Well, that's a wrap...

I generally don't get around to doing these 'year in review' type blog posts, but I'm feeling the need to give a little bit of a glance in the mirror for all that happened during the year. I can safely say that I've been *busy*, which is a good thing – I've had paid work during a time when many creative folks are struggling, and for that I'm insanely grateful to my brilliant clients who've helped me keep the lights on.

While I'm still doing a fair amount of graphic design professionally, this work is gradually moving away from straight-up graphics to more layout work, which is my wheelhouse. I've had the opportunity to do interior layouts and even a little cover design for some fiction projects. I get a real kick in helping authors figure out, step by step, how to get their projects from concept and Word document to a physical object they can hold in their hands. This sort of process never gets old for me.

Fiction editing remains one of my mainstays, and I've had an absolute blast editing not only for my indie authors, but also taking on work for assorted small presses. I firmly believe in charging editing rates that won't break my clients' bank accounts but still brings in enough income to make this worth my time. I love my work, and it makes me so excited to see the books I've worked on toddling out into the world. I've also transitioned to coaching writers privately, something I really enjoy doing, so if you think this year coming that you'd like to give writing a shot, but have no idea where to begin or how to go about this, drop me a mail and let's chat – my rates are entirely reasonable, and I have two decades' experience in the industry to share.

In terms of writing, I've been insanely busy. Work continues apace with The Splintered Fool, a five-book series that I co-authored with Toby Bennett. Book 2 is currently in the layout stage, but you can go pick up book 1, which was a semi-finalist in this year's Self Published Fantasy Blog Off. If epic swords-and-sandals quests with plenty of snark between characters plus absolutely bonkers world building curls your toes, then do go take a look. What has been taking up much of my time is an epic science-fantasy series I've been ghostwriting for my client. It's been a weird mental shift to have someone pay me for my writing – and to show up in terms of consistent output, but it's been incredibly good for my confidence and also developing stamina for this kind of work. I'm currently delivering 7.5k words a week, and if you'd told me I'd manage this a few years ago, I'd never have believed you. Lastly, I'm currently working on a shorter bit of writing for the younger market that I'm intending to translate into Afrikaans for a big writing prize. So, that's something new, a little different, and lots of fun.

Plans for 2025? Honestly, I'm not going to make any wild promises. I'm more interested in continuing on an even keel. That's all I can ask for. For those of you who've supported me, offered encouragement, I thank you. I'm sure we're going to have many 'exciting' things to add to our bingo card for 2025, but let's go into the year with kindness. To ourselves. And others. We're going to need it.

What I've read...

My favourite books for 2024 are a mix of titles I've worked on as well as those I've reviewed or simply read for pleasure. Some are new, having come out in the past year, while others are a little older. I've presented the books in alphabetical order by author.

Inside Your Body There Are Flowers by Diane Awerbuck

Honestly, if you have not yet picked up a copy of this book, you're so missing out. Sadly, I suspect most folks overseas are going to fall in this category as the book is (at time of writing) only available in South Africa. Diane remains one of my favourite local authors, and I may be a little biased as I have in the past edited two of the stories that appear in this collection of hers. Her stories are darkly witty, have a cutting sense of black humour, and seamlessly blend magical realism with the day to day. What is criminal is that this collection of short fiction hasn't been nommed for bunches of literary prizes.

Cassiel's Servant by Jacqueline Carey

I've been meaning to reread Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel's Dart for ages now. The books in that series were hugely influential on me wanting to write darkly lush stories. While Carey's writing remains a known quantity for me, I find it curious how I view her style now that I'm older and have a few novels under my belt. There is much to love here, even if I feel the plot wears a little thin in places. Odd couple Phèdre and Joscelin remain among my favourite pairings, and it was lovely to see a beloved story retold through the eyes of Joscelin. I'd recommend this for those wishing to embark on the rather daunting body of work in this world.

Unconquerable Sun by Kate Elliott

This one came out a while ago, and if it's a measure of how dire my TBR pile is, it's taken me ages to get around to picking it up. I eventually listened to the audiobook version, and it was everything I needed in a fun, action-packed space opera full of twists and turns. This is best described as a gender-bent Alexander the Great in space, and it's chock full of unforgettable characters. Kate's been one of my long-time favourite authors, and her writing is strong on all fronts, especially her world building.

The Last Shield by Cameron Johnston

Whenever I pick up one of Cameron's books, I know I'm going to have a cracking time. And I seem to be on a roll for loving gender-bent books. This one is best described as Die Hard by way of the Bronze Age, with a hard-bitten, older female protagonist who is honestly so over certain men in her line of work as a guard. This is pulpy, fun, and action-packed, with loads of the old ultra-violence. Also, Cameron's one of my favourite people online. 

The Tilted Pentagram by Matthew MacDevette

Righty, so a good while back, the publisher at Mirari Press requested a reader report from me for this book. I was convinced Matt wrote this book with me in mind, because I was practically begging the publisher to let me edit if he contracted this. The premise makes me think a lot of Robert Harris's Fatherland, but in this case the concept asks, "what if the Catholic Church never had its Reformation?" We enter a world of fire-wielding witches, inquisitors, and forbidden magic. I will say no more, but if you're looking for a tense, dark read with a strong female lead, then this one will have you clawing at your chair. Yes, I got to edit this book. Matt is a fantastic author worth keeping an eye out for.

There Are Rivers in the Sky by Elif Shafak

This is possibly one of the cleverest books I've read in a long, long time. Elif effortlessly tells three tales that are woven together so that at first you wonder how they are connected ... until they spin together. I really don't want to spoil this by giving too many details, but I will say that she writes with great compassion about some truly difficult subjects. It's a story about people whose lives are separated by years yet are connected by water, by rivers. It's about history, about the stories we tell, and it's about people saving each other. 

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

I've been promising myself that I'd read this book ever since it came out, and don't cast shade, but this year I finally got around to it. It's epic in scope, verging on Tolkienesque, and I loved the world building immensely. And yes! Dragons! My only complaint is that I feel that Samantha underbaked the ending a wee smidge. Some of the threads could have been developed more. But overall, I'm definitely on board for more of her writing. Characters, setting, world building – it's great! And epic! Definitely scratching my itch for fantasy with a big scope for story.

Remnant by KR Solberg and CR Jacobson

I've been itching for some fresh voices in epic fantasy,  and I'm very excited to have discovered Solberg and Jacobson. Their writing is fresh, the characters are intensely relatable and likeable – and who doesn't love a story about the underdog rebelling against an evil empire. This feels like a massive D&D world that's come to life but in the best of ways. There's a sense of history and place in a gloriously multicultural setting filled with magic and the kinds of bad guys you love to hate. I gave the audiobook a spin, and was immediately sucked in, and I will shamelessly plug this book – plus there's more to come. Some excellent storytelling here.

Bunny by SE Tolsen

I don't read horror nearly as much as I would like to, and while I've seen  my fair share of short horror fiction, it's been a while since I've dipped into a novel-length work. I must congratulate the writing duo behind this book for creating a story that has successfully creeped me the heck out. I never considered that it might be possible to put jump-scares into a work of fiction but they have managed to do so. This is a creepy blend of landscape and cosmic horror with all-too-human darkness – and most certainly deserves the spot in my top ten. Goober is the best boi. 

Waypoint Seven by Xan van Rooyen

Another bit of bias creeping in here because this is one I edited. I am a huge fan of Xan's writing, and if our stars ever align one day, we will hopefully collaborate on a work together as our aesthetics are what I'd consider a perfect match. This is a wonderful queer science-fantasy story that spans solar systems. Found family and friendships are foregrounded here, with hints of a world much broader in scope than what is revealed here. I hope Xan revisits this setting in the future.

Opinion: On Sarah and Jareth

This started out as a FB post but quickly mushroomed, and the thoughts here are, IMO, important for storytellers, so I'm saving them here.

Today's bugaboo which has resulted in a mini blog post. I'm *so* tired of dudes explaining how Labyrinth, with a then-39yo David Bowie and -14yo Jennifer Connelly is basically child p**n in the same vein as Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. Just stop already. I've heard this refrain so many times over the years. 

Labyrinth is NOT Lolita. 

And Connelly's memories of him are good. After his passing, she had this to say: "I think it's very sad, his passing, for so many reasons. To me, not only was he a genius, he was a genius who had the time to be kind. [That] was my experience of him.” 

Here's my hot take: Jareth the Goblin King acts as an animus to Sarah's sexual awakening. And while there was implied sexual tension between the two characters, it was never followed through. 

I always view what happens once Sarah steps over the threshold from our reality into Jareth's labyrinth to be some sort of dream-sequence. She enters a liminal space in which she comes to terms with the fact that she's no longer a child and must soon put away the things of her youth. This is a story about the dawn of sexual awakening. 

Yes, Jareth's age makes one uncomfortable, but I believe it's *meant* to. In the beginning of the story, she externalises her power. 

This line from Jareth is telling: Everything that you wanted I have done. You asked that the child be taken. I took him. You cowered before me, I was frightening. I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for *you*! I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me. Isn't that generous? 

And until she learns her own true will, she is powerless, lost in a labyrinth of her own making, IMO, until she stands up to that mystery presented by Jareth. 

She wins back everything by saying this: Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great... You have no power over me. 

In terms of magical workings, this is pretty awesome stuff, and a film that had a massive impact on me when I watched it as a preteen. It's an initiatory fairy tale that still speaks deeply to me years later, it still has all its resonance, despite the dating of the SFX and soundtrack. 

A short word on stock photography

If there's one thing (of many) that grates my last tit, it's when I see folks using watermarked stock images in their final artwork. This tells me one of two things about said individual – a) You are an idiot who doesn't know better than to steal images for commercial use* or b) You are a cheap-ass twunt.

Photo by sarandy westfall on Unsplash

I understand that you like free stuff. I mean, who doesn't. But with the low cost of some image libraries, especially sites like Deposit Photos (that often run specials, by the way), you can pay as little as $4.90 for an image (or even less, I'm sure). That's the price of two super awesome coffees at some larny coffee joint.

Goshdarnit, and there are sites like Unsplash and Pixabay, where you can find some truly STUNNING visuals absolutely free (for personal and commercial use). All you need to do is sign up and start downloading. Easy peasy. Some sites may ask that you credit the artist. And really, that's not that difficult, is it? Or they may ask you to leave a tip via PayPal. You tip your waiter when you're eating out, don't you?

And there's Freepik too. The majority of their vectors and photos are free, but you can subscribe as a premium user on a month-to-month basis for the princely sum of $9.99 so you can access all the good stuff too. Believe me, it's well worth it, especially if you design piles of social media posts like I do.

When I see someone posting an advert for their product or service, or even a book cover with the watermark badly photoshopped out, I really want to take a pap snoek and slap you upside the head. You have NO excuse. Absolutely NO excuse whatsoever.

I'm not going to get all high and mighty by telling you it's wrong to steal. You're an adult. You should know that by now. If not, then you're part of the reason why the human race is doomed. By using watermarked images as final assets for your campaign or whatever, you're making yourself look like an epic cockwomble. That is all. 

*You are excused if you're using stock images ironically in a meme – my opinion.

Writers' Life: Six Things I Need to Tell You Today

A post I saw on a writers' group this week sparked off a bit of a fat Facebook rant yesterday. I may have upset some people. I'm not apologising either, because these things need to be said. There's a lot of pressure on writers to make a living these days, to work the algorithms with Amazon, Google, whatever. I lurk about a number of writers' groups online, and I hear wonderful stories about some authors who're absolutely creaming it self-publishing. Bully for them. By equal measure, I see many more authors (the vast majority, in fact) who simply cannot fathom why their books aren't moving. Many become heartsick about their careers. Some even give up.

I don't have a silver bullet for you, sorry. But after more than a decade in this business, I am going to offer you some advice that will give you a little perspective, and perhaps even a glimmer of hope.

Burnout is a thing
There is so much pressure to succeed, that I've seen people push themselves to the point where they have nervous breakdowns. Darlin', I was there. I ended up pushing myself to the point where I had a grand mal seizure. Scrambled brains FTW, along with a drinking problem. I ended up in hospital with liver failure due to an adverse reaction I had to anti-convulsants. I used to work a day job in newspaper publishing, then follow up at night as a freelance fiction editor while still trying to write a book a month. I nearly died. Like ferealzies. For many months after my recovery, I could barely write, and this is after I pushed myself to put out 100k words a month. It's not sustainable. You can damage yourself. You can rob yourself of the love of writing. Repeat after me: YOU ARE NOT A MACHINE.

This is not a horse race
So, you see Bob Penworthy gloating over the 7k words he writes every day. Wow. That means he can write a novel in two weeks. AMAZING. But. BUT. You are not Bob. You are not in a race to see who can poop out X amount of words that are somehow going to make you this absolutely brillo writer who's going to be the next Stephen King. Something I say often to writers: It's quality, not quantity. You are not trying to "beat" someone else's career. Let's be realistic here (and yes, I'm going to say something that's going to sound super depressing). Thousands of books are published DAILY. Yours is but a drop in the bucket. Also, with all the books that are remaining in circulation thanks to digital publishing and print-on-demand, titles are not going out of print. That means the bucket is getting bigger and bigger EVERY DAY. Chances of your discoverability grow slimmer EVERY DAY. You're only going to make yourself sick with despair trying to stay ahead of the tide. ENJOY THE PROCESS OF WRITING.

And repeat after me: THIS IS NOT A HORSE RACE.

Pace yourself with achievable goals
Staying along the lines of burnout, and the fact that this is not a race, find daily writing goals that are achievable. Stop worrying about Bob and his 7k words. What can you write that won't make you feel as if you don't have a life. Because, guess what, if you're like most of us who have primary careers that bring in the bread and butter, plus children and other responsibilities, you don't have a helluva lot of time for writing. So set yourself goals that you can keep up in the long term.

Yes, there will be times when you have a deadline – I recently had three months in which to outline, write and revise a 100k-word novel for an open-door submissions period. Guess what? I managed to do so without killing myself by *planning* ahead. I found a rhythm that worked for me, and I also had time to watch films, TV series, hang out with friends, walk the dogs. And do my day job.

Set yourself targets. For some, it may be writing three or four 15-minute writing sprints a day. You'd be amazed by how many words you can manage in 15 unbroken minutes where you're ignoring social media and other distractions. For others, it's that golden hour before work. Or a lunch hour. Or an hour after dinner. Something I found worked for me while I was writing my big novel last year was the Pomodoro Technique. But sometimes also just setting myself a target of writing three, 1k-word sprints throughout the day. But mix and match. Some days you might be absolutely exhausted. Then write a minimum of three pages. And go to fucking bed. Get some rest. This is not a horse race. You might find that you'll catch up the day after. Currently, if I'm up to it, I only write two pages a day. This is because I'm busy with the production of a novella that's releasing at the end of the month. I'm going easy on myself because I want to enjoy the process of writing.

Every writer is different
Stop paying attention to Bob Penworthy. Perhaps he's vomiting out fast-paced thrillers, and he's in his zone. And hells, it might even be working for him. But maybe you want to write a novel set during WWII, and you need time to research, take time to develop your characters and setting. Or you fancy you're the next GRRM. I don't know. Every writer is different. (I was going to say something about precious snowflakes but that term's been so tainted over the years that it doesn't even have the meaning I'd have intended for it.) Your career is YOURS. Your books are YOURS. Sure, so Betty Whiplash writes super BDSM erotica involving werespiders. Bully for her. She brings out a book every three months. But maybe she's got a husband who supports her, so she has time to do so. Or Joe Coffeepot is retired, and he's writing his military adventures. He has the resources to do so, so when he brings out his books, his entire situation has been different, and maybe he's had money to throw at an editor that you didn't have. Every book is different, will have a readership uniquely its own. Find your tribe. Build your own support network, and stop worrying about what Bob Penworthy is doing. It might work for him, but it might not necessarily be right for your career. This is not a zero sum game. Just because Bob's earning a triple-digit figure each month from Amazon doesn't mean he's robbing you. So be happy for him if his pooped-out novels are selling, but don't break your neck trying to emulate him if it's going to lead to you ending up in hospital.

Set aside dedicated time
Don't quit your day job just yet. And don't allow your writing to jeopardise your day job either. (Been there, done that, and had the disciplinary hearing to prove it.) I hear all sorts of stories about writers who take their writing to the office, and some even write those 7k words a day AT WORK. Sure, if you've got absolutely no other work, that's fine. But if you're finding creative ways to hide that Word or Scrivener files behind Excel spreadsheets every time your boss walks past, honey you have a problem. Ask yourself this: How focused are you on your actual writing if you're trying to divide your attention between working out a budget or doing a report ... and getting into a writing zone? This goes back to my earlier pointer of setting yourself achievable goals, and being focused on your writing. I can write fast, like the best of them. Hells, I can poop out 2k words in an hour if I'm in the zone. So if you're pooping out 7k words a day at the office, let's be realistic ... you're spending maybe half your work day on your own personal writing ... and either you're neglecting your day job or, even worse, you're being unfair to colleagues (and employers) who have to pick up your slack. Don't be a douchebag.

For sure, maybe write during lunch. Or if you *honestly* don't have other work. But don't put your ability to keep a roof over your head (and by default have a space for your writing) by taking the piss at the office.

Good books take time
This should be a no-brainer. Digital publishing has made it SUPER easy to put out books. Hells, it's ridiculously simple these days to publish a book. But ... NO book is ready to be published after you've typed 'the end' on the first draft. Allow your book to lie fallow for a while in your hard drive. Give it one or two editing passes BEFORE you send it on to your beta readers. Maybe even give it a three-month break before you start serious structural edits. If you can afford an editor, that's absolutely brilliant. Don't be afraid to take all the time you need to unpick the threads and revise. A savvy writer will have more than one manuscript at various stages of development, so that they perhaps have one first draft they're crafting, a book mellowing on a hard drive, a book with betas... a book they're outlining... One that's out on the query mill if you're busy looking for literary agents.  Some books take years before they're ready. It's easy to poop out a book, but to truly craft a story, where you've been able to take a step back to look at it with fresh eyes, to be unafraid to make necessary changes ... now that takes time. And sometimes time means all the difference between a hastily cobbled-together document riddled with sub-par syntax and typos, vs a polished masterwork you can be proud of for years to come.

On water security, and attitude

I had a long conversation with my mom yesterday, and of course the topic of water came up with Cape Town's current water crisis. My mom grew up during WWII. Her father was a farmer in Hout Bay on the farm Kronendal. They grew veggies, like carrots, tomatoes, cabbages and such. It wasn't an easy life, and from a young age, she was expected to work the same as the adults – both during harvest time and domestic chores. As the daughter of the household, it was expected of her to do her share of the housework, which included doing laundry, and as she grew older, and her mom went back to work as a nurse, my mom took on even more of the work.

Her father didn't want her to finish school. He didn't see the point of a woman getting an education. After all, he didn't get a matric and he was doing just fine. But my mom fought to get her matric. On top of her household work, she worked in the store that my grand-aunt ran. And then she still had to make time to study, and she eventually obtained her teaching certificate. This is her attitude, which I understand today has greatly influenced how I approach my life.

My mom had to fetch water from a tap outside. This water came from a spring high up on the mountain (so it was untreated). The Hout Bay farming community was very strict about how they maintained that catchment area, as this precious water served several households in the valley. No one was allowed to build or farm in the catchment area. They only got municipal water when my mom was 12. Water that was treated and piped in from Cape Town. So, my mom knows all about how to make do without piped water.

I think of all my fellow South Africans who, in this day and age, STILL don't have access to basic water and sanitation, and I understand implicitly that I, as a member of a privileged middle class, have had it easy. And as they say, 'n boer maak 'n plan (a farmer makes a plan). I am fortunate in that I do have the resources available to make this time a little easier, and where I can, I will reach out to others in my community who are not so fortunate (be it that they might need someone to fetch water for them, or find ways in which I, as an able-bodied adult, may assist them).

I'm not saying it's right that our government has failed us in terms of water security. You are allowed to be angry and afraid, because we're entering a time of great uncertainty. But use those emotions as fuel to affect change around you. We need to change our attitudes to water. It is a scarce resource in a drought-stricken country. We need to cherish our natural water resources – respect them for they are fragile and precious. We need to look around us for opportunities, such as rainwater harvesting. We need to examine our use of waste water, and where we ourselves may be wasting water unnecessarily.

Whether you believe in a god or not, is not the point. It's easy to sink to our knees and pray, but it takes hard work and courage to get to our feet and help each other. I'd like to think that if there is some sort of god, it would prefer to see its children taking responsibility for their own welfare. That is why we have free will, no? Blaming idiot politicians is easy. We have all the proof that they fucked up, and that some of them are blaming us for wasting water, as if that will absolve them of the fact that they didn't take action sooner. But what can *we* do in the meantime?

I am my mother's daughter, and I don't kneel.

Why the reader isn't always right

The other day, someone threw back at me the idea that a reader can use whatever criteria they like when evaluating a work of fiction. They're right, of course, but I'm also going to call bollocks on this statement.

I can take any written work, be it the Bible or Fifty Shades of Grey, and I can read the book any way I want to. I can choose to see either of those titles as the product of a raving lunatic or an expression of pure genius. I might be wrong. I might be right. It all depends on who I am and what my values are.

The Dark Tower movie might fail the Bechdel Test miserably, in my opinion, but I can't use that as the sole criteria to evaluate whether I think it's a good film (or not). (Or even whether it's a half-decent adaption of a Stephen King novel.)

But you see what the problem is here. We're not coming to any objective conclusion as to whether a work has any literary merit whatsoever. How are we evaluating a work?

Welcome to cultural relativism, where everyone's opinion is equally valid and we are incapable of gauging whether a cultural object is ... well ... good.

Before we go haring off into the hinterlands, let's just look at communication. Books are communication. You've got the author, the cultural environment in which the book happens to be published, and you've got the reader.

We'll never know what's really going on in an author's head when they write their masterpiece, but sometimes they'll be interviewed or we'll have access to their journal, or there will be some indication as to what the author's intention was when they were creating a particular work. So, I guess what I'm saying, is keep it in mind that the author may have had particular intentions when they wrote their story, be it to purely entertain or perhaps function as a way to convey opinions. A romance author might intend her story to evoke the feelings of falling in love while a literary author might wish to challenge her readers' opinions about something or the other.

Now a book doesn't just float around in a vacuum. It often relates to other media, is perhaps created in response to or borrows from other texts. (This is called intertextuality, a kind of interplay and understanding of the relationships that happen between works.) Look at Neil Gaiman's The Sandman comics – they discuss and comment upon the huge body of works in comic book culture and, by default, human culture at large. [You can read The Sandman without knowing much about comics, but the experience is going to be so much richer if you do have that background.] So you'd also look at when a book was published, and who published it. You will look at its content in context with other examples of media. You will try to understand a work's relation to all these. So, in essence, you'll look at the bigger picture to give you an idea of where the work fits.

Ask yourself this: Would a novel like Lolita by Viktor Nabokov be published today? Why not?

Now, let's get to the reader. That's you. You don't know what the hell the author was thinking when he wrote the bloody book. Your cultural milieu might be vastly different from that of old Mr Nabokov. Or you might simply never have read enough in a particular genre to gain an understanding of its intertextuality. And now you're reviewing a book. Let's make it a romance novel. A nice, bodice-ripping, breeches-busting rompetty-pompetty. You've never read this sort of novel before. You've only ever read literary novels that are completely embedded with nuance and metaphor, where there're rich, profound cultural references and ideas that make you gaze off into the middle distance pondering the nature of reality.

What's your first reaction?

To be honest, I wouldn't blame you if you tossed that high-octane romance novel across the room so fast it broke the sound barrier. Here's the deal, and it's going to save you a lot of heartache in the future. Evaluate a novel without putting yourself into it, without using your likes/dislikes as the sole barometer as to whether a work is good.

In literary criticism terms, this is when you judge a book based on your own emotions (they call it the affective fallacy and that's all fancy-like). So, you think a character is junk and therefore because you don't like the character, the entire novel is now rubbish. You don't like talking rabbits? Well, that's not the only reason why Watership Down sucks*, is it? What if the author had never intended for a character to be likeable in the first place? Can you see what I'm getting at here? You didn't like the book because there was just sex in it? In fact, more sex than plot? And we all know that only stupid people read sex books, amiright? [That was sarcasm, BTW] Well, how does it compare to other erotica out there? Is it a pulpy small press novel meant to be devoured in one sitting by readers who want to get their panties all squishy and stuck up their butt cracks? You cannot compare this novel to Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace. For the love of fuck, please don't. They're not even remotely the same beasts. You do yourself a disservice if you do.

So, what can you, as a reader do?

Firstly, read widely and read outside of your chosen genres. Read novels that are considered classics. Maybe take time to read according to theme – like 19th-century Irish authors or the beat poets. Find out what makes the cut-up technique rock. [Fuck it, go read William Burroughs.] Then go read a proper Gothic novel, like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Try to paint a broader picture of literature. How does JRR Tolkien compare to Michael Moorcock? Don't just stay in your comfort zone because you're scared of big words. Hell, peaches, there's an entire interwebz out there. Improve your Google-fu if there're ideas or terminology that challenge you. Also, go read reviews for some of these novels. Ask yourself why you agree or disagree with what some of the reviewers say. Try to figure out why someone would come to a particular conclusion.

That's not to say you shouldn't read the books you love. Hell, I always have at least one epic fantasy novel's spine cracked at any given moment. But I do try to read stuff I wouldn't ordinarily dip into, like children's novels, dubcon erotica, military SF, classics, Afrikaans literature, historical...

Understand, mostly, that you have personal likes/dislikes that mean you'll never like a particular type of book. Hell, I'm not advocating that you suddenly develop a passion for political thrillers, but at least understand why a particular political thriller works as a piece of literature (good pacing, strong characterisation) as opposed to another book within the same genre that is poorly written and filled with cliché-ridden characters. Understand why a romance novel may be excellent within its genre even though you're not going to hold it up next to an intense literary masterwork.

I may loathe JM Coetzee's Disgrace with the fury of a thousand rabid camels, but I cannot deny that it's an excellent work of literature, for various reasons that I'm not going to go into now because they'll probably bore us both to tears. I'd sooner get my jollies reading the next Mark Lawrence, in any case. (However I have an idea what books Mr Lawrence has been reading, based on educated guesses related to intertextuality, which makes me quietly smile as I turn those pages.)

So, get to know all sorts of genres. Gain an understanding of what the objective values are that make good literature and how that varies between genres. When you evaluate, keep that bigger picture in mind. Look at the technical and aesthetic reasons why a particular work may be successful (or not), and go from there.

A book isn't just rubbish or a paragon of literary greatness. There are reasons why, and they're often way beyond your own personal likes and dislikes. Granted, you can use your own criteria as a guide, but try to dig a little deeper than, "I think Mr Joe is a horrible person and this book is sucks great big hairy bollocks."

In fact, what you hate about a novel often says a lot more about you than it does about the stupid sod who wrote the blighted thing. Just keep that at the back of mind when you start putting on the hate.



* Okay, I don't think Watership Down sucks, but some people might. In fact, I've cried every time I watched the fucking movie, okay? I just have to hear the song "Bright Eyes" and the waterworks begins.

Into the Labyrinth...

I've watched Labyrinth, the Jim Henson film starring David Bowie as the immortal Jareth the Goblin King, exactly three times, and each time I've gotten something a little different from it. And yes, it's one of *those* films that are on my list of "movies that stuck with me".

Pictures: IMDB

I first watched the film when it released here in South Africa on the big screen, which would have been about six months to a year after its foreign release (thank you, apartheid-era government for the sanctions that meant we were perpetually behind everything happening elsewhere in the world). It would have been around 1987 (Labyrinth having released in 1986 in the US and elsewhere). Which meant I was nine or thereabouts, that deliciously awkward age when you're not a little kiddo anymore but you're not quite a preteen yet, and you're only just figuring out that you don't quite fit in anywhere.

I identified with Sarah (Jennifer Connelly), and Jareth scared the ever-loving crap out of me. For various reasons—that I'll go into. At the time, the SFX and puppetry was the top of its game for the film industry. Directors had to work around the limitations of technology, which in my mind led to some brilliant solutions (despite crappy blue screens). And there was an artistry to the film, and attention to detail with the sets that you rarely see with fantasy films these day (okay, maybe LotR et al). But there would be no convincing fire-breathing dragons, if you get my drift... A lot is suggested, left up to the imagination, or requires you to suspend disbelief when looking at a puppet and *not* thinking about the person behind (or inside) it making it come alive. Sets look like they've been set up on stage, and somehow the lack of realism didn't bother me as much back then as it kinda does now. (Horribly spoilt by CGI, I know.) Yet the artistry is undeniable, even if there is glitter EVERYWHERE.

Fast forward ten years... And I watched the film again, this time at the height of my gothness, with my then gothboy. And Labyrinth just fell flat. Okay, the what-the-fuckery of the musical interludes had dated horribly, and truth be told, the film would have been much stronger if some scenes had simply been cut (like those red, head-tossing, badly blue-screened puppets in the swamp). And I mean those tight pants. That left nothing to the imagination. And the bits that jiggled. Just as mesmerising and cringe-worthy as the first time I watched the film. What. The. Fuck. David Bowie.

When I was 19, I lost the ability to love the film. For me back then it was a steaming pile of what-the-fuckery. Also, I admit freely that I took myself waaay too seriously. After all, I had an image to uphold and MY GOD the 80s hairstyles, music... Too much.

I watched the film now, at the not-so-tender age of 39. Okay, I see what just happened. But I smiled, I laughed, and indulged.

Labyrinth has been on my mind a lot. A while back I read this article, which kinda stuck with me. Why is it that despite its glorious what-the-fuckery, this film has remained one that I can say with all honesty is part of my childhood? A film that I will often mention as being important, along with dreadful yet fabulous creations like Highlander, The Crow, Ladyhawke, and The Neverending Story, that I will reminisce about often. What does this film say about me and my particular world view? Is it that the context of the film is also important?

I admit that I'm busy writing a fic that's a crossover with another fandom I love, so I have particular reasons for revisiting Labyrinth. I even bought the 30-year anniversary novelisation of the film. (It's an okay read so far – not brilliant but fair.) I really feel like I need to wrap my head around the core themes and lore, because they're important (to me) on a meta level, if I'm going to cut to the quick of all my pondering.

The first thing that struck me with the rewatch was the awkward nature of the May/December relationship between 15-year-old Sarah and the ageless yet not-quite-young Jareth, who gives me the impression of ancient power that's stagnant, decaying even compared to the flush of Sarah's youth and her possible limitless potential. The sexual tension between the two is implied, never realised (this is kinda a children's film after all). Even at age nine I was aware of this dynamic between the two, especially the taboo nature of the possibility of the thing that is implied. That in itself was frightening. And somehow something to be anticipated too in my own future. This was especially clear later when Sarah finds herself immersed in a masked ball, garbed in a rather bridal white gown and she has her dance with Jareth. Near the end, though she has had help from her friends to reach the castle, she is clear that facing Jareth is something she needs to do on her own.

We need to admit that yes, teens are on the cusp of adulthood, so they will be confronting that change from childhood to adulthood. There is something altogether predatory about Jareth, yet at the same time Sarah *does* offer us a realisation of her own incipient feminine power. There is a shift in power happening here.

Yet there's another subtext to the film that, when viewed in the light of current norms, is decidedly *uncomfortable* – let's talk about that peach. My first thought was of the Wicked Queen offering Snow White that poison apple. In a similar fashion, the peach Jareth offers Sarah renders her insensible; she is diverted from her mission to rescue her baby brother Toby (even though it is her fault he was taken in the first place) and is horribly distracted by that decadent masked ball where she has her dance with Jareth. Cinderella much? A peach can symbolise many things, but some of the more common ones in Western mythology would be purity, innocence and yes, virginity. Later, when Sarah examines the peach after she's bitten into it, she finds that its heart is rotten and filled with worms. Yet a peach is also a symbol of the heart, and thereby desire. Jareth distracts Sarah by offering her what she *thinks* she desires. When she breaks from the spell of the masked ball, she's in a rubble heap where the inhabitants try to weigh her down with her past—the items she thinks may be important to her.

The common theme in the labyrinth is that nothing should be taken for granted; nothing is what it seems (think the Cleaners in the tunnels, that are all scary blades from the front but are revealed to be a mechanism powered by goblins from behind, or the fearsome gate guardian at the Goblin City which is just a giant mech powered by a little goblin in a cockpit that is easily overthrown once his identity is uncovered). The beauty Jareth offers hides a rotten core, and partaking of what he gives sickens one, draws you from your path. It's a wee bit like popping roofies into your date's drink too... Though I think this last was *possibly* not Jim Henson's intention, and it makes more sense that he's referencing the Snow White story.

But I'll echo here what was said over on the Smart Bitches, Trashy Books blog when they have a pull quote from the film's dialogue:

"Everything that you wanted I have done. You asked that the child be taken. I took him. You cowered before me, I was frightening. I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for *you*! I am exhausted from living up to your expectations. Isn’t that generous?…I ask for so little. Just fear me. Love me. Do as I ask, and I shall be your slave."

Jareth grants desires, and it's typical of faerie lore: Beware of what you ask. There is an interchange of power happening when Jareth takes on the aspects of Sarah's fears and desires, and the dance between the two (yes, I think the image of a masked ball was entirely intentional) is a subtle interplay of their coming together as polar opposites. Jareth is Sarah's animus. That's if we're going to get all Jungian. He exists because of her and for her in order to facilitate her own individuation. Okay. Enough big words.

I often feel that the animus is a useful way to explain our perennial fascination with the bad boy in literature, film and games. The anti-hero, villain, bad-boy protagonist all represent the wilder parts of ourselves that we wish to redeem, to assimilate into ourselves. They exist on the outskirts and are not afraid to push boundaries, to do the things that we fear, and for that we both love and loathe for they challenge our status quo. Fear and fascination often go hand in hand.

Picture: Pixabay

Our relationship with fear is important. It keeps us from being too comfortable. Jareth offers Sarah a glimpse into a world where her wildest fantasy—that there is some Goblin King who will shake the foundations of her world and grant her deepest desires exists. And, like many stories where wishes are granted, we don't always think these desires through. We don't always consider the outcomes of our wishes.

Toby is a responsibility that is laid on Sarah. She resents her brother, but she clearly loves the little interloper. Which older sibling hasn't felt that a younger brother or sister hasn't diminished the love and resources a parent lavishes on their offspring? She has to face the truth that she needs to become independent, which isn't an easy transition to make.

Another thought...

It's no accident either that Jareth transforms into an owl, a bird often associated with ill omen. Yet sometimes also with with wisdom, of a being that can see at night. It is both harbinger of doom and guardian in the deepest night. And in that, I think it's a perfect choice for our Goblin King. I'm also reminded of Rothbart, the evil sorcerer in the ballet Swan Lake, who transforms into an owl. It's also no surprise that when Sarah eventually comes into her own, Jareth is the one rendered powerless, and returns to his bird form. (You have no power over me.)

Sarah often cries out about how things are not fair, and as an older viewer, I can look at her situation and understand her confusion. She's not quite a child anymore, yet she is increasingly saddled with grown-up responsibilities, which she resents. Part of her journey through Jareth's labyrinth is accepting that burden (she insists on facing Jareth on her own, and rightly so). She is a lovely protagonist, in that we see her change, grow into herself. This change is perfectly represented by her attitude when she returns after defeating Jareth. Not only does she give Toby the bear Lancelot, a toy that she cherished so much and was the McGuffin that sparked her initial, ill-considered wish to have the Goblin King take that child away from her, but she packs away the artefacts of her past that were holding her back (the pictures of her absent mother, the music box, toys). She is ready to be the young woman she has grown into.

And yet, when she glances at her reflection in the mirror, and sees the friends she has made along the way (Ludo, Hoggle, Sir Didymus). She can see them in the mirror (illusion) but when she turns to look into her bedroom, they are not there. They are saying goodbye (yet another allusion to the end of childhood). In many stories, this would be it, the end of that make-believe, magical world of childhood and the sincerity of the friendships that are formed then. But instead of making the final cut, Sarah does not let go of that sense of wonder. She will grow up, but unlike many adults, she holds onto the magic of her youth. And that, my friends, is a lesson we can all learn.

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Hot, quick tips to be a BS detector

Of late I find myself getting into a bit of a frothy when folks share sensationalist BS and hoaxes via social media. Seriously, folks, there is already so much garbage out there, you *don't* need to add to the pile. However, something else I've realised is that many folks don't stop and think before they share nor do they possess the skills to tell when they're (sometimes) unwittingly sharing garbage. So, here are my hot, quick tips to help guide you.

VERIFY YOUR SOURCES
Recently an unidentified voice message was doing the round on the community WhatsApp groups, where a chap was mouthing off a currently popular conspiracy theory. I immediately smelled a rat. Why? The guy did not identify who he was nor who he represented (always a warning bell). Nor could he back up any of his so-called facts with actual names and dates. So here's the deal, see what the source of your information is. If it's not an official news site or authority within the field then for the love of dog, don't share the information.

Here's an example: someone claims that a spate of fires in a region are being started by arsonists with political motivations. If that someone isn't the police, the official spokesperson of your local Fire & Rescue or a credible news source (like your local daily paper) then it's probably some idiot trying to get everyone all wound up with his fear-mongering. Avoid! Don't share! Don't pay attention to this!

CHECK YOUR EMOTIONS
How do you feel after you've read or listened to the supposed "news"? Are you angrier than usual? Do you feel like you want to go and punch someone? If so, then there's a very good chance that that particular snippet of "news" has been created specifically for that purpose – to get you all GRRRRR riled up and emotional. People who're all GRRRRR are known for making poor decisions. You're being manipulated. Take a step back. Take a breath. Go look for other news sources to compare to the one you've just read. Look at the language usage. See which one is offering a more measured response.

CONSPIRACY!
We all know that there are loads of wingnuts and Flat Earthers out there who believe in chemtrails and Reptilians and all manner of really crazy stuff. And they will try to get others to share in their cray-cray by the way that they share their information. Remember this: every weird hoax doing the rounds has a little grain of truth. This is what makes it so appealing for us. We don't like situations that are difficult to explain. We want to have order in our lives, to be able to say that ABC is the reason for XYZ.

First off, it's okay that we don't have all the answers. It's okay to say "I don't know" and spend time looking for a solution ourselves or waiting for the experts to deliver a report. Remember also that all that fake news and the clever hoaxes out there pander to our own biases. So when you read a story that makes you go hmmmm, first check with yourself.

For instance, if you're religious, you're less likely to question the authority of your local pastor or imam. However your religious leader is also just human, and is himself prone to fallacies.

So, check your biases before you go off on a half-cocked tangent. If something sounds unbelievable or just plain odd, go ask the experts. Phone your local police station, speak to a medical doctor, or your city or town's helpline. Or, if you are faced with strange advice (the most recent one being folks claiming that little bags of water taped to windows repel flies), go check it out on Snopes.com. HOAX-SLAYER is also a fantastic site, among others.

You really have no excuse. Google is your friend. Question everything and go do your research before you share misinformation.

A response to Laurie Gough on self-pub vs. traditional

Let's unpack some faulty logic and bad journalism, shall we? And it's that tired old debate of traditional publishing vs. self-publishing, according to people who have absolutely no idea about what's actually happening in the industry.

Referring to this article over at Huffington Post by Laurie Gough, who clearly cannot tell op ed apart from authentic journalism. (But then again, since HP doesn't pay their writers, this level of subpar work is hardly a surprise, is it?)

I'd rather share a cabin on a Disney cruise with Donald Trump than self-publish.

Wow, lady, you really have no idea what self-publishing entails if this hyperbole is all you can resort to.

To get a book published in the traditional way, and for people to actually respect it and want to read it—you have to go through the gatekeepers of agents, publishers, editors, national and international reviewers. These gatekeepers are assessing whether or not your work is any good. Readers expect books to have passed through all the gates, to be vetted by professionals. This system doesn’t always work out perfectly, but it’s the best system we have.

Yes, and have you walked into a bookshop lately and seen the unrelenting piles of steaming shit that traditional publishers also bring out because Author! Big name!!! As a book reviewer I have seen some truly cringe-worthy gobshite that's barely been edited. Brought out by supposed gatekeepers that must've been high on crack at the time they okayed those contracts.

Good writers only become good because they’ve undertaken an apprenticeship. The craft of writing is a life’s work. It takes at least a decade to become a decent writer, tens of thousands of hours. Your favourite authors might have spent years writing works that were rejected. But if a writer is serious about her craft, she’ll keep working at it, year after year. At the end of her self-imposed apprenticeship, she’ll be relieved that her first works were rejected because only now can she see how bad they were.

I don't deny that becoming a good writer takes years of work but have you considered how many fucking amazing authors have successful careers now that they have gone hybrid? To wait for validation if you already have an objectively good idea of what makes good fiction will be the death knell to your writing.

The problem with self-publishing is that it requires zero gatekeepers. From what I’ve seen of it, self-publishing is an insult to the written word, the craft of writing, and the tradition of literature. As an editor, I’ve tackled trying to edit the very worst writing that people plan on self-publishing just because they can.

Have you *read* any self-published books? I will concede by saying that you may have to wade through a bit more dreck - but of late, some of the self-published works I've enjoyed have been as good (if not better) than some of their traditionally published brethren (where all the publisher appeared to care about was Big! Name author!! that would sell copies).

By the way, your ham-fisted examples were not even the slightest bit ridiculous or apt. Terry Pratchett has more humour in his little finger than you, darling. Compare apples to apples if you wish to be relevant. Oh wait, you were intending to fall back on humour to hide the fact that your piece was not even substantiated with more than a few vox pop opinions from people I've never heard of.

I have nothing against people who want to self-publish, especially if they’re elderly. Perhaps they want to write their life story and have no time to learn how to write well enough to be published traditionally. It makes a great gift for their grandchildren. But self-publishing needs to be labelled as such. The only similarity between published and self-published books is they each have words on pages inside a cover. The similarities end there. And every single self-published book I’ve tried to read has shown me exactly why the person had to resort to self-publishing. These people haven’t taken the decade, or in many cases even six months, to learn the very basics of writing, such as ‘show, don’t tell,’ or how to create a scene, or that clichés not only kill writing but bludgeon it with a sledgehammer. Sometimes they don’t even know grammar.

Darling, I have edited some traditionally published authors and let me tell you, I have seen their prose in only its knickers, and if you think that being traditionally published automatically means that an author has ascended to lofty heights, you are quite delusional. And yet I've encountered self-published authors whose self-editing skills leave many in the dust. Your simplistic generalisations suggest that you have absolutely no idea about what you're attempting to write about.

Writing is hard work, but the act of writing can also be thrilling, enriching your life beyond reason when you know you’re finally nailing a certain feeling with the perfect verb. It might take a long time to find that perfect verb. But that’s how art works. Writing is an art deserving our esteem. It shouldn’t be something that you can take up as a hobby one afternoon and a month later, key in your credit card number to CreateSpace or Kindle Direct Publishing before sitting back waiting for a stack of books to arrive at your door.

Lastly, has it even occurred to you that people write for different reasons, and all are equally valid. Sometimes an elderly lady wants to merely write her memoirs. Sometimes that young man wants to write a novella where he explores his existential angst. Maybe that middle-aged woman wants to explore her fantasies in a time-travelling bodice ripper. Disdain all you want but no one is holding a gun to your head forcing you to read anything. We should be grateful we live in an era where any and all who are so inclined are able to express themselves.

Writing action into erotic stories by Cari Silverwood

Today I hand over my blog to my wonderfully wicked author Cari Silverwood with whom I've walked a long path indeed. Welcome, Cari, and play nicely with my readers, okay?

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Writing action into erotic stories.

Or should that be, writing sex into action stories? Whichever it is, the two of them need to be essential for the story or they shouldn’t be there.

The best scenes are ones that drive the story onward, ramp up the tension, the conflict, the mystery, or whichever collection of words you like to use to describe what you do to haul the reader through the story by their eyeballs, making them frantically flip the pages so fast their fingers risk decapitation from paper cuts or strange electronic zappification, thence leaving a blood trail across the landscape of their kindle. Kindles are blood proof, aren’t they?

Gore is good.

If it’s an erotic story at heart, the sexual relationship is the main drive, and should therefore be the final part of the plot that is wrapped up in a nice neat bow. If it’s an action story when you strip it back to its core, the action plot should be resolved last. Those are rules, but I guess rules can always be broken, just know what you’re doing or your readers may feel unfulfilled.

Sex gets a bad rap from some fantasy or scifi readers and writers. Though happy to arouse voyeuristic thrills by murdering an entire kingdom of warriors, and wizards, with blood and brains spurting to the heavens or perhaps repainting the hull of Spaceforger 309 a motley purple (alien blood, see), some writers think the emotions associated with arousal are lesser in some way. It’s as if describing an axe whistling through the air and cleaving skulls is so much more technical than a cock plunging into whatever it plunges into. Keeping it clean here.

Not so, I would argue. To me, writing action scenes is very akin to writing sex scenes. If you’re reading this you possibly agree with me anyway.

If you don’t agree with me? I probably can’t convince you. It all depends on individual taste, and many people dislike gory violence in stories. Others dislike sex in books. Not I. Adding battle scenes and action to my erotic books is what keeps me writing.

Here’s an excerpt that segues from one to the other. For me, it’s best when the sex directly affects the action and, in this story, mating with their alien lover enhances the magic the women possess, and so it affects how well they can fight the enemy.

This is a practice fight scene from DEFILER, Preyfinders #3.

Her flight was a rapid parabola curving to wall and back in, with a somersault and a spin to confuse Brask’s aim. The force when she hit him surprised even her and he thunked backward with her on top of him and the sword point diving toward his neck with her full weight behind it.

At the last microsecond, Brask batted it away. The sword flew sideways and stuck into the upholstery of a chair, yards away to the side.

A second later, it was back in her hand. Gaping, still straddling Brask’s stomach, she stared at the blade. How?

Then he hauled her down and kissed her.

The impact went through her like a flight of slow-motion doves. Bliss. Everything shut down except an awareness of him beneath her and his lips on hers. His hand was at the back of her head and he threaded his fingers through her hair, gathering more in his fist to pull her even closer. To keep her still.

But she wasn’t going anywhere.

The kiss lasted forever, or it seemed so. While they kissed she lived only that moment, the press on her skin, the heat, the parting to allow his tongue inside her. When his lips left hers she was struck by the loss. She kept her eyes shut, reliving what had happened even though his breathing was still so close, inches away, warming her face.

And as he breathed, she rose and fell. Her thighs were spread. She was vulnerable, despite her position above.

She opened her eyes.

He looked up at her, smiling, with his fingers still tight in her hair, pulling on her scalp.

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Cari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night. She has an ornery nature as well as a lethal curiosity that makes her want to upend plots and see what falls out when you shake them. When others are writing bad men doing bad things, you may find her writing good men who accidentally on purpose fall into the abyss and come out with their morals twisted in knots.

This might be because she comes from the land down under, Australia, or it could be her excessive consumption of wine.

Her favorite hobby is convincing people she has a basement...though she really doesn’t. Promise. If it existed it would be a terrifying place where you would find all the dangerous things that you never knew you craved.

The State of the Writing Thing

There's a lot going on in the publishing industry at the moment, and when I look at the traditional presses, I feel only one thing: despair. Recently, I attended a South African literary festival that had a pop-up shop. The most prominently displayed books that apparently *everyone* was talking about were roughly divided across the politics and celebrity crime topics. Nelson Mandela's autobiography stood cheek by jowl with Oscar Pistorius ... Actually, a whole passel of books about the crime. [YAWNS] And if my memory serves me correct, there were a few other real-life political and legal "thrillers" there too. By that time, however, my eyes had glazed over.

Today I saw that a certain author whose BDSM trilogy, which had started life as fanfiction, but after a little dentistry to remove fangs and be presented as another beast entirely, has just announced the release of a regurgitation the story from the love interest's point of view. I felt only one thing: despair.

I review books. I'm one of those reviewers who gives indie press and author-published works a chance, and I can assure you there are more gems hidden among the dross there – provided you are willing to dig a little, that is, and overlook the odd typo or dropped word.

Eventually Nerine did see her books in print.

Which now brings me to my own writing. The past decade has been interesting. I first tried to write short stories. They were... less than successful. I see that now and fully understand why I could paper my entire bedroom wall with rejection slips received so many form rejections. But I got better. I started a writers' group (that is still going), and I practised and practised and practised.

When a good writer friend of mine said harsh things about my writing, I didn't burn her with fire curl up and die in a corner, I applied what I'd learnt to the next draft. Eventually I sold my first novel. Granted, it was to an indie press, but there I had a brilliant editor, who taught me so much about how to approach the editing process. She also helped prune away those bad habits.

I worked hard over the next few years. There were some successes. There were still many more rejections. But the fact was that every time I had one of those successes, I climbed that mountain a little further. Found yet another false summit to surpass, and continue working.

Yet now I've reached the point where I don't see a way forward anymore. The industry in general is so fixated on producing what it *thinks* will sell, that I see so many brilliant voices who've been travelling with me, go unsung or relegated to the backwaters while books that pander to trends or get overhyped for whatever reason, get all the limelight. (The good books are invariably on the bottom shelf.)

And now I sound like a hard-done-by creep.

But jawellnofine, I guess I'm just tired of trying. At this moment in time I'm finding it really hard to summon excitement for my writing when I see what I'm up against, that the good books by awesome authors that I love, get relegated to that bottom shelf.

I'm honest. My stories are strange. They'll only ever appeal to a small circle of rabid readers because the subject matter doesn't conform to what the general consensus wants. (And if I look at what the general consensus laps up, I despair, in any case).

So, I'm going to talk to any authors who feel like I do right now. Writing needs to be fun again. What got you writing in the first place? Write stories for yourself. Case in point: the stories I've been writing for Storm Constantine's Wraeththu Mythos for inclusion in her anthologies have been a breath of life for my writing. It's gotten me writing fanfiction again, which I did this Saturday when I could no longer work and didn't feel like watching telly. I've been reading fanfiction, and seeing how the authors just ENJOY their art and simply TELL STORIES. They don't do this for any expectations other than to entertain. It was good to be reminded of that again. Writing is fun.

And my writing? My novel, The Company of Birds, is probably never going to be of interest to the bigger publishers. I'm not losing sleep over it either. I'm writing this story because it has elements in it that *I* want to read. I'm not stressed about publishing it, because I know that it has a home with one of my publishers, should the agent query mill not succeed. Basically, I've stopped caring about trying to live up to the expectations. I'm writing this story because it makes *me* happy, and if it makes *me* happy, then there are chances it might please a few of my readers.

I'm not doing this for the money. I already have a day job, on top of freelance editing and writing that together bring in more money than my fiction ever has supplied. I'm okay with that. It means that I'm not under any pressure to conform to anyone's expectations but my own.

And that's something that I needed to remind myself of today.

The Road to Mecca – an essay

A quick note... The following is an essay I wrote for my English literature module at university. We had to discuss the character Marius Byleveld from the Athol Fugard play The Road to Mecca, which is based on the life of outsider artist Helen Martins, creator of the Owl House. I thought I'd share, specifically if there are other students or interested parties who might benefit from having my thoughts available. 

The Camel Yard, Owl House
Picture: Robin Tweedie / Wiki Commons

At a glance, the character Marius Byleveld in Athol Fugard’s play The Road to Mecca, is not a sympathetic character, yet on closer reading, he is revealed to be an individual who displays surprising depth tempered by the tragedy of the socio-historical factors he is unable to transcend. 

To understand the man, we need to grasp his position among the people he serves. As dominee of the village of Nieu Bethesda, Marius is an important member of a highly conservative community. In that regard, people look up to him, and he is under a fair amount of pressure to maintain high standards and function as the spiritual and moral pillar of this community. It is also clear that he takes his work seriously and is hyper conscious about what he considers his Christian duty, even if it results in actions that might be viewed as authoritarian from a more liberal point of view. As a religious leader, he must display only exemplary behaviour according to the norms of the time, perhaps even at the cost of his own happiness.

This is borne out by his attitude towards Helen’s predicament, when he says, “We can’t tell you what to do. But if you want us to stop caring about what happens to you, we can try… though I don’t know how our Christian consciences would allow us to do that.” (Fugard: 60)

He speaks for the community, but in a way, perhaps, it can also be construed that he uses his position as a community leader who expresses what a community feels, as a front behind which he hides his true feelings, consciously or unconsciously.

As dominee and friend, he approaches Helen with the proposition that she apply to live in an old age home. The most obvious reason for this he gives as Helen’s recent “accident” where she almost burns down her home. It is implied that her actions may have been intentional when Marius lets slip, “She had stopped trying to put out the flames herself and was just standing staring at them.” (Fugard: 63)

In the play, he is set up as the antagonist, whose actions threaten Helen’s way of life and her continued connection to her beloved home with all its sculptures and artworks. This does not immediately make him a likeable character, but then Fugard weaves in additional details that develop Marius as a person and allow us to gain a degree of sympathy with him.

This is illustrated when he shares that he came to Nieu Bethesda to escape a painful past. “This was going to be where I finally escaped from life,” Marius says, “turned my back on it and justified what was left of my existence by ministering to you people’s simple needs. I was very wrong. I didn’t escape life here, I discovered it, what it really means, the fullness and the goodness of it.” (Fugard: 53)

He also expresses his deep connection with the earth (through his thriving vegetable garden), and the practical nature of his soul, when he says, “With every spadeful of earth that I turned when I went down on my knees to lift the potatoes out of the soil, there it was: ‘thank you.’”

Not only is he in this case—almost literally—down to earth, but he is by his own admission also deeply spiritual and humble. His intentions are good; he honestly wishes to serve his community even at the expense of himself.

He is about to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of his service to Nieu Bethesda and its people, and it’s been twenty-one years since his wife, Aletta, passed away, and it is clear that his reason for coming here in the first place was to escape and find peace (this is also a play on the Biblical Bethesda in Jerusalem, that was associated with healing). 

Yet at the same time, for all his good, Marius (and by default the majority of the Nieu Bethesda community) also displays that he is incapable of understanding why Helen’s home and its art is so important to her. Examples of this are:

“And then your hobby, if I can call it that, hasn’t really helped matters. This is not exactly the sort of room the village ladies are used to or would feel comfortable in having afternoon tea. As for all that out there… the less said about it, the better.” (Fugard: 60)

This encapsulates how Marius misunderstands the nature of Helen’s art, as if it were a mere hobby, a trifle. In a way he blames her for isolating herself by creating an environment that is contrary to accepted norms. He simply cannot wrap his head around the idea that an individual would willingly step outside of accepted social behaviour.

This results in him, despite his good intentions, to act in a patronising manner towards Helen (for which Elsa chastises him) because he cannot control nor understand her yearning for artistic expression. He cares deeply, yet he himself cannot express himself.

When the subject of the community’s behaviour towards Helen’s eccentricity is brought up (children damaged some of her sculptures) Marius claims, “We don’t persecute harmless old ladies”, (Fugard: 65) yet he goes on to admit, “You’ve seen what is out there… How else do you expect the simple children of the village to react to all that? It frightens them, Miss Barlow. I’m not joking! Think back to your impressionable years as a little girl. I know for a fact that all the children in the village believe that this house is haunted and that ghosts walk around out there at night. Don’t scoff at them. I’m sure there were monsters and evil spirits in your childhood as well.”

With this statement, I feel Marius truly reveals what he is feeling about Helen’s art, though he hides behind his designation as work as a community leader and representative when he makes that statement.

Elsa points out to Marius that Helen dared to be different by not going to church anymore and engaging more in her art, which is representative of her freedom. Helen, according to Elsa, is expressing an awareness of self and life versus the groupthink of the community, and in that very fact she isn’t as harmless as Marius would make out.

This pushes Marius into admitting, “You call that… that nightmare out there an expression of freedom? … In another age and time it might have been called idolatry.” (Fugard: 67)

He views her art as not only a threat to her spiritual well being but to her physical well being too – taking up space meant, in his opinion, for growing vegetables that could nourish her body. (Fugard: 68)

Helen uses her art as a way to pass time, thereby implying that people only attend church to “pass time”. That first Sunday she skipped church Marius worried about her and went to check up on her after the service, only to discover that she was busy making a sculpture. 

It is a natural step for him to feel threatened and jealous by her attraction to this pursuit, and view the sculptures as idols.

He is angry and confused, when he says, “I feel as if I’m on trial, Helen. For what? For caring about you? That I am frightened of what you have done to yourself and your life, yes, that is true!” (Fugard: 59)

This is a turning point for Marius, where the mask of Marius-the-dominee slips to reveal Marius-the-man, who has harboured feelings for Helen all these years without admitting them. He has hidden behind his role as an authority figure in the community all this time until events come to a head in Helen’s house that evening.

Helen further communicates how Marius’s world has lost meaning to her when she says, “All those years when, as Elsa said, I sat there so obediently next to Stefanus, it was all a terrible, terrible lie. I tried hard, Marius, but your sermons, the prayers, the hymns, they all became just words. And there came a time when even they lost their meaning.” (Fugard: 70)

She reveals more when she discusses how, after her husband Stefanus’s funeral, she felt it was her own life being packed away. With Stefanus gone, so was her last tie to her old life and her reason to pretend. Marius’s action of lighting a single candle for her that evening became highly symbolic to her choosing her new path and her discovery of her inner world. 

When Helen talks about her Mecca, Marius still doesn’t understand. He can’t get past Mecca as a physical place that one has to look up on an atlas. Yet he has his epiphany that he is incapable, at his age, of making that intuitive leap that Helen has, and Marius-the-man triumphs over Marius-the-dominee, in that he admits that Helen’s way of seeing things is valid, even if he can never follow her there.

“I’ve never seen you as happy as this,” he says. “There is more light in you than all your candles put together.” (Fugard: 74) This is perhaps the most telling statement near the conclusion of Act Two. Marius shows that he is mature enough to let Helen go; the gulf between them is too vast. He has loved her for twenty years and has only admitted it now, when it is too late, which is to my mind the real tragedy. 

The Road to Mecca is at its core, a story of the tension that arises between societal norms and the individual’s need for self-expression, and much of the dramatic tension in Marius’s story arc presents the opportunity to subvert the audience’s opinion of the man. In Act One, Marius is offered as the antagonist, very much Marius-the-dominee, who is the linchpin poised to separate Helen from her home for her own good (in his and the community he represents’ point of view). By the time Marius appears in Act Two, it’s difficult to like him and what he represents, but then Fugard goes on to show us the man behind the somewhat dour mask. Marius is revealed as humble, and down to earth, and as genuinely caring despite his prejudice against artistic freedom and his somewhat patronising attitude towards Helen.

However, as the tension builds, and many of Marius’s deeply held feelings are exposed, he begins his journey of acceptance by letting go of his fear. He may not understand the appeal of Helen’s artistic freedom, but he can appreciate her personal light and beauty, for what it is.

Tragically, he cannot let go and join her, but there is a resolution of sorts, and peace is made. Marius, though he has dropped his mask and the authoritarian figure has been defeated, still retains his human side, and has gained the reader’s grudging respect for having backed down even as Helen has learnt to stand up for herself out of her mire of self-pity. They both go their separate ways, their differences irreconcilable—freedom vs. tradition—but they have a better understanding of who they are and what they want. We are not left with complete closure, but rather a “happy for now” situation.

References:

Fugard, Athol, The Road to Mecca. London: Faber and Faber Limited, 1992 (80pp).

Kane, Gwen, Byrne, Deirdre and Scheepers, Ruth. Introduction to English Literary Studies (3rd edition). Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 2013 (217pp).

Setting Fires #opinion

I shouldn’t do it when I’m feeling fragile, but I do it anyway: I go look at my Amazon ratings and trawl Goodreads to see whether my books have picked up any new reviews. Invariably, I’m disappointed. Invariably, I feel even more like shit. To make matters worse, I then go read my older three-stars-and-less reviews. Admittedly, I don’t have many of those, but it’s not like I’m drowning in new, glowing four- and five-star reviews either.

And I doubt myself. Terribly. And I doubt my ability to form and shape words. And I hate the fact that I’m once again failing in gaining what I believe to be validation for my efforts.

I shouldn’t have to care what other people think of my art, but I do.

I think Amanda Palmer sums it up best when she says it’s about wanting people to see you, and not just look at you. You want them to *notice* you.

Because, face it, as a creative, be it a musician, author or artist, there’s no denying that you *need* to share your vision to help it grow. Simply having the intent and the means to create works of art isn’t enough. Your audience completes the picture. Without that cosy, warm assurance that you’re not completely barking mad for laying your soul bare, you’re essentially shouting into a hurricane. There is no moment where the winds abate and others can hear your song.

(I could also phrase this a little more indelicately by stating that an artist without an audience is basically just wanking.)

Why do we create? I’ve heard some folks say it’s because they want to leave something of themselves behind for future generations – a stab at immortality, if you will. The ancient Egyptian pharaohs had the right of it, in that case.

That’s all fine and dandy, but that doesn’t fill that void I, as an artist, feel *now* – that what I create *now*. I don’t want to be like Vincent van Gogh, who only became famous after he died. His success meant nothing to him once he was dead.
isn’t appreciated

Also, consider this, that an artists needs to be present to curate their own works. They don’t create in a vacuum, but are also shaped by society and events around them. A legacy is not so much that which is produced but it is also the process and the interactions within a society.

Remove the artist from society, and you sit with a stagnant body of work that is only good so long as there are dedicated fans to keep the spirit alive and somewhat functional. Yet there will be no new growth – only deviations presented by others who view the works through their lens, which may not quite match what the artist initially intended.

I want to be here, *now*, and involved in my art. I want to enjoy my art *now*. Even if I write fanfiction for an established fandom without any financial gain – simply having readers respond with enthusiasm feeds my spirit. Rather that than a deafening silence.

When random readers message me to tell me that they’ve devoured my book in one sitting or others as, “So, when is the next one coming out?” I dance on sunbeams. (Yeah, prerequisite fluffy imagery there.)

I am inspired. I will create more because that which I have created has not vanished into a dark hole. To be quite honest, I don’t care what happens to my writing once I’m dead because, well, I’ll be dead, and nothing will matter to me. What’s the point of not being around to witness whether one’s legacy endures?

So, if you’ve read this far, and whether you are an artist or a consumer of art, you may wonder what you can do during present times when nothing is certain.

Here’s the deal, and Neil Gaiman nailed it when he simply said, “Make good art.” If you’ve yet to listen to the keynote address where this immortal line comes from, go do so now. I promise it will make it better. I feel like tattooing those words on my left hand.

Now, whether you are painting pictures of cats on sidewalks in chalk or composing a string quartet, carry on making art. Even if you play your song to an audience of three (and one of those present is your mom) carry on playing. Carry on writing your flash fiction. Embroider a tapestry of a jabberwocky hunt. Whatever it is that makes you happy, *do it*.

Then, if you have heard someone sing, or you have read a book that gave you all the feels, take a moment out of your day to thank the artist. Put a coin in a hat. Tweet @ them on Twitter. Leave a review over at Goodreads. Hell, write them fanmail. Share with them what it was about their art that touched you.

Do it now.

Do it every time their magic sets fire to your spirit, and you will spread that magic and make this world a little brighter, a little less cruel.