I know it crosses your mind every now and then– you think I didn't see what you wrote to Alexandra Wolfe yesterday about her sexy little story she's putting in the next Kissed By Venus mag? Ha! You really are blushing."

"I'm not a little writer girl and I'm not blushing. Change the subject."

"Fine. I want my own Facebook Page."

"What?"

"Facebook Page. I want. My own one."

"You can't have a Facebook Page. I've already got one."

"Yeah, you've already got one and it's boring as all shit too. You hardly ever update it and you don't even have enough likes to get a proper address for it. You never even remember to tell people you have a fricking page."

"Well, maybe so, but it doesn't mean you should have one."

"Why not? Bet mine would be a lot more popular than yours. Me and Michaela, we'd update it often enough and you know we would have lots of weird, scary and funny sh – stuff to say. Hell, you're even writing us a new book. About time too, I'd say. I was getting bored just hanging around listening to you all day."

"The new book's coming along quite well, isn't it?"

"Yeah, though why'd you have to go get us embroiled in a whole lot of weird crapola, I don't know. What happened to the holiday on a tropical island I asked for?"

"You can have your holiday after you get your act together and help Michaela solve this new mystery."

"Fine. Jeeze, you know I will anyway. Hey, I like having scenes to myself this time, by the way. The last books  were fun, you know, but it's nice having some of this one from my viewpoint. Makes me feel appreciated."

"Some of it's from Caro's too."

"Yeah. Talking about Caro, I did not see that one coming. Wow, you coulda hit me upside the head and I wouldn't have been any more shocked."

"It was a bit of a surprise, wasn't it?"

"Hell yeah. Complicates everything though, doesn't it? Why'd you have to make it like that? With you know, her…"

"Quiet. No letting the cat out of the bag."

"Cats don't like being in bags, you know. In fact, it's inhumane."

"Imaginary cat. Imaginary bag. Cat stays in bag."

"Fine, you're the boss lady. When's Orange Moon coming out? I like that book. I ain't going to say I actually cried at the end, but I might have almost cried. And if I wasn't doing the happy ever after thing with my own gorgeous woman, I might seriously think about book-hopping. Alice is cute, but Hope, wow – that's what I say."

"Good grief, Trisha. It should be out first week of November."

"Cool. Now, can I have my Facebook Page?"

"No."

"Aw c'mon. Why not?"

"You need photographs. Where would we get photographs of you?"

"Dunno. Maybe one of our readers would like to pose as me? Who knows?"

"The answer's still no. You know I don't use Facebook much."

"Hardly fair. I'd do all the work. Tell you what – type Facebook here, do that magic thing you do to make it a link. That's right. Now, maybe a few readers will click on that, like your stupid page, and tell you to let me have my own. What's a girl gotta do around here to get what they want? I'm more than just a pretty face, you know."

Trisha? You're something all right and that something's definitely more than just a pretty face.

Filed under: Writing Journal

We're Not In Kansas Anymore, Toto

Dr Who is on the screen telling us that almost every species in the universe is afraid of the dark.
 A family member scoffs, 'What about all the nocturnal animals there are?'
I look at him in some consternation. 'He's probably speaking of thinking rather than instinctual species,' I reply.
 That wasn't good enough however. 'He said all species.'

I guess for him that was that, case closed, you can take it to the bank and thank you very much.
I thought the Doctor's line about almost every species in the universe being afraid of the dark was a pretty good one actually. Not because it invited us to think deeply about it – it didn't. Instead, because it gave us a shiver, called up some dark, primal emotion and made us think quickly of every shadow encountered, every bogeyman hiding in the dark under the bed and in the closet. It made us feel. Well, it did that for me anyway, and I imagine for any other fan of the Doctor, or perhaps any fan of mainstream fiction.
We read (and watch) this sort of fiction because we want to be taken to another place and feel what it's like there. We're not there to make an anthropological study, we're there simply to enjoy the ride (especially if we're scared silly somewhere along the way). With this type of fiction, whether you're amongst the pages of a book or watching an episode of Dr Who on dvd, to get the most enjoyment out of it, you're entering into an implicit agreement with the writer.
Said agreement goes something like this:
Writer – 'I hereby agree (to the best of my ability) to produce something like a continuous dream for you. I'll make the details as believable as I can, so that you can enter into this world of my making, and feel almost that it's real. I'll trick you by all means fair and foul into believing it right along with me, in feeling the thrills and heart spills, in laughing, crying and maybe even screaming whilst you're deep amongst my pages. I'll do my best to make it so that when you put my book down, you'll be blinking like a new babe in the sunlight, hardly recognising your old, familiar world.'
And, dear Reader, your part is this:
Reader – 'When I pick up your book I'm going to fall into its pages like I'm falling through a door into a new world. I'm going to put aside my natural-born scepticism, that hard-ass attitude I need to get through my days in the real world, and I'm going to be a trusting newborn passed into your keeping. I'm going to do my best to believe, I'm going to allow myself to be hoodwinked by your honeyed word; I want to go on this trip with you. I want to care about the people you've made up like they're real, my family, my neighbours, my new best friends, my nightmares. I'm ready and willing, writer man or woman - take me for a ride.'
It's an agreement based in magic. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto, and if the writer is good enough, you'll take her hand and walk right on down that yellow brick road with her. Maybe you'll even hum a little tune.

Filed under: Writing Journal

A Character Comes to Life

I was up late last night suffering from what I can only call book fever. The light was out in my bedroom but turned up bright in my head and I was too excited to search around for the switch to turn it off.

Photo Credit: Cristina Chirtes

A few months back, I had a great idea for a new novel. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. Turning it over in my mind, examining it from all angles, I reckoned it was pretty damn good actually. So I kept it tucked away in a special compartment labeled 'next book ideas' and every now and then I'd go back and take another peek. I liked it every time I thought about it, except for one thing: I couldn't get a handle on the main character. She was elusive, not telling me much about herself, except that she gets tangled up in something extraordinary.

But as to whom she really was, I had only the vaguest idea. I thought maybe she was a bit older, that she probably lived with a long term partner, and that these two women might have a couple of teenaged kids. But all that didn't feel right. I couldn't get it to gel together properly; the set up wasn't quite right. So back into the special compartment the idea would go, and I'd look at it every now and then, knowing it would work but puzzling over the various pieces.

The main reason this character eluded me was that I had the feeling she wasn't very nice. How do you write a decent book if the main character isn't that nice? A main character needs to be, I thought, someone you can understand, sympathize with, root for, and this one just wasn't living up to the hype. I found myself exasperated with her and totally unsympathetic. Her family didn't deserve her, and I felt quite certain that if I put her into the situation I had planned, she'd let me and everyone else down.

Then last night, as I was making dinner, the light bulb in the old brain turned on. Just like that. In the little movie theatre in my mind, a scene unreeled across the screen. A phone call. My character answering it, talking to someone, complaining about being interrupted when she was working. I abandoned the meal I was making and came upstairs to grab a pen and notebook. I wrote 'the phone rang.' Then I carried on for a few more pages and my main character revealed herself to me.

Later I lay in bed and thought about her some more. Finally I could see who she was and where she lived and what she was like, right down to the way she dressed, moved, talked. It turns out she doesn't have a wife or any kids. She's still not all that nice, but hot damn, she's incredibly interesting and I just know we're going to get along fine.

So I couldn't sleep for thinking about her. I know just about everything I need to about her now. I know her background, her history, where she lives, what she likes to do; I even know what her voice sounds like. Hours I lay in bed thinking about her, hoping like hell I wouldn't forget any of this come morning.

I haven't forgotten; I'm not going to. This character's ready to step onto the page. She and her friends and the extraordinary thing that will happen to them: it's all there, ready for me, then eventually, for you too.

It's magic, I tell you. There's no other word for it. How can something imaginary take on such a feeling of reality? Ah, and that's a little bit of what the book will be about. I can't wait to get started.

Filed under: Writing Journal

Kissed By Venus Fiction Competition

I'm excited to help announce the Venus Magazine's "New Voices" lesbian fiction competition! I'm one of the judges, along with a list of far more impressive names and I'm looking forward to reading a whole bunch of new and interesting stories. There's no entry fee and as long as the story is for and about lesbians, you're free to choose your genre. Sound exciting? You bet!

So if you're a writer or ever even thought about trying your hand at writing, here's your chance. What do you need to do? Why, nothing more than sit in a room by yourself and make something up. Let your imagination fun free.

 

On the home front here, I'm still having a terrible time with computers. Things are looking up, however, with a brand new computer arriving on my doorstep sometime next week, and hopefully, all data transferred to it from the old one. The data transfer turns out to be especially important as I've discovered the flash drive I back up all my writing on has somehow been corrupted. I usually back up my writing files online as well, but guess who made a major boo boo and never did that for my 84 000 word novel Orange Moon? Yes, that's right. Talk about a major oversight. So, if I can't get it ressurected from my old, now defunct computer, it's gone forever. I've been assured that if I pay an extra $92 my files can be retrieved; that they are there, still intact. Thank goodness for that, though I'm not sure I can believe it until my book is safely there on my desktop again. And I will never, never make the same mistake again.

 

Meanwhile, write well, everyone, and enter the competition!

 

Filed under: Writing Journal

With Pen and Paper

I've just treked through snow to the top of my gumboots to come to my local library to use the computer. Mine's been in for repairs since last week, and I don't fancy driving half an hour along steep and slippery roads to go and pick it up. We've been muffled inside great white drifts of snow since last week, although now there is sign of a thaw and all is drip, drip, drip and the trees are shaking the heavy snow from their backs like dogs.

 

It's been a novelty not having my computer. For starters, I've realised how much time I spend on it, either writing or bumbling about on the Internet, reading things, looking things up, writing emails…the list goes on. The days seem much longer now that I haven't had the opportunity to occupy myself this way.

I've resorted to writing my current book the old fashioned way – with pen and paper. I thought it would be terribly difficult doing it this way. I thought it just wouldn't bee the same without the music I was used to writing to, without the abiltiy to type almost fast enough to keep up with my thoughts, with having to at least try to remember how to spell things so that it would make sense when I read it over.

But it turns out, that no matter how superstitious I was about all the little routines and rituals I thought were essential to my writing process, that when it comes down to it, as long as you have something on which to record the words, you can write. I've been sitting on my bed, pen in hand, pad of paper on lap, no headphones playing music to block out the world, and I've written the story just like always.

It's been a very interesting exercise, but the worst of it is that now I know there's never an excuse not to get those words onto a page – any page.

I'm almost enjoying it. There are no disctractions – no emails coming in to steal my attention away, no thought of quickly looking up some obscure fact and spending half an hour wading through the Internet instead of writing. It's just me and the page.

I guess that's really all there is to this job in the end – just the writer and the page.

Filed under: Writing Journal

Back, and Busier than Ever

Yes, I know, I've been missing for the last couple of weeks. I didn't know I was going to take a break from blogging until I simply seemed to be in the midst of one. Besides, it's winter here in NZ – hibernation time.

It's been a busy couple of weeks. First, of course, as you all will know by now, I published my book Remnant on both Smashwords and Amazon. Thanks to all of you who have bought a copy! I spent a few days relaxing after the last minute anxiety in getting that available, then turned my thoughts to what should I do next?

I said a few times that I was going to spend some time writing a new book featuring Michaela and Trisha from Silent Light and Shadows Fall, and I totally intended to, I swear! I made a start and got three chapters into it when something extraordinary happened to throw all my well made plans out the window.

I had another idea. Yes, I know, I have them all the time, and I've at least three books waiting patiently on the sidelines for me to write. But this idea wouldn't let me go – it screamed at me to write it and write it now. So I did. I chucked the book I had just started writing (sorry to everybody who was looking forward to it) and brought up a clean bit of virtual paper and within about four days I reached 10 000 words on a brand new idea and a brand new book.

I don't know what came over me, actually, as it's more my habit to leave a book idea to stew for a considerable time. I've never sat down and started one straight away! It's unheard of!

I'm not going to give you even an inkling of what it's about however. I think writing a first draft is nothing less than a pure leap of faith – that you have something to say and that it's going to end up worth saying.

The latest issue of The Venus Magazine is out now – have you seen it yet? It's as jam-packed as ever with marvellous interviews, essays and reviews – and a short story by yours truly. Baxter Clare Trautman published a great commentary on the Venus mag on her blog and called me 'the lesbian Stephen King'. This tickled me pink, I have to say, as Stephen King is one of my favourite writers. Later however, Baxter emailed me to say that 'I'd been thinking  I called you the lesbian Stephen King, but as I was driving home last night it occurred to me that no, you're more like Nancy Drew gone lesbian….Stephen King's darker and gorier but your characters are as stubborn, determined, and, well, I hate to say it, but they're just as darn wholesome! as Nancy and her pals.  You could never call a SK character wholesome whereas I wouldn't mind sitting down and sharing a peanut butter sandwich with your girls.'

I can't help being even more flattered somehow, because well, when you really think about it, she's right – dark and gory isn't my oeuvre, but spooky and kind of honest is. Either way, it made my day!

I wonder if any of you are followers of The Cocktail Hour – where we are always invited to pull up a chair, have a drink and enjoy the casual discussions of novels and fan fiction? It's a terrific podcast and I've recently been invited to record a 'Bar Rag' talking about and reading from my book Remnant. Doesn't that sound fun? I'll be busy doing that this week, so sometime in the near future perhaps, you'll all be able to have a taste of my dinky New Zealand accent.

But right now, all you lovely people, I've a book to go and write…Which reminds me, I'm also editing Orange Moon at the moment and am hoping to make it available by the end of the month, give or take.

 

 

Filed under: Writing Journal

Walking with Ancient Gods

There are still places in the world where it is easy to imagine that the ancient gods, once revered as keepers of sacred groves and springs, might merely be sleeping away their neglect.

Imagine their dreams as around them the world which once worshipped them turns instead to  bow at the feet of progress, and while people once offered them gifts and prayers, now we tear down their sacred places – tear them down, tear them apart, fill them in with concrete, choke them on fumes.

Imagine if these gods and goddesses were no longer content to be part of a dim mythology, that they had had enough of their nightmares, and woke determined to set things right,

what might they do? And what would become of us? 

REMNANT available at Smashwords and Amazon  for $2.99 and at Amazon UK

 

Filed under: Writing Journal