The Effects of Sound and Writing from a Quiet Place

Came across this New York Times Opinion article this morning. "I'm Thinking, Please Be Quiet."

In American culture, we tend to regard sensitivity to noise as a sign of weakness or killjoy prudery. To those who complain about sound levels on the streets, inside their homes and across a swath of public spaces like stadiums, beaches and parks, we say: "Suck it up. Relax and have a good time." But the scientific evidence shows that loud sound is physically debilitating.

I happen to be one of those people who has to have quiet in order to write. I need to focus, I need to hear what the characters are saying, I need to visualize what's happening in the scene. Noise--the television, the radio, conversation, etc.--all those things tend to play havoc with my creation process. The thing about writing in coffee shops, restaurants, and such, is that I study my surroundings, and I'm interesting in everything that going on. If I'm watching television, I'm focus on the activity of the actors, the character arcs, the formation of the plot of what I'm watching. So my attention is fractured. If I'm out among people, I'm watching for expressions, for interaction, listening for language cues, boy cues, I smelling the scents in the air, I'm study the feel and the environment. I'm not and cannot focus on the writing and listening to what's going on inside my head with the attention it deserves.

I'm a very good multitasker and my husband marvels at the things I can manage to accomplish in a day. But the writing time--it has to be sacred. I can listen to music before or after my writing, but not during. I hate being pulled out of a world that I'm creating as I write.

What's your ideal writing environment consist of?

Winter 2012 in Washington and Environment in Story

Yup, it's winter in Washington. And I'm not talking rain. Honestly, it's up to my kneecaps out there now. These are a couple of pictures I took this morning.

I checked my picture folder and the last one I have labeled for snowfall in Washington is 2008. Luckily, I went grocery shopping just a couple days ago, I have all my techie stuff on chargers just in case. And I've backed up my working folder onto my Seagate in case I end up needing to work from my netbook, which has about a 6-8-hour battery life. Oil lamps in place, batteries newly purchased. Think we'll be fine. Snow is still falling, Marley does not want to go out as the snow is over her head, so here we are tucked away inside. Thought I'd do a blog now, just in case reception gets a little funky later.

The forecast is that it's supposed to taper off later, so we'll see. Snow doesn't often last a really long time, usually turns to rain, but that's when it can get a little tricky. I like the snow, not so much on the icy stuff. Makes me glad that these days I work at home. A real good day to hunker down and just get to the writing. Though I just got in a story to edit last night, so may pick that up today and get to the editing.

The other thing I like to do on "special" days like this is go outside and take pictures. Or just stand outside and experience the weather. It comes in handy when it comes time to write about weather, and the look of things, the feel, the smell. Remember it, use it, draw out the environment in story.

Not too long ago I wrote a fairytale-based story, "Poppy Rider and the Glass Shards," which tales place in Washington and then mostly near the North Pole and really cold weather.

Lou opened up the reddish binoculars and gazed off into the distance. As he studied the landscape, he adjusted the sliding brass scale. Poppy saw three beams of red light emit from the instrument and as she watched and Lou adjusted, the beams intersected to form one straight line. He then locked the reading into place.

"Ah, now we have it." He looked at the reading. "The location of the Fantasmic Corridor is always shifting. In this part of the world hardly anything ever stays the same." He held up the instrument. "This is a fantasnigator and helps to fix the current position of the corridor. Now we can be off."

He put the fantasnigator away and then, pressing a button, he started the motor. He expertly steered out into the waters, passing through channels littered with bits of ice looking like jagged shards of white gleaming glass. Poppy leaned over the side to scoop up one of the pieces that looked slightly different from the rest. It appeared to be an actual piece of looking glass.

"This isn't ice, is it?" she asked, holding it up for Lou to see. He slowed the boat, quickly glanced down at the shard in her hand, then out at the sea of pieces scattered across the surging dark blue water. He idled the boat and then donned a pair of round red-colored spectacles and studied the sharp piece more closely.

"Just what I thought," Lou said. "This one is a piece from the goblin's broken mirror. Dangerous and you shouldn't be handling it."

"You mean that magic mirror that Moira told us about?" Poppy asked.

"Yes. Good thing you have your gloves on. If it had cut you, we might have been in for a whole other set of problems." Lou reached beneath the seat and pulled out what looked like a green fishing tackle box. He opened it and tossed the piece inside. "Don't want anyone else coming into contact with it. Then he took off his glasses and turned his attention back to steering the boat out across the water.

The air was brisk, but probably not close to being as cold as it would have been had they tried this in the middle of winter. And, of course, the drug apparently helped with their body temperature.

It was an eerie feeling as they glided through the still waters, the ghostly presence of icy glaciers surrounding them. Lou said they were headed to a place called Snowy Inlet. From there they would trek across the ice to the location of the Fantasmic Corridor.

Poppy saw a white bird soaring overhead, wings outstretched, and she surmised most of the animals blended in almost seamlessly with the arctic environment.

Lou docked the boat and they got out. Poppy had thought there was a barrenness to the environment before--but here it was a stark isolation that went far beyond anything she knew. The land was so vast--open and big and pristine. Beautiful and yet frighteningly desolate.

"Here, take these," Lou said. He handed each of them a set of lightweight black goggles with red eyeglass, similar to what a swimmer might wear. "Put them on when I tell you. It's the only way you'll be able to navigate the Corridor, both going in and coming out.

Thirty minutes later, goggles in place, Poppy was shocked when she suddenly saw a kaleidoscope of colors erupt in front of her eyes. If felt like she was wearing a pair of those strange sixties psychedelic spectacles, except there was only one area where the odd aurora borealis-like imagery appeared. If she looked in other directions she saw white ice and blue sky and water.

"This is weird," Gray said.

Poppy peered down the strange Corridor of undulating lights. She finally realized that there were several entry points along the corridor and each was a different color, yet distinctly at odds from the undulating lights in the sky.

"Do you see them?" Lou asked.

"You mean the portals?" Poppy said.

"Yes, that's it."

"But which one do we go through? And more importantly how do we get back?"

"The goggles will help you to identify the correct gateway in order to return. Once on the other side, walk toward the sun and eventually a guide will meet up with you and escort you to the palace. The passageway you're looking for is sky blue. Just remember that. The other portals will take you to other realms and you don't want to go there. There are different rules to each realm. And it gets very complicated."

"This is just so strange," Poppy said. "I never would have guessed."

Lou turned and smiled at her. "You aren't supposed to guess. That's the whole point. Let's get your gear out of the boat and then you'll be on your way."

It took them the better part of another hour to get things organized and the small lightweight sled repacked. Will donned the harness for the first leg of the trip.

"Looks like you're all set," Lou said.

"How will we get back to you?" Poppy felt panic begin to set in. Lou put an arm around her and hugged her.

"You'll be fine. I'll know when you return. It's my job to know the comings and goings of the Corridor."

Lou hugged and kissed each of them before sending them on their way.

"Thank you for everything, Lou," Poppy said. Somehow within the last twenty-four hours Lou had become an integral part of her family and she hated the thought of leaving him behind.

He grinned. "My part is finished and yours is beginning. But I think it's me who should be thanking you. You're marvelous, Poppy. I'll miss you." His look took them all in. "I'll miss all of you." There was a twinkle in his eye that had Poppy blushing. Well, she had to admit her time in Griesefiord had been quite a rare and pleasant interlude.

Poppy, Will, and Gray headed toward the blue portal that wavered as though caught in a breeze that didn't seem to originate in this world.

"Well, I guess this is it," Poppy said. She took a deep breath and then stepped toward the blue gateway.

"No," Will said as he grabbed her arm and stopped her from being the first to pass through the portal. "I'll go first."

"It doesn't matter," Poppy said.

"It does to me." And then he moved ahead, dragging the sleigh behind him before she could argue further. He disappeared from view and for a moment Poppy panicked as she lost sight of him.

She quickly followed, and Gray brought up the rear. They found themselves in what looked like a long icy tube, the floor slick as ice. Pressure seemed to suck at Poppy, making it difficult for her to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Gray squeezed up next to her and grabbed her arm, guiding her forward. It was with a sense of relief that they finally reached the end of the tube and found themselves in a place vastly different and yet eerily the same as the world they had just left.

Once settled into this other icy realm, they removed the special goggles and replaced them with regular snow goggles. The first thing that struck Poppy was the stillness. A complete and utter silence. And then she turned her attention to the sky. Dark swirling clouds shot through with streaks of gold and red. The colors merged and separated, every now and then offering a glimpse of the fierce, almost blinding glow of an odd undulating orange sun.

"Well, I guess we go this way," Gray said as he shaded his eyes and looked up at the sky. "The sooner we're on our way, the faster we finish up and get back."

Weather and how we portray it in our stories is integral, whether it's dry and hot, moist and steamy, cold and wet. The environment must play into a story, into the character's actions, into their physical comfort or discomfort. Into their heightened senses and awareness. How does their body react to the environment? If they are a species other than human what effect does weather have on them? Or does it not affect them at all? Shock and anger, passion and depression, can all play a part on how the environment affects us--our mind and body often responding in unexpected ways. Each person may respond differently. Our body temperatures are not all the same. Just because we're human doesn't mean all respond the same to a given environment. Who is your character? Does she run around in winter without a coat on, like a friend of mine does? Does his temperature tend to run abnormally high? Also, keep in mind that at different times of the day, the weather affects us differently.

In winter, when I walk Marley at say 5 a.m., it's not all that cold, and the sky can be so clear and endless. Two hours later it's like the temperature has dropped significantly. It's freezing. It always feels odd to me how it does that.

When it's snowing I often feel like the noises and sounds tend to be muffled, softer. There's a quietness to the environment, it smells clean and brisk and inviting. It's energizing. But what about later in January when there's dirty snow and bits of ragged ice. There's a different sort of atmosphere.

Never ignore the environment. Make it come alive, weave it carefully and thoughtfully into the story to envelope the characters, and make the atmosphere come alive for readers as well.

Immortal Love and Mortal Humans

Currently reading the book, "Vampires" by Joules Taylor, and came across this like that got me to thinking.:

"The love of a vampire goes on forever, but the life of a human being is all too short."

I thought of the "Highlander" movie with Christopher Lambert and how Connor lost his loves through the ages due to human mortality. How do you address mortality in stories of the paranormal and supernatural?

I looked back at my story, "Body Parts," which deals with a Frankensteinian theme of a man, Athan, created by a couple who are scientists, Cornelius and Sheba Ransom. Thus the relationship is even more complex because this couple are not only his makers, but his lovers and his mentors. Athan refers to them like this:

“The Ransoms? They were my makers. They were my lovers. They were my family. All that I am is because of them.”

Sheba and Cornelius are mortal and through Sheba's journal we see the progression of their lives, the fragility of their mortality as Athan remains unchanged. Here's a passage from Sheba's journal regarding her concerns for her husband and for Athan.

"I am so very tired. Athan tries to bear the brunt of the responsibility on his shoulders, but there is only so much even he can do. Cornelius listens to no one.

I feel his mind has gone but there is no way to have him institutionalized. Even for the ramblings of a crazy man, someone might believe his words and seek to discover the truth. I cannot allow that to happen.

It is midnight once again and I cannot sleep for the decisions I have had to make. It tears my heart out but we have come to the end. I must do it for his own protection. I never would have thought it would come to this, but there is no other choice.

I can no longer remember my life before Cornelius, before the time I became his assistant. I cannot imagine my life if something were to happen to him. I could not go on. Not without him. I must see to his safety and that no more harm can be done, not only to him but by him.

Athan is for the most part self-sufficient and can take care of himself as long as he remains on the estate. I have taken care of matters so that he will be well cared for no matter what happens to us. Since his creation he has never left the grounds, except to go to the town. The outside world would never understand him and I fear would treat him ill. He must be protected at all costs. I do not wish to see him harmed. Because of this I will take steps to be certain our research will never come to light.

Two hours ago, he came to me and we discussed what must happen in order to protect Cornelius and our life here. Athan has taken it upon himself to prepare apartments in the west tower. He is seeing to the installation of the locks on the doors and the windows. There is no other way. I can’t stand the thought of it, but there truly is no other way to protect Cornelius from himself. Oh, God, how has it come down to this?

In youth we do not foresee the end. We think we shall continue forever. As Athan will do. He is the perfect embodiment of all we hold precious--youth, freedom from disease, and immortality. In Athan we have created perfection.

He came to me tonight and we spoke of what needs to be done both to contain Cornelius and to secure the estate. All through dinner we listened to the rantings of my husband, knowing we must bide our time for the moment. Tonight he is again to meet with the body thief to procure another corpse for his twisted deeds.

I sometimes wonder if it is Cornelius who has changed, or is it me? Is it that Athan fills all the void places inside me and I have no wish to delve further? Have I become too content with what we have achieved in Athan?

Sheba's responsibilities, her goal to tie up loose ends, weighs heavily on her shoulders. Her needs and her relationship to Athan have altered over the years from that of creator/nurturer to dependent/nurturee. And what of Athan? Can he understand human emotion? Korrie, a young research who has come to the Ransom estates to study their extensive library as that very questiom

“Do you know what love is, Athan? Outside of the primality of your instinctual drive for sexual intimacy? Do you understand that Sheba loved you? Have you ever loved anyone?”

He dropped his head forward and she couldn’t see his expression. He was quiet for a long time. Then he looked at her, and she saw the flashing emotion in his eyes. “I looked it up once. In the dictionary. I have felt protective of Dr. Sheba and Dr. Cornelius. I know I would have given my life to save them. I have felt lust for the lovers who have come to me for satisfaction. I have been grateful to the ones who have allowed me to expend. I have felt sadness at the deaths of those I have cared for.” There was a question in his eyes when he looked at her. “I don’t know if this is love or not. It seems sometimes to be such a fleeting, fragile emotion, elusive to me in some way. I don’t know if I can use just one word to describe my emotions for the people who have passed through this immortal existence of mine.”

“God, Athan, every time I’m near you, when you speak to me, when I listen to your words, I feel like I ‑‑” How did she tell him she fell deeper in love with him each time she was in his presence? He was the most fascinating and sensitive person she had ever met in her life.

“What, Korrie? You feel what?” He leaned across the small, circular mosaic table and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t a demanding kiss; it was soft and seductive. His large, warm hand cupped her jaw, a finger stroking along the lines of her chin. She was hypnotized by the odd lightning of his expressive eyes. “When I am with you, so deep inside you, I feel the frantic beating of your heart. I think this connection I have with you is something so special, so unique. It is a feeling, a peace, I have never known before.”

“I feel it, too, Athan,” she whispered. "

Korrie is young, another researcher who has come into Athan's life. She is mortal, just like Dr. Sheba, and he starts to fall in love with her. He understands the mortal frailty of humans, he understands that he has become something of a caregiver, a sentinel. Dare he love too deeply? His relationship with Korrie is different from what he had experienced with the Ransoms. He has learned to have a care for humans and unlike Frankenstein's monster he does possess a moral compass.

In Sheba's last days Athan cared for her fragile body with tenderness and compassion, even as he dealt with Cornelius's lost of clarity and fractured mind. Sheba's entry in her diary speaks of her relationship with Athan, an immortal created through science and alchemy whom she is emotionally attached to and dependent on. Though advanced in age at this point, Athan still makes her feel cherished and loved.

"They still come to Athan in the garden. I seem to live vicariously through them now when I watch the heat of their passion beneath my window. Particularly on those nights when he has just been infused by the electrophasm treatments and the electrical impulses surge through him deliciously. I remembered well the stunning shocks of ecstasy as we made love.

This body and heart can no longer stand up to that much voltage and so I am a voyeur now, and I remember how it once felt to have him inside me that deeply and to feel the jolts as he spent into my womb. I long for those days when he made me feel as immortal as he.

Yet he has not forsaken me entirely ‑‑ he will not allow it. And he still looks at me with love in his expression. Just last night, before he left for his laboratory to induce the electrophasm treatment, he came to me.

Without a word, but the look of determination in his eyes.

“Tonight,” he said, as he lifted me from my chair and carried me to the bed, “I will be inside you.”

I shivered with anticipation as he peeled back the layers of my nightgown. For this night I don’t feel the frailty of my body as Athan looks at me with passion and love. I allow him to do as he will, to again make me feel like a desirable woman in his arms.

“You are beautiful to me, Dr. Sheba. Never doubt your importance to me.”

I felt his hot, moist lips on my body and the flutter of passion blossomed inside me. Frail I may be, but the desire has not lessened. He took his time as though learning my body for the very first time, just as we had learned each other so many years ago. I twined my fingers into the locks of his thick, resilient hair. God, he was beautiful and would always remain so.

He reached for a bottle in the drawer of the nightstand and I smelled the scent of the special lavender oil he had created in the lab.

I flew above myself as he applied it liberally to my pussy and I felt his thick fingers press inside me. My beautiful Athan.

The scent of the lilacs reminded me of the garden and if I closed my eyes I could feel my youth and the moist earth beneath me as Athan entered me slowly.

He took a chance by allowing himself to bleed out the electrical energy and coming to me at his lowest ebb, but before he applied his treatment. He did this for me, so there could be no chance of a stray surge stopping this frail heart of mine."

And after Sheba's death he spends many year alone without the anchor of love and guidance, until another scientist walks into his life. Korrie, who is very different from Sheba. Korrie is drawn to the Ransom estate through the passionate entries in Sheba's journal.

Again, Athan will be presented with human mortality. Dare he take the risk of loving another human?

As a writer, how do you deal with mortality in your paranormal and supernatural stories? As a reader, what do you like to see when it comes to the human condition versus immortal quotient? Handling the mortality issues can give a whole other layer and character dimension to story in my opinion. There is a very fragile balance whether it's a vampire, a faerie, a superhero, or some other larger than life creature. When dealing with humans it involves many complications and complexities, a possible heartbreak. Bringing someone "over" should never be an easy decision or a simple journey. Like any birth, death, and rebirth, there is pain and refashioning attached to the evolution of humanity.

Mixing It Up

Recently, to help out my granddaughter to work toward her Brownie badge, I ordered several new-to-me magazines. The first one, which started to arrive last month, was "Whole Living," an interesting healthy living sort of magazine. Apparently you can find them on Twitter at @wholeliving.

So nearing the end as I browse through the issue I received today, and it being just before dinnertime after a nicely productive writing day, I'm glancing through a short article, "Character of Your Content," more or less about shaking up the brain pans. Nice to know someone agrees with sort of my thoughts on things when it comes to types of reading material and stuff to watch to keep the creative juices flowing.

Such as --

--when it comes to apps and newsletters, rather than toughing it out because you think you "should" read them, so they hang around for no good reason, or you sign up out of some sort of duty-thing, it's time to pass on it and let it go when you dread the thought having to read it. Re-energize your brain with sort of what excites it, not bores it.

--Expose yourself to new books and magazines - [and I really like this and follow it - who knew it was a really good idea in like this general sense of things? As a writer, I guess it's just something I do] - shake it up - different words and ideas get the brain moving and - and this is what I love - encourages creative thinking, Yes, thank you, ma'am. Gina Rudan, author of Practical Genius, says, "You don't know where your next project or idea will come from, and you may find it where you least expect it." You betcha!

--And when it comes to the television and DVRing - shake that prime-time rut up. Don't keep on the same hamster-wheel programming. Mix it up. Jump-start the brain, don't keep using the TV as a mindless time filler. [Personally, I don't watch a lot of regular programming, though I will say I'm enjoying "Once Upon a Time," and "Grimm." And I love "The Good Wife" -- that show just keeps getting better. I digress. I try not to be religious about it. Like last weekend I surfed around and found some cool stuff on the Discovery Channel. And believe it or not, it really was in line with a story I'd just finished writing. Now that caught my attention.]

Anyway, think I'm going to be checking out the book, "Practical Genius" by Gina Rudan.

And that article I read? It's on page 113 of "Whole Living." Did I mention this is a new-to-me magazine? Yeah, love when I feel like I'm running a little ahead of the game. That's cool.

And by the way, there's a very nice article on p. 116 entitled, "What's the Best Way to Give Criticism?" Three folks responded to that question -- A Buddhist, a Career Coach, a Writing Instructor. Interesting stuff.

Across the Back Field and Perspective

I have to say when it comes to writing, I'm somewhat of an adventurer. I can't help myself.

We each look out at the world and see things just a bit differently. That's why there are so many interesting ways one can approach storytelling. And the story changes, deepens, twists and turns and we interpret what our creative mind reveals to us.

My husband called me outside the other night to see the sky. There are moments that can't be put off. No matter what I was doing, it was a time to drop everything, which involved cooking dinner at the time, grab the camera and head outside. What each of us sees in that moment, be it me, my husband, my son (who is visiting us), or even our dog, Marley, is often vastly differing, even as writers approach an idea, a theme, a plot, we see things through a different lense. And, by the way, I didn't burn the dinner.

Some may see the broader picture--a panoramic landscape--and a novel will be born. Others will focus in on one object, one small glimmer of idea, one thought, that will blossom into a short story, a poem, a novella. Or maybe it will be the atmosphere--dark, light, stormy, calm--a color, a season, a time of day, a location...a memory, a mood. We all take something different away from the image of our mind's eye tempered by our individual thought processes. Maybe it's an impression, a reminder, a fear, a pleasure, a spark that infuses a creative idea.

Take time to meditate, to explore. Maybe it's not time to write the full story just at this hour, but catch the thoughts within the butterfly net, or a journal or notebook, maybe a computer program set up to capture ideas. Words that incite that feeling. Words to invoke the image. Take that picture in your mind, on the screen, on the paper, play with it, shape it and reshape it, stretch it and then stretch it again. Make it come alive in a way only you can do. Give it the flavor only you can give it. Step into your world and be prepared to absorb every corner of that world. Watch and listen and learn. For that space of time let it consume you. Don't let fear stop you from appreciating this new environment and those beings, vegetation, or other entities that populate it. This isn't the moment to think of style of writing, of publisher guidelines, of readers, of reviewers.

This is the moment to assimilate information, to allow stream of creativity to flow unbridled. This is that most exciting moment when a new world unfolds before your mind's eye--the storyteller's vision.

Perhaps your mind's eye isn't even seeing the landscape of this world that's right in front of you. Perhaps it's another place, another time, another dimension. Make what you will of it. Break down the boundaries, and let your imagination and creativity have it's way with you. There is a moment when you know you've passed that comfortable boundary, where you're in a new place and you've reached farther than before. When you might just think you're crazy, and you're absolutely certain you can't do this--you shouldn't do it. There's a tingling that starts low in your belly, an excitment tinged by fear. It slowly spreads.

That moment when you say to yourself, "I've never done this before, I can't do it. I shouldn't do it." That moment when all the rules you've learned, that have been hammered into you about the right way of doing it and the wrong way, try to force you back into conformity. And yet, in this moment, you turn your back and step into an amazing new reality. You've locked the editor away in a back room of your mind, pocketing the key until you need it. And you break free of the boundaries of constraint. This is the art of storytelling.

I must do it!

You are at that place when you've passed your safe borders, that minute when you reach for something more, outside your comfort zone, moving from shallow to deep waters. Because you're a writer and you must take that leap. This is the place of excitement, adventure of the mind, of imagination. This is where you were meant to go--as a writer, a storyteller, an artist, a photographer, an adventurer of life.

This is where you soar!


I have a habit of beginning research and discovery far ahead of the actual writing of a story. Sometimes it takes months, sometimes years for a story to achieve that certain temperature when I'll actually begin the writing. Until that moment I gather information, jot down notes about characters and story and just let things percolate. In my research for an upcoming story, I unearthed a National Geographic article titled "Kayaking the Amazon" by Piotr Chmielinski. Things to remember, not so different from writing.

"No one had done it before...Much of the area was unexplored and unmapped...We had to make a deal with the Amazon, to accept its power...We had to keep moving, to take that next step...For some it had been adventure enough...I pushed on..."

In approaching a new story idea how better or more exciting to come at it than from the mindset and perspective of an adventurer willing to risk all for a dream?

A New Year and Symbols

Last year seemed to fly by and now I'm scrambling to get ready for 2011. Being very fond of Brian Froud's artwork and often using and feeling particulary connected to "The Faeries' Oracle" cards created by Brian Froud and Jessica Macbeth, for Christmas I picked up the new "Heart of Faerie Oracle" cars by Brian and Wendy Froud.

To help me become more comfortable with the cards, I starting the year out by choosing one card each day.

Today's card happened to be #61, The Temptation which refers to enticement, wise choices. To me, that sort of means stop procrastinating.

"The Heart of Faerie Oracle" books suggested choosing a second card to help establish what the temptation might be with an eye toward being able to better deal with the situation. So, the second card I chose turned out to be "The Hero," #25. Strength, courage, unconditional love.

I found this interesting as just a few days ago, I did a yearly layout from "The Faeries' Oracle." In the first or twelfth position, depending on how you call it--instinct told the pull was meant to be read backwards--I pulled #4, He of the Fiery Sword. This card refers to action, will, movement, force, fire, illuminates truth, dispels non-truth.

I'm not sure where these symbols will lead me just yet, but I'm open to the signs and trusting my instincts.

I took a moment to pull out my symbol reference, or one of them at any rate )(An illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols by J.C. Cooper) and found a lot of info on the symbil of the sword.

"Power; protection; authority; royalty;leadership; justice; courage; strength; masculine principle, the active force, and is phallic with the sheat as the receptive feminine. On the metaphysical level the sword is symbolic of discrimination; the penetrating power of the intellect; spiritual decision; the inviolability of the sacred. It possesses supernatural powers, either on the earth, under the earth, or under the waters and is associated with giants and supernatural beings such as the Lady of the Lake; it is also wielded by the cosmic or solar Herom, conqueror of dragons and emonic powers..."

And on New Year's Day, just across the street from the house, a young eagle granted us with his presence and so I had to look up that symbol as well.

"Solar; the symbol of all sky gods; the meridan sun; the spiritual principle; ascension; inspiration; release from bondge; victory; pride; contemplation; apotheosis; royalty; authority; strength; height; the element of air. Thought to be able to fly up to the sun and gaze unwaveringly upon it and to identify with it, the eagle represents the spiritual principle in man which is able to soar heavenwards..."

I think it's going to be an interesting year. These seem to me to be some pretty powerful symbols. Guess I better keep my eyes open and my instincts honed.

I've added a new wallpaper to my computer just to remind me of the beauty and breathtaking imagery that's all around me.



The new year has just begun and already I have an additional two new story--no make that three new story ideas percolating. Going to be a good one I think!

Hero or Villain?

"Science continues to leech all the romance out of madness and suggests our fascinating character flaws are just chemical imbalances. Romeo and Juliet are no longer star-crossed lovers, they're codependent. Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights is no longer a brooding melancholic madly in love with the wrong woman, he's a depressive..." --The Power of the Dark Side by Pamela Jaye Smith

Which way would you take this? Would you try to refine the reasoning behind the actions more minutely (scientifically) if your character was a hero or a villain and how would you go about it? What would be the differences in the words that you used? How would they alter if you were describing the hero as opposed to the villain? I'm always fascinated by word use. The word "cold" could be aligned with a season, an emotion, a sensation, an evil presence, etc.

So many times I start out thinking I'm creating a villain and end up deciding he's actually the hero. I had this happen recently in a story with a character I had anticipated to be the villain. But Lel's personality is very complex. Highly intelligent, a fetishist, not quite human, obsessed with someone not quite male nor female nor... Well, it's complicated.

Labeling. I have an intense dislike for the term "labeling" as we use it in society today. Would this story be stronger if I tried to obviously label my hero with a mental disorder? Sexual disorder perhaps in that he has a taste for a certain type of...? Relationship? Does he suffer from some sort of dissociative disorder because of the nature of his upbringing? Or is he intriguingly "remote"? Or is he just a scientist who as a matter of course dissects emotions and people as a natural and expected personality trait? Would using those terms associated with mental disorders add to or take away from the "ambiance" of the story and the romantic mystery of the man? I would guess it depends on the story and on the character.

And then there's dimensionality to characters. That depth of dimensionality can make us empathize with a villain's action, as well as despise the action of a hero. Multidimensional characters are fascinating be they the good or evil.

I'm not saying one shouldn't do their research and understand the foundation of what they write as in discovering the symptoms of a disorder. But taking what we know and crafting it into passionate fictional storytelling with layered, mesmerizing characters--well, that's something else again.

The afternoon light beamed brightly through the window of Kesselbaum’s dominium. His trinex stood before him awaiting his inspection and approval. In looking at Silver, the flash of her newest modifications, Lel could not help but feel some sense of pride in ownership. And yet, there was another emotion wrapped up in his approval of her. Something he dared not name.

Villian or hero? Or perhaps a little of both?

Speaking of Inspiration and Validation

The writing life can be rather isolated and it's always interesting to hear how others create. Sometimes it validates our own process--let's us know if we are crazy when we hear those voices, at least we're not alone. :-)

This morning I listened in on a Dean Koontz interview. Here's what he has to say.

An Obsession with Genres and Subgenres

This week the project was not as expected. There are some weeks when I tend to delve into craft before moving on to the next story. This week I was reading about structures and conflicts and scenes and stuff like that. Often, I make notes as I read.

So in doing this craft reading this week I got to a section about genres and subgenres with a listing. I was reading through the list and I was thinking this might be a good time to make up a decent genre reference list. I think it's important before blending genres to know what the foundations are that you're working with. Sometimes it helps in merging and providing new ideas for mixing and matching plots and characters and themes.

So I begin this little project, starting with the list in the book. Well, I wasn't satisfied. I didn't like some of the descriptions, I thought some of the subgenres were actually theme types rather than actual genres and so my short project turned into something much more as I began researching genres and subgenres.

Several days later, I have now completed the initial project. I'm still looking at it and thinking I need to do more, but I already sat here through lunch, and about to do so through dinner. So, my list is now thirteen pages.

I thought it might be nice to share it and you can now find it on my website at: http://www.adriannadane.com/genresandsubgenres.html. You can also download it from that page as a pdf file if you scroll to the bottom.

Now, I really need to get some dinner. I hope I can now stop obsessing over this list at least for a little while.

Probably not.

Adrianna

The Human Condition and Creating Character

As a writer, I create stories with both male and female perspective. Of course, fiction does tend to be larger than life. Part of creating realistic male POV in fiction, especially when you're female, is listening closely to the men in your life. Watching and trying to understand. Talking to them. Always observing.

As a female writer, it can be a bit easier to hone in on a female response. Writing from a male perspective can be rather trickier. One must dig deeper.

But the bottom line is emotion. All of us, male or female, respond with feelings in some way. Sometimes it might be simply an internal reaction, sometimes both internal and external. And sometimes life situations direct our outer responses and we hide behind an image of expectation.

I am forever fascinated by the human condition in all its myriad facets. Talking to people is important, but even in that sometimes we are presented with a facade, so in delving deeper into the psyche, I read a wide variety of books, both fiction and nonfiction. It's always interesting to read other authors' works and get a glimpse into their perceptions. I do not pull from other fiction when I'm creating character and personality.

I write from a sense of person and not place. Although place does have an impact upon person. And sometimes I personify place or thing.

What are some of the nonfiction books I use to delve into psyche? Here's a list of recent reads:

"The Heroine's Journey" by Maureen Murdock
"Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche" by Robert A. Johnson
"She: Understanding Feminine Psychology" by Robert A. Johnson
"He: Understanding Masculine Psychology" by Robert A. Johnson
"The Interpretation of Fairy Tales" by Marie-Louise von Franz
"Shadow and Evil in Fairy Tales" by Marie-Louise von Franz
"Psychology for Screenwriters: Building Conflict in Your Script" by William Indick, Ph.D.
"King, Warrior, Magician, Lover: Rediscovering the Archetypes of the Mature Masculine" by Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette
"Meditations on Violence: A Comparison of Martial Arts Training & Real World Violence" by Sgt. Rory Miller

I do, of course, also have other lists of references for writing various aspects of erotic romance, that do not include "craft" books, per se--but that discussion is for another day.

So that's the short list in researching the human condition. These are among the books on my keeper shelf and I draw on them as I develop characters, in hopes that I create people and personality and not just stereotypes.

I highlight and mark passages that particularly resonate for me and instill thought.

"Creativity sometimes needs the protection of darkness, of being ignored." - The Interpretation of Fairy Tales.

Which is why I call my office "the dungeon." It is introspection and listening to the characters that drives my fingers across the keyboard. I write best when I am alone, in silence in order to hear what is revealed.

This phrase reminds me to fight through the block and put the first word on paper.

"There are people who have the task of writing on a theme but say it is dull and does not appeal to them, but after investing some libido in it they discover an inner flow of creativity. Many lazy people wait for inspiration until they are eighty and none comes; however, there are situations where one cannot wait, one has to make the first move and invest one's own vital strength in the task before it reveals its meaning." --Shadow and Evil in Fairy Tales

Oh, yes, I like this one. This moment, when a character reveals some deep facet of him or herself is one of the most exciting moments in writing.


In my most recent release, "Lonely Hearts" this moment occurred for my character, Jim. Jim lives with hidden guilt and a skewed sense of deep responsibility which is ruining his life. There were several instances with Jim of revelations from his past.

Each veil lifted to reveal more and more of why Jim came to be the man he is. Moments and decisions in his life that profoundly affect how he relates to other people. How he trusts...or doesn't trust.

I have to admit there are times when I worry about following those "revelations." Many times they are dark and very extraordinary.

Such as in Caution: Wet Paint, when a particular facet of Clara's personality was revealed.

In a menage romance, such as Caution: Wet Paint for me and for my characters there must be a special symmetry that draws these three characters together. And it is through revealing the inner workings of the heart and soul that binds characters in a strong enough way to make the relationship individualized and believable.

My heart always beats faster when I translate what a character is finally comfortable enough to reveal to me. But in this instance, as usually is the case, this marks the difference between one-dimensional stereotype, and that of honesty in a character's development and personality.

With Caleb, in Lonely Hearts, I drew from the male Lover archetype. Caleb is a sensitive soul who hides behind flamboyance and creates perfect moments for everyone else. He loves life, but is missing that vital part--a man to share his life with. His personality is rooted in the Lover.

"The Lover is the archetype of play and of "display," of healthy embodiment, of being in the world of sensuous pleasure and in one's own body without shame --King, Warrior, Magician, Lover

Shame and guilt are exactly what stops Jim from achieving his heart's desire and living a full life.

Lonely Hearts is about weddings, about beginnings, about realization. It's about secrets and guilt and most of all it's about finding love.

"The man under the influence of the Lover wants to touch and be touched. He wants to touch everything physically and emotionally, and he wants to be touched by everything. He recognizes no boundaries. He wants to live out the connectedness he feels with the world inside, in the context of his powerful feelings, and outside, in the context of his relationships with other people. Ultimately, he wants to experience the world of sensual experience in its totality." --King, Warrior, Magician, Lover

This is Caleb. Can he bring Jim into his world? Can Jim learn to experience love in all its many facets? Is he the Lover Caleb has been searching for?

Exploring the human condition in fiction is an exciting adventure and an expression of hope and the endless and boundless possibilities for find that person who makes your life even more perfect.

Happy February--the month we celebrate love...

Adrianna

Tone of Story and Word Choice

When you write a story, do you take into consideration the genre you are writing?

For example, what words do you use to describe...anything...in a horror story?

What about a mystery?

In horror, do you simply use that tone in the specific scene where a ghost appears? Where a monster makes its appearance and maybe kills a victim? Where does build up begin?

When do you start to seduce your reader into the ambiance of a horror or a mystery or a romance?

The same is true for the eroticism of a story, wouldn't you say? Word choices throughout the story give it the texture and tone for the genre, not just the number of A-into-B sex scenes, or a murder scene, or the swashbuckling warrior scene in a fantasy. It is the whole ambiance.

Would you disagree with that?

When I describe a mountain (such as in Breathless Peaks), a pair of gloves (Skin Tight), a painting (Caution: Wet Paint), in an erotic romance, that item is imbued with sensuality. That is part of the plot. In a mystery, in a horror novel, what are your word choices for bringing a reader into the emotion of that story from the very first page?

From Breathless Peaks:

They both called to her--both wanted her total attention. The feeling was like being drawn to two possessive lovers--neither one willing to let her go. Neither one giving an inch. No matter how far she ran or how deep she tried to hide, they wouldn't let her be. Not really. She'd always felt their presence.

There were times when she thought she'd won, but those times were fleeting. Like a sharpened nail of silvery metal, she was drawn by a powerful magnetism she fought against daily. She was weary of the fight. She wanted to simply let go and go back. To bend to their will, to give them what they wanted. What she needed.

If she went, would she lose her sense of self? Would they press her between them and suffocate the life from her?

Every time she thought about them, her heart beat faster, raced like a ticking bomb, ready to explode. The heat of remembered contact coursed through her like an avalanche that she couldn't fight and she was swallowed whole, buried alive. Not any more. Not now.

She loved them both. More than she should. Both left her breathless, always wanting more. Needing it, and nothing could change that.

From Skin Tight:

The fit was tight, so very tight. Just the way she loved it. Slow and easy. Curving and sheathing until there was no space left to breathe. She sighed as she stroked her fingertips across the glove's supple leather, tracing the outline of each of her enclosed digits one at a time. She inhaled the item's earthy aroma, allowing it to wend its way through her.

Karli loved the scent of finely tooled gloves. And these, oh these, were perfect. They were so tight a fit, she could see the outline of her nails through the stretched fabric. Yet the leather was so pliant there was no problem at all fisting her hand, and her knuckles peaked with shiny definition.

"They look gorgeous on you, Ms. Logan. Almost like a second skin." The saleswoman smiled. This expensive pair would undoubtedly mean a very good sales percentage for the woman behind the counter. "I knew they would," she gushed. "That's why I called you right away. I hoped you'd get the message. I said it was important."

With difficulty, Karli looked away from her gloved hand to smile at the girl. "The service did get the message to me. And I appreciate the call, Wendy. You take very good care of me." Of course, the call had been vetted through several different people before it ended up in Karli's hands, but at least it had reached her. In a gesture of appreciation, Karli's gloved hand pressed the back of Wendy's bare one. She could feel the warmth of the woman's skin even through the boundary of the elegant glove.

No man's cock had ever fit her pussy as tightly as her fingers fit into these gloves. The press and scent almost had her orgasming on the spot. She bit her lip, then soothed the wound with her tongue.

"You have such elegant hands, Ms. Logan. This style looks just wonderful on you." She looked around the small shop, then back at Karli. "Actually," she said in a confidential tone, "I set them aside until you could come in to try them for yourself."

Karli flexed her hand again, enjoying the feel of confinement, the stroke and give of the leather. She wanted to touch herself so badly, to baptize them with her juices. To feel the leather against the soft flesh of her inner thighs.

Caution: Wet Paint:

"It's a very...riveting piece, isn't it? Do you know the artist?"

Clara couldn't take her eyes off the work of art. She felt the heat of a summer sun on her naked body. Sable brushes skimming across her skin, between the lips of her pussy. She squeezed her legs tightly together, trying to deny the erotic sensations that quaked through her.

"Clara, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Maggie, I heard you. It wasn't created by one artist--it was two. You know one of them."

Spread your legs, Clara. Show us your desire. Clara shivered as the ghostly demand echoed inside her head.

"I do? Who is it?"

She felt fingertips stroke gently across her inner thighs. The warmth of a bonfire against her back. The rough texture of a flannel blanket beneath her.

"Arturo."

Maggie turned to look at Clara, her mouth agape.

"I didn't know he ever did work like this. It doesn't look like any of the stuff you have on display at the gallery. Who was the other artist?"

"Samir Zahi." Prince Samir Zahi to be correct. Samir, whose mouth had tasted her, lips hot and demanding on her breasts. Her nipples burned for him as she studied the painting, yearning to feel his mouth on her flesh once again.

And in Body Parts foreshadowing a sense of darkness and mystery:

She studied the exterior of the powerful stone structure. It was built to last the ages and much too substantial to simply be called a house. Right out of a gothic novel, it was one of the most opulent pieces of architecture Korrie have ever seen.

Within seconds, the sun shifted behind a dark cloud and cool darkness settled over the property, shadows grabbing at the structure. And at her. She again looked up to study the architecture and this time her gaze settled on the towers. Just below the spires in the left column she noticed the blackened stone and boarded-up brace of windows. From the early photos, they had once held handcrafted stained glass.

It was a terrible tragedy when the Ransoms perished in a devastating fire that destroyed a great deal of the laboratory on the top floor of the mansion. It was reportedly one of their experiments that had gone horribly wrong. Most of their research papers were destroyed as well. At least that’s the rumor.

That’s what it said in the file. She should know because she was the one who’d conducted the interview with the retired newspaper reporter. One of the many reasons she wanted to come here ﷓﷓ to discover the truth. To walk in their shoes, so to speak. Now was her chance.

The lack of sun set a pall over the house, making it look like a fixture out of one of those old horror movies. A shiver spread up her spine, like tiny fingers gripping and tightening around her flesh. What experiment had the Ransoms been working on when they perished?

Does explicitness equal erotic in every scene?

Does erotic equal a full sex scene on every page?

Does revulsion equal horror in every paragraph?

Does violence equal mystery in every act?

Or is it the word choices we use as wordsmiths, throughout the story, that draws the emotion and keep the reader enthralled?

Can you segment plot from atmosphere, or intimacy from relationship, be it mystery, horror, scifi, fantasy, or erotic? If you do, is that story still firmly planted within a specific genre?

Just asking...

Adrianna
www.adriannadane.com