Helen Rena's Blog: Books and Their Discontents, page 9

Misreadings

For some reason I misread stuff a lot. Maybe it’s a type of dyslexia…

My latest:

Saw: Napping improves stamina, boosts creativity, reduces stress, increases productivity, decision making ability, sex life and much more.

Read: Nothing improves stamina, boosts creativity, reduces stress, increases productivity, decision making ability, sex life and much more.

Was very sad for a moment about the dismal state of things, but then fortunately re-read the sentence. The sun shines again. Just need a nap now.

My Interview with Gina Henning

Technically, it’s the other way around – it’s Gina’s interview with me – but the title just looks better this way. Without further fuss, my awesome friend and talented writer Gina and me:

Gina: Both Into the Blind and “About the Dark,” center around the theme of the loss of sight, if you had to choose which of your five senses that you would lose first what would it be?



Helen: Smell. You can live without it. In fact, owls do live without it, which allows them to eat skunks. Yes, I realize you probably didn’t need to know that.

Gina: “Girls Are Good for Drowning” is a great piece of Flash Fiction, please give us some insight as to how this story came about?

Helen: Killing off young women in fiction for esthetical pleasure has unfortunately been a long-standing tradition in Western culture. In 1846, Edgar Allan Poe infamously opined that “the death of a beautiful woman [was], unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world.” So, quite predictably, there were very few female survivors in his fiction. And he was far from alone in his views on the Great Poetical. The literary canon is brimming with dead and dying women. Leo Tolstoy, Charles Dickens, Vladimir Nabokov—they all thought it was esthetically pleasing to kill off their female characters. So, I wrote a short story about Ophelia who did not actually die in Hamlet. Instead of drowning, she went on swimming for ages before finally getting out of water in the early 21st century where she found…well, you’d have to read the story to discover what she found.

Gina: The cover for Into the Blind is fantastic, I like the details of the map, have you ever been lost without a map or any other form of GPS device?

Helen: Plenty of times. More than that, I’ve been known to get lost WITH a map. I remember one time in particular. I was trying to find a book fair, and I had a map of how to get there, and after some driving, I arrived at the right street and found the house with the right number, only it wasn’t the book fair! Completely flabbergasted, I drove up and down that street for half an hour before discovering that the street changed its name in the middle. Yes, from North King Street to South King Street, and each half had its own house number 476. Thank you, North Virginia.

Gina: On your author bio, you mention a collection of green bottles, which one is your favorite?

Helen: Probably the one with a stomach. Yes, I have a bottle that has a bubble in its middle that’s meant for ice to cool whatever liquid you put in the bottle. My daughter called that bubble the bottle’s stomach, and so it stuck.

Gina: In “About the Dark,” Ever and her friends play a very dangerous game, are there any moments from your youth that as a mother you now look back on and gasp?

Helen: Yes, when I was a kid, the town where I lived decided to build a school not far from my house. It obviously began with a massive construction site full of nails, pits, and cinder blocks. My friends and I played there all the time, and I’m still surprised none of us died there.

Anna and Chapter 11

The protagonist of Into the Blind dies in Chapter 11.* Here is the reaction of one sweet girl named Anna to this…via Twitter…

“What? WHAT DID I JUST READ? Shakes head in denial, @helenrena123 there better be some great comeback…”

*It’s not the end of the protag, of course.

Flash Fiction: Girls Are Good For Drowning

Ophelia swam to shore. It was a muddy bank with an occasional sharp stone embedded in it. Ophelia grabbed a branch and helped herself onto the dry ground. It was cold. Probably autumn. Ophelia wasn’t sure—she’d been swimming with her eyes closed ever since Shakespeare had shoved her into the river. But maybe it was time to get out.

She walked along a street, her long dress leaving a wet trail. A hot drink would be nice, she thought just as her eyes fell on a shop front with a picture of a steaming mug. She hurried in. Besides hot drinks, the place was selling books, and Ophelia, forgetting her cold, drifted over to the shelves. Books…bright-colored, shiny, glossy, gilded, perfect. Lovingly, Ophelia ran her pallid finger over the spines.

“Oof,” a tall girl in a leather coat said when Ophelia rammed into her. “Look where you’re going, ‘kay?”

“Sorry,” Ophelia said. “What are you doing?”

The girl was holding a book with a photo of a young drowning woman on its cover in one hand and a sticker of a wet kitten in another. “Watch,” she told Ophelia and put the kitten over the woman. “See, it’s not okay to drown kittens,” she said. “PETA will throw a fit when they find it. Then maybe they’ll have this book yanked off the shelves.”

Ophelia looked around. There were three more books with drowning girls on their covers, and then there was a book with a live girl on it and a title, “Drown Me.” Quietly, Ophelia turned and left the store and walked back to the river. She was a good swimmer. She had to be.

Review from Enchanted by YA

I’m so excited: INTO THE BLIND got a glowing review from Enchanted by YA Blog.

Here are a few quotes:

“Into the Blind was fast-paced, thrilling, dramatic and unbelievably enjoyable.”

” You simply need to read this book, so then…we can rave together!”

“Into the Blind is a suspenseful read that I can’t express how much I enjoyed.”

And here is the full review:

“I still can’t quite get my head around everything that happened because it was so surprising, but what I do understand without a doubt, is that I loved it. It was fast-paced, thrilling, dramatic and unbelievably enjoyable. What really made this book though was the ending… that ending… just wow…

I can’t say what happened because it would be such a major spoiler, but I can say that it had me gaping at the book like a beached goldfish as my mind in denial failed to comprehend. You simply need to read this book, so then you get it and we can rave together!

What’s even better is that it isn’t just this moment which made me love this book, but all the little ones up to it. Many authors can come up with a big twist every now and then, but not all can make you just as interested in the downtime moments and care just as much about the characters when nothing (I say nothing but there was always something going on in this book) is happening to them. Helen Rena is one of the amazing few. So I need more of her work.

As I’ve already mentioned her talent for writing is undeniable, the characters she creates feel incredibly real and easily relatable so the connections you have with them feel just as real. In particular was the main protagonist Ever, she is incredibly brave and you can’t deny she’s been through a lot already but still there is more to come. I loved following her journey of self-discovery; watching her change and develop, and not just in her powers.

It was also interesting seeing how she acted with her friends companions.

In the end, with a story that had intrigued me simply from the synopsis and characters that had me from the get go: Into the Blind is a suspenseful read that I can’t express how much I enjoyed. My only problem is that I need more! It works well as a stand-alone, yes, but I simply want to know what happens next. Instead I’ll just have to re-read another time so I can see it from the different perspective, after all because beggars can’t be choosers.”

Thank you, Enchanted by YA!

Jennifer Armentrout’s Obsidian: Half of a Review

Yes, only half because I didn’t finish the book, and I am not sure I will – it’s just too similar to Twilight. And by “too similar,” I mean shockingly so. In Twilight, a shy girl moves to a small town. In Obsidian, a shy girl moves to a small town. In Twilight, Bella meets incredibly beautiful siblings. In Obsidian, Katy meets incredibly beautiful siblings. In Twilight, Bella falls for a mysterious arrogant boy. In Obsidian…well, yes, the same thing happens to Katy.

And the list goes on.

Obsidian repeats Twilight even in such small details as Katy being saved by the arrogant boy from an imminent death under the wheels of a truck. Yes, true, unlike Edward of Twilight, Daemon of Obsidian is not a vampire. He is an alien. But other than that he is just like Edward–faster than a human, stronger than a human, prettier than a human. He is even as immortal as Edward. There is, however, an important difference between the two: unlike the vampiric Edward, the alien Daemon does not sparkle.

And that’s where things get interesting.

When Katy asks Daemon if he sparkles, Armentrout’s novel clearly signals its awareness of having Twilight as its model. Daemon, however, would have none of this–no, he absolutely does not sparkle, he responds with disgust, the disgust part being a direct quote from Obsidian. Thus, Armentrout seems to be both fascinated and disgusted by Twilight. But can you really despise what you’re imitating?

Things get more confusing here.

Because while Daemon does not sparkle, he is actually made of pure light. Yes, I know this sounds a bit weird: didn’t Katy notice him shining through the clothes? No, she didn’t because Daemon appears to be perfectly flesh and blood until he chooses to show Katy his true form, which is pure light. Is Daemon as light and not as sparkles just an unintentionally funny slip-up on Armentrout’s part? Or is she creating a more complex parody? Okay, okay, I guess I’ll have to finish the book now to find out.

Going Pecans

This post is a part of Going Pecans Blog Hop–to celebrate the release of my good friend Gina Henning’s debut contemporary romance Going Pecans.

So, of course, the theme of the blog hop is going pecans. Going nuts. Which is never the best time of one’s life, but it always makes a nice scene in a novel. In my YA paranormal novel Into the Blind, four kidnapped teens are frantically trying to escape from their cell that has a very heavy door…

“…together, we turned to the door. Yes, we had greased its hinges with soap, and we’d poured some onto the floor too, but was it going to help? Fox pushed his sleeves up and grabbed the small C-shaped door handle. According to the Plan, he put his hands one on top of the other, as close to the bottom of the handle as possible so there would be enough space left for Demi’s fingers. She too grasped the handle, and Sin hugged her around the waist. As for me, I stood aside. On Fox’s strict orders. I’d pleaded with him to let me help, but he’d said that if he fell, he’d hurt me, and that had been the end of the conversation.

“Now,” Fox said, and they started to pull.

Soon the air felt thick with their strain. Demi’s face became vividly scarlet while Fox and Sin grunted and shimmered with sweat. The door hinges squealed faintly. At last, after several long minutes, the door moved…but it was a mere inch, and Fox suddenly doubled over. Shivering, he gasped for breath.

“Must…keep…going,” Demi puffed at him.

With a nod, Fox spat a mouthful of blood and began tugging on the door again. A rivulet of soap on the floor wasn’t letting him put his feet where he needed them for the sturdiest stance, and Demi’s hands kept on sliding off the metal handle. Still, they pulled. The door crawled open another quarter of an inch.

Seeing their paltry progress, I couldn’t stand idle any longer—I had to help. But I had to be sneaky about it: if I as much as touched the edge of Fox’s jacket, he’d send me off at once. But if I grabbed Sin’s waist, Fox shouldn’t notice it, at least not right away, and I’d be able to pitch in. Stealthily, I circled my arms around Sin’s sweaty midriff and pulled…and pulled…till my bones felt like they were dislocating. Another inch.

In a minute, as if already missing the sight of me, Fox swiveled his head, and I hurried to lower my arms, but of course, Fox saw what I’d been doing. He let go of the door and rounded on me, frowning hard. I braced for a telling-off, but Fox only gave Sin a dangerous glare, then put my hands around his own waist. We went back to pulling.

To take my mind off the pain in my arms, I mentally quoted from This World of Humans: “Before gift trafficking became the globally prevalent crime, it was sex slavery. Children as young as three were kidnapped and abused, and their numbers were in the hundreds of thousands. Many of them had no memories of their previous lives. Some did not know how to speak. Ninety-eight percent of them died in captivity.”

The door crawled open wider.

When at last the opening grew seven inches wide, Fox released the handle and collapsed onto the floor. I leaned against the counter while Demi dropped to her knees and breathed in shallow gasps, a bit of drool hanging from her lower lip. Sin stretched on my book bed.

As soon as Fox could stand again, he took off his shirt and jacket, exhaled deeply, and started squeezing through the narrow opening. We all watched him like, I imagine, kids gaping at a magician: would he disappear into thin air? Fox was trying. He’d lost weight in the last few months, and he was sucking his stomach in so hard that his torso looked hollowed out in the middle. Yet the handle on the outside of the door stuck out farther than we’d thought, and Fox was not clearing it.

Demi, her nose scrunched in deep concentration, pointed at the soap. Did Fox want to put some of it on his chest? It might help him slither out. Fox energetically shook his head: the stinky soap might give his presence away to the dogs. And what about our sweat, I wanted to ask, but Fox put his hot palm on my cheek, pulled his stomach in even harder—and slipped out of the room. We all exhaled and grinned at each other…”

And now we’re off to Gina’s story…

…Going Pecans…

A warm pie. A tasty guy. Happy Thanksgiving indeed.

Homecomings for Lauren Hauser are always filled with delicious food and hopes for a distraction from her quirky family. The only exception with this visit: she’s been given the challenge of preparing her grandmother’s pie.

Set out on a journey for pecans, Lauren stumbles into Jack a guy who despite his charm (and kissable lips) appears to be in a committed relationship…with his career. His main concern is taking care of a last minute errand for a client, not Lauren or her quest for the key ingredient.

Frazzled in more ways than one, Lauren’s journey improves when Jack rescues her from an icy walk. Attraction and tension rise and soon pecans aren’t the only things getting toasty in the kitchen.

Buy it on Amazon.

Contact Gina: Facebook Author Page Twitter Website Goodreads

Going Pecans Blog Hop

Please follow along and enjoy these great blog posts below and remember everyone that comments on every single post will receive a Going Pecans Recipe Card signed by Gina Henning, please be sure to include your email!

August 14th

Gina Henning Blog

August 15th

Waiting on the Westcotts

Anya Breton’s Blog

Missy Devours Delish Reads

August 18th

Kasper’s Ramblings on the Hunters of Reloria Website

August 19th

Loss for Words

The Edible Bookshelf

In Search of Romance

August 21st

Helen Rena

August 22nd

Word Forward

Amber Daulton

Ana Blaze

August 25th

Keepin it Real

Feeling Beachie

August 26th

Krysten Lindsay Hager

Anais Morgan: Things are about to get hot

DM Brain Waves-dmarblog

August 28th

Wilson Writes

August 29th

Writing About Love

See Bethany Blog

Lover of All Things Crafty

Susanne Matthews

Stumbling Towards the Finish Line

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My Interview with Ever

This is my very real interview with my very fictional character…please welcome Ever-Jezebel, the protagonist of my YA paranormal novel Into the Blind…

Helen: Hi, Ever.

Ever: Hi, Helen.

Helen: Thank you for talking to me today. Here’s my first question. How—

Ever: No way. I ask first. Why did you make me all-powerful?

Helen: Well, I thought it was a nice gift to have. And besides, I really wanted to read a story about an all-powerful female, but I couldn’t find one, so I wrote about you.

Ever: Really? Not a single story?

Helen: Well, okay, okay, I’m not absolutely sure about this. I only have one Ph.D., so—

Ever: Never mind. Next question. So you made me all-powerful, fine, but why give me a boyfriend who objects to powerful women?

Helen: Well, it seemed like a cool predicament.

Ever: Cool? Are you out of your mind?

Helen: Me? No, I don’t believe so. However, one must remember that writing fiction in principle is a form of socially acceptable schizophrenia, therefore—

Ever: Forget about it. Better tell me this. At the beginning of your book, I don’t have any power. I can’t do anything. I’m just locked up in a bookstore at the mercy of a human-trafficking gang. Why?

Helen: Well—

Ever: Don’t tell me it seemed like a cool predicament.

Helen: Mmm…

Ever: You’re hopeless. But fine, whatever. Here’s what I want you to remember, though. If you write a sequel about me—and I know you’re scribbling something—I want a nice life. All smooth sailing. Understood?

Helen: No. Wait. True, there is no consensus on what constitutes a plot in a work of fiction, but at its most basic, a story must have a protagonist who gets in trouble.

Ever: Well, then you have a cool predicament on your hands, don’t you? Well, I better get going. It’s a busy life being Almighty.

Helen: Well, thank you. For not answering my questions.

Ever: Anytime, Helen. Anytime.

Ketchup Clouds

Ketchup Clouds has an awesome premise: a teenage girl murders one boy and betrays another. And then writes about it to a death-row inmate. My interest was through the roof at once. But…well…okay, the book was good in places. It was fast-paced. The protagonist’s voice was entertaining…perky. There were some very passionate and nicely described kisses.

Now, for the problems with this book. There be spoilers…

You were warned…

Okay, so the book opens with the protagonist Zoe writing a letter to a death-row inmate. In it, she claims that she killed a boy and that now she is super upset about it. At once, judging by her perky, a-joke-here-a-joke-there voice, I knew the murder would turn out to be an accident. And yes, that’s exactly how it turned out. So much for suspense…

The next problem was that the entire plot is built on a misunderstanding. Zoe thinks that the boy she likes has a girlfriend while that “girlfriend” in reality is just a friend. So Zoe hooks up with the boy’s brother. Now, why can’t Zoe ask her hook-up if the girl in question is amorously involved with the boy Zoe likes? I don’t know. She just doesn’t. More so. Once, when she is with the boy she likes, he gets a phone call from his “girlfriend.” He says, “[It] can wait.” Why can’t Zoe ask if this is his girlfriend? Who knows…

However, these problems with the book’s plot are minor compared to the problems with its content. First off, in one of her early letters, Zoe writes to her pen pal, who is sentenced to death for killing his wife, that she doesn’t blame him. It’s his wife’s fault that she got killed – she’d been unfaithful. When I read this, I didn’t panic. I stayed very cool. I assumed that Zoe would learn not to blame victims as the book unfolded. And I was wrong! In her last letters, Zoe waxed poetic about the guy expecting his execution and what a poor soul he was that he’d been sentenced to death. Now, I don’t approve of death penalty, but hey, what about the guy’s wife? Wasn’t she a poor soul? But no. Apparently, she was not. The entire book contains zero kind words about the poor murdered woman.

But there’s more…

The guy actually killed another woman besides his wife. Their neighbor who just stopped by to check on the wife. And Zoe blames that woman too. Apparently, since she was nosy, she deserved her death. Yes, that’s how it is. Women, don’t be nosy. Don’t get married either, I guess.

Now, dear author of Ketchup Clouds, if let’s say you had a sister and she got killed because she had an affair, would you say it was her fault?

But moving on…

Toward the end of the novel, we find out some stuff about Zoe’s mom. Since she is the only adult woman in the novel who is alive and who has an actual role in the plot, I will call her the Woman. So, the Woman, it turns out, was pressured into not having an abortion by her husband and her father-in-law. That’s why she has the third daughter Dot. The Woman tells this to Zoe. The reader/me is holding her breath: what would be Zoe’s reaction? And it’s nothing. Not a single word. Not even a horrified gasp. Because apparently stripping people of their bodily autonomy for wishes and desires of others is fine.

But pushing on…

We also learn that the Woman wanted that abortion because she really wanted to continue working and having her career. After she was coerced into staying pregnant, she gave birth to Dot, got a nanny for her, and returned to work. One day Dot was having a fever, but the Woman had a big meeting at work, so she went to work, leaving the child with a caregiver, and turned off her phone. And of course, Dot’s fever proved to be meningitis, but since the nanny could not reach the Woman, Dot was rushed to the hospital too late, and so the child lost her hearing. The Woman blames herself. The Woman’s husband blames the Woman. The father-in-law blames the Woman. I’m amazed passing cats and dogs don’t stop by to blame the Woman. Because everyone knows that if something happens to a child, it’s the mother’s fault. Because obviously the caregiver could have never ever ever called Dot’s father. Because Dot’s father, when he’s at work, is not responsible for his children!!!

And it gets worse…

Surely, it shouldn’t!

But it does…

You see, in the early stages of the novel, Zoe’s dad loses his job. So he pressures the stay-at-home Woman to go and find a job. And she says no. And the reader/me is invited to hate her for that all throughout the book because what a selfish person she is! Well, when at the end we learn that she does not work because Dot got meningitis on that one day the Woman turned off her phone because she had a big meeting, we understand why she hasn’t been wanting to work all through the novel. We forgive her. Only the book ends by then. Which means we’ve hated the Woman for nothing all through the book!

Which is sad.

Should You Read “Cinderella”?

Recently, and I’m not even sure why, I began thinking of “Cinderella.” It’s such a claustrophobic tale: four women milling about in one house, watching each other, hating each other, sizing each other up. With an occasional fifth woman/female fairy popping in now and then. No men on the horizon. Purely theoretically, we know Cinderella has a dad because she’s got a stepmother, but where is he? Again, purely theoretically, there must be male servants simply because women back then didn’t drive carriages, maintain the grounds, or fix whatever needed to be fixed (except for clothing). But we never see a single guy.

And then a prince drops out of nowhere. Another human being. A promise of getting out of the claustrophobic gas chamber that Cinderella’s home apparently is. No wonder all three girls are fighting to death to get him.

Or maybe it is a wonder.

I mean why on earth does Cinderella ask her fairy godmother for shoes and stuff when she could ask her for a kingdom? Or to turn her into a fairy? Or why would Cinderella’s sisters need a prince when they are splendidly well off? Or how could Cinderella’s stepmother turn Cinderella into a maid without social repercussions? Because surely, if Cinderella’s sisters are feasible matches for a prince then Cinderella’s slide down the social ladder would diminish their status too.

But you kind of don’t think about it.

Because the story makes you so obsessive and paranoid. To all appearances, there’s only one marriageable guy and you gotta-gotta-gotta marry him or it’s the end of the world. Off goes bodily integrity/the wicked sisters’ feet.* True, not in their entirety, but how will they be able to walk with no heels? Off goes common sense. Nobody asks why on earth the prince can’t just have another ball so that he could recognize his true love. Didn’t he see her face? Was he only looking at her shoes (or whatever else shoes represent, which is usually vaginas)? Off goes dignity. Because there’s only ONE guy. Such scarcity. So give up everything. Make sure you’re pretty, manicured, pedicured, coifed, polished, poised. Oh, and always cheerful. Oh, and don’t form bonds with other women. Oh, and you’re never enough without a guy. Anxiety. OCD. Schizophrenia. Depression. After all this, I can only envision the married Cinderella as the guy from The Shining.

*In the Grimms’ version of “Cinderella,” the sisters cut off their heels so that Cinderella’s tiny shoe would fit them.