Let's start at the very beginning ...
How weird- I have to write daily as part of my job but clam up the instant I'm required to write anything about myself.
First blogs by their very nature require some exposition. Since that's really not too interesting, I'll move onto the pudding: I'm a marketing assistant by day, writer (I don't like the word 'author') by night. In between life and spasms of writers' block I've finished two books, The Governess and The Revenge of Rose Grubb, and put them on Kindle. I've been writing a third- working title Love and Robotics- for a year and 3 months. It seems to take longer with each successive novel!
I have 3 aims with my stories. First and foremost is to give the reader a good time; if I'm not enjoying writing a book, I scrap it. Secondly, I try to have to have more lesbian, gay or gender queer characters in my stories- while a book may not be necessarily "gay", it's always there as an element. I hate the stock gay character who's a bit part, always a best friend or relative, who never actually engages in any romance. They seem solely there to prove the author's "liberal" credentials- a sandwich board rather than a convincing character.
Thirdly- and I feel about this so strongly it's a wonder it isn't first- I like writing well fleshed out female characters. It irks me even more than the chronic underuse of gay characters; while I can just about accept a writer may never have been close to anyone gay, there's women all around. I'm sick of female characters being girlfriends, mothers, assistants. Some of the most glaring pedlars of this nonsense are women! I'm sick of women sitting on their tuffets waiting for Prince Charming to rescue them.
Whew! There endeth the rant. That's why I write the sorts of stories I do. I hope to get to know some of you a bit better as this blog progresses.
First blogs by their very nature require some exposition. Since that's really not too interesting, I'll move onto the pudding: I'm a marketing assistant by day, writer (I don't like the word 'author') by night. In between life and spasms of writers' block I've finished two books, The Governess and The Revenge of Rose Grubb, and put them on Kindle. I've been writing a third- working title Love and Robotics- for a year and 3 months. It seems to take longer with each successive novel!
I have 3 aims with my stories. First and foremost is to give the reader a good time; if I'm not enjoying writing a book, I scrap it. Secondly, I try to have to have more lesbian, gay or gender queer characters in my stories- while a book may not be necessarily "gay", it's always there as an element. I hate the stock gay character who's a bit part, always a best friend or relative, who never actually engages in any romance. They seem solely there to prove the author's "liberal" credentials- a sandwich board rather than a convincing character.
Thirdly- and I feel about this so strongly it's a wonder it isn't first- I like writing well fleshed out female characters. It irks me even more than the chronic underuse of gay characters; while I can just about accept a writer may never have been close to anyone gay, there's women all around. I'm sick of female characters being girlfriends, mothers, assistants. Some of the most glaring pedlars of this nonsense are women! I'm sick of women sitting on their tuffets waiting for Prince Charming to rescue them.
Whew! There endeth the rant. That's why I write the sorts of stories I do. I hope to get to know some of you a bit better as this blog progresses.
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Soo embarrassed. That was supposed to be another post, but turned into a comment instead. I am such a klutz!
I find it hard putting into words what I love so much about James's classic. While he maintained the Quint/Jessel twosome were straightfoward (though unusually horrible) ghosts, I love how slippery it is. It can be about sexual hysteria, psychosis or paedophilia- or a melting pot of all three. I've seen countless adaptations but something keeps drawing me back. It's probably why I devoured The Woman in Black too.
People just don't write ghost stories like that any more. The shocks are too blatant, too visceral- they don't seem to grasp that what really freaks you out is the thing that's subtly wrong but you can't put your finger on. Although the play employed various effects, all brilliantly done, my favourite was in many ways the simplest: Quint appears up on the tower, outside the window, then- lightning crack!- he's in the house. I leapt out of my skin; little shrieks were heard all over the theatre.
Now that's what I call a ghost story!