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If you're on my LJ, that probably means you've read my novel The Other Guy or at least have heard of it, and I hope you a) have thoroughly enjoyed it, or b) are about to thoroughly enjoy it. (There is no alternative to thorough enjoyment; I'm sorry.)
( About the novelCollapse )
( Where to buyCollapse )
I'm not really sure what I'm going to be doing with this journal yet, but it's here, and you're here, and that makes me happy. :) Feel free to hang around, say hi, ask questions, etc., and I'll do my best to be outrageously interesting.
And the next time you see a loved one making their inner hair cells sad, perhaps some gentle accosting wouldn't go amiss. They'll thank you for it later. (Probably. I mean, I totally would.)
( In which we natter on and on :)Collapse )
And if we haven’t already talked you senseless, you can find us here:
• Julie Bozza on Goodreads
• Julie’s blog
• Cary Attwell on Goodreads
• Cary’s blog
Having zero brain power at the end of the day means most of my bedtime reading is limited to large-print, children's books. Not that I say this in a particularly plaintive way, because children's books are awesome. I've been dipping into my well-loved, aged collection of Enid Blytons recently, which are not only greatly imaginative but also come with the delightful memory of my older sister reading from The Banana Robber to me.
There's just something so comforting about going back to books from childhood, for the same reasons so many of us have a favorite fuzzy old sweater or a tatty stuffed animal that Goodwill probably won't even accept. (Not that I would ever give my Cheer Bear away.) It's a reminder that there's a place where life can be simple for a little while, where fairies exist, happy endings are guaranteed, tears always dry up, and everyone gets what they deserve.
What are some of your favorite things to fall back on when you need time away from the nonsense life throws at you?
1. Where the popcorn comes into play is that the properties of its questionable flavoring in some of the microwaveable varieties may actually have a hand in causing dementia. -- Chapter One
Afraid some enthusiastic microwaveable popcorn lobbyist might read my book and accuse me of besmirching popcorn's good name, I did consider taking this part out -- or at least sprinkling the word allegedly throughout the sentence with a liberal hand, but I really like little bits of throwaway trivia. And at the time of writing, I had just learned about it so I was itching to share (and ruin everyone's quintessential film-watching experiences, naturally. You're welcome.)
To be fair, eating butter-flavored popcorn probably isn't going to give you dementia. The study referenced regards food industry workers' chronic exposure to the flavoring ingredient, diacetyl, during the manufacturing process. Researchers found that the ingredient increased the risk of toxic damage to brain cells similar to the way proteins clump together in Alzheimer's disease. Which is still not to say that diacetyl definitely does link to dementia, but that it's a possibility.
Source: Science Daily
2. "Maybe," I said smoothly. "But Aristotle once said that people with curly hair can't be trusted, so..." -- Chapter Two
I first heard about this on QI, a wonderfully funny and informative British comedy panel quiz show, on their Fingers and Fumbs episode (S6E7). Apparently Aristotle was super into physiognomy, which reads a person's character or personality from facial features. He wrote a whole book on it, The Secrets of Nature Relating to Physiognomy, in which pretty much every facial feature signifies something horrible. Of the curly-haired: "He is by nature proud and bold, dull of apprehension, soon angry, and a lover of venery, and given to lying, malicious and ready to do any mischief."
So my characterization of Emory? Nailed it.
Source: Project Gutenberg
3. "Hi, Mithter J," said Abby, smiling the untroubled smile of five-year-olds everywhere. -- Chapter Five
This one isn't really a wild claim by either Emory or Nate; I just wanted to talk about it. Abby has a frontal lisp here, doing a 'th' for an 's'. Though this has no relevant impact on the storyline at all, in my mind she actually has a lateral lisp. However, dialogue with a lateral lisp is very difficult to spell. I'll let this lovely little girl from Horrible Histories demonstrate what that sounds like*:
Incidentally, Horrible Histories is a brilliant, award-winning historical sketch show for children, and everyone should watch it.
The difference between frontal and lateral lisps, other than, obviously, tongue placement, is that the former is a typical developmental error that could potentially resolve on its own with maturity, while the latter is not a typical developmental error and almost always requires speech therapy, regardless of age.
Source: My school learnin's. (If you really want, I'm sure I can scare up some actual references for you.)
*=Not a diagnosis; that's just what it sounds like to me.
4. "No one can resist the face of a Lhasa Apso; it's been scientifically proven." -- Nate, Chapter Seven
Okay, this one Nate pulled right out of his shapely bum. But I mean, come on. Have you seen a Lhasa Apso? They're adorable.
Porn and kissing scenes. They fill me with dread. Don't get me wrong -- porn is great; who doesn't like a nice little rough-and-tumble scene every now and then? I'm perpetually in awe of writers who can do it easily and do it well because I am very, very much not in those ranks. As it is, I'm already an excruciatingly slow writer; I agonize over every sentence and reread and edit as I go (I hear this is one of the mortal sins in novel writing; oops) and when it gets to body parts touching other body parts, it's about ten times worse. I find it one of the most difficult things to write, in the history of ever.
What if it comes out like an instruction manual for a shelf? Insert screw A into slot B. Gross.
But Cary, you say, you didn't even write porn in The Other Guy. What the crap are you whining about? Yes, true, I weaseled out of that one; I didn't think the story absolutely needed it. (Also, does it weird anyone else out to read sexytimes in the first person?)
I'm writing porn now, though, in my next story. After all the above whinging, I'm writing it, and the reason for that is simple: because my characters want to do it. When they come knocking on my brain and tell me stuff like that, I have to give in. Not without some kicking and screaming on my end, but when it comes right down to it, the characters always win. And they should; it's their story, after all.
A couple years ago, my BFF M and I co-wrote a story. It was to be a real epic. You know: Romance! Betrayal! Swordfights! Sex! (I made her write all the sex scenes.) We planned it meticulously over hours of phone calls and capslock emails, chapter to chapter, scene by scene, outlines bleeding from our eyes. As we got going, though, one of the peripheral characters started poking his head in and messing things up a bit. He was barely even a peripheral character to begin with; we knew he existed as part of the landscape and we weren't going to give him any lines.
"Go away," we said. "Go and guard that door or something. We have important things to do."
So he went and stood guard. Then he started talking to the girl on the other side of the door. And worse, she started talking back.
"Stop it, this isn't part of the plan," we said, though we eyed them with great curiosity. How interesting.
By the end of the story, he was the second lead in a romance never intended to happen. It didn't capsize our original plot, the bones of it were still very much there. Would it still have been a decent story if we didn't let him elbow his way in? Sure. M is a fab storyteller and the process of writing with her was in itself a joy. Would we still be as proud of it if we'd stuck, point by point, to our outline? Doubt it.
Characters fight back. Try to shove them in a direction they don't want to go, and it ruins everyone's day. I learned it writing that story with my BFF, and I'm learning it still. Sometimes I try to push through with my authorial power. "La la la not listening," I say, and then I end up having to axe entire scenes because I didn't listen. The other day, one of them yelled at me, "But it doesn't make any fiscal sense!" Yes, thank you, nerd. Scene scrapped.
Speaking of wielding authorial power, I'm currently wading around in that wasteland known as Writer's Block (0 out of 5 stars; not recommended) because I had an idea to make my characters go and have a nice hometown visit with their family. It would be all kinds of sweet and homey. Turns out, they don't want to. Why, I don't know; I still think it's a fantastic idea, so we're stalemating. I'm willing to wait this one out. Sometimes you just have to put your foot down.
I think we all know who's going to win in the end. (Hint: it's not me. Ugh.)
Publishing my first novel and starting my second at the same time as my first year of graduate school? Only my best idea ever! (she said, laughing hysterically, and had to be confined to two weeks of bedrest.) It's like juggling cinder blocks. I've already managed to drop the Cinder Block of Other Life Things, like being clean. If this is the last you hear from me, it's safe to assume the dust bunnies have staged a victorious, asthma-based revolution.
Obviously the book isn't something I have to do, but I want to do it because it makes me happy and because I might otherwise go crazy. So I guess in that sense I do have to do it! And the writers of you out there know how thrilling and satisfying it is, in the midst of the whirlwind of everything else your life entails, to just sit down and get the words out sometimes. (Especially when all your other words have to center around brain and body parts and the great many things that can go wrong inside a human person. SO MANY THINGS, YOU GUYS.)
Thankfully, once I get through this week -- barring death by final exam (entirely possible) or any of the household mess becoming sentient (less likely, but let's not rule it out) -- I'll get an all-access pass to the glorious Winter Break of Doing Nothing 2012. Hurrah! Well, not entirely nothing. I have a lovely, teetering pile of TBRs on my nightstand to amuse myself with, and I am so excited to be able to read for fun again. Check it:
Some of those are for research for the next book; some others are because I'm a nostalgic dork. Invisible prizes for guessing which!
Oh, and also, of course, some of the break will be dedicated to epic swordfights with the dust bunnies. As you do.
Introducing: The Other Guy, in paperback!
I'll just wait for the trumpets and fanfare to die down, though should you feel like kicking off a celebration in the streets later on, I certainly won't put a stop to it.
This essentially came about because my mother got it in her head that it would be hilarious if she could pass an autographed paperback copy to my auntie who doesn't know I wrote this thing or that Cary Attwell is a person she is related to*, and make her read it and then drop some kind of gigantic surprise announcement that it was actually me all along. (I think this plan was a lot more fun in my mother's head.)
So, enjoy the papery goodness!
*Cary Attwell is my pen name, as you may have guessed. I stole it off one of my old Barbie dolls. She lives in a box somewhere in storage; we'll just make sure she never hears of this. Be cool, everyone.
As he's one of my literary heroes, I approached his essay about fanfiction in Reading and Writing Along the Borderlands with trepidation, half expecting the same censure you hear from the plethora of high-profile authors out there who very publicly rail against fanfiction as a kind of theft, as a lazy practice, as being inherently subpar.
But here's what Chabon had to say about it: "Through parody and pastiche, allusion and homage, retelling and reimagining the stories that were told before us and that we have come of age loving, we proceed, seeking out the blank places in the map that our favorite writers, in their greatness and negligence, have left for us, hoping to pass on to our own readers some of the pleasure that we ourselves have taken in the stuff we love. All novels are sequels; influence is bliss."
If I actually used Facebook, I'd break the Like button on that quote.
The rest of this post will not be able to say it any better than he did but, gosh darn it, I'm going to give it the old college try anyway.
Full disclosure, if you haven't already guessed: I read and write and love fanfiction.
No matter the source material, there is always something more to mine from that universe. Life doesn't end when a few select problems are resolved, conversations don't fade to black and any number of things can and do happen in the background outside of the protagonists' knowing and sphere of influence. Unsaid things happen in and out of the story we're told, and sometimes those incidents deserve (or demand!) their own story too. I don't think I'm alone in saying that there have been countless times in my life when I've gone, "Nooo!" when I realize it's the end of the book and there's to be no more (and sometimes go straight back to the beginning so I won't have to put the story away).
In that sense, I see fanfiction as the ultimate form of flattery. It means my imagination has been sparked in ways it's never been before your book/show/movie came along; it means I love your universe, story and characters so much that I can't bear to let them go; it means I want to go on a dozen more adventures with them and revel in the light of their brilliance, shake them when they're being stupid, hurt when they hurt and hold them close to my heart.
Though less so than in years past, fanfiction still carries quite a heavy stigma, full of Mary Sues and self-inserts and ungrammatical nonsense enough to make your head explode. True, there is a lot of dreck out there, just like there is a lot of dreck in traditionally published works. But I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, that there are fanfic writers across the world who are downright outstanding, who ought to have publishers crowding outside their door with a battering ram to get them signed to a multi-book deal, who don't need an established universe to tell their stories, but use those universes out of reverence and love.
It's not a lack of respect from which fanfiction stems, nor delusion or lackluster enterprise. Fanfiction, as I have encountered it throughout the years, is an expression of appreciation -- for words, for worlds, for characters, for the creators themselves who have, knowingly or not, gifted an endless sandbox to their fans to build something new from whatever wonderful things have been afforded them.
(I have watched a lot of romcoms in my life. I apologize for nothing.)
It was while watching said Dempsey wear the shoe on the other foot and McKidd hoard chocolate cake that it really struck me, though -- poor other guy. We're supposed to be stoked about Girl and Boy getting together at last but, man, what a bummer for the guy left behind. He hasn't done anything wrong, he loves the girl just as much and is even respectful enough to let her go with best wishes on his lips, but how in the world does he go on? Who helps him pick up the pieces?
I suppose, because he's such a decent human being, we can relax knowing that he'll someday find happiness too, but that doesn't make his heartbreak any less real. And just because the camera cuts away forever from him to the leads being deliriously happy with each other doesn't mean that's the end of his side of the story.
So I decided to write the rest of it, and that's how The Other Guy was born. :)
