Mark Rubinstein's Blog, page 31
January 29, 2014
Fear is the Common Denominator
Writers are often told, “Write what you know.” Historical thriller novelist Steve Berry says, “Write what you love.” As a novelist and psychiatrist, I've become intimate with fear, and while I don’t “love” it, I do love writing about it. I’m not referring to ordinary worries or anxieties: things such as, will I get fired, or will the IRS audit my return? These are troubling concerns, but they don’t rise to the level of true fear—the kind brimming in psychological thrillers.
I’m talking about raw, gut-quivering, life-threatening fear—the primal upsurge of emotion that has been with human beings since they first populated the earth. It’s fear so profound, it can be life-altering. It arises from the brain’s limbic system—specifically, the amygdala—which plays a central role in triggering that primitive emotion upon which our ancestors depended for survival. It can cause a heart-thumping, pupil-dilating, sweat-pouring, knee-quaking bodily reaction—the nervous system’s fight-or-flight response. It’s elemental, basic, biologic. Fear is a legacy every one of us has inherited. It lurks in the deepest recesses of our consciousness, capable of erupting in a millisecond when we’re threatened. In fact, much of life can be viewed as orbiting around attenuating or eliminating fear: we want to live secure, peaceful lives where we don’t feel threatened or endangered by someone or something.
Through my work as a forensic psychiatrist, I've become intimate with fear. I've seen it in many settings. I've treated or examined combat veterans; survivors of concentration camps; people who lived through the 9/11 terrorist attack; railroad, airplane and bus crash victims; survivors of vicious dog attacks, catastrophic automobile and industrial accidents; and people who lived through riots, rapes, and other near-death experiences.
As a writer, I know when it comes to fiction, the most frightening depictions are those describing events that could really happen. Those situations resonate deeply because, unlike paranormal experiences, they fall within the realm of possibility. They depict horrific situations that could happen to any of us.
In psychological thrillers, fear drives the plot and mesmerizes us. We can read about the most terrifying things, experiencing them vicariously. These novelistic true-to-life situations arouse our primitive, instinctual atavistic fears. In a sense, we “exercise” our fear response and keep it honed, at the ready. That’s the psychology behind why we take rollercoaster rides, watch scary movies, or read thriller books.
I think the most frightening novel Stephen King ever wrote is Gerald’s Game because it depicts a terrifying situation that could happen to anyone. (Imagine being handcuffed to bedposts in a remote cabin, miles from civilization. Your husband is dead at the foot of the bed and a wild dog roams nearby).
For a shrieking level of fear, there’s none better than Thomas Harris’s Red Dragon, or for that matter, The Silence of the Lambs. Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl is not only compellingly well-written, but conjures real fears: where and how has my wife disappeared? Why am I suspected of being a murderer? What will happen to my life?
Dennis Lehane’s Mystic River is a psychological thriller in which primal fear is preeminent. A young boy gets into a car with two strangers and terrible things happen to him—every parent’s fear. A young woman is found murdered. The police have no clue who killed her. The girl’s father decides to take matters into his own hands and seeks vengeance. The outcome is tragic as fear, suspicion and preconceived conclusions take their toll on the characters.
Pat Conroy’s The Prince of Tides is a beautifully-written psychological thriller—it depicts a minefield of childhood psychic terror as related by Tom Wingo, the narrator of this rich and multi-layered tale of family traumas. Virtually every scene involves fear, and the psychic scars inflicted on a man’s sense of himself and his life.
William Styron’s masterful novel, Sophie’s Choice, describes the incalculable horrors of the holocaust as told by the survivor, Sophie. It also depicts the psychological terror and torment of severe mental illness—and the potentially lethal consequences of obsessive love, paranoia and inescapable guilt.
There are good reasons why the best-seller lists are populated by novelists like Stephen King, John Sandford, Lisa Gardner, Dennis Lehane, James Patterson, Andrew Gross, Lee Child, Harlan Coben, Dean Koontz, Janet Evonovich, and others. Their novels depict people dealing with the psychology of unmitigated fear, the primeval common denominator of the human condition.
And we share that fear, vicariously, from the safety of our armchairs.
I’m talking about raw, gut-quivering, life-threatening fear—the primal upsurge of emotion that has been with human beings since they first populated the earth. It’s fear so profound, it can be life-altering. It arises from the brain’s limbic system—specifically, the amygdala—which plays a central role in triggering that primitive emotion upon which our ancestors depended for survival. It can cause a heart-thumping, pupil-dilating, sweat-pouring, knee-quaking bodily reaction—the nervous system’s fight-or-flight response. It’s elemental, basic, biologic. Fear is a legacy every one of us has inherited. It lurks in the deepest recesses of our consciousness, capable of erupting in a millisecond when we’re threatened. In fact, much of life can be viewed as orbiting around attenuating or eliminating fear: we want to live secure, peaceful lives where we don’t feel threatened or endangered by someone or something.
Through my work as a forensic psychiatrist, I've become intimate with fear. I've seen it in many settings. I've treated or examined combat veterans; survivors of concentration camps; people who lived through the 9/11 terrorist attack; railroad, airplane and bus crash victims; survivors of vicious dog attacks, catastrophic automobile and industrial accidents; and people who lived through riots, rapes, and other near-death experiences.
As a writer, I know when it comes to fiction, the most frightening depictions are those describing events that could really happen. Those situations resonate deeply because, unlike paranormal experiences, they fall within the realm of possibility. They depict horrific situations that could happen to any of us.
In psychological thrillers, fear drives the plot and mesmerizes us. We can read about the most terrifying things, experiencing them vicariously. These novelistic true-to-life situations arouse our primitive, instinctual atavistic fears. In a sense, we “exercise” our fear response and keep it honed, at the ready. That’s the psychology behind why we take rollercoaster rides, watch scary movies, or read thriller books.
I think the most frightening novel Stephen King ever wrote is Gerald’s Game because it depicts a terrifying situation that could happen to anyone. (Imagine being handcuffed to bedposts in a remote cabin, miles from civilization. Your husband is dead at the foot of the bed and a wild dog roams nearby).
For a shrieking level of fear, there’s none better than Thomas Harris’s Red Dragon, or for that matter, The Silence of the Lambs. Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl is not only compellingly well-written, but conjures real fears: where and how has my wife disappeared? Why am I suspected of being a murderer? What will happen to my life?
Dennis Lehane’s Mystic River is a psychological thriller in which primal fear is preeminent. A young boy gets into a car with two strangers and terrible things happen to him—every parent’s fear. A young woman is found murdered. The police have no clue who killed her. The girl’s father decides to take matters into his own hands and seeks vengeance. The outcome is tragic as fear, suspicion and preconceived conclusions take their toll on the characters.
Pat Conroy’s The Prince of Tides is a beautifully-written psychological thriller—it depicts a minefield of childhood psychic terror as related by Tom Wingo, the narrator of this rich and multi-layered tale of family traumas. Virtually every scene involves fear, and the psychic scars inflicted on a man’s sense of himself and his life.
William Styron’s masterful novel, Sophie’s Choice, describes the incalculable horrors of the holocaust as told by the survivor, Sophie. It also depicts the psychological terror and torment of severe mental illness—and the potentially lethal consequences of obsessive love, paranoia and inescapable guilt.
There are good reasons why the best-seller lists are populated by novelists like Stephen King, John Sandford, Lisa Gardner, Dennis Lehane, James Patterson, Andrew Gross, Lee Child, Harlan Coben, Dean Koontz, Janet Evonovich, and others. Their novels depict people dealing with the psychology of unmitigated fear, the primeval common denominator of the human condition.
And we share that fear, vicariously, from the safety of our armchairs.
January 28, 2014
Fear Is The Common Denominator
Writers are often told, “Write what you know.” Historical thriller novelist Steve Berry says, “Write what you love.” As a novelist and psychiatrist, I’ve become intimate with fear, and while I don’t “love” it, I do love writing about it. I’m not referring to ordinary worries or anxieties: things such as, will I get fired, or will the IRS audit my return? These are troubling concerns, but they don’t rise to the level of true fear—the kind brimming in psychological thrillers.
I’m talking about r...
January 22, 2014
The Secret to Writing a Best-selling Novel
I was intrigued by an article in the British publication the Telegraph which seemed quite extraordinary. The piece was entitled, “Scientists Find Secret to Writing a Best-selling Novel.”
For a writer, what could be more arresting than such a headline?
Among other things, the article said: “Computer scientists have developed an algorithm which can predict with 84 percent accuracy whether a book will be a commercial success — and the secret is to avoid clichés and excessive use of verbs.”
Computer...
January 19, 2014
Time to Help Our Veterans
We hear so much these days about our veterans returning home from Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of them need our help because they have lost limbs, have PTSD,or suffer other impairments most of us cannot conceive of living with for the rest of our lives.
I am giving away my 48 page novella, "The Foot Soldier" on Monday, January 20th and Tuesday, January 21st on Amazon. It is free to download on any Kindle or reading device with a Kindle app.
If you read this novella and enjoy it, please review it on Amazon and on Goodreads. I am asking readers to do this because all future proceeds will be donated to www.DAV.org an organization dedicated to helping our disabled veterans. (Go to the site and see for yourself).
All too often, the only time we hear about our veterans is on Veteran's Day or Memorial Day. I'm asking for your help to help our veterans. Thank you.
I am giving away my 48 page novella, "The Foot Soldier" on Monday, January 20th and Tuesday, January 21st on Amazon. It is free to download on any Kindle or reading device with a Kindle app.
If you read this novella and enjoy it, please review it on Amazon and on Goodreads. I am asking readers to do this because all future proceeds will be donated to www.DAV.org an organization dedicated to helping our disabled veterans. (Go to the site and see for yourself).
All too often, the only time we hear about our veterans is on Veteran's Day or Memorial Day. I'm asking for your help to help our veterans. Thank you.
January 14, 2014
Character is Destiny
People often talk about a novel being plot-driven or character-driven. For me, that can be an artificial distinction. For my taste, the best novels -- those that capture me and make me feel sorry the read is coming to an end -- are those driven by both plot and by the protagonist's character or personality.
I've always felt the most engaging novels are those whose narrative drives involve conflict and uncertainty. They're novels whose plot -- along with other attributes -- makes me wonder what's going to happen next. In essence, I've always believed a good story is quite disturbing or plumbs a deep truth -- one that's either obvious (think of Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl) or draws me on some level of which I may be unaware (think of Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent or Jane Hamilton's A Map of the World). In my view, a novel's plot is vital for it to be compelling.
For a novel to be really enjoyable, you must also care about the main character. Plot twists and conflictual situations can be engrossing, but for the novel to really work, the reader must feel for and identify on some level with the protagonist.
All situations about people involve three components: thinking, feeling and behavior. A really good novel -- using various devices of the craft -- draws the reader into the protagonist's thoughts and feelings (emotionally and bodily). These elements often derive from the character's past and inform his or her behavior as the plot unfolds.
In a sense, the protagonist's character drives the novel's momentum. Think of Seymour Levov in Philip Roth's American Pastoral; Tom Wingo in Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides; Sherman McCoy in Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities; and Stingo, Nathan or Sophie in William Styron's Sophie's Choice. Or, Ahab in Moby Dick. These wonderfully drawn characters' inner conflicts thrust the narrative flow in compelling directions. A great plotline with a poorly defined protagonist renders the novel anemic, hollow, and unsatisfying.
A compelling plot creates the potential for a great read. And, a vividly drawn character adds to the novel's power and lure. In a real way, character is destiny. It gives a story muscle, guts and soul. The protagonist's character forms the tissue holding the plot together and propels it in one or another direction. Plot and character go hand-in-hand. A richly depicted character negotiating the rigors of a compelling plot provides a great read.
I've always felt the most engaging novels are those whose narrative drives involve conflict and uncertainty. They're novels whose plot -- along with other attributes -- makes me wonder what's going to happen next. In essence, I've always believed a good story is quite disturbing or plumbs a deep truth -- one that's either obvious (think of Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl) or draws me on some level of which I may be unaware (think of Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent or Jane Hamilton's A Map of the World). In my view, a novel's plot is vital for it to be compelling.
For a novel to be really enjoyable, you must also care about the main character. Plot twists and conflictual situations can be engrossing, but for the novel to really work, the reader must feel for and identify on some level with the protagonist.
All situations about people involve three components: thinking, feeling and behavior. A really good novel -- using various devices of the craft -- draws the reader into the protagonist's thoughts and feelings (emotionally and bodily). These elements often derive from the character's past and inform his or her behavior as the plot unfolds.
In a sense, the protagonist's character drives the novel's momentum. Think of Seymour Levov in Philip Roth's American Pastoral; Tom Wingo in Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides; Sherman McCoy in Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities; and Stingo, Nathan or Sophie in William Styron's Sophie's Choice. Or, Ahab in Moby Dick. These wonderfully drawn characters' inner conflicts thrust the narrative flow in compelling directions. A great plotline with a poorly defined protagonist renders the novel anemic, hollow, and unsatisfying.
A compelling plot creates the potential for a great read. And, a vividly drawn character adds to the novel's power and lure. In a real way, character is destiny. It gives a story muscle, guts and soul. The protagonist's character forms the tissue holding the plot together and propels it in one or another direction. Plot and character go hand-in-hand. A richly depicted character negotiating the rigors of a compelling plot provides a great read.
Character Is Destiny
People often talk about a novel being plot-driven or character-driven. For me, that can be an artificial distinction. For my taste, the best novels — those that capture me and make me feel sorry the read is coming to an end — are those driven by both plot and by the protagonist’s character or personality.
I’ve always felt the most engaging novels are those whose narrative drives involve conflict and uncertainty. They’re novels whose plot — along with other attributes — makes me wonder what’s g...
January 7, 2014
Your Brain on Books
I was fascinated by an article dated January 4, 2014 in the Science section of The Independent, a British newspaper. http://www.independent.co.uk/news/sci... The article noted research done at Emory University. It revealed that reading a gripping novel can trigger measurable changes in brain function, lingering for as long as five days. The research found reading a compelling book may cause heightened connectivity and neurolo...
January 6, 2014
A Dirty Little Secret
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Mrs. Clark came to see me because of a problem beginning one year earlier. An attractive woman of 45, she’d noticed some white amidst her head of black hair. She’d decided to color her hair jet black.
On the day she treated her hair, she got some dye on her hands. No matter how often she washed them, she felt she couldn’t cleanse her hands. After many attempts, she grew frustrated and frightened. Over the next weeks and months, her worries about contamination spread. She repeatedly washed and...
A Dirty Little Secret
Mrs. Clark came to see me because of a problem beginning one year earlier. An attractive woman of 45, she’d noticed some white amid her head of black hair. She’d decided to color her hair jet black.
On the day she treated her hair, she got some dye on her hands. No matter how often she washed them, she felt she couldn’t cleanse her hands. After many attempts, she grew frustrated and frightened. Over the next weeks and months, her worries about contamination spread. She repeatedly washed and re-washed the family’s laundry, but was convinced the clothing still wasn’t clean enough. She began scrubbing floors and vacuuming frenetically, always imagining dirt, no matter how thorough she’d been.
Her “filth phobia” expanded. She felt she was unclean, and showered so frequently, her skin became dry and flaky. She began using latex gloves to attend to bodily functions such as toileting. She refused to touch money, believing it was “dirty.” This obsession with filth limited her ability to shop for the family’s food; she avoided public transportation, fearing she would contract an infectious disease; and her husband had to drive her everywhere.
Mrs. Clark’s life became increasingly constricted by fear of “filth.” Her husband grew frantic, realizing her life was spinning out of control.
It was clear: the onset of Mrs. Clark’s obsession with dirt and contamination had repressed psychodynamic underpinnings. I was certain a deeply-buried, unacceptable idea about something in her past had threatened to surface: perhaps angry, sexual feelings, or some other unacceptable “dirty little secret.” She reminded me of patients described by Freud and the early Viennese psychoanalysts at the turn of the 20th century.
However, I knew she was not a candidate for deeply probing psychotherapy. That could very well unleash a full-blown decompensation. She would need something to help her negotiate the obsessive symptoms completely dominating her life.
Some years earlier, the new generation of anti-depressants had come on the market. They were known to be quite effective in treating depression, and were eventually approved by the FDA for phobias and obsessive-compulsive disorders.
I prescribed medication for Mrs. Clark. After about 6 weeks, her symptoms improved dramatically. She stopped using latex gloves for toileting; no longer cleaned her house obsessively; was showering only once a day; was able to go shopping; and took public transportation, no longer fearing contamination.
I followed up with Mrs. Clark on a less frequent basis, lowering her dose of medication at intervals, intending to wean her off it completely.
Eventually, she was phobia-free, off medication, and her obsession about dirt had resolved. She achieved symptomatic relief, which had been the goal. The medication had done its job.
It could have been dangerous to “unearth” the “dirty little secret” she’d kept from herself.
Mark Rubinstein
Author of Mad Dog House, Love Gone Mad and The Foot Soldier
On the day she treated her hair, she got some dye on her hands. No matter how often she washed them, she felt she couldn’t cleanse her hands. After many attempts, she grew frustrated and frightened. Over the next weeks and months, her worries about contamination spread. She repeatedly washed and re-washed the family’s laundry, but was convinced the clothing still wasn’t clean enough. She began scrubbing floors and vacuuming frenetically, always imagining dirt, no matter how thorough she’d been.
Her “filth phobia” expanded. She felt she was unclean, and showered so frequently, her skin became dry and flaky. She began using latex gloves to attend to bodily functions such as toileting. She refused to touch money, believing it was “dirty.” This obsession with filth limited her ability to shop for the family’s food; she avoided public transportation, fearing she would contract an infectious disease; and her husband had to drive her everywhere.
Mrs. Clark’s life became increasingly constricted by fear of “filth.” Her husband grew frantic, realizing her life was spinning out of control.
It was clear: the onset of Mrs. Clark’s obsession with dirt and contamination had repressed psychodynamic underpinnings. I was certain a deeply-buried, unacceptable idea about something in her past had threatened to surface: perhaps angry, sexual feelings, or some other unacceptable “dirty little secret.” She reminded me of patients described by Freud and the early Viennese psychoanalysts at the turn of the 20th century.
However, I knew she was not a candidate for deeply probing psychotherapy. That could very well unleash a full-blown decompensation. She would need something to help her negotiate the obsessive symptoms completely dominating her life.
Some years earlier, the new generation of anti-depressants had come on the market. They were known to be quite effective in treating depression, and were eventually approved by the FDA for phobias and obsessive-compulsive disorders.
I prescribed medication for Mrs. Clark. After about 6 weeks, her symptoms improved dramatically. She stopped using latex gloves for toileting; no longer cleaned her house obsessively; was showering only once a day; was able to go shopping; and took public transportation, no longer fearing contamination.
I followed up with Mrs. Clark on a less frequent basis, lowering her dose of medication at intervals, intending to wean her off it completely.
Eventually, she was phobia-free, off medication, and her obsession about dirt had resolved. She achieved symptomatic relief, which had been the goal. The medication had done its job.
It could have been dangerous to “unearth” the “dirty little secret” she’d kept from herself.
Mark Rubinstein
Author of Mad Dog House, Love Gone Mad and The Foot Soldier
December 24, 2013
A Book-World Wish List For 2014
As 2014 approaches, I think about what I would like to see happen in the world of books. I know they often say, “Be careful what you wish for,” but here are my wishes for the coming year.
1. The artificial distinction will no longer be made between “literary” fiction and well-written fiction in any genre.
2. There will be a renaissance of independent bookstores across the country.
3. People who love reading will fund generously their local libraries.
4. Amazon, Goodreads and other online sites will abandon their “star” ratings of books. These shortcuts are a misleading way of trashing, bashing or praising books.
5. More readers of all genres will participate vigorously in online group discussions.
6. People who have not read a book in its entirety will not review the book anywhere.
7. Authors in popular genres who have met with success will stop “pumping out” inferior novels, and return to the quality writing that brought them success in the first place.
8. Prestigious book review magazines (whether electronic or print-based) will no longer publish anonymous reviews. Each reviewer will be named.
9. The prices of e-books will remain affordable and not continue rising as has been the recent trend.
10. More children are introduced to reading early on, and develop a lifelong love of books.
I welcome reading your book wish list for 2014.
Mark Rubinstein
Author of Mad Dog House and Love Gone Mad
1. The artificial distinction will no longer be made between “literary” fiction and well-written fiction in any genre.
2. There will be a renaissance of independent bookstores across the country.
3. People who love reading will fund generously their local libraries.
4. Amazon, Goodreads and other online sites will abandon their “star” ratings of books. These shortcuts are a misleading way of trashing, bashing or praising books.
5. More readers of all genres will participate vigorously in online group discussions.
6. People who have not read a book in its entirety will not review the book anywhere.
7. Authors in popular genres who have met with success will stop “pumping out” inferior novels, and return to the quality writing that brought them success in the first place.
8. Prestigious book review magazines (whether electronic or print-based) will no longer publish anonymous reviews. Each reviewer will be named.
9. The prices of e-books will remain affordable and not continue rising as has been the recent trend.
10. More children are introduced to reading early on, and develop a lifelong love of books.
I welcome reading your book wish list for 2014.
Mark Rubinstein
Author of Mad Dog House and Love Gone Mad
