Once upon a time … You’d think this would be easy for me, wouldn’t you?
I tell stories all the time.
And yet, every single time I write one, I ask myself, Is this autobiographical? Am I writing about me?
I don’t want to write about me when I write fiction, so I try to steer away from it.
But I think it’s a common thing for writers to wonder. How else can we write aside from relaying what we’ve observed about the world? And how much of those things, those experiences, has seeped in to make us who we are?
As I contemplated what I could write on the subject of Willow’s excellent prompt of the day, I decided to go to the dictionary to see what beyond the stars I could write.
And as I thought about it some more, I came to realize that I tend to write the same sort of characters in all my books. That is to say characters all of a sort that have deep issues. Issues of longing, of hardship, of loves lost.
Some of my characters deal with their issues with laughter—they tend to end up in my romantic comedies.
Some of my characters deal with their issues in a more angsty way, as in my paranormal series, “The Great Dagmaru,” and another dark romance that’s been gathering steam in my imagination.
But they’re all part of a constellation in my mind. They’re with me constantly … perhaps helping me sort out my own issues.
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This contemplative post is brought to you by Just Jot it January and Willow! Thanks so much again, Willow, for the great prompt. Please be sure to check out her blog.
When I wrote my very first novel in 2004 (I think), Trixie In a Box, about a woman stuck in an elevator in a deserted building over a long weekend, I had no idea what genre to place it in. Which is partially why I still haven’t published it. If it was a movie, it would be a drama. While Trixie is enclosed in her dark metal box, her family goes through a crisis and barely notices she’s missing. This conundrum has led me to much contemplation on the meaning of the word “drama.” Why it’s not recognized and hugely popular as a literary genre is beyond me.
If you think about it, drama in movies is really simply a slice of ordinary life. Sure, something significant happens within that hour and a half, but things happen in life all the time. Unless we’re in an extended rut, we tend to go from one drama to the next. The most popular recent use of “drama” is related to angst. Often teenage angst; a negative connotation that’s made the word almost cringe-worthy.
Here’s Merriam-Webster’s definition as it relates to life rather than theatre:
3 a: a state, situation, or series of events involving interesting or intense conflict of forces
the drama of the past week
dealing with some family drama
b: dramatic state, effect, or quality
the drama of the courtroom proceedings
So what to do with Trixie? It will take some major up-to-snuff editing to elevate (pun not intended) her to literary fiction. I do hope she’ll see the light of day (okay, that one was a little bit intended) eventually.
Hi there. I’m Linda, and I’m an author. It’s been a long, straight road since I wrote my first novel during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) in 2004. That particular piece of *ahem* literature still hasn’t seen the light of day, mostly because of how much I’ve learned about writing since.
To back up a bit, my writing career began when I was four years old. I remember having one of my parents staple a stack of paper together so I could write a book. They encouraged me to just draw pictures, but I wasn’t having any of that. I wanted to tell a story. Unfortunately for them I could only spell the words “I” and “the” at the time, so I bothered them unceasingly. Since then, I’ve been writing in my head if not on paper or the keyboard. I can’t not do it. It’s a part of me.
I’ve been called incongruent, in so many words. And it’s true. I’m a bit of a sham. (See what I did there with the word “ham”? Feel free to play around with my prompt words as you wish.) Back on topic: how am I a sham?
Thing is, what you see of me here on my blog is the real me. You could probably recognize me in a crowd just by the way I speak and how I conduct myself, simply because you know me from here. But aside from my more comedic pieces of writing, I am not what I write, fiction-wise.
I tend toward the dark and twisted. Why? I have no idea, other than the fact that the human psyche and what we’re capable of truly fascinates me. I explore minds like one might venture into a house of horror at a fair: with no idea of what I’m getting into, but thrilled and scared of what I might find.
My upcoming novel is in line with this theme. And I have to promote it. But how, when I have all this happy going on?
I have two choices. To start all over again with an author blog, and with it, all the work that goes into gaining a following. This will be on top of my plan to start a professional site for my new editing business. OR (going back to the fiction thing) I can revamp my fiction blog, make a separate section for the lighthearted stuff, and make it all dark and gloomy, like my new book. Gloomy, but entertaining! Of course.
Or, here’s a crazy idea — write my darker stuff under a pseudonym.
I dunno. I have a hard time figuring out whether or not people could conceive of the idea that I can be me — as you see me here and know me — and still think of me as a Gothic paranormal romance/horror writer? I’m probably over-thinking it all. GAH! Stream of consciousness writing can go two ways: it can help us sort things out or help us tangle them up.
What do you think? Should I even change this blog into something darker? I’m thinking no. I need to be me somewhere.
I often wonder where my ideas come from. My stories seem to come out of the ether, as do the characters in my fictional works. Sometimes I’m inspired by something tangible, like a picture, a song, or another story or even a line I’ve read – sometimes it’s even a passing thought, like “what if?” But no matter where it comes from or what I do, it ends up twisted. And I swear to God, it’s not on purpose. It happens. My fingers take me places I can’t, and don’t, imagine… kinda. It’s hard to explain, because of course it’s coming from my imagination. But at the same time it seems to be coming from elsewhere, like a voice whispering in my ear.
So now that you think I’m nuts…
I have to wonder how much of it is genetic. My father was a creative guy. He made up stories, he played the guitar, his wit was extremely quick. (I’m sure that’s where my eldest son gets his wit from, though his dad (my ex) is a funny guy too.) I wish my father had lived long enough to tell me more of his inner thoughts. No father in his right mind would tell his adolescent daughter about the darker side of his thoughts. It would be fascinating though, to understand whether there’s anything to these twists that are more from my background and less from the ether.
Unless, of course, my father is the one whispering in my ear.
“Well, it’s about a girl who leaves home and meets a magician.”
“Oh. That sounds … nice.”
“But his family has this deep dark secret.”
(Best case scenario.) Their eyebrows lift a notch. “That sounds intriguing!”
(What usually happens because I lost them after the word ‘magician.’) “What? I was paying attention to something else.”
Explaining what your story is about can be the most difficult thing. From what I’ve discovered by experience, it’s even harder than writing a blurb – because at least with a blurb, if someone is going to bother reading it, they’ve probably committed themselves mentally to paying attention to at least two sentences – one more than you’ve got to grab them with in conversation.
Trying to explain what I do, off the top of my head, is never easy. I don’t have a natural gift for talking about myself. That’s why I write. And so I’m thinking that this may be one of the major reasons that it’s not a good idea to talk about being an author at all.
Before I do, however, publish my novel, I’ll be sure to write myself a sentence which I will recite verbatim whenever anyone asks.
lindaghill.com 