Rachael Eyre's Blog, page 9
April 11, 2016
Anti Social Media
I can vividly recall the first time I used the Internet. I was fifteen, a stranger to any form of tech and finishing my Computer Studies class. (Yes, that's what they used to call it. How retro!)
We take it for granted now, but for a novice it was an almost occult undertaking. The whooshy swooshy sound of dial up, as though you were communicating with aliens, then what seemed a smorgasbord of sites popping up. It was like witchcraft.
Me and my friend Debbie decided to go into a chat room with fake names. I forget her alias but mine was Tasmin. After a chorus of "Hi"s from my new virtual friends, this guy butted into the conversation.
"Age?"
I was young, with no sense of self preservation, and my Stranger Danger sirens were going off. It struck me that asking a girl three seconds into meeting her how old she was was an extremely skeezy thing to do. "Mind your own business," I typed.
God, how his messages deteriorated! After concluding I "must be a nut" (for spurning his advances?), he went on to say "Tasmin stinks of shit" and other things too obscene to repeat here. I've never been in a chat room since.
Despite that inauspicious beginning, I soon fell in love with the Net. It was the perfect climate for a socially awkward teen, allowing me to meet likeminded people and start groups celebrating my interests. Chat Room Guy must've been a one off. Everybody I'd met since was lovely.
Unfortunately numerous altercations have proved that no, my secret detractor is not alone. I've been stalked off one fan group, verbally attacked on my old blog (the blogosphere is like strolling into a lion's den drizzled in barbecue sauce) and been set on by trolls of various stripes. I've been called an "insufferable rug muncher", told to give up on the day job/sex change and advised to kill myself as no one would miss me, being a "dog ugly dyke with no friends." Or delightful chaps saying that all lesbians needed was a good shag, and they were just the men for the job.
Why do people do this? Who knows? Perhaps they believe the anonymity of the Net makes them untouchable. Perhaps their lives really are so sad and empty they draw up hit lists. As supervillains don wacky costumes and commit crimes, trolls take to social media and create their own brand of havoc.
The most frustrating thing is you're supposed to be the bigger person and ignore their behaviour. Should you make the beginner's mistake of answering back, it's like you turned a hose pipe on a mogwai. More will seethe up out of whatever swamp they come from, bringing their bad karma and worse attitude.
The final straw was last week on Twitter. I'd enjoyed a tempestuous relationship with the site - a heady courtship followed by despondency and boredom. It was becoming a chore. Then - fatal move - I commented on the Everyday Sexism hashtag.
The topic was street harassment. I shared that once I'd been groped while a cop stood by and did nothing. Although disgusted by my attacker, I was even more shocked by the officer's complete indifference. Who ignores a crime taking place right under their nose?
This opened the floodgates for vile, chauvinistic remarks. "You'd lose an arm if you groped your arse, Rachael, so hush your gums and quit lying, luv,"
"Stop barging into people with your tank arse" - mindless abuse from total strangers. What had I done to deserve such hate?
I reported the tweets but doubt any action will be taken. Twitter is a business; rather than risk losing the twenty something Neanderthals who liked or shared those tweets, they'd rather the one unhappy camper was so intimidated they went elsewhere - which I have done.
I love the Internet. I go online to kill time, make friends and market my books. But until there are dramatic changes in the way social media is governed, I'm keeping my distance.
We take it for granted now, but for a novice it was an almost occult undertaking. The whooshy swooshy sound of dial up, as though you were communicating with aliens, then what seemed a smorgasbord of sites popping up. It was like witchcraft.
Me and my friend Debbie decided to go into a chat room with fake names. I forget her alias but mine was Tasmin. After a chorus of "Hi"s from my new virtual friends, this guy butted into the conversation.
"Age?"
I was young, with no sense of self preservation, and my Stranger Danger sirens were going off. It struck me that asking a girl three seconds into meeting her how old she was was an extremely skeezy thing to do. "Mind your own business," I typed.
God, how his messages deteriorated! After concluding I "must be a nut" (for spurning his advances?), he went on to say "Tasmin stinks of shit" and other things too obscene to repeat here. I've never been in a chat room since.
Despite that inauspicious beginning, I soon fell in love with the Net. It was the perfect climate for a socially awkward teen, allowing me to meet likeminded people and start groups celebrating my interests. Chat Room Guy must've been a one off. Everybody I'd met since was lovely.
Unfortunately numerous altercations have proved that no, my secret detractor is not alone. I've been stalked off one fan group, verbally attacked on my old blog (the blogosphere is like strolling into a lion's den drizzled in barbecue sauce) and been set on by trolls of various stripes. I've been called an "insufferable rug muncher", told to give up on the day job/sex change and advised to kill myself as no one would miss me, being a "dog ugly dyke with no friends." Or delightful chaps saying that all lesbians needed was a good shag, and they were just the men for the job.
Why do people do this? Who knows? Perhaps they believe the anonymity of the Net makes them untouchable. Perhaps their lives really are so sad and empty they draw up hit lists. As supervillains don wacky costumes and commit crimes, trolls take to social media and create their own brand of havoc.
The most frustrating thing is you're supposed to be the bigger person and ignore their behaviour. Should you make the beginner's mistake of answering back, it's like you turned a hose pipe on a mogwai. More will seethe up out of whatever swamp they come from, bringing their bad karma and worse attitude.
The final straw was last week on Twitter. I'd enjoyed a tempestuous relationship with the site - a heady courtship followed by despondency and boredom. It was becoming a chore. Then - fatal move - I commented on the Everyday Sexism hashtag.
The topic was street harassment. I shared that once I'd been groped while a cop stood by and did nothing. Although disgusted by my attacker, I was even more shocked by the officer's complete indifference. Who ignores a crime taking place right under their nose?
This opened the floodgates for vile, chauvinistic remarks. "You'd lose an arm if you groped your arse, Rachael, so hush your gums and quit lying, luv,"
"Stop barging into people with your tank arse" - mindless abuse from total strangers. What had I done to deserve such hate?
I reported the tweets but doubt any action will be taken. Twitter is a business; rather than risk losing the twenty something Neanderthals who liked or shared those tweets, they'd rather the one unhappy camper was so intimidated they went elsewhere - which I have done.
I love the Internet. I go online to kill time, make friends and market my books. But until there are dramatic changes in the way social media is governed, I'm keeping my distance.
April 3, 2016
Amazon Free Promo: Love and Robotics, April 4th 2016
For one day only - April 4th 2016 (PDT) - the genre busting Love and Robotics is free on Amazon Kindle. Part sci fi, part gay romance and fully epic, it's a saga like no other.
The Centre in Experimental Robotics has just unveiled Josh, its most advanced artificial human yet. Josh is supposed to serve as the company's mouthpiece and restore the country's faith in robotics - but he doesn't really want to play ball.
His first task is to get Alfred Wilding, the founder's brother, on side. Alfred is famously robophobic, difficult and won't talk to the press. Yet somehow a relationship blossoms between Josh and Alfred - friendship, then possibly more. How can their love survive in a hostile world?Love and Robotics
The Centre in Experimental Robotics has just unveiled Josh, its most advanced artificial human yet. Josh is supposed to serve as the company's mouthpiece and restore the country's faith in robotics - but he doesn't really want to play ball.
His first task is to get Alfred Wilding, the founder's brother, on side. Alfred is famously robophobic, difficult and won't talk to the press. Yet somehow a relationship blossoms between Josh and Alfred - friendship, then possibly more. How can their love survive in a hostile world?Love and Robotics
March 27, 2016
Doubt: The Writer's Constant Companion
Over ninety odd blogs I've discussed various aspects of the writing experience. Now I'll attempt to address the elephant in the room, the devil squatting on every indie author's shoulder: doubt. (Not that it doesn't afflict traditionally published authors, but that isn't the focus of this post).
Ninety five percent of the time I love being indie. I can write when I like, no deadlines looming. I scribble away with my tongue out, lovingly transforming the wild scrawls into a book. I blog and tweet so people know I'm still around. When the story gets five stars or I receive a message from a reader, it's great.
But then there's the other five percent, the five that makes me want to take the books down and forget writing altogether. Bitchy reviews are depressing but at least they're proof that someone somewhere has bought a copy. More frequent is the resounding silence on both sides of the Atlantic. Without a non stop marketing mill behind you, your project is condemned to sink, of no interest or consequence to anyone.
I realise I must sound like a petulant child. "What did you expect, a parade?" Hypothetical Reader 1 scoffs. Or: "If you wanted a wider audience, why not get a traditional publisher like everyone else?" Or, most toxic of all, "Is it because you secretly know you're not good enough?"
Doubt is awful. It's anti creative and harmful. I've come closer these past few months to giving up than ever before; some days I wonder if I'm just being bloody minded. I have to remind myself that artistic careers are measured in a completely different way from other fields. While people accept that not every entrepreneur is Richard Branson, you're not considered a "real" author unless your book has been reviewed in one of the nationals. And if my only concern is fame and fortune, shouldn't I jack it in anyway?
Once I stopped writing for nine months. It seemed like a reasonable decision at the time. I'd received my first rejection from a serious publisher; ergo I'd never get anywhere. (I was fifteen and very melodramatic).
The result? Pure misery. It may sound overwrought and pretentious, but it honestly felt as though a dear friend had died. I somehow managed to go through the motions and pass my GCSEs, but it wasn't life as I knew it could - and should - be lived. I didn't feel like myself until I had a pen in my hand again. Screw Publisher X!
Doubt will always be there. Only the supremely talented or unaware lack it. Since there's no way of exorcising it, you may as well roll up your sleeves and carry on.
Ninety five percent of the time I love being indie. I can write when I like, no deadlines looming. I scribble away with my tongue out, lovingly transforming the wild scrawls into a book. I blog and tweet so people know I'm still around. When the story gets five stars or I receive a message from a reader, it's great.
But then there's the other five percent, the five that makes me want to take the books down and forget writing altogether. Bitchy reviews are depressing but at least they're proof that someone somewhere has bought a copy. More frequent is the resounding silence on both sides of the Atlantic. Without a non stop marketing mill behind you, your project is condemned to sink, of no interest or consequence to anyone.
I realise I must sound like a petulant child. "What did you expect, a parade?" Hypothetical Reader 1 scoffs. Or: "If you wanted a wider audience, why not get a traditional publisher like everyone else?" Or, most toxic of all, "Is it because you secretly know you're not good enough?"
Doubt is awful. It's anti creative and harmful. I've come closer these past few months to giving up than ever before; some days I wonder if I'm just being bloody minded. I have to remind myself that artistic careers are measured in a completely different way from other fields. While people accept that not every entrepreneur is Richard Branson, you're not considered a "real" author unless your book has been reviewed in one of the nationals. And if my only concern is fame and fortune, shouldn't I jack it in anyway?
Once I stopped writing for nine months. It seemed like a reasonable decision at the time. I'd received my first rejection from a serious publisher; ergo I'd never get anywhere. (I was fifteen and very melodramatic).
The result? Pure misery. It may sound overwrought and pretentious, but it honestly felt as though a dear friend had died. I somehow managed to go through the motions and pass my GCSEs, but it wasn't life as I knew it could - and should - be lived. I didn't feel like myself until I had a pen in my hand again. Screw Publisher X!
Doubt will always be there. Only the supremely talented or unaware lack it. Since there's no way of exorcising it, you may as well roll up your sleeves and carry on.
March 19, 2016
The Genre Ghetto
When I was at uni my creative writing teachers were very sniffy about genre fiction. "They're fine if you want to make money [who doesn't?] but they're not real writing," they'd declare. This stuffy attitude is lampooned in a popular cartoon, where a spaceman looks down at a huddle of literary types and retorts, "You're all just jealous of my jet pack!"
Though it pains me to say it, the older I get, the more I find myself moving away from genre fiction, both as a writer and reader. When you go on the Amazon Bestseller list in search of a new book, the same clichés pop up. YA dystopias, psychological thrillers, "women's fiction" ... If these particular subsets don't float your boat, you can despair. "I don't WANT to read Serial Killing By Numbers or Mrs Murgatroyd's Second Honeymoon!" you wail. You take to stalking the Guardian book pages or Recommended lists on Goodreads in the hope that elusive creature - the perfect book - will materialise.
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate genre fiction. As a kid I wolfed down fantasy: Harry Potter, Diana Wynne Jones's Chrestomanci series, Terry Pratchett's Discworld. (I was in love with Lord Vetinari and remain so to this day). I thought the transition to more adult fare would be effortless. Give me a feisty heroine on horseback or a mage wrestling with his dark side and I'd be happy.
What a letdown! Conventional fantasy was completely lacking in humour and vim. Chuck in a dragon, the rule seemed to be, and no one will notice the story's crap. You'd have hordes of hairy guys lifting utensils and crying, "I'm Groin, son of Loin!" If that wasn't bad enough, they'd sing in wholly made-up, untranslated languages for entire chapters. Gah! Every time a fantasy book arrives in the bestseller charts I hover, wondering if this will be the one to lift the hex. It hasn't happened yet.
The trouble with genre fiction is that for every Gone, Girl or The Hunger Games, you have hosts of imitations. (Can you tell all these "teen in a hellish world" sagas apart?) They saturate the market until the next craze comes along, perhaps reviving older (and better) works, but inducing inertia in readers. We've seen these exact same characters and situations before. There's nothing new or innovative here.
If this is unsatisfying for readers, spare a thought for the poor writer who's trying to do something different. There is only a limited number of descriptions available on Amazon; even if your book doesn't quite fit, you're forced to select one. Woe betide if your erotica doesn't involve CEOs tying up interns with gaffa tape or your romance doesn't have the stock archetypes readers apparently want. It's a recipe for one stars, simply because your book didn't meet a reader's expectations.
When I pick up a book and it goes against the grain, I'm delighted. The Time Traveler's Wife is an old favourite: it weds sci fi to romance, with the brilliant twist that time travel is a hereditary biological disability. I loved The Girl With All the Gifts, despite it being a genre I'd never normally touch. By the time you realise what's going on, the story's so good you can't put it down. Daphne du Maurier's The House on the Strand is possibly her weirdest book but one of her best. Thanks to a drug cooked up by a scientist friend, the narrator can go back to the fourteenth century - his mind in the past, his body in the present ...
The success of the first two books proves you don't have to blindly follow formulas to sell. Some authors make a living from being unpredictable chameleons: Margaret Atwood, Jeanette Winterson, Ian McEwan, Kazuo Ishiguro. You don't know what they'll turn their pen to next but it'll be a cracking read.
Though it pains me to say it, the older I get, the more I find myself moving away from genre fiction, both as a writer and reader. When you go on the Amazon Bestseller list in search of a new book, the same clichés pop up. YA dystopias, psychological thrillers, "women's fiction" ... If these particular subsets don't float your boat, you can despair. "I don't WANT to read Serial Killing By Numbers or Mrs Murgatroyd's Second Honeymoon!" you wail. You take to stalking the Guardian book pages or Recommended lists on Goodreads in the hope that elusive creature - the perfect book - will materialise.
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate genre fiction. As a kid I wolfed down fantasy: Harry Potter, Diana Wynne Jones's Chrestomanci series, Terry Pratchett's Discworld. (I was in love with Lord Vetinari and remain so to this day). I thought the transition to more adult fare would be effortless. Give me a feisty heroine on horseback or a mage wrestling with his dark side and I'd be happy.
What a letdown! Conventional fantasy was completely lacking in humour and vim. Chuck in a dragon, the rule seemed to be, and no one will notice the story's crap. You'd have hordes of hairy guys lifting utensils and crying, "I'm Groin, son of Loin!" If that wasn't bad enough, they'd sing in wholly made-up, untranslated languages for entire chapters. Gah! Every time a fantasy book arrives in the bestseller charts I hover, wondering if this will be the one to lift the hex. It hasn't happened yet.
The trouble with genre fiction is that for every Gone, Girl or The Hunger Games, you have hosts of imitations. (Can you tell all these "teen in a hellish world" sagas apart?) They saturate the market until the next craze comes along, perhaps reviving older (and better) works, but inducing inertia in readers. We've seen these exact same characters and situations before. There's nothing new or innovative here.
If this is unsatisfying for readers, spare a thought for the poor writer who's trying to do something different. There is only a limited number of descriptions available on Amazon; even if your book doesn't quite fit, you're forced to select one. Woe betide if your erotica doesn't involve CEOs tying up interns with gaffa tape or your romance doesn't have the stock archetypes readers apparently want. It's a recipe for one stars, simply because your book didn't meet a reader's expectations.
When I pick up a book and it goes against the grain, I'm delighted. The Time Traveler's Wife is an old favourite: it weds sci fi to romance, with the brilliant twist that time travel is a hereditary biological disability. I loved The Girl With All the Gifts, despite it being a genre I'd never normally touch. By the time you realise what's going on, the story's so good you can't put it down. Daphne du Maurier's The House on the Strand is possibly her weirdest book but one of her best. Thanks to a drug cooked up by a scientist friend, the narrator can go back to the fourteenth century - his mind in the past, his body in the present ...
The success of the first two books proves you don't have to blindly follow formulas to sell. Some authors make a living from being unpredictable chameleons: Margaret Atwood, Jeanette Winterson, Ian McEwan, Kazuo Ishiguro. You don't know what they'll turn their pen to next but it'll be a cracking read.
March 13, 2016
Favourite Genres: Women's Prison Dramas
Certain settings are breeding grounds for drama. Newsrooms. Police stations. Spaceships. In recent years TV has returned to the same premise again and again: the hidden world of women's prisons.
The reasons for its popularity are manifold. As well as a mainly female cast (still a rarity in our male dominated media), it offers strong friendships, politics and alliances, violent feuds. It highlights the best and worst of human nature. And - a vital and, even nowadays - lesbian relationships aren't coy afterthoughts but fully realised.
The trend began with Bad Girls, a groundbreaking British series running from 1999 to 2006. It's sometimes described as "the female Oz", but that's underselling it. Although it devolved into panto in later years, the first three seasons are essential viewing. It looked unflinchingly at serious social issues: child abuse, euthanasia, harassment in the workplace, alcoholism, failings in the care system.
It started the grand tradition of the guards being as damaged as the women they lock up. Though cons came and went, everyone remembers Hollamby, the workshy misanthrope who punctuates everything with "My foot!" and "My bottom!" She must have been a peach of a part to play. For all her bitchiness and bile, Hollamby is a kitten compared with Jim Fenner. The Cro Magnon deputy officer, he's possibly the most dangerous person at HMP Larkhall. Scrape away the superficial charm and schmooze and you uncover a prolific fraud, pimp, rapist and murderer. He nearly always came out on top and made you need a wash. Ugh!
Bad Girls was one of the earliest shows to recognise that monsters are made, not born. Even the psychotic bully Shell Dockley had a tragic backstory, though this didn't excuse her behaviour. Many of the women committed crimes out of love: Julie S turned to prostitution to send her son to public school; Nikki Wade stabbed her girlfriend's rapist.
Indeed, it's with Nikki we come to the real legacy of Bad Girls: its portrayal of lesbian characters. The main arc of the first few series was the secret love between Nikki and Helen Stewart, Wing Governor and the face that launched a thousand sapphists. It wasn't played for shock value or titillation but as a slow burning, genuine connection that even the mustiest straights rooted for. It should come as no surprise that when Bad Girls was adapted for the West End (yes, really!), Helen and Nikki's romance was the central storyline.
Though Bad Girls holds a special place in my heart, there's now a pretender to the throne. This is none other than Wentworth, the gritty reboot of Australian camp classic Prisoner Cell Block H.
If Helen was the focal character of early Bad Girls, Bea Smith is undoubtedly Wentworth's. We watch her metamorphosis from battered wife to undisputed Top Dog, making her a far more nuanced character than the original. The same applies for many of the rewrites. Prison martinet Vinegar Tits is now Vera, a lonely, vulnerable workaholic; Pamela Rabe's rendition of Joan "the Freak" Ferguson has transformed her from a one note sadistic screw to Richard III in epaulettes. Her Machiavellian schemes and descent into madness are unmissable.
Despite its soapy origins, Wentworth has quickly become one of the best dramas in years. Unlike other shows, which stop and start storylines and suffer the occasional duff episode, it keeps its many plots bubbling away. While Prisoner hinted at sickening violence, Wentworth shows it full on.
It's also revolutionary in its depiction of LGBT characters. Although I love Helen and Nikki, at their raunchiest they were like a pair of Disney princesses frolicking in an enchanted forest. We first meet fan favourite Franky Doyle stark naked ploughing her fuck buddy; she progresses to a smouldering affair with the psychologist. There's Maxine, one of the first trans characters in a prison drama. Arrested for attacking her transphobic boyfriend, she overcomes the women's prejudices to become a valued ally.
That's not to say it's flawless. I have reservations about Juicy Lucy, a gruesome butch who goes around infecting enemies with hepatitis - tapping into all the negative stereotypes you can think of. Another character, Kaz Proctor, is a militant feminist who runs a sisterhood of misandrist vigilantes. I cringe whenever she appears.
Though detractors may accuse prison dramas of gratuitous sensationalism, they're much more than that. They examine a stratum of society we seldom see and debate topical issues. In the case of Helen and Nikki, they changed the representation of lesbian relationships on TV for good, giving them equal billing with their straight counterparts. Even more importantly, they invite discussion of the conditions in correctional institutions and the circumstances that lead women to offend in the first place. Great drama with a message - isn't that the whole point of TV?
The reasons for its popularity are manifold. As well as a mainly female cast (still a rarity in our male dominated media), it offers strong friendships, politics and alliances, violent feuds. It highlights the best and worst of human nature. And - a vital and, even nowadays - lesbian relationships aren't coy afterthoughts but fully realised.
The trend began with Bad Girls, a groundbreaking British series running from 1999 to 2006. It's sometimes described as "the female Oz", but that's underselling it. Although it devolved into panto in later years, the first three seasons are essential viewing. It looked unflinchingly at serious social issues: child abuse, euthanasia, harassment in the workplace, alcoholism, failings in the care system.
It started the grand tradition of the guards being as damaged as the women they lock up. Though cons came and went, everyone remembers Hollamby, the workshy misanthrope who punctuates everything with "My foot!" and "My bottom!" She must have been a peach of a part to play. For all her bitchiness and bile, Hollamby is a kitten compared with Jim Fenner. The Cro Magnon deputy officer, he's possibly the most dangerous person at HMP Larkhall. Scrape away the superficial charm and schmooze and you uncover a prolific fraud, pimp, rapist and murderer. He nearly always came out on top and made you need a wash. Ugh!
Bad Girls was one of the earliest shows to recognise that monsters are made, not born. Even the psychotic bully Shell Dockley had a tragic backstory, though this didn't excuse her behaviour. Many of the women committed crimes out of love: Julie S turned to prostitution to send her son to public school; Nikki Wade stabbed her girlfriend's rapist.
Indeed, it's with Nikki we come to the real legacy of Bad Girls: its portrayal of lesbian characters. The main arc of the first few series was the secret love between Nikki and Helen Stewart, Wing Governor and the face that launched a thousand sapphists. It wasn't played for shock value or titillation but as a slow burning, genuine connection that even the mustiest straights rooted for. It should come as no surprise that when Bad Girls was adapted for the West End (yes, really!), Helen and Nikki's romance was the central storyline.
Though Bad Girls holds a special place in my heart, there's now a pretender to the throne. This is none other than Wentworth, the gritty reboot of Australian camp classic Prisoner Cell Block H.
If Helen was the focal character of early Bad Girls, Bea Smith is undoubtedly Wentworth's. We watch her metamorphosis from battered wife to undisputed Top Dog, making her a far more nuanced character than the original. The same applies for many of the rewrites. Prison martinet Vinegar Tits is now Vera, a lonely, vulnerable workaholic; Pamela Rabe's rendition of Joan "the Freak" Ferguson has transformed her from a one note sadistic screw to Richard III in epaulettes. Her Machiavellian schemes and descent into madness are unmissable.
Despite its soapy origins, Wentworth has quickly become one of the best dramas in years. Unlike other shows, which stop and start storylines and suffer the occasional duff episode, it keeps its many plots bubbling away. While Prisoner hinted at sickening violence, Wentworth shows it full on.
It's also revolutionary in its depiction of LGBT characters. Although I love Helen and Nikki, at their raunchiest they were like a pair of Disney princesses frolicking in an enchanted forest. We first meet fan favourite Franky Doyle stark naked ploughing her fuck buddy; she progresses to a smouldering affair with the psychologist. There's Maxine, one of the first trans characters in a prison drama. Arrested for attacking her transphobic boyfriend, she overcomes the women's prejudices to become a valued ally.
That's not to say it's flawless. I have reservations about Juicy Lucy, a gruesome butch who goes around infecting enemies with hepatitis - tapping into all the negative stereotypes you can think of. Another character, Kaz Proctor, is a militant feminist who runs a sisterhood of misandrist vigilantes. I cringe whenever she appears.
Though detractors may accuse prison dramas of gratuitous sensationalism, they're much more than that. They examine a stratum of society we seldom see and debate topical issues. In the case of Helen and Nikki, they changed the representation of lesbian relationships on TV for good, giving them equal billing with their straight counterparts. Even more importantly, they invite discussion of the conditions in correctional institutions and the circumstances that lead women to offend in the first place. Great drama with a message - isn't that the whole point of TV?
February 24, 2016
Writing Romantic Relationships
Everyone thinks they know the formula for the perfect romance. Gentle pretty filly of a heroine, hunky misunderstood hero, a series of events and obstacles culminating in a big white wedding. Right?
Wrong! As readers grow more sophisticated, they demand variation in their characters and plots. They might request same sex couples, couples from different cultural or religious backgrounds, paranormal and interspecies couples. Whatever the story board, the same complaint comes up time and time again: the romance arc isn't believable.
I don't claim to be an expert. Of my three books, only one has romance as a central component. I admit to being yet another cynic when I started Love and Robotics, scoffing, "How hard can it be?"
Pretty damn difficult, actually!
Here's a countdown of the five biggest issues a romance can run into. If your story has any of these, it may need a few more rewrites.
1) The Spin Cycle Romance
It's the stalest of tropes. Two strangers clap eyes on each other and know they're meant to be. They get talking and, surprise surprise, find they share the same interests and opinions. Within a day or two they picking out curtains.
Sorry to burst anyone's bubble, but relationships like this are boring. There's no conflict, meaning that authors are forced to throw in the most contrived developments to spice things up. Yes, you might be attracted to someone you've just met, but any relationship forged at this stage is bound to be superficial. This is why so many real life relationships founder - not because the other person is a monster, but because they're not the same as that idealised, honeymoon image you fell in love with. Yes, real people eat the last slice of pizza, hog the remote and fart!
Real love takes time. In Love and Robotics Alfred and Josh are close friends for nearly two years before they have sex. Some readers grew impatient, wanting a quicker resolution. Quite aside from their personal circumstances (Josh has to break his programming to be in love at all; Alfred used to despise robots and has severe trust issues), I wanted readers to invest in them as a couple. If I hadn't laid that groundwork, CER's decision to marry Josh off wouldn't be as shocking.
2) Opposites Repel
We're used to chalk and cheese pairings. Work colleagues, relatives, unlikely buddies - these disparate characters can be a rich source of drama and/or comedy. Whether it's Pinky and the Brain or Greg and Jack in the Meet the Parents franchise, diametrically opposed characters make terrific material.
Except - and this is a huge except - in terms of romance. How can you have a lasting relationship with someone whose outlook or hobbies are anathema to you? Differences of opinion are fine in the early days when you never get out of bed, but what if you want kids and your partner doesn't? What if your other half refuses to come out? What if one of you wants to move abroad for the job of a lifetime but the other can't leave their family?
Telling us a couple is perfect for one another is very different from it actually being the case. I always had deep reservations about Ross and Rachel in Friends. He's a hyper intelligent, socially awkward paleontologist, she's an airheaded daddy's girl. What on earth would they find to talk about? Wouldn't they bore the pants off each other?
Writing The Governess, this was one of my strongest indications that Benny and Amy's relationship wasn't a taboo breaking romance but warped and unhealthy. However she might protest otherwise, Benny has no interest in Amy's mind or character. She simply lusts after her and wants to possess her. At least Amy has the excuse that she's mistaken and thinks she's in love. She soon realises otherwise.
3) I Wuv You, Snugglebum
We've all known a couple who are so loved up they're embarrassing to be around. They can't go a moment without kissing or hugging, swap pet names, gaze into each other's eyes and discuss their feelings at great length. Though undoubtedly fascinating for the interested parties, it makes everyone else want to hurl.
The same applies for fictional sweethearts. Unless they're hormonal teenagers or you're deliberately poking fun at them, couples who do nothing but go on cutesy dates or proclaim their love are nauseating. Write them having regular conversations, doing ordinary things. This shows whether they're compatible for the long term or just a quick fling.
Although Rose and Evan in The Revenge of Rose Grubb are teenagers in love, I attempted a dose of reality. Their first 'date' is in the garden centre where he works. We see them walking the dog, painting his room, going shopping. Not everything in a romance has to be ripped from a Richard Curtis movie.
4) Banter Equals Love
I'll come out and say it: I don't like banter. At all. It seems an excuse to make cheap gibes - then, when the other person understandably takes offence, mutter, "It's only banter."
It's therefore a source of amazement and irritation that so many writers think hostile behaviour and trash talk is somehow a mask for mutual attraction. Either both characters know this on some level and this is their screwed up way of flirting, or one of them is shocked into a kiss by someone they thought hated them. This development is popular in yaoi for some reason. Yuki in Gravitation goes from abusing Shuichi's writing to snogging his face off in a matter of pages!
I don't buy it. Arguments aren't fun bonding experiences. I'm not saying your romance should be a squabble free zone; that's equally unrealistic. Fact remains, couples who row constantly end up in the divorce courts, not happily ever after.
5) Why The Hell Would You Want Them Back?
As time has gone by and attitudes have mellowed, our notions of acceptable behaviour have changed. A woman who slept with a man before marriage was denounced as a hussy - no longer. Widows were expected to remain loyal to their late husbands while widowers were the romantic heroes of choice.
Nowadays readers don't mind the odd indiscretion, or even a large one in certain circumstances. When Claire in Outlander ends up in the 1740s, she has to marry Jamie for her own protection - despite being married back in 1946. Before long she finds herself falling for him. This is anything but a normal situation and the reader can forgive her.
There are some actions that cannot and should not be forgiven, however much the writer and/or characters excuse themselves. Mrs de Winter's reaction to Maxim's bombshell shouldn't be a whimsical "Never mind, darling," but getting the first cab out of Manderley. Likewise, Claudio in Much Ado About Nothing. He slutshames Hero on her wedding day; as far as he knows, his actions have driven her to suicide. He's told he's going to marry an identical cousin - Hero herself, of course. Even once the deception is revealed and she's proved to have been innocent, Claudio is not punished. What a git!
Wrong! As readers grow more sophisticated, they demand variation in their characters and plots. They might request same sex couples, couples from different cultural or religious backgrounds, paranormal and interspecies couples. Whatever the story board, the same complaint comes up time and time again: the romance arc isn't believable.
I don't claim to be an expert. Of my three books, only one has romance as a central component. I admit to being yet another cynic when I started Love and Robotics, scoffing, "How hard can it be?"
Pretty damn difficult, actually!
Here's a countdown of the five biggest issues a romance can run into. If your story has any of these, it may need a few more rewrites.
1) The Spin Cycle Romance
It's the stalest of tropes. Two strangers clap eyes on each other and know they're meant to be. They get talking and, surprise surprise, find they share the same interests and opinions. Within a day or two they picking out curtains.
Sorry to burst anyone's bubble, but relationships like this are boring. There's no conflict, meaning that authors are forced to throw in the most contrived developments to spice things up. Yes, you might be attracted to someone you've just met, but any relationship forged at this stage is bound to be superficial. This is why so many real life relationships founder - not because the other person is a monster, but because they're not the same as that idealised, honeymoon image you fell in love with. Yes, real people eat the last slice of pizza, hog the remote and fart!
Real love takes time. In Love and Robotics Alfred and Josh are close friends for nearly two years before they have sex. Some readers grew impatient, wanting a quicker resolution. Quite aside from their personal circumstances (Josh has to break his programming to be in love at all; Alfred used to despise robots and has severe trust issues), I wanted readers to invest in them as a couple. If I hadn't laid that groundwork, CER's decision to marry Josh off wouldn't be as shocking.
2) Opposites Repel
We're used to chalk and cheese pairings. Work colleagues, relatives, unlikely buddies - these disparate characters can be a rich source of drama and/or comedy. Whether it's Pinky and the Brain or Greg and Jack in the Meet the Parents franchise, diametrically opposed characters make terrific material.
Except - and this is a huge except - in terms of romance. How can you have a lasting relationship with someone whose outlook or hobbies are anathema to you? Differences of opinion are fine in the early days when you never get out of bed, but what if you want kids and your partner doesn't? What if your other half refuses to come out? What if one of you wants to move abroad for the job of a lifetime but the other can't leave their family?
Telling us a couple is perfect for one another is very different from it actually being the case. I always had deep reservations about Ross and Rachel in Friends. He's a hyper intelligent, socially awkward paleontologist, she's an airheaded daddy's girl. What on earth would they find to talk about? Wouldn't they bore the pants off each other?
Writing The Governess, this was one of my strongest indications that Benny and Amy's relationship wasn't a taboo breaking romance but warped and unhealthy. However she might protest otherwise, Benny has no interest in Amy's mind or character. She simply lusts after her and wants to possess her. At least Amy has the excuse that she's mistaken and thinks she's in love. She soon realises otherwise.
3) I Wuv You, Snugglebum
We've all known a couple who are so loved up they're embarrassing to be around. They can't go a moment without kissing or hugging, swap pet names, gaze into each other's eyes and discuss their feelings at great length. Though undoubtedly fascinating for the interested parties, it makes everyone else want to hurl.
The same applies for fictional sweethearts. Unless they're hormonal teenagers or you're deliberately poking fun at them, couples who do nothing but go on cutesy dates or proclaim their love are nauseating. Write them having regular conversations, doing ordinary things. This shows whether they're compatible for the long term or just a quick fling.
Although Rose and Evan in The Revenge of Rose Grubb are teenagers in love, I attempted a dose of reality. Their first 'date' is in the garden centre where he works. We see them walking the dog, painting his room, going shopping. Not everything in a romance has to be ripped from a Richard Curtis movie.
4) Banter Equals Love
I'll come out and say it: I don't like banter. At all. It seems an excuse to make cheap gibes - then, when the other person understandably takes offence, mutter, "It's only banter."
It's therefore a source of amazement and irritation that so many writers think hostile behaviour and trash talk is somehow a mask for mutual attraction. Either both characters know this on some level and this is their screwed up way of flirting, or one of them is shocked into a kiss by someone they thought hated them. This development is popular in yaoi for some reason. Yuki in Gravitation goes from abusing Shuichi's writing to snogging his face off in a matter of pages!
I don't buy it. Arguments aren't fun bonding experiences. I'm not saying your romance should be a squabble free zone; that's equally unrealistic. Fact remains, couples who row constantly end up in the divorce courts, not happily ever after.
5) Why The Hell Would You Want Them Back?
As time has gone by and attitudes have mellowed, our notions of acceptable behaviour have changed. A woman who slept with a man before marriage was denounced as a hussy - no longer. Widows were expected to remain loyal to their late husbands while widowers were the romantic heroes of choice.
Nowadays readers don't mind the odd indiscretion, or even a large one in certain circumstances. When Claire in Outlander ends up in the 1740s, she has to marry Jamie for her own protection - despite being married back in 1946. Before long she finds herself falling for him. This is anything but a normal situation and the reader can forgive her.
There are some actions that cannot and should not be forgiven, however much the writer and/or characters excuse themselves. Mrs de Winter's reaction to Maxim's bombshell shouldn't be a whimsical "Never mind, darling," but getting the first cab out of Manderley. Likewise, Claudio in Much Ado About Nothing. He slutshames Hero on her wedding day; as far as he knows, his actions have driven her to suicide. He's told he's going to marry an identical cousin - Hero herself, of course. Even once the deception is revealed and she's proved to have been innocent, Claudio is not punished. What a git!
February 23, 2016
Stupid Things Straight People Say
Coming out is the fun that never starts. Since you can't go around with a PowerPoint entitled "I Like Muff", you have to do it with every new acquaintance, employer, doctor ... Maybe you should have a card engraved.
In an ideal world the standard reaction would be "Okay" and carrying on as though nothing had happened. Alas, there will always be dingbats who come out with howlers. The following are all bona fide comments made to me or my friends ...
* "I'd've never guessed / You don't look gay" - What is this? White noise? They behave as though it's a compliment and you'd be mortified if anyone knew - despite the fact you just told them.
* "Who's the man in your relationship?" - Meaning what, exactly? If you mean logistics, that's none of your business. If you mean who's the bread winner or who's the handy one, congratulations. You've committed a double whammy of sexism and homophobia. Lesbian relationships aren't pallid imitations of straight ones.
* "It's a choice / selfish etc." - Are you seriously proposing I hook up with some poor man, never mind I won't find him in the slightest bit attractive, and breed despite having the maternal instincts of Atilla the Hun? Spend my life seething with resentment and having affairs? I'm sure that'll be hunky dory for everyone concerned.
* "You're the first gay person I've met" - You meet thousands of people a lifetime. How do you quantify your data?
* "I never thought I'd be friends with a gay person" - You're not now, either.
* "Don't you have any straight friends?" - Said by parents etc. when you're regaling them with your friends' wacky antics. Short answer: yes. Long answer: my best friends tend to be gay or bi because we have more in common. Like, duh.
* "Why do you write so many gay characters?" - Does anybody ask a straight author why they write so many straight characters? Double standards aside: it's what I know, what interests me and I'm offended by the two dimensional stereotypes in popular culture. There's no gay equivalent to Mulder and Scully, Claire and Jamie - and unless LGBT folk get scribbling, it'll stay that way.
* "I'll never read / watch anything with gay characters" - You've just locked yourself out of some of the best works of modern times. More fool you.
*On seeing two women holding hands: "LESBIANS!" - No shit, Sherlock.
* "Marriage is between a man and a woman" - Sorry, chuck, it's legal now. Whinging won't make it go away.
* "My sister in law / best friend / yoga teacher is gay" - Yes, all lesbians belong to the Grand Order of the Big Pink Dragon and know each other. Bonus points if they try and set you up.
* "When are you getting married / having kids?" - Bless, they're really trying. Now that the laws have changed they fondly imagine we're all sprinting to the nearest registry office and/or fertility clinic. The ultimate equality is allowing us to be as indecisive and apathetic as everyone else!
In an ideal world the standard reaction would be "Okay" and carrying on as though nothing had happened. Alas, there will always be dingbats who come out with howlers. The following are all bona fide comments made to me or my friends ...
* "I'd've never guessed / You don't look gay" - What is this? White noise? They behave as though it's a compliment and you'd be mortified if anyone knew - despite the fact you just told them.
* "Who's the man in your relationship?" - Meaning what, exactly? If you mean logistics, that's none of your business. If you mean who's the bread winner or who's the handy one, congratulations. You've committed a double whammy of sexism and homophobia. Lesbian relationships aren't pallid imitations of straight ones.
* "It's a choice / selfish etc." - Are you seriously proposing I hook up with some poor man, never mind I won't find him in the slightest bit attractive, and breed despite having the maternal instincts of Atilla the Hun? Spend my life seething with resentment and having affairs? I'm sure that'll be hunky dory for everyone concerned.
* "You're the first gay person I've met" - You meet thousands of people a lifetime. How do you quantify your data?
* "I never thought I'd be friends with a gay person" - You're not now, either.
* "Don't you have any straight friends?" - Said by parents etc. when you're regaling them with your friends' wacky antics. Short answer: yes. Long answer: my best friends tend to be gay or bi because we have more in common. Like, duh.
* "Why do you write so many gay characters?" - Does anybody ask a straight author why they write so many straight characters? Double standards aside: it's what I know, what interests me and I'm offended by the two dimensional stereotypes in popular culture. There's no gay equivalent to Mulder and Scully, Claire and Jamie - and unless LGBT folk get scribbling, it'll stay that way.
* "I'll never read / watch anything with gay characters" - You've just locked yourself out of some of the best works of modern times. More fool you.
*On seeing two women holding hands: "LESBIANS!" - No shit, Sherlock.
* "Marriage is between a man and a woman" - Sorry, chuck, it's legal now. Whinging won't make it go away.
* "My sister in law / best friend / yoga teacher is gay" - Yes, all lesbians belong to the Grand Order of the Big Pink Dragon and know each other. Bonus points if they try and set you up.
* "When are you getting married / having kids?" - Bless, they're really trying. Now that the laws have changed they fondly imagine we're all sprinting to the nearest registry office and/or fertility clinic. The ultimate equality is allowing us to be as indecisive and apathetic as everyone else!
February 13, 2016
Taking a break
It's been an extremely challenging month, both personally and professionally, so I will be taking time off from here and my Facebook Author page. I'll still be on Twitter if anyone wants to chat.
February 8, 2016
New Edition of Love and Robotics
I am pleased to announce that an updated version of Love and Robotics is now available. I apologise for any disappointment or frustration caused by the quality of the first edition.
If you own one of the original copies, you can update the content on the 'Manage Your Content and Devices' page on Amazon. That way it will be closer to the book I intended.
Again, I apologise to anyone who had a less than satisfactory experience and hope this won't put them off buying independently published ebooks in future.
If you own one of the original copies, you can update the content on the 'Manage Your Content and Devices' page on Amazon. That way it will be closer to the book I intended.
Again, I apologise to anyone who had a less than satisfactory experience and hope this won't put them off buying independently published ebooks in future.
February 6, 2016
Why Can't We All Get Along? American vs British English
One of the many skills taught on writing courses is the development of a unique authorial voice. You may be lush and literary, clipped and matter of fact. Though you can't be 100% certain of the age and gender of an author you can hazard a guess.
One thing you can usually spot is the writer's nationality. Of course there are obvious giveaways - setting, how characters speak, spelling - but there are other, smaller ones like pop culture references and brand of humour. It helps provide colour and a sense of place, making the world of the story (and by extension the characters) more real.
My friends and I, as Brits who have lived in the UK all our lives, naturally bring this bias to our writing. We use British idiom, refer to British institutions and make allusions to British culture. Soaps, fish and chips, the Royal Family - these are the facts of growing up in the UK, immediately recognised by British readers. Non British English speakers often like this, describing a story's "quirky British way" or "British humor."
Not everyone is enchanted. There is a significant minority of American readers who seem to find it an impediment to enjoying a book and use it to justify a poor review. They fall back on the old phrase used for words you can't understand: 'slang.' They wonder, with a touch of paranoia, if the writer has deliberately chosen to alienate non British readers. If they thought about this, they'd realise it was crazy - why would you sabotage your own work?
When it happened to me, I was baffled. I flicked through my book, trying to find impenetrable passages, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. I can understand frustration in the old days, when you had to dash for a dictionary, but all my books are on Kindle. If you come across an obscure word, nine times out of ten it's defined.
I asked fellow writers if they had a similar experience. The response was automatic. Yes, they'd received stinker reviews because they'd dared to throw in dialect or used Welsh place names. One reviewer demanded that the writer "talk American"; other reviews said such British books were intended for a 'snobby elitist group' ...
Since it threatened to become uncomfortably xenophobic, with people attacking American vernacular and attitudes, I thanked them for their insights and ended the discussion. I was grateful to the Americans who'd replied, who said they found the reviews embarrassing and in no way represented American opinion. The message seems to be that there's intolerance on both sides, roughly divided along age lines.
When I was growing up the teenage book market was dominated by long running American series: Sweet Valley High, The Babysitter's Club, Goosebumps, Point Horror. British kids were introduced to the exotic world of US high schools, never mind most of us would be hurled into the lockers on our first day. We discovered American football, summer camp, Presidents' Day. What were bangs? Was a majorette a female major? All our dictionaries were British so we had to use our imaginations. I assumed a malt shop was a seedy dive where people went around imbibing extract of malt.
A few years later Harry Potter came along, sweeping these franchises aside. There was a renaissance in British kids' books, to everyone's lasting benefit. Unfortunately it also means that fewer children were exposed to American culture, resulting in this knee jerk reaction to things they can't understand. It's no accident that these reviewers seem to be either very old or very young.
Readers both side of the Atlantic must accept that there is no right or wrong and no one nation speaks 'correct' English. Brits have to stop moaning about the adoption of customs like Black Friday and Groundhog Day. (Most Brits had no idea what a groundhog was before the movie). In turn, Americans have to understand that if they buy a book by a British author, it'll be chockful of swearing and Shakespeare quotes. The alternative would be a book of fake Americanisms, which would please neither market.
One thing you can usually spot is the writer's nationality. Of course there are obvious giveaways - setting, how characters speak, spelling - but there are other, smaller ones like pop culture references and brand of humour. It helps provide colour and a sense of place, making the world of the story (and by extension the characters) more real.
My friends and I, as Brits who have lived in the UK all our lives, naturally bring this bias to our writing. We use British idiom, refer to British institutions and make allusions to British culture. Soaps, fish and chips, the Royal Family - these are the facts of growing up in the UK, immediately recognised by British readers. Non British English speakers often like this, describing a story's "quirky British way" or "British humor."
Not everyone is enchanted. There is a significant minority of American readers who seem to find it an impediment to enjoying a book and use it to justify a poor review. They fall back on the old phrase used for words you can't understand: 'slang.' They wonder, with a touch of paranoia, if the writer has deliberately chosen to alienate non British readers. If they thought about this, they'd realise it was crazy - why would you sabotage your own work?
When it happened to me, I was baffled. I flicked through my book, trying to find impenetrable passages, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. I can understand frustration in the old days, when you had to dash for a dictionary, but all my books are on Kindle. If you come across an obscure word, nine times out of ten it's defined.
I asked fellow writers if they had a similar experience. The response was automatic. Yes, they'd received stinker reviews because they'd dared to throw in dialect or used Welsh place names. One reviewer demanded that the writer "talk American"; other reviews said such British books were intended for a 'snobby elitist group' ...
Since it threatened to become uncomfortably xenophobic, with people attacking American vernacular and attitudes, I thanked them for their insights and ended the discussion. I was grateful to the Americans who'd replied, who said they found the reviews embarrassing and in no way represented American opinion. The message seems to be that there's intolerance on both sides, roughly divided along age lines.
When I was growing up the teenage book market was dominated by long running American series: Sweet Valley High, The Babysitter's Club, Goosebumps, Point Horror. British kids were introduced to the exotic world of US high schools, never mind most of us would be hurled into the lockers on our first day. We discovered American football, summer camp, Presidents' Day. What were bangs? Was a majorette a female major? All our dictionaries were British so we had to use our imaginations. I assumed a malt shop was a seedy dive where people went around imbibing extract of malt.
A few years later Harry Potter came along, sweeping these franchises aside. There was a renaissance in British kids' books, to everyone's lasting benefit. Unfortunately it also means that fewer children were exposed to American culture, resulting in this knee jerk reaction to things they can't understand. It's no accident that these reviewers seem to be either very old or very young.
Readers both side of the Atlantic must accept that there is no right or wrong and no one nation speaks 'correct' English. Brits have to stop moaning about the adoption of customs like Black Friday and Groundhog Day. (Most Brits had no idea what a groundhog was before the movie). In turn, Americans have to understand that if they buy a book by a British author, it'll be chockful of swearing and Shakespeare quotes. The alternative would be a book of fake Americanisms, which would please neither market.
