Rachael Eyre's Blog - Posts Tagged "inspiration"
Looking back at ... The Revenge of Rose Grubb, Part One
After I'd finished The Governess, I was casting around for a subject for my next story. I was determined not to be a one trick pony; I think it's a mistake to stick to one genre, and had already decided that historical fiction wasn't for me.
Three concepts came together at just the right time. My partner's mother mentioned that she had gone to school with a well known actress, and she'd been a snobby, bitchy bully. I was intrigued by the thought you could be a "national treasure" but a horrible person. I'd long considered writing a book about girl on girl bullying, drawing upon my far from glorious school days. How much worse would it be if your tormentor grew up to be a ubiquitous TV star?
Around the same time, bullying was never far from the news. Suicides caused by bullying were at an all time high, with tragedies either side of the Atlantic. In one horrifying case, a bully somehow convinced her parents to burn down her victim's house; her target was the sole survivor. These stories gave the lie to the oft heard view that bullying is a rite of passage and victims "bring it on themselves".
So I had a plot - victim seeks revenge against their bully, now a celebrity - and even a motive. I hoped to refute the common perception that it's "only" bullying, that the victim ought to have moved on with her life and not raked up business the bully can't even remember. (Though what does that say about them?)
The last piece fell into place while I was rereading Carrie, of all things. Carrie's able to pull off a devastating revenge thanks to her telekinesis; I saw a heroine with magical powers could be a distinct advantage. Rose is the anti Carrie, if you like: she has a loving mother, she embraces her gifts, and rather than some muddled hate mongering version of Christianity, her family are friendly sweet shop owning Satanists.
Thanks to watching far too many Seventies horror films, I knew revenge wasn't simply a matter of popping out of a dumb waiter and shooting somebody. Since Frances lives in the spotlight, it's only fair she should die in the spotlight. And what better career for someone who can genuinely do magic than an illusionist like Derren Brown? Using this template, I had the perfect final act in mind; in fact, I'm sure I wrote it first.
Next time I'll look at characters, structure and themes. Buckle up your seat belts - it's a roller coaster ride of revenge, and it isn't going to be pretty.
Three concepts came together at just the right time. My partner's mother mentioned that she had gone to school with a well known actress, and she'd been a snobby, bitchy bully. I was intrigued by the thought you could be a "national treasure" but a horrible person. I'd long considered writing a book about girl on girl bullying, drawing upon my far from glorious school days. How much worse would it be if your tormentor grew up to be a ubiquitous TV star?
Around the same time, bullying was never far from the news. Suicides caused by bullying were at an all time high, with tragedies either side of the Atlantic. In one horrifying case, a bully somehow convinced her parents to burn down her victim's house; her target was the sole survivor. These stories gave the lie to the oft heard view that bullying is a rite of passage and victims "bring it on themselves".
So I had a plot - victim seeks revenge against their bully, now a celebrity - and even a motive. I hoped to refute the common perception that it's "only" bullying, that the victim ought to have moved on with her life and not raked up business the bully can't even remember. (Though what does that say about them?)
The last piece fell into place while I was rereading Carrie, of all things. Carrie's able to pull off a devastating revenge thanks to her telekinesis; I saw a heroine with magical powers could be a distinct advantage. Rose is the anti Carrie, if you like: she has a loving mother, she embraces her gifts, and rather than some muddled hate mongering version of Christianity, her family are friendly sweet shop owning Satanists.
Thanks to watching far too many Seventies horror films, I knew revenge wasn't simply a matter of popping out of a dumb waiter and shooting somebody. Since Frances lives in the spotlight, it's only fair she should die in the spotlight. And what better career for someone who can genuinely do magic than an illusionist like Derren Brown? Using this template, I had the perfect final act in mind; in fact, I'm sure I wrote it first.
Next time I'll look at characters, structure and themes. Buckle up your seat belts - it's a roller coaster ride of revenge, and it isn't going to be pretty.
Looking back at The Revenge of Rose Grubb, Part Two
If The Governess is about unhealthy love, Grubb is the story of an all consuming hate. It was very nearly called The Poison Tree, in homage to the Blake poem, and to this day I can't think of a better metaphor for the book's central conflict.
The young Rose is that stock figure, a bright working class girl who finds herself catapulted into the glamorous world of private school. In a different narrative she would have won over her critics, scooped all the prizes and eventually become Head Girl.
But she's in another story altogether; this promising, naive girl is transformed by her ordeal into a profoundly difficult, disturbed woman who can't form healthy relationships and always feels as though there's something missing. She is permanently on the outside looking in, full of self loathing and self doubt. Although we have numerous experiences in common, I'm relieved to say she isn't me. Add to an already explosive mix the fact she has magical powers, and anything can happen.
Frances is her dark mirror image. A child genius who is used to having her own way, she develops into a ruthless, duplicitous sociopath who believes that if she doesn't like something, she can make it disappear. She fixates on Rose because she's the one person who refuses to be impressed by her. Although she doesn't have Rose's powers, she does have the gift of making people believe her lies; despite being a despicable human being and multiple murderer, she has recreated herself as a household name and philanthropist.
Of course there are other characters in this turbulent landscape. Gail, Rose's firm but fair northern mum, whose memory keeps her going; Evan, Rose's one true love, a sweet, geeky dreamer who just happens to be Frances's stepbrother and the object of her quasi incestuous passion; Persephone or "Seph", Rose's false friend, who defects to Frances early on. She's been described as 'anaemic' and indeed that's the point - the idea of her is so much more enticing and touching than the reality. I wanted to illustrate a certain kind of adolescent bond that shades into love, where you worship someone for quite fictitious qualities.
These are the leads but I enjoyed writing the sideshow of oddballs, not least mysterious rake Avi, who comes and goes but won't answer any questions about himself.
Aware The Governess's structure had caused confusion, I deliberately simplified Grubb's. Rose's narration may move from present and past and back again, but these shifts are clearly signposted. You're only allowed to see events from her perspective and information is parcelled out so you don't get the full picture till she does.
As well as the inevitable themes of revenge, hate, love and loss, I've tried to examine two others: the devastating effects of bullying and our culture's obsession with celebrities.
It's only now, in this era of greater medical understanding, that bullying is recognised as an evil comparative with abuse or a traumatic event. Many schools fail to deal with the issue - the bully receives a mild slap on the wrist while the victim is transferred, making it seem as though they're the one being punished. The continuous blasts to their confidence cause a victim to become defensive and paranoid and, rather than "toughen them up", leave them vulnerable to the exact same treatment over again. The bully doesn't learn their lesson either; if left unchecked, they'll remain a bully, taking their aggressive and damaging behaviour out into the wider world.
Thankfully the tide is turning, but when I started writing Grubb in 2009, celebrity culture was at its peak - or nadir. Racks bulged with gossip magazines, the best seller lists were clogged with ghost written autobiographies, spurious 'celebrities' (read: reality TV rejects) flooded the airwaves with obnoxious opinions about class, parenting and the rest.
The worrying thing was, people were swallowing this junk. Frances may be an exaggeration, but there were scores of deeply unsavoury characters who could get away with murder because they were famous. At the time of writing, a celebrity covering evil acts with charity work was seen as far fetched; nowadays, not so much. A Brazilian TV star was actually arranging assassinations to boost his show's ratings - a trick I wouldn't put past Frances, if Sewell's Spotlight started to flag.
Writing Grubb was the most cathartic experience of my life. Like Rose, I no longer have bad dreams. Though it might've been a monumental climb, I hope readers enjoy the view.
The young Rose is that stock figure, a bright working class girl who finds herself catapulted into the glamorous world of private school. In a different narrative she would have won over her critics, scooped all the prizes and eventually become Head Girl.
But she's in another story altogether; this promising, naive girl is transformed by her ordeal into a profoundly difficult, disturbed woman who can't form healthy relationships and always feels as though there's something missing. She is permanently on the outside looking in, full of self loathing and self doubt. Although we have numerous experiences in common, I'm relieved to say she isn't me. Add to an already explosive mix the fact she has magical powers, and anything can happen.
Frances is her dark mirror image. A child genius who is used to having her own way, she develops into a ruthless, duplicitous sociopath who believes that if she doesn't like something, she can make it disappear. She fixates on Rose because she's the one person who refuses to be impressed by her. Although she doesn't have Rose's powers, she does have the gift of making people believe her lies; despite being a despicable human being and multiple murderer, she has recreated herself as a household name and philanthropist.
Of course there are other characters in this turbulent landscape. Gail, Rose's firm but fair northern mum, whose memory keeps her going; Evan, Rose's one true love, a sweet, geeky dreamer who just happens to be Frances's stepbrother and the object of her quasi incestuous passion; Persephone or "Seph", Rose's false friend, who defects to Frances early on. She's been described as 'anaemic' and indeed that's the point - the idea of her is so much more enticing and touching than the reality. I wanted to illustrate a certain kind of adolescent bond that shades into love, where you worship someone for quite fictitious qualities.
These are the leads but I enjoyed writing the sideshow of oddballs, not least mysterious rake Avi, who comes and goes but won't answer any questions about himself.
Aware The Governess's structure had caused confusion, I deliberately simplified Grubb's. Rose's narration may move from present and past and back again, but these shifts are clearly signposted. You're only allowed to see events from her perspective and information is parcelled out so you don't get the full picture till she does.
As well as the inevitable themes of revenge, hate, love and loss, I've tried to examine two others: the devastating effects of bullying and our culture's obsession with celebrities.
It's only now, in this era of greater medical understanding, that bullying is recognised as an evil comparative with abuse or a traumatic event. Many schools fail to deal with the issue - the bully receives a mild slap on the wrist while the victim is transferred, making it seem as though they're the one being punished. The continuous blasts to their confidence cause a victim to become defensive and paranoid and, rather than "toughen them up", leave them vulnerable to the exact same treatment over again. The bully doesn't learn their lesson either; if left unchecked, they'll remain a bully, taking their aggressive and damaging behaviour out into the wider world.
Thankfully the tide is turning, but when I started writing Grubb in 2009, celebrity culture was at its peak - or nadir. Racks bulged with gossip magazines, the best seller lists were clogged with ghost written autobiographies, spurious 'celebrities' (read: reality TV rejects) flooded the airwaves with obnoxious opinions about class, parenting and the rest.
The worrying thing was, people were swallowing this junk. Frances may be an exaggeration, but there were scores of deeply unsavoury characters who could get away with murder because they were famous. At the time of writing, a celebrity covering evil acts with charity work was seen as far fetched; nowadays, not so much. A Brazilian TV star was actually arranging assassinations to boost his show's ratings - a trick I wouldn't put past Frances, if Sewell's Spotlight started to flag.
Writing Grubb was the most cathartic experience of my life. Like Rose, I no longer have bad dreams. Though it might've been a monumental climb, I hope readers enjoy the view.
Inspiration Corner: Disney
Like many kids of the Nineties I have a deep, abiding love of Disney films. Their animated films are among the first children see, shaping their expectations of what a "movie" should be like. The finest Disney is a heady brew: adventure, romance, gobsmacking animation, a villain you can loathe and sidekicks you chuckle over. I was fortunate to grow up during the 'Disney renaissance', where the company produced a clutch of outstanding pictures that are still revered today: The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin and The Lion King. Whether The Hunchback of Notre Dame belongs to this list is a matter of dispute; it's generally agreed that Pocahontas, Hercules and Tarzan do not. (I adore Hercules despite considerable flaws).
Although nobody has drawn up the winning formula, most successful Disney films have the following ingredients in common. They're based on a story already in the public domain. (The notable exception is The Lion King, which may or may not have been ripped off from Kimba the White Lion). They have a young protagonist, often female, who feels "different" and has an indefinable sense he / she is better than their lot. (Yet many of them are royalty. Go figure). They embark on an odyssey of self discovery, befriending wacky supporting characters along the way, and incidentally piss off powerful gods / sorcerors / tools with testosterone poisoning. Despite their aspirations they usually fall for the first beef/cheesecake they meet and get married - bye, bye adventures! In the best of the old movies the process was aided by spectacular musical numbers.
Considering Disney is the first fictional universe many of us encounter, its teachings are dubious at best. Quite aside from the message that "happily ever after means heterosexuality with 2.4 kids", it actively rewards unethical behaviour. Whole storylines revolve around the lead winning another character's love - Aladdin wants Jasmine, Ariel Eric - but the fact remains they do this via magic and deception, making them little better than the villain plotting their downfall. The Beast is a special case - it seems ignorance is one of the conditions of the spell, but since Belle is smart enough to realise most castles don't have singing and dancing furniture, chances are she guessed that part too. Either way, it isn't the same as tricking someone into believing you're a completely different person.
If "lie to win her heart" isn't iffy enough, what are we to make of the equation of goodness with beauty and evil with ugliness? Our youthful hero / ine is always a good looking all American kid, regardless of setting, while the baddies tend to be older, haggard and frequently uncomfortably ethnic. Why is Jafar the only convincingly Arabic character in Aladdin (with, may I point out, one of the only authentic Arabic names)? Why is Ursula morbidly obese? Even Gaston, object of many a girlhood crush, grows progressively uglier as the film goes on. When he finally stabs the Beast his face is twisted by a deranged slasher smile, not remotely handsome. The animators may claim his "true nature is revealed", or other such guff, but what are we to make of the Queen's transformation in Snow White, when she inexplicably turns into Jimmy Savile? Her stepdaughter's dimmer than a box of spent matches - all she had to do was put on a wig or disguise her voice. For whatever murky reasons, the company couldn't show an attractive character committing murder. You can't even cite the Beast as a subversion; his reward for reforming and earning Belle's love is being made - well, less bestial?
Perhaps I'm being unfair. The stories are mainly drawn from fairy tales, which aren't exactly bastions of logic. Cinderella's prince falls instantly in love, yet doesn't recognise the ragged urchin as his dream girl until she tries on that measly slipper. Prince Philip (heh) knows Aurora's bewitched and a kiss will release her, but what about Snow White's prince? Does he habitually wander around snogging dead girls? And why the hell doesn't Ariel find a pen and paper and explain her predicament to Eric?
The scenario that really sticks in my craw is the Beast's enchantment. We don't know why he was cursed in the original, but in the film he's only a child when the malicious bitch, sorry, beautiful enchantress transforms him - for not letting a creepy old hag into his castle. If we believe all Disney characters are contemporaries, perhaps he had the cautionary tale of Snow White drummed into him. In the event, he was absolutely right not to trust her.
Indeed, why are the women in these films so goddamn petty? Only Ursula is given a valid motive: revenge on Triton for banishing her (for reasons unspecified) and to rule the ocean (go, girl!) The rest seem to be driven by vanity and / or dislike: the wicked Queen can't stand that Snow White is prettier than her (debatable); Cruella wants a fabulous winter wardrobe; Lady Tremaine gets her kicks from bullying her stepdaughter. The prize definitely goes to Maleficent, who, after not being invited to a CHRISTENING, hexes a blameless girl and the entire kingdom. Overreaction much? I'd hate to forget her birthday.
More scholarly minds than mine have noted these issues and wondered if they might actually be harmful. Some feminists believe Beauty and the Beast perpetuates the myth that an abuser can be redeemed; psychologists have pointed out that the romance arc is easily attributable to Stockholm Syndrome. The racism of the older films is painful to modern sensibilities. Although the most objectionable sequences have been excised, we still have the torture happy, lisping Siamese cats in Lady and the Tramp and the jaw droppingly offensive Why Is the Red Man Red in Peter Pan. Even class doesn't get an easy ride. While a hard done by heroine might dream of a better life, and achieve it through marriage (!), hardworking and ambitious Disney males have a tendency to be evil, e.g. Jafar, Edgar in The Aristocats, Hades to some extent. Their "superiors" are usually numbskulls, making their frustration perfectly understandable.
You can tell that the company is taking the years of negative feedback on board. We're seeing varied, proactive heroines, who have more to offer than looks and viable ovaries. Frozen was a magnificent subversion of Disney's traditional values: two well rounded, interesting heroines, the "charming prince" being a sociopath and the two girls rescuing each other. Enchanted was a glittering live action send up of the most annoying tropes: falling in love in a heartbeat, housework with rodents (ugh!) and the complex physics of kiss magic. It's both hilarious and heartwarming.
You might ask why, having all these nitpicks, I continue to watch Disney films. It's precisely because I love them that I find myself pitying the hyenas or wondering what on earth will happen on Ariel and Eric's wedding night. I'm itching to write the "ever after" for a whole host of fairy tale characters - none of which would be possible if I hadn't been introduced to them by Disney.
Although nobody has drawn up the winning formula, most successful Disney films have the following ingredients in common. They're based on a story already in the public domain. (The notable exception is The Lion King, which may or may not have been ripped off from Kimba the White Lion). They have a young protagonist, often female, who feels "different" and has an indefinable sense he / she is better than their lot. (Yet many of them are royalty. Go figure). They embark on an odyssey of self discovery, befriending wacky supporting characters along the way, and incidentally piss off powerful gods / sorcerors / tools with testosterone poisoning. Despite their aspirations they usually fall for the first beef/cheesecake they meet and get married - bye, bye adventures! In the best of the old movies the process was aided by spectacular musical numbers.
Considering Disney is the first fictional universe many of us encounter, its teachings are dubious at best. Quite aside from the message that "happily ever after means heterosexuality with 2.4 kids", it actively rewards unethical behaviour. Whole storylines revolve around the lead winning another character's love - Aladdin wants Jasmine, Ariel Eric - but the fact remains they do this via magic and deception, making them little better than the villain plotting their downfall. The Beast is a special case - it seems ignorance is one of the conditions of the spell, but since Belle is smart enough to realise most castles don't have singing and dancing furniture, chances are she guessed that part too. Either way, it isn't the same as tricking someone into believing you're a completely different person.
If "lie to win her heart" isn't iffy enough, what are we to make of the equation of goodness with beauty and evil with ugliness? Our youthful hero / ine is always a good looking all American kid, regardless of setting, while the baddies tend to be older, haggard and frequently uncomfortably ethnic. Why is Jafar the only convincingly Arabic character in Aladdin (with, may I point out, one of the only authentic Arabic names)? Why is Ursula morbidly obese? Even Gaston, object of many a girlhood crush, grows progressively uglier as the film goes on. When he finally stabs the Beast his face is twisted by a deranged slasher smile, not remotely handsome. The animators may claim his "true nature is revealed", or other such guff, but what are we to make of the Queen's transformation in Snow White, when she inexplicably turns into Jimmy Savile? Her stepdaughter's dimmer than a box of spent matches - all she had to do was put on a wig or disguise her voice. For whatever murky reasons, the company couldn't show an attractive character committing murder. You can't even cite the Beast as a subversion; his reward for reforming and earning Belle's love is being made - well, less bestial?
Perhaps I'm being unfair. The stories are mainly drawn from fairy tales, which aren't exactly bastions of logic. Cinderella's prince falls instantly in love, yet doesn't recognise the ragged urchin as his dream girl until she tries on that measly slipper. Prince Philip (heh) knows Aurora's bewitched and a kiss will release her, but what about Snow White's prince? Does he habitually wander around snogging dead girls? And why the hell doesn't Ariel find a pen and paper and explain her predicament to Eric?
The scenario that really sticks in my craw is the Beast's enchantment. We don't know why he was cursed in the original, but in the film he's only a child when the malicious bitch, sorry, beautiful enchantress transforms him - for not letting a creepy old hag into his castle. If we believe all Disney characters are contemporaries, perhaps he had the cautionary tale of Snow White drummed into him. In the event, he was absolutely right not to trust her.
Indeed, why are the women in these films so goddamn petty? Only Ursula is given a valid motive: revenge on Triton for banishing her (for reasons unspecified) and to rule the ocean (go, girl!) The rest seem to be driven by vanity and / or dislike: the wicked Queen can't stand that Snow White is prettier than her (debatable); Cruella wants a fabulous winter wardrobe; Lady Tremaine gets her kicks from bullying her stepdaughter. The prize definitely goes to Maleficent, who, after not being invited to a CHRISTENING, hexes a blameless girl and the entire kingdom. Overreaction much? I'd hate to forget her birthday.
More scholarly minds than mine have noted these issues and wondered if they might actually be harmful. Some feminists believe Beauty and the Beast perpetuates the myth that an abuser can be redeemed; psychologists have pointed out that the romance arc is easily attributable to Stockholm Syndrome. The racism of the older films is painful to modern sensibilities. Although the most objectionable sequences have been excised, we still have the torture happy, lisping Siamese cats in Lady and the Tramp and the jaw droppingly offensive Why Is the Red Man Red in Peter Pan. Even class doesn't get an easy ride. While a hard done by heroine might dream of a better life, and achieve it through marriage (!), hardworking and ambitious Disney males have a tendency to be evil, e.g. Jafar, Edgar in The Aristocats, Hades to some extent. Their "superiors" are usually numbskulls, making their frustration perfectly understandable.
You can tell that the company is taking the years of negative feedback on board. We're seeing varied, proactive heroines, who have more to offer than looks and viable ovaries. Frozen was a magnificent subversion of Disney's traditional values: two well rounded, interesting heroines, the "charming prince" being a sociopath and the two girls rescuing each other. Enchanted was a glittering live action send up of the most annoying tropes: falling in love in a heartbeat, housework with rodents (ugh!) and the complex physics of kiss magic. It's both hilarious and heartwarming.
You might ask why, having all these nitpicks, I continue to watch Disney films. It's precisely because I love them that I find myself pitying the hyenas or wondering what on earth will happen on Ariel and Eric's wedding night. I'm itching to write the "ever after" for a whole host of fairy tale characters - none of which would be possible if I hadn't been introduced to them by Disney.
Writing Love and Robotics: The Genesis
Writing Love and Robotics has arguably been the most complicated, exhausting and rewarding process of my life. Nothing has been simple or conventional - apt, really, for a story about a love affair between a washed up gentleman adventurer and an android sex symbol.
After completing The Revenge of Rose Grubb, I wanted to mix it up yet again and write a lesbian time travel romance. While I still think it has a decent plot and characters, and may well return to it at a later date, the time wasn't right (no pun intended). You know if a story's working, even in the early stages, and this was failing to come to life. I shelved it and started to sketch out other ideas.
One of them was about a paranormal investigator who got herself into all kinds of hi jinks. Again, it was a serviceable idea, but I couldn't get excited about it. Her girlfriend acted as a butler cum chauffeur for her uncle, an eccentric retired explorer. In one of the subplots he would be blackmailed for his relationship with a younger man.
At some point I realised I was more interested in the secondary characters and their forbidden affair, and made them my focus. I've always loved adventure stories based on quasi romantic friendships between men, and found their tacked on marriages to women we hardly see insulting. I'm not suggesting that devoted male duos like Holmes and Watson are couples, but wouldn't it make a great story if they were? I thought I would tackle such a relationship but make the subtext text. I could even bring in the apparent purple wedding and have one of them forced to marry.
I freely admit that when I first imagined Josh, he wasn't a robot, but a vague immortal. The more I mulled it over, I saw this wasn't good enough. Thanks to Twilight and its imitators, love and sex with vampires, werewolves and other creatures of the night are no longer taboo. I briefly considered making him an angel, but thankfully discarded this hideous idea. It was only when I noticed the public debate about advances in robotics - and moral guardians' morbid prurience whenever the subject is raised - that I found my theme. If Josh was a robot, that could prompt fascinating questions about love and identity.
Equal marriage still hadn't been legalised when I started writing; I won't deny that it coloured the narrative, not least the upsetting insistence from various authorities that my nine year relationship was unnatural and unreal. This is why I've resisted attempts to turn it into a straight romance - there are enough of those in the world already.
The original starting point was surely the trials of Oscar Wilde. I discovered him as an outed, self loathing teen; the thought that somebody could be imprisoned for his sexuality was barbaric. What bothered me most was the awfulness of his boyfriend Bosie - if you're going to be sacrificed on the altar of love, it should at least be worth it.
Next time I'll look at influences and inspirations. Exploring a brand new genre has proved quite the eye opener!
After completing The Revenge of Rose Grubb, I wanted to mix it up yet again and write a lesbian time travel romance. While I still think it has a decent plot and characters, and may well return to it at a later date, the time wasn't right (no pun intended). You know if a story's working, even in the early stages, and this was failing to come to life. I shelved it and started to sketch out other ideas.
One of them was about a paranormal investigator who got herself into all kinds of hi jinks. Again, it was a serviceable idea, but I couldn't get excited about it. Her girlfriend acted as a butler cum chauffeur for her uncle, an eccentric retired explorer. In one of the subplots he would be blackmailed for his relationship with a younger man.
At some point I realised I was more interested in the secondary characters and their forbidden affair, and made them my focus. I've always loved adventure stories based on quasi romantic friendships between men, and found their tacked on marriages to women we hardly see insulting. I'm not suggesting that devoted male duos like Holmes and Watson are couples, but wouldn't it make a great story if they were? I thought I would tackle such a relationship but make the subtext text. I could even bring in the apparent purple wedding and have one of them forced to marry.
I freely admit that when I first imagined Josh, he wasn't a robot, but a vague immortal. The more I mulled it over, I saw this wasn't good enough. Thanks to Twilight and its imitators, love and sex with vampires, werewolves and other creatures of the night are no longer taboo. I briefly considered making him an angel, but thankfully discarded this hideous idea. It was only when I noticed the public debate about advances in robotics - and moral guardians' morbid prurience whenever the subject is raised - that I found my theme. If Josh was a robot, that could prompt fascinating questions about love and identity.
Equal marriage still hadn't been legalised when I started writing; I won't deny that it coloured the narrative, not least the upsetting insistence from various authorities that my nine year relationship was unnatural and unreal. This is why I've resisted attempts to turn it into a straight romance - there are enough of those in the world already.
The original starting point was surely the trials of Oscar Wilde. I discovered him as an outed, self loathing teen; the thought that somebody could be imprisoned for his sexuality was barbaric. What bothered me most was the awfulness of his boyfriend Bosie - if you're going to be sacrificed on the altar of love, it should at least be worth it.
Next time I'll look at influences and inspirations. Exploring a brand new genre has proved quite the eye opener!
