Taking Chances, Pushing the Envelope with WHITE SPACE

Last week, I mentioned that I’d be on Goodreads answering all things Bick. I got some terrific questions, too, covering everything from MONSTERS to the things I love and hate about being a writer. In all that, there were a fair number of questions about the first book in my upcoming, two-volume Dark Passages series, WHITE SPACE. By now, word’s gotten out that the book is . . . pretty different. A couple aspects that seem to intrigue people revolve around the book’s structure, including multiple POVs. As with all questions, I give my answers a fair amount of thought, and so I figured, okay, since this is on people’s minds, why not simply share one very excellent question about the book and my answer here?

Oh, and before I forget: a heartfelt thank you to the David Estes Fan Page and YA Book Lovers Unite Discussion Group for letting me barge in for a week and speak my peace. If you want to see what follows in context (and get a gander at the entire week-long discussion), drop by here.

* * * (Jeann)I'm excited about your upcoming book White Spaces(sic). I hear there's many POVs within it, could you tell us about how this is weaved into the story? How do you think readers will find your new release?

Thanks! But I'm not sure how to answer your question. I mean, there are many POVs in the ASHES trilogy, too, if you think about it. So the challenge is in creating compelling characters, each with a distinctive voice, to help people keep things straight. For this particular book, because I'm not building on characters you've heard about in the first book (e.g., in SHADOWS, you already knew who the main players were), I help people a little bit by heading each chapter with the POV's name (Lizzie, Emma, Eric, etc.).

Are there are a lot of people to keep track of (in WHITE SPACE)? Sure, but there are tons of characters in books by Dickens and Stephen King and Dan Simmons and . . .

I trust that a) my readers have brains and b) they come to my books--and this one, in particular--understanding that it's not the same-o, same-o. To be honest, I think that part of the predictability problem with a lot of YA is that writers limit their POVs because they think it'll be "easier" on their readers. In a sense, they're right; it's not like I've NEVER written a book from first-person POV. I write whatever POV the story demands. That means I won't shy away from bigger, broader novels with multiple POVs because that limits your options as a writer and may act to the detriment of your story. (I can think of MANY very popular trilogies that falter because of this problem. MANY. OTOH, they're ridiculously popular . . . so don't pay any attention to me.) And, frankly, every time you write, you ought to try something you've never done before. Otherwise, you get stale, and so does your writing.

 

WHITE SPACE really hinges on readers "getting" the conceit: what the different POVs are about; why they're playing out the way they are. That means I do weird things in the narrative, but because it's also partially horror, weird fits in naturally in terms of genre.

And I honestly think about things like that with every book. One of the lovely things about YA is you can get away with genre mash-ups. YA readers are, in some ways, much more flexible that way. So, you can stretch genre limits and expectations--but you must also really understand the conceits and structures of (and to) the genres you're playing with.

So, in WHITE SPACE, I do things you wouldn't expect, like end chapters in mid-sentence or with ellipses or dashes. I'm not trying to be cute, although--yeah--I'm shaking up expectations. (If you think about it, I did that at the end of the first ASHES book. Boy, were people mad and my editor was nervous because of it. But you weren't indifferent. I also ended it that way for a very specific, fairly artsy-fartsy reason: at the end of that book, Alex has discovered that all the niceties, everything she's ever taken for granted, are gone, stripped away. Civilization as she's known it has collapsed. So I wanted to give my readers that same kind of gut-punch shock. Nothing is nice and predictable for her anymore . . . so why should they be for you?)

In WHITE SPACE, I play with form to cue your mind about what's going on in the only ways available to me as a writer without sitting you down for a very boring, fairly condescending "you-know-Bob" moment. I know you guys are smarter than that. (But if you want a hint--or a movie that I mention in the book and which I think plays with the same concepts I do--then check out IDENTITY. Really interesting flick, and in some ways, much more inventive than INCEPTION, though that was also a great film.) As for how they'll find it . . . I'm going to presume you mean . . . "like" it? Or do you mean, figure out I've written it? The latter's easy ;-) As for the former, I don't know if people will like it; I hope they do. I think it's a book and concept that has the virtue of never having been tried in quite this way. (I'd like to think I'm a bit like Kirk this way.)




But . . . WHITE SPACE is a very different read. I know that going into this. It's not your standard kind of book, and I also understand that not everyone will "get" it. But you take that risk with every book. (I was going to go all artsy-fartsy and say something about how boring any art would be if all we did was churn out identical narratives or paintings or songs . . . but that's way too serious for me. Is writing an art? Sure . . . but above all else, I'm an entertainer. That's my job. You pick up a book to be entertained, not because you need your daily dose of art.)

So, changing things up, taking chances, trying something new . . . all that keeps things fresh. It's part of the terror of writing, and--for me--most of the fun.

Fear Factor: Four Ways to Scare Them!

A post for Halloween Eve. How could I not discuss what scares us? Thinking about scary scenes from books and movies, brought back a vivid memory of a movie my cousins introduced me to when I was eleven. “The Beast with Five fingers” was made in 1947 and it was the last movie Peter Lorrie ever made with Warner Borthers. A famous pianist dies, his hand is severed and the hand commits murders. When the hand is thrown into a fire, it manages to crawl out and still strangle its victim!  And at the sound of piano music, the audience knows the hand is on its way to the next victim.  For months after seeing that movie, I made sure my covers didn’t touch the floor. I knew the hand could climb, but I was pretty sure it couldn’t jump. What scared me was the most was the possibility of what that hand could do. 

While I don’t write horror, I do have scenes that I create to scare my readers, so I’ve spent some time analyzing what makes a scary scene work.  

Build dread through details:

A scene that terrified me as a young reader was in The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper. She builds an atmosphere of dread word by word. On mid winter eve Will Stanton is alone in his room. He lies awake in the dark listening to every sound, recalling the strange events of the day, certain he is going mad. Up to this point, she’s seeded the story with foreshadowing...The walker is abroad..this night will be bad…. Her description of the moaning wind, the strange behavior of animals, the palpable presence of the dark increases our tension. We don’t know what will happen in that room but when the snow crashes through the skylight and a single rook feather lands on the bed, we are as startled and horrified as Will. 

Master of horror, Stephen Kings says:

“Making people believe the unbelievable is no trick; it’s work. … Belief and reader absorption come in the details: An overturned tricycle in the gutter of an abandoned neighborhood can stand for everything. Or a broken billboard. Or weeds growing in the cracks of a library’s steps. Of course, none of this means a lot without characters the reader cares about (and sometimes characters—‘bad guys’—the reader is rooting against).” 

Focus on character response:

Cooper builds dread not only through the details, but in Will’s response to them. If Will’s response isn’t real fear, ours won’t be either. Our heart rate escalates, our palms grow sweaty along with the protagonist if the author shows us what the character is risking. The reader’s response is in proportion to the protagonist’s. Which leads me to…

Make it worth the sweat

The dark  must be worth fearing. Readers gauge their fear by understanding consequences. If the antagonist isn’t a credible baddie, if the reader doesn’t understand the potential of the night in the woods, the severed hand, the discarded revolver, the scene loses power. Think about Hannibal Lecter who “once ate a census taker's liver ‘with fava beans and a nice Chianti.’”

Leave it to the imagination:

What scares us most is in our own imaginations, the possibility rather than the actual. The unknown is scarier and more enticing than the known. The skillful writer will already have cranked the tension up with foreshadowing. Fear comes from the tension of not knowing the outcome, but expecting the worse. Perhaps the protagonist is about to do something stupid: go into the cellar, spend the night in a haunted house. Readers know bad things are coming, but we don’t know how those bad things will play out. Our own minds can be scarier than a graveyard on Halloween night. It’s the author’s job to lead us there and then blow out the candle.

 

What’s your favorite scary scene from a book or movie?

Girls & Monsters Halloween Giveaway

It's no secret: autumn is my favorite time of year, especially because of Mother Nature lashing out her brightest colors before killing everything for winter. And then there's Halloween, the celebration of the Dead and the Un-Dead. So pretty the skulls and spiders adorning the neighborhood, the pumpkin grins and the skeleton dances, so inspiring for future stories to come.

 

 

And so I want to spread the dark joy of scaring people, of making people squeal in disgust and hide in fright by giving away a signed copy of my collection of dark tales for young adult, Girls & Monsters, as well as The Monsters Collection of Skellies. Of course, I won't be celebrating alone, so please visit my fellow Coffin Hoppers blogs and websites for other scares and goodies by clicking the sexy zombies, up above.

*Girls & Monsters Giveaway*

1st prize winner gets a signed copy of Girls & Monsters plus The Monsters Collection of Skellies, made by moi.

2nd prize winner gets a digital copy of Death By Drive-In, an anthology featuring stories written by 24 horror authors/Coffin Hoppers.



To participate, click here: a Rafflecopter giveaway

Beginning on Octobre 24th and ending on Halloween at midnight (east), the contest is international, the winners will be picked by ramdom.org, and the prizes shipped the next day. Good luck♥

Cthulhu: Horrible or Huggable?

Ever hear of a writer by the name of H. P. Lovecraft?

Even if you haven’t, I bet you’ve heard of Stephen King, who called Lovecraft “the twentieth century’s greatest practitioner of the classic horror tale,” and cited Lovecraft’s work as his own greatest inspiration for horror fiction. There is no better blurb in the world.

Lovecraft created a whole mythology of strange and alien creatures that has never truly been matched since his death almost 80 years ago. His most famous short story, The Call of Cthulhu, is a great representation of this as it presents us with a cosmic evil so far beyond our mortal understanding that his mere existence is enough to drive men mad.

Just take a look at this guy’s ugly mug and tell me you wouldn’t lose your marbles if he came to you in a dreams:

Cthulhu is only one of Lovecraft’s many bizarre and haunting creatures, and his images of groping tentacles and internal corruption have inspired countless movies, books, and games. In fact, because Lovecraft died without heirs, his writings and his mythos are public domain, making them free to read, adapt, and update.

In fact, there is a whole cottage industry built around bringing Lovecraft’s works to life in the 21^st century. Anybody who knows Lovecraft can see his ideas popping up in some of the greatest horror films of all time, like the Necronomicon in The Evil Dead and the shape-changing alien in The Thing.

The H. P. Lovecraft Historical Society has also directly adapted some of his best stories into very compelling movies that mimic the silent films of Lovecraft’s era. In fact, there’s even an annual H. P. Lovecraft Film Festival in two cities.

There’s another side of the Lovecraft fan world, though. Here, Lovecraft’s beasties are treasured as funny and cute. In fact, the more nightmarish the original, the more people want a cute-ified version. Take this little plush Cthulhu, for example:

I’ve seen Cthulhu bobble-heads, funny shoggoths and fish-men t-shirts, and even a plush Necronomicon complete with fuzzy teeth (presumably to consume the fuzzy souls of any teddy bear who reads it). One of my favorite spoofs is a set of mythos holiday songs such as “Death to the World” (sung to the tune of “Joy to the World”) and “Harley Got Devoured by the Undead” (to the tune of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”)

And then, of course, there’s my SUPER soft and fuzzy Cthulhu pillow, whom my cat loves to snuggle with:

My question is whether these two approaches can exist together. Can Cthulhu be both horrible and huggable at the same time?

Personally, I like both versions, but I have a friend who hates the cute stuff. He says it undermines the intended experience and draws the life out of one of the most interesting mythologies of the modern world.

Maybe he’s taking this whole thing too seriously. Or, maybe my laughter at “Cute-thulhu” is really just a psychological defense against the horror.

Even if you’ve never heard of Lovecraft before now, I wonder if you, gentle reader, have ever had an experience where you enjoyed a cute spoof of something harsh?

Or, have you had the opposite experience, where the seriousness of a book or movie was undermined by a funny parody?

In short: how do you Cthulhu?

Junk-food for thought...

by A.G. Howard

Now that I've had a month-long break from writing (and while I'm waiting for my next set of edits) it's time to start planning another book. And although I can't officially announce what it is, I can share my crafting process.

 

I'm totally about the visual. My first stage of starting a story is building characters: what they look like, what their GMC (Goal/Motivation/Conflict) will be, and their personalities/names. To aid in this, I have a pinterest board for fascinating faces that fuel my imagination:



Click to go to pinterest board



 

Since my current project is one I started a while back, I've already got the characters lined up.

 

Which means I move on to stage two: creating the settings and world. This is how I feel when I get to start world-building:

 

It's one of my favorite things EVER. Maybe because it's when I really turn my imagination loose and embrace the crazy. Anyone who's read Splintered knows what I mean. Again, I have inspirational pinboards for world-building:



 

But, one of the most fun things about world building is I get to indulge in all the junk-food my wee little brain can digest.

 

I'm not talking cheetos or twinkies (although those do have their place, along with coffee and inordinate amounts of chocolate). I'm talking about horror movies with surreal plots, tons of shock value, and reel upon reel of grotesque eye candy.

 

Creepy critters and disturbing settings work like a defribrillator to my muse, and it's even better if the plot is mainly black and white without too many grays (in other words, junk food for the mind). That way, my brain is free to gorge itself on the visual aspects without having to think too hard about layers or predicting the ending.

Recently I've discovered the Silent Hill movies. Because they're based on computer games, the plots are mainly good vs bad and there is no shortage of gruesome graphics, scenery, and monsters.

Here are two of my favorites from the 3rd movie:

(1) A spidery creature made up of mannequin pieces. The first time I saw it scuttling down the wall, it was SO CREEPTASTIC I salivated. Heh.

I posted a still shot, but if you're brave enough to see the creature in action, feel free to click on the video clip...

 

(2) Mutated rusty-razor-bearing nurses whose faces are a macabre twist of skin that looks like an exposed brain. Since they have no eyes or noses, they react to their other senses: touch and sound, and move in a really jerky manner that makes them even freakier.

 

Watching movies also keeps me attuned to the distinctive movements of the creatures and how they react to their setting, which puts that foremost in my mind as I'm building my own worlds and monsters.

As for an actual setting that has spoken to me, there was a scene in a decrepit amusement park that inspired a deliciously eerie idea for a carnival in my newest project. I can't WAIT to write it. ;)

 

I mean, seriously, with an entrance that looks like this, who wouldn't be inspired to create something terrifying ... or at the very least, to run far, far away.

 

Seeing as I'm a glutton for weird creatures and places, I guess I've found the perfect calling and outlet by writing dark and creepy novels. 
 

Girls & Monsters don't always play nice...

Luckily, today they're being downright SWEET!

I'm honored to welcome the ever lovely, ever dark Anne Michaud to ADR3NALIN3 today! I met Anne via blogger and fell in love with her delectable, seductive, and morbid prose while reading the short stories and poems she would post on her blog. Now at last she has a book coming out and the whole world can savor her terrifyingly twisted tales! Her new YA horror novel is launching in just a few days, so she has stopped by to tell us a little about it.

Anne, you have the spotlight!

***

They hide under the bed, in the closet or in a dark corner of your mind; they want to scare, play with or eat you. Monsters are everywhere, feeding off your screams, waiting for the perfect moment to attack - and sometimes, only girls can kick their butts. A killer mermaid, suburbia, hallucinations, one huge spider and zombies all face their match in this dark horror collection of 5 novellas for young adult. Annoyed by weak and fragile protagonists waiting for boys to save the day? Here's GIRLS & MONSTERS! Death Song, an excerpt:

Something catches in the back of my throat. I hide my face in my hands to quiet the sobs. But then, something ain’t right. Air moves around me and I stop. I look between my fingers, but the blur of my tears thickens everything: the bathtub, the towels, and someone on the floor. A woman’s in here with me, door still closed and locked. An exhale, like after a deep swim, and a smell, like the swamp close to my empty home. A chill runs down my back, I wipe my eyes, rub and scratch them to see more clearly. And I do. Two gray hands scratch the floor tiles, nails green with algae, putrid flesh sagging on her legs, arms and torso, hair so long and wet and heavy, it drags her down. Diluted, impossible to focus on, like little waves rippling over her body from head to foot, seaweed in the water. Scales and fins, mermaidlike, little knives, those are. And they scrape the floor, like a fork on a plate. It’s her—Limnade. She opens her mouth of scissor-teeth and the rotten smell of fish wraps around my throat like two hands trying to choke me. "You can’t be…” I don’t finish my breathless thought and jump backward, knocking over the dish of decorative soaps. Blurry waves, vision impaired, out of focus, unreal. She crawls toward me, eyes unblinking, lethal, hands inches from me: my legs refuse to move, as my body feels like stone. Frozen, hypnotized, a statue. Then I hear something coming from within her…A melody, reminding me of something lost, tickles my ears. It drags on until the sweetness turns sickly, vibrating into a full-on super-scream, hyenalike, enough to pop my ears and make them bleed. Her large mouth deforms her face into one gap of black, the cry so high and strident, I scream from the pain. Limnade stares at me, everything but her fades away—Jo’s nice bathroom, Jo’s new life, Jo himself, none of it matters anymore. Her fingers brush my forehead, they’re cold and sticky like clams. And I let the darkness take me away.

***

To celebrate the release of Girls & Monsters on April 30th, the author has handcrafted Skellies, The Monster Collection, each representing a monster of the 5 stories. The giveaway also includes a softcover of the collection, autographed if requested. The grand prize winner will be announced during the book launch's LIVE CHAT with Anne Michaud on April 30th at 9PM (east)! Girls & Monsters will be available at Darkfuse and other retailers from that date on. ♥

***

Anne Michaud

She who likes dark things never grew up. She never stopped listening to gothic, industrial and alternative bands like when she was fifteen. She always loved to read horror and dystopia and fantasy, where doom and gloom drip from the pages. She, who was supposed to make films, decided to write short stories, novelettes and novels instead. She, who’s had her films listed on festival programs, has been printed in a dozen anthologies and magazines since. She who likes dark things prefers night to day, rain to sun, and reading to anything else.

She tweets
She blogs
She facebooks

And don't forget to add Girls & Monsters to your goodread list ♥

When The Monsters Come Out to Play

About a month or so ago, I was on a panel devoted to horror fiction, and the question of horror's appeal came up.  A bunch of people talked about "understanding" horror and the horrible; others mentioned reassurance (better you than me; walking out of the movie theater into the sunshine; closing the book and having a chocolate cone).  But then someone made the observation of how much less powerful a story can be when you get the monster's perspective; some of the mystery bleeds away and a nasty, horrible person can seem quite banal.  (Been there, done that; you don't know banality until the guy who just shot his wife tells you he got pissed because she burned his meat loaf.)

But it occurred to me that what we're really interested in when it comes to horror--or rather, the emotion with which horror shares so many qualities--is the feeling of awe.  

Think about it a second.  Some of the most frightening visions in all religions begin with fear and shade to horror before giving way to awe (or both at the same time).  People crave the mystical, the psychedelic, because what is so frightening is so awesome. The face of God is awesome because you have to cover your face to protect yourself against the majestic horror of it all.  I'm no Bush-apologist, but he had it right when he talked about destruction evoking shock and awe: things so horrible you can't bear to look away--and leave you wanting even more, hungry to re-experience this most powerful and visceral of emotions.

I'm particularly mindful of this right now in the wake of the Colorado shootings. Whenever something like this happens, eventually someone will ask me what I think, my theories, why this kind of thing happens. Being a shrink, you get used to the questions, and I guess people want to feel reassured that someone understands what the heck’s going on.(Just because I can put a label to something, though, don't mean I understand.  It means I can fit behaviors into a syndrome.  I have ideas about why.  But understanding is a truly different animal.)  So no surprise that I’ve been asked a couple of times in the last day or so about the Colorado shootings. Now, I claim no special knowledge; I’ve not been following the news that closely. People will advance all kinds of theories, some of them sound and others pablum--but people are intensely interested.  What I found fascinating was one guy I know who decided that the shooter must be an extreme sociopath of some flavor: someone so monstrous he just couldn't relate at all.  When I suggested that, in fact, the guy might have been mightily depressed--and depressed men and boy are frequently preoccupied with and act on very, very violent fantasies--my friend was a little . . . perturbed.  In fact, he said, "Well, I guess that explains what was going on when I was a kid."

Which makes you wonder.

For some people, believing the horrific to be alien is a comforting fiction.  It feels better to imagine monsters as being incomprehensible, something you've got about as much in common with as a paramecium.  Yet that doesn't mean we don't find the horrible and horrific--the monstrous--completely enthralling, or that monsters don't have a home in your mind.  I'm only being a little facetious when I say that everyone loves a good (fictional) psychopath just as people enjoy a good scare (or a great cry).  (Meeting one in the flesh . . . well, not so much.) It's why people flock to things like Batman movies and Hannibal Lector's entered the popular lexicon; why folks ride killer roller coasters, read horror, or are mesmerized by terrible crimes.  Keep in mind that the words "awful" and "awesome" are both derived from "awe," from the Old English "ege," meaning fear and dread.  The Word Detective has a lovely write-up on this, by the way. To say that people want to reassured that the monsters will stay put is only stating the obvious.

While I'd like to think differently, I probably find the monsters--my monsters and their potential--just as fascinating.  Not that I'm suggesting I'm so very special; no, what I'm saying is that, as a shrink who's used to navel-gazing and really getting into the muck and slime--and as a writer who wants to put words to emotions so horribly awesome you don't want them loose in the light of day--letting the monsters out to play is crucial.  Being as brutally honest about the horror of which I am surely capable is vital to making a story--my stories--credible just as it is imperative for me to feel as if I've got a handle on them.  I can let them out for a little while, but then I know how to put them back.  (This is a problem actors have, by the way; more than one's mentioned that when you play a thoroughly despicable and evil person seven days a week and twice on Saturdays . . . it takes a toll.  Truman Capote discovered this to his ruin.  On a more shrinkly note, Robert Keppel, who hunted Ted Bundy and the Green River Killer, has written very compellingly about the emotional toll, and a very fine film made about Keppel and Bundy, The Riverman, explicitly deals with this.)



In a way, I am no different than a kid who enjoys a good shoot-'em-up computer game, one where you blast the monsters to bits.  It's all about mastery, enjoying horror for the awe it engenders, putting it back in its place when you're done.

This is not to trivialize tragedy.  There are plenty of examples of novels delayed because they're too close to reality (think King's Rage).  Our gun laws are insane, and I actually like guns.  But I do think it's worthwhile to take a step back and think about what it is about violence on the screen or in a book that we crave--and why it's so awe-filled when the monsters come out to play.