Archive for June, 2012

The Truth of Fiction

I was just thinking about what a reader said to me about one of my books–that it bothered her it was not explained why one character did something to another. I assumed this would be obvious by the context and the characters and also knowing that people just do things for their own reasons and you can usually guess what that is if you’re absorbing the nuances of the story. But no. Some readers see to want an explanation for everything, even when an explanation can be interpreted or assumed.

Perhaps this is because in reading fiction, we want to be taken away from our lives for a moment and into another world, but we also want that world to make sense because so often, our own does not. This same reader also complained “skilled people, especially those 4 should not have been portrayed as that stupid and helpless.” I was a bit floored by this, as it indicated to me that she thought those characters should not have any flaws, and should always know the right thing to do and magically avoid anything that might not leave them in control of a situation. I told her:

“yes, they are skilled, but they are also human, and I don’t believe in making characters into obligatory heroes, as a matter of course. They are human, they make bad decisions, misunderstand, do their best while flying by the seat of their pants. I don’t think that makes them stupid–they were dealing with a very confusing situation that didn’t make sense and had to work it out eventually. I can tell you from personal experience that you can be skilled and intelligent, and STILL screw things up and find yourself helpless. So this was my way of allowing my characters all their humanity, and still showing the strength of the human will and spirit. Hope that helps.”

Mind you, this reader gave me glowing reviews otherwise, on both books in the AKA Investigation series. But another bother for her was: “the confrontation with the enemy. the chasing, captures and recaptures and mountains, etc… was frustrating. ” And I answered:

“This is a dramatic device, also known as psychological suspense, a way to build tension and to keep placing obstacles in front of the characters and let them figure out how to get out of it. I guess not everyone wants that much tension. lol. But I enjoy piling on the challenges so I can test the characters, and make their ultimate triumph all the more sweet. But tension can be frustrating….that’s the nature of it. In a story though, I find it more satisfying if I wonder all the time how the hell a character is going to get out of a seemingly insurmountable dilemma.”

So we strive for truth in our fiction, ironic as that is, and still, we will come across those who really don’t want some truths, and some they want more of than we can offer, or they want outright lies. But as you’ve pointed out, Kate, we will never be able to please everyone with our writing. Even though it really bothers me that i can’t. :^)

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Land of New Zeal

Only five more days, and I will be on that flight….The excitement is finally becoming stronger than the fear and stress. Not that I don’t still worry…I’ve never flown to another country before, and dealt with all that entails–like going through customs. I’ve read the Air New Zealand website through and through. All the restriction on baggage and contents, how to check in, what to have ready in zippy bags, how much each can weigh, how big each bag can be. It’s hard to make choices about what to bring when it’s all you’re going to have for a while. If something should be amiss, and they say, “You can’t take that, or your bag is too big,” or whatever, I don’t know what to do because of course I’m only taking a paltry amount and all of it is crucial to me. Just have to hope that doesn’t happen. I have my large cargo/checked bag–pretty standard; and I have a small carry-on rolling bag, and my softside satchel, doubling as personal purse/bag. That’s it. It’s pretty amazing to see your personal requirements reduced to such a small collection of objects. But it does have a way of putting things in perspective. There are things you think you need, which, when it comes down to the wire, you realize you really don’t, or that you can always replace.

I’ve been living like a pauper in this HOT apartment…spending my days on the airbed in front of my computer (which I will mail out the day before, ahead of me). This computer is the only thing that keeps me in touch with my sweetie, and there will be an almost two-day period when I won’t be able to video chat with her all day as usual–see her face, communicate that way (Sounds silly, I know, but we have become quite addicted/dependent on seeing and communicating with each other while we wait for this reunion). I will only have my iPhone and Facebook Messenger until I reach Los Angeles, and then when I get to Auckland, I will have the phone she sent me to contact her between transfers there, in Christchurch and then Dunedin, where she will be waiting for me. And then we will have a wonderful week in a cabin by the water…a fireplace…the gifts we will exchange…and most of all, each other, finally. It is very much like two soulmates kept apart too long, and finally able to absorb each other again. I am living each moment for that.

This whole process has been a real challenge for me, an HSP–every single trigger is present, and still, I trudge forward with complete certainty. There were lots of stressful things to get done in a short amount of time; giving up all semblance of security and routine; selling or giving away or tossing my belongings; selling my beloved Cherryot–my favorite vehicle I’ve ever had; and of course, my two sweet cats. And there’s my crippling fear of flying…I will be on that plane from LA to Auckland for 13 hours…so there will be copious amounts of Xanax.

The truth is, no one can know the breadth and depth of what two people share, except those two people. And we are both quite clear about what we have, and how precious it is. There will be naysayers, and those who speak from their own painful experiences, but unless they have had this, felt it all the way to their marrow, as I do, they cannot and perhaps will not be able to understand it. And I don’t care. As my darling Kate posted recently:

“Sometimes life presents you with gifts of rare value and beauty. After unwrapping them, you don’t look at them and say no, it’s too much, or it must not be real because something this beautiful can only be a deception. You take it and cherish it, value it, and carry it around in your heart where it will never tarnish, no matter what the weather outside.

Jae is such a gift. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve her, but I’m going to make sure she’s safe and loved and happy always. I carry her in my heart.”

Things change when you find true love. YOU change. You are willing to do and sacrifice many things you never would have dreamed of before. And I have had my share of challenges and heartaches and despair…but I have always resonated with this quote, which has become a sort of mantra for me, to bolster my courage when things seem too daunting to conquer:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”(Theodore Roosevelt)

I will ignore the naysayers and critics and be thankful to those who encourage such love and possibility, as I cannot imagine my life without her now, and wouldn’t want to. She is everything to me and I can’t wait to get started on the beautiful life we’ve planned. Love like this is rare, the very odds were so against it ever happening, and so many odd, synchronous things happened to bring us together. Most people don’t ever find this at all, so I will not take this good fortune for granted, especially after the slew of misfortunes my life has been. I will embrace it, leap off that cliff and FLY.

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You Can’t Take it With You (excerpt)

 

Excerpt from Hanging the Moon by Kelli Jae Baeli & Kate Genet (Book in progress)

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You Can’t Take it With You

 

It had been three months of limbo existence in an apartment that was little more than a storage room. So much had changed in the last few months.
…..Originally, she had rented it thinking she would save the extra money from the cheaper rent to repair her credit woes, left by a disastrous relationship the year before, so that she could find a condo to buy and live out the rest of her days in loneliness. Accepting the cards she had been dealt in this life. She was too much the anomaly, apparently, to enjoy a normal, healthy relationship. Her journey through the lesbian dating scene had left her with little hope of finding a compatible partner to share her life. Even though she suspected that the issue was the proliferation of damaged women, she had still been unsuccessful in finding those who were not damaged, but also compatible with her, an HSP with high standards, and unique needs. Jade Winslow had resigned to her fate, but knew on some level that she would never be happy alone, no matter how many affirmations she chanted, nor how many times she told herself that writing all night and sleeping all day with interruptions of incessant television, would be enough of a life to sustain her. She could only live vicariously through television characters and the characters she created in her novels so long, before the abject sadness took over.
…..She had hoped the new apartment would provide peace and quiet, and more expendable income, but found that it was not at all to be that way. And then another unexpected event happened. And it had led her to this place of extremes. A place where she would have to see everything differently, where she would learn to let go. This life had to be over. It just had to be.
…..So she ferreted through all the things she had carried around with her, throwing most of it away. All the old love notes, cards, scrapbooks, papers, stories she had started back when she still wrote things out longhand or on a typewriter, but had never transferred to digital media. These things didn’t matter. They were just weighing her down, and she didn’t want to leave anything behind. She had already packed and shipped the most important things to that one person who should have them; her legacy. Jade wanted to walk out of this place when it was empty. She knew she would not be coming back.

As she rode in the back of the taxi, she watched the Colorado scenery whiz by. The Aspen trees, the traffic, the city lights. Though it had become her nemesis, there was still beauty to be had. She wanted to burn the images in her brain. She would not be seeing it again.
…..Vaguely, she sensed a insect of anxiety in her consciousness. Not the stress of what was to come, this was something else. Something cloying, and perhaps previously insignificant, but somehow present in her mind, niggling at her brain.
This happened to Jade a lot. Quite like the sensation you have forgotten something, but can’t retrieve an image in your mind, of what it is. It’s dangling on that synaptic space between neurons, almost intact but just mysterious enough to distract attention on a continuous basis. Something was….missing.
…..As she paid the cabbie and got out, she stood on the sidewalk and considered this feeble minutia at the edge of her perception. She heard a grinding sound, and the clinking of something like metal chimes. Turning, she saw the man pushing the laden cart, his hands guiding it along as the wheels groused at the concrete. And the jingle came from his hip, where he had attached a large ring of keys.
…..That’s what was missing.  Keys. Her keys.
…..Everyday objects which had become so familiar; their absence reduced and diluted into a vague emotional response to a void, no matter how small. She was moving through another moment near the terminus of her life, and perhaps for the first time, that journey was being made without keys. She had no more locks to open.
…..It had begun with the removal of the two keys color coded with little plastic caps, so she’d know at a glance which was the door key, which the key to the mailbox…and the key to her car.
…..She would not be unlocking and entering that place again. She would not be checking the mail, because there would soon be no mail delivered. All remnants of postal communication would soon be stamped return to sender. Those keys gone, she had realized what was left on the ring. Not keys to friend’s houses, or vacation houses, or other mechanical vehicles belonging to a spouse or a newly licensed teenager. No key to a safe deposit box, for she had nothing of value to sequester there. And since she had sold her beloved SUV, the key to that was gone as well. There was nothing left of her passage but the silver ring itself and the tiny utility tool attached. A device that helped her to feel powerful for its ability to solve unexpected problems; neatly folded in on itself in an unobtrusive manner. It was technically to be considered a weapon, as it had expandable portions with sharp blades. So she had removed it.
…..But then suddenly there was no tool, no keys, and so no key ring. She almost kept the carabiner that held the ring that held the keys…perhaps as a symbolic remnant of her life; a souvenir. But what would she need with a reminder of a life she was intent on leaving? The concept contained within the caveat, “You can’t take it with you” was entirely appropriate. So she had dropped the carabiner in the trash on top of all the other things she had thrown away; unnecessary items from a past and present rendered obsolete. It was unneeded, just like all the other things she had disposed of because she would not be needing them.
…..She was only a little frightened. The unknown is always daunting. But there would be no turning back. She knew that now. The primary emotion she felt as the automatic doors opened, was relief. Soon, her pain would trickle away. It would all be over. Finally.

 

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Building Character- A Review of new novel by Kate Genet

Writing teachers will tell you that a novel should begin in medias res–in the middle of the action. While I do believe this is preferable, if the story allows it, I don’t believe it should be chiseled in stone–good writers know enough about the craft, to understand when the rules are meant to be broken. I’ve never been a big fan of formula fiction, unless an author can take that formula and do something new with it. And while I wouldn’t consider Building Character “formula fiction” per se, there are will be some formulas in every book; I am interested in the conventions that stray from it, as this is a good thing. Genet knows how to do that, and she does with her own personal flair and expertise.

In regard to the caveat of in medias res in Building Character, the whole story is in the middle of the action. From the first two paragraphs, I could tell that something delicious was building. And I appreciated the author for giving me a firm grasp on the main character, so that it would make perfect sense and still be delightful. The discerning reader will be able to sense that Genet is illuminating Fen Marshall in a particular way, and for a particular purpose, and the more we learn about Fen’s idiosyncrasies, the more intriguing and exciting the ensuing plot promises to be.

In a world permeated with the sensibility of instant gratification, and literary caveats that tell writers they must begin a book by grabbing the readers by the throat–I suspect because of the aforementioned instant gratification propensity–I must warn the reader that Building Character does not begin with a car chase or an arrow in the heart, nor any explosions, earthquakes or tsunamis, nor a character dangling from the ledge of a 10 story structure by her fingertips. It begins with a character. And it’s crucial to understand who she is in order to appreciate what happens, and how she evolves. Yet in doing this character development, Genet does not bore us with play-by-play or tedious details, but only with details that develop character, and move the story toward that first tipping point, and then pulls us along to each ensuing tipping point, until the end of every page is an irresistible invitation to continue to the page beyond.

The title of this novel is key to the many levels that exist inside the story. Genet builds a character for the reader, expertly, and with finesse. The main character, as an author herself, builds a character, who becomes a unique and intriguing antagonist. And the main character also builds her own character, as she maneuvers the obstacles presented by this vixen-cum-succubus, Ruby, which Genet (masquerading as Fen) brings to light.

While I could not identify personally with Fen on all levels, since she is an odd character with certain quirks, who does not enjoy the company of other people, nor seek love, I immediately loved her. I could relate to the often taxing nature of other people, and how they can suck the energy out of you. I also understood the need for time and space to create, and the almost holy nature of my home as sanctuary. I am not cut from the same cloth as Fen Marshall, but the cloth shares many of the same colors. I understood her, and was at once intrigued, enamored and entertained by her peculiarities and defenses.

The characters of Fen, Ruby, and Marissa were brilliant, and masterful manifestations of the darker elements of the human psyche, though the antagonists Ruby and Marissa were disturbing in two completely different ways. I have known quite a few people like Marissa, and like Ruby as well, except that I might not have seen the Rubys in this world as clearly as Genet sketches her, as I run screaming in the other direction before becoming entrenched with them. It’s this entrenchment on the part of Fen that gets her in so much trouble. By the time she realizes the untapped desires and blind spots that Ruby ignites, she has been sucked to the event horizon of that black hole, and is inches away from spiraling into the abyss of intrigue, lust, and the epiphany of awakened erotic hunger. This can be a force both ominous and all-encompassing.

Genet is well aware of her target audience–mostly lesbians and open-minded others who delight in a thought-provoking and entertaining read. I found Marissa’s behavior in the book very credible, and I immediately recognized her from my own personal experience with obsessive women. I can say that her abnormal ideation was spot-on. This assessment is supported by any psychologist you might care to contact, as well. If a reader has limited experience and knowledge of this psychological aspect of the subject matter, they might be surprised that these things really do happen (not manifesting a person out of sheer force of will, of course, but of how the human mind operates). The female psyche has its own nature, and I appreciated the subtle shading and color contrasts of the character-portraits Genet was painting, as well as the more specific subset of love and passion between two women, and the obsessional aspects inherent in each realm. This book is written by a highly intelligent author who deals with some profound subjects, and thus, to truly appreciate it on all its myriad levels, you must be able to appreciate nuance and understand a bit about human nature and psychology.

The classic conflicts in literature, which we all learn in school, is a character against an antagonist, a character against society, a character against nature, and a character against herself. Building Character embodies all of these conflicts, and is expertly rendered by Genet, woven into the story in such a seamless way, that (as an author myself) I was envious of her skill. Add the elements of the supernatural, psychological suspense, and of course the not-so-common lesbian erotica, well-wrought, and you have a book that can be enjoyed by those from many walks of life. For it speaks to us on our most fundamental level; reminds us that what we create does have a life of its own, and we should be mindful of the power it can have, the havoc it can wreak, and the lesson it can teach us about hubris and the corrupting nature of need, desire and loneliness. You can fall in love with the wrong person just like you can NOT fall in love with the right one. And it is in this precarious balance that Genet reveals the meat of the story. In good fiction, there must be conflict, an attempt to ease the conflict, or exacerbation of conflict, and resolution of conflict. Genet orchestrates these elements adroitly.

With titillating and absolutely carnal and scorching sexual encounters fraught with deeper meaning, clean, picturesque prose and realistic, interesting dialogue, along with clever and exciting plotlines, Building Character was like great food to me. Delicious, perfect texture and taste, pleasing presentation, and in the end, so satisfying that it takes a place in your mind as one of your all-time favorite meals. I encourage everyone who appreciates quality writing to imbibe this wonderful book like the literary white chocolate that it is.

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Kate Genet’s new book!

 

I encourage all my readers to please go buy a copy of Kate Genet’s new book, Building Character.

Here’s a link to the interview on her blog about it, and links to get it. It’s brilliant, truly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Learning to Fly

I made this place my mistress,

for lack of the proper kind

I excavated acres

for the love I hoped to find

But all I found were bones,

beneath the unseen sky

The love I need’s not on the ground,

I had to learn to fly

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