And so She Speaks... but He is Silent...

A couple weeks ago, my good friend and fellow writer, Jacqueline Roth, posted a blog about Heroines. In her blog she talked about her difficulty writing from a feminine perspective as a romance author. While my own writing spans over several subgenres, I realized something critical during my 2008 NaNoWriMo: I have a hard time writing from a male perspective.

I suppose I have always taken a feminine approach, even to the most dire and brutal situations. The only male character I can recall having had any kind of success with as a writer was the detective in my to-be-published in the March edition of eMuse short story, "Black Velveteen." The thing is, the detective in that story came off somewhat cliche to me, even as the writer... the dime-store bin detective with an angry ex-wife, estranged child, overzealous longing for truth and justice and a voice like Edward James Olmos. In fact, the character himself reminded me very much of Edward Olmos (ironic in a Blade Runner sense,) and that is one of the reasons I stuck by him as a character. Edward James Olmos tends to play gruff, serious characters who stand behind their moral principles no matter how bad things get.

Do you have these types of difficulties as a writer? Do you feel more comfortable creating heroines or heroes? At present I have two unfinished pieces in which the main character is a male. Both of them are less than six months old, but snagged by my present hang up over the proper portrayal of men. Tell me about your experiences, your successes and failures with characters of the opposite and same sex. Do you feel as a writer that this is completely gender related, and is there a way around it?

Now, without further ado, here is a small excerpt from my upcoming eMuse publication:

Black Velveteen

“Cybs.” Velvet’s voice wavered on that one word. “Man is not happy unless he labels everything around him. Labels give him power over things, and without that power. . .” She looked down at her hands. “Without that power he would not be Man. She would not be woman. I would not be as you call me, Cyb.”

The corner of Hank’s tightened mouth twitched toward expression, but he held back his admiration of her observation. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, to try and use his appreciation for her cleverness against him.
“Be that as it may,” he began, “your lack of understanding for human reason and emotion would make it difficult for you to understand violence and its implications if you had not been programmed to.”

“I am not programmed to act or react with violence. That is correct.”

“And yet you murdered a child,” Hank reminded her. “A little girl no more than seven years old.”

Hank’s voice hardened, he heard it himself. He had a daughter once—still really. Her name was Keyana and she had just graduated from college with a Bachelor’s in Philosophy. She hadn’t spoken to Hank in more than seven years because according to her mother he was a bad father and an even worse husband. His ex-wife said he didn’t care, but then he’d let so few people get close enough to tell the truth. He cared. In fact, having a daughter had fine-tuned his misery when it came to cases such as this.

Who Are These People and What Do They Want From Me?

A lot of writers walk around thinking they're insane. After all, we hear voices and sometimes we talk back. We learn to love and appreciate the voices. In some cases we think of ways we can torment them and in others we do everything we can to get them out of jams. In a way, we are like their Gods and Godesses, answering their prayers, meddling in their affairs. We have control over the outcome of their stories, or do we?

It's easy to play the role of divinity in our characters lives, but is that really our purpose? Or are we there to give them an outlet? As often as I would like to think I had control over my characters and what was supposed to happen in their lives, they tend to fight every step of the way when they disagree. Is this because they are art imitating life, or perhaps it's even deeper than that. Maybe we are conduits somehow, tuned into the universe.

It sounds wacky, I know, but sometimes the people in my head seem so real that it frustrates me to no end when they take on a life of their own. I remember a story I was writing years ago in which a teenage character with a mind of her own wanted to kiss her best male friend during summer break. She already had a boyfriend whom she loved very dearly, but the moment and the connection between her and her friend made her react as though she might die if she didn't do exactly what her impulses dictated. I actually felt myself being pulled in that direction, started writing out her wish and then stopped. That was NOT what the story was all about. In fact, there were several stories that followed, stories that had already been written, so I knew for a fact that there was no secret kiss between them and there never would be. But she was adamant. She fought me every step out of that scene and actually refused to "speak" to me for a full day.

There is definitely a strange connection between a writer and her characters. I used to think of myself as their creator, but now I'm not so sure. They certainly come into being with their own agenda, their own names. I've "tried" to name characters, but they always name themselves, and if the name I've chosen at first is wrong, they quickly correct me, lest I not go on writing with any luck at all.

So I ask you, what kind of relationship do you have with your characters? Do they speak to you? Do you hear their voices in your head? When you go against their wants, do they let you know? What kind of role do you see yourself as in their lives? Are you simply the bard spinning their story, or are you the great creator to whom they cling and pray?

A Bad Place to be When Zombies Attack...

So, day two in NaNoWriMo and my current word total is at 3141. I'm not done for the day, but definitely taking a break to do some reading, eat dinner and maybe catch an hour or so of television.

I'm at the early stage of chapter two and things are coming together rather nicely. While the story is written in third-person omniscient, I am mostly focusing on the character of Ryan Greene. Ryan used to be a travel writer, who spent his twenties making a living exploring remote, exotic countries. The more removed from urbanism, the better for Ryan. He's something of a survivalist, and has a degree in cultural anthropology and archeology. He is now the co-host of a television travel show that balances between the remote wonders of the world and their neighboring night life. His co-host is a nightmare. I've only known her for two days and I already hate her guts myself.

It occurred to me as I was writing the introductory scene of chapter two that Ryan hates the city. He's on his way to a network meeting in New York City's Time Square, which is where he'll be when the zombie outbreak takes place. What more awful place could you possibly be when zombies attack than a place that makes you want to break out in hives?

So, as the scene comes together, I keep asking myself if I'm going to be able to hold poor Ryan together. After all, he's going to be the one that has to lead everyone to safety in the end...

I am also intrigued by a secondary character that has sort of stepped into the spotlight. I'm anxious to see how the two characters come together, and can't wait to get them to that point. It should be fun.