by Mayumi-H | Apr 16, 2012 | Excerpts, Fearless, Process
Before I’d even really started plotting or researching Fearless, I’d had this confrontation scene in mind. I think it’s one of the reasons why I’ve always been able to see the relationship between Ross and Neville so clearly. You may (or may not) agree.
(Warning: some adult language to follow.)
Painting by Jackie Knight: http://thejackieknightsite.com/home.html
A familiar itch niggled at the back of Ross’s neck. But he didn’t say anything, so Neville straightened up and dropped his hand to his side, and filled the sudden gap with:
“I stood by you, through all that Susanna shit you insisted on putting yourself through, even though I knew – I knew! – it would end badly. But I kept my gob shut because, despite every stupid, self-centered thing you have ever done, you are my friend. And because I held out some foolish hope that, just maybe, you would be clever enough to sort out on your own that Susanna Braden didn’t see you as anything more than a pretty face attached to a pretty cock she could use to pass the time between posh society luncheons and holidays with her husband.”
Ross glowered at this scathing recapitulation of events he knew far too well, and took no joy in reliving. “Thanks for that,” he rumbled.
“Shut it,” Neville snapped. “I haven’t finished.” He took a breath, looking Ross up and down, and finally shook his head. The expression on his face relaxed then, no longer so angry, as though sensing the rawness of the nerve he’d scraped. “Do you remember what you said to me,” he asked, “when that was all over?”
Ross just frowned, tonguing the back of his teeth as he recalled sitting on this same pier, sniffing seawater and snot as he’d kept his red eyes trained on the horizon. Then the words came back, so ripe with righteous loathing for the woman who’d used him so, even as Neville reminded him of them, too:
“You said you were done,” Neville told him. “That no woman was worth that kind of trouble. And you know,” he said with a snort of wry laughter, “I thought you were right! I thought it was better for you to just…close yourself down, shut yourself off, than to have to watch you go through another Susanna debacle again. Even if it did turn you into a compassion-less shit,” he squeezed out through thinly-pressed lips, making Ross frown again. Because of course, Neville was right; of course, that was true.
“I mean, you are my best friend, mate,” Neville said, now. “But that does not mean I did not think you were an arse-hole.” He paused, as though to let those words sink in, then said: “Because you were.”
Knowing this to be the truth and actually hearing it said aloud to his face were quite different things, and Ross glanced away. He drew a breath, some half-hearted protest perched on his tongue, when Neville spoke again:
“Until Amber came along,” he said, and, at that, Ross blinked back at him, silently struck dumb.
It’s never fun to be confronted by someone, often because that usually means that we’ve done something stupid or are currently in the process of doing so. But it’s your true friends who will call you on your crap, slap you in the face, and make you see the truth, no matter how ugly or frightening it may be. I had a friend like that, one who took me aside and told me the harsh reality of my actions. It’s one of the things I’m trying to convey in the relationship between these two characters. The main love story is about Ross and Amber, of course…but Neville has his own kind of love story with Ross, too. Perhaps not the squealing kind of story between two men for which sparkly-eyed fangirls might be clamoring, these days, but it is about love.
And now, a picture of two kittens hugging. For those who don’t like to think about two men who can be emotionally intimate without being lovers.
by Mayumi-H | Apr 14, 2012 | Fearless, From Hell (A Love Story), Process
I think Dave Sim is a bastard. An accomplished bastard, to be certain, but a bastard nevertheless.
During his 300-issue run on his independent (that’s self-published, to the literary crowd) comic book Cerebus, he used the titular character as an outlet to complain about many grievances he had about the world, most notably the role of women in it. Sim was not a happy guy when it came to women, during this time, and he made no secret about it. Of course, he was going through an ugly divorce from his wife, so it’s somewhat understandable. It doesn’t really excuse the way he took a dump on women in general in his book, but I suppose he had his reasons.
Still, despite his somewhat misogynistic words, I still find – even to this day – that I have to admire the guy. Why? Because he wrote what he wanted.
There’s a lesson in there, right? I mean, I may not agree with his perspective, but he wrote the story he wanted to write, and if readers didn’t like it, that was their fault. It reminds me of a response another writer (Rick Remender) gave to a fan, who’d written an opinion letter saying that Remender was not writing a beloved character the way that the fan thought he should be written. I’m going to paraphrase Remender’s response to this, but it was, essentially:
I am writing this story. Not you. So shut up.
Man, that response gives me wonderful chills every time I think of it. I’m going to write it again just for that reason.
I am writing this story. Not you. So shut up.
I read a lot of articles and blog posts and comments from, about, and to writers, many of whom seem to be slogging through the same drama I am: writing a novel, which we hope we can sell, of course, but that’s not all there is to it.
Many of us are in love with our stories. I know I am. But, like love for anything, there comes with it a deep sense of trepidation. Are we doing what’s best? Are we doing it right? Are we going to be hurt when we put this out there for everyone to see? The answers, of course, are yes, yes, and – sadly – yes. But I think that we can take a lesson from the bastards out there.
We should tell the stories we want to tell. We should tell these stories the way that we want to tell them. And if someone out there doesn’t like the story, that’s their problem.
Of course, there is value in writing for your audience. And we can’t all be Dave Sim or Rick Remender, able to write whatever in Hell we choose because people will buy the work regardless due to brand loyalty or whatever.
But, for pity’s sake, love your story. Have faith in your story. If you don’t love it first, if you don’t have faith in it first, who do you think is going to follow after you?
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Zzfdlxjx4Y]
The video above is of the Muppet performers singing “Just One Person”, from Snoopy! The Musical, at Jim Henson’s memorial service. If you can watch it and listen to those words without tearing up at least a little bit, I don’t think I want your support.
No matter what you create, you owe it to yourself to trust in your own vision. Be willing to take advice and criticism, and be willing to listen to other people who have the good of your story at heart, even if the words they have to say may be harsh to your ears. But always remember that this is your work. And if you don’t love it first…well, no one else will.
by Mayumi-H | Apr 9, 2012 | Fearless, Process, Short Stories
The product of a ten-minute writing challenge issued to our Art Night group, which theme was “First Kiss.” Because I can’t draw even a stick figure in ten minutes, I stuck with writing. Not surprisingly, mine was the darkest of the group’s pieces. This little drabble is actually one of the earliest attempts at (and inspirations for) what eventually became Fearless.
It’s the aerosol feel of splashing, salty waves against rocks that reminds her of another time like this one, where her husband once sat beside her beneath a shimmering moon and asked if she would always be his. That’s what makes her turn to the boy beside her now.
He’s so very young and so very strong, like her husband was, so long ago. He’s a different kind of handsome, this boy, though it’s a different era, now, isn’t it? Her husband had a gentleman’s part in his already-greying hair, and it was soft and silken, a controlled coif atop chiseled features. The boy’s blond locks – made coarse and dry by too many mornings spent in this salty sea – fall loose around still-full cheeks; he’s got no crow’s feet or laugh lines. He can barely grow a semblance of a beard over his chin.
But the boy is here, where her husband is not. The boy is beside her, and that is perhaps the reason most of all that she speaks to him, now.
“You’re quite cute, you know,” she says with a tickling smile.
He laughs, looking embarrassed as he glances away. But then he turns back again, and that boyish abashment is replaced by a more manly boldness. “You think?” he asks…though it is much more a goad than a mere question.
He isn’t very good at fishing, but she bites anyway – the hunter playing prey – and inclines her head. “I do.”
She lifts her chin again, stretching her neck. Will he bite, this time, she wonders? She thinks he will; he’s that right blend of curious and bashful: a boy looking for…not quite love, but perhaps a boastful notch on his belt (or on that board sitting forgotten beside him).
“It’s been a long time since I was with a man,” she tells him, and that’s truthful enough. “Would you mind very much if I kissed you?”
He blinks, but he doesn’t look away. “Not at all,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving hers.
She smiles at his answer; she’s still very much a woman, no matter what any of the crones around this small-minded village say. This boy’s needy kiss is proof enough.
Of course, it’s not just one kiss, and it’s not just two. It’s not even just five or ten or twenty, but a brief misjudgment of propriety that becomes sojourns behind the rocks, and made-up excuses, and a shouting match behind tightly-shuttered windows.
And the tears of a grey-haired man.
And a boy’s broken heart.
But she’s still a woman. She’s proven that much, if nothing else. And that’s what matters.
One of the more (in)famous May-December seduction scenes, from "The Graduate"
There’s a lot of taboo around May-December romances, though more often when it’s the woman who’s older. She’s seen as a temptress, a cougar, a sexual predator. This character – who would become the prickly Susanna Braden in the final story – is really not that different, at least from Ross’s point of view. Still, it was interesting to get her perspective on things.
by Mayumi-H | Apr 2, 2012 | Excerpts, Fearless, Persona 4 Fan Fiction, Process
Neville scowled at the doctor’s back. “Twat,” he muttered.
Venus snorted in mild amusement. “All doctors are twats,” she told him. “It comes with the territory. But he’s good,” she murmured, now. “Very good. And well-respected around here. And Amber’s his patient, so they’re more likely to release information to him than to an off-duty nurse,” she added with a shallow shrug.
Ross offered her a smile that he didn’t quite fully feel but managed anyway. “I’d still rather have you here,” he said.
Venus smiled up at him, and reached out to rub her hand over his back. “Thanks, duckie,” she murmured, and he hugged her close for a second in reply. She gave him a returning quick squeeze and sighed. Then she led him back to the chairs against the wall, to sit and sip at their coffee, and wait.
The coffee wasn’t particularly good. It was too bitter and too sweet at the same time, reminding Ross of nothing so much as one morning barely three weeks ago, when Amber had tried her hand at using Freddie’s French press. She’d gotten the balance of grounds to water wrong – or something – and had tried to cover it up with copious amounts of milk and sugar, with less than poor results. The hot mess had ended up tasting so sludgy and so burnt and so utterly terrible that Ross had made her promise never to make coffee again, despite how much she’d protested that she only needed some practice, and if he’d let her try again, she was sure she could do it right.
He would have given anything to be drinking her coffee, now. To have her standing next to him with that cautiously inquiring smile she would use when she was seeking his favour, the one that made one side of her mouth curl up hopefully, pressing one dimple into her cheek. And to feel her cuddle guardedly close, tucked almost under his shoulder, with her hair smelling so clean and her arms already wound mostly around him, itching to hug him when he finally smiled at her.
He pressed his face into the palm of one hand, focusing firmly on his breathing because anything else was simply too difficult to do.
I admit it: I enjoy writing stories in arcs. I like seeing characters through one adventure or crisis for a few chapters, lead them to a resolution, give them a little bit of downtime, and then slap them in the face with a new crisis. I like my videogames and movies and books to do the same thing, for the most part.
Naughty Dog’s “Uncharted” series of games is a good example of what I’m talking about. (There are others, of course. I just like looking at Nate Drake, the protagonist of the series, best.)
Nate's back!
...and, oh, what a back it is!
The hero (Nate Drake, whom the player controls through the game) bounces from one location to the next, finding clues to the over-arching mystery adventure, which usually involves shoot-outs, corporate thievery, hanging from ledges, and the occasional romantic entanglement. Each point on the adventure map has its own little story, mystery, and climax, but they all contribute to the whole. You can set down the game after each mini-adventure, as it were, and take a breather, before you jump headlong into the next one. (Nate always jumps headlong into everything. It’s a character trait.)
I – and this is just me, personally – like stories structured the same way. If it’s a constant uphill rise or battle toward one grandiose climax, I get tired reading that (or watching it, or playing it). There’s no time for me to relax. For some genres, of course, that can be a good thing, I suppose. In a thriller, you might want to never let up on the tension. (I can’t imagine anyone surviving very long in a story like that, but I’m digressing.) But in a romance/drama/relationship story, which is what I’m writing, I think it’s worth it to the reader to see the characters get some happy time before the next bus comes crashing into the building.
And there are buses. Emotional ones and physical. Because all stories need some conflict.
What does all of this have to do with the excerpt above? I guess I just thought that you were seeing a lot of happy-happy, and I wanted to let you know that the story does actually have some meat to it. Emotional meat. Heavy emotional meat. But there’s an end coming for that, too. You just have to see it through.
by Mayumi-H | Mar 26, 2012 | Excerpts, Fearless, Process
“This is for you,” he said, clicking open the small velvet-covered jewellery box with a flick of his thumb, to show her the fragile silver necklace with its moonstone briolette and the tiny pearls wrapped around it.
Amber’s delicately made-up lips broke into a wide smile. “Oh, Ross…!” she breathed as she looked from the box to him. “You shouldn’t have done!”
He wrinkled his nose dismissively. “It’s a Christmas present,” he muttered.
She giggled. “That’s still almost two weeks away!”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I know,” he said, and then grinned. “But, I couldn’t wait.”
Even the bright lustre of the chain couldn’t outshine the smile she graced on him. “Well, thank you,” she whispered. “It’s lovely.”
He smiled again, and plucked the necklace from its black bed with his fingers. “Here,” he said, passing her the box as he shifted around behind her. He pushed the blonde curtain of her hair over one shoulder, then lowered the chain in front of her, settling the dangling pearl onto her chest, not far above her cleavage. He fastened the catch and smoothed it down upon the back of her neck, then paused very briefly, to lay a light kiss just above it, between the scooping collar of her coat and her hairline.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, pressing back into his hands, which he’d settled on her shoulders. Then she turned about on her toes in a graceful little pirouette, and wound her arms around his neck. She didn’t say another word, just rose up and kissed him, while the rain came down upon the awning above their heads.
Recently, I’ve had several conversations about the value and necessity of depth of description in stories. Personally, I’ve always been something of a word-hound, and I like setting scene and offering details. I have been known to go overboard with my details, though. (That’s one of the reasons why I’m really enjoying the 100-Word Challenges; they really make me think about the words I’m putting down on paper.) However, I think that – especially in a genre such as romance – details are quite important.
Even though women tend to be the main readership of romance, writing from a man’s perspective has made me consider how visual men are, as a gender. They’re stimulated by what they see. Not that women don’t have that visual stimulation, too, but with men it seems to be so much more acute. The male voice also tends to be a lot more immediate than the female voice, at least for my men. So, with this story, I’ve tried to concentrate on offering details mostly when they’re warranted, and when they’re in relation to what Ross would notice in the world around him: such as the way Amber looks, feels, smells, and moves.
It’s been very interesting to find a voice for Ross. I hope that readers can sympathise (or even empathise) with him along the way. But, even if they don’t, even if I don’t find readers for this story, it’s still been a fun and enlightening experience for me.
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