Do you know your characters' politics?
Seriously.
My stepmother loves George W. Bush. She is not a fan of Barack Obama. This is central to her identity as an intelligent business owner, a Christian and a conservative. It also was very hard for her to talk about anything with my liberal hairdresser. They both respected each other, but neither could be dissuaded from the gospel of their politics. And they both had a lot of passion about the topic.
Now, before you dismiss this bit of character development by saying, "My character is not interested in politics," let me remind you that we're all political in some way-- even if it boils down to one of two philosophies:
1. The "Why vote? It doesn't make a lick of difference" people
versus
2. The "If you didn't vote for anyone, you can't complain about anything" camp
(a variation of the "if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem" mentality)
That's step one. Do your characters vote? Why or why not?
Let me ask my mortal characters:
Adelaide~ She votes, primarily liberal, but often forgets elections, can't remember when the primary is, and couldn't tell you who her congressman is.
Étienne~ VOTES. Religiously. Liberal, and because he's French, votes primarily socialist, though does get into the oratory tricks of French politicians.
Basilie~ VOTES and has had a high-ranking political career depending where in the series we're talking about. Despite her Frenchness, she's very conservative. HATES the French social welfare state, and has had a career as a cutthroat businessman in the United States (and a Harvard MBA) so she's a savage capitalist.
Now. Step Two.
Why does this matter?
Character's political leanings (and their religious attitudes/practices) can provide key insights as to how they will treat others.
Each one of the character's above runs into someone begging for money on the streets of Manhattan. They are each alone, so they have no one to impress or influence their actions.
Adelaide ~ gets overwhelmed. Hands the guy some cash. Moves on and feels guilty on and off for the rest of the day.
Étienne ~ Hands the guy all the cash in his wallet and goes to the store and gets him a new pair of shoes
Basilie ~ ignores him.
Now, if they were talking amongst themselves about what had happened... how would the conversations go?
If Adelaide told Étienne that she felt guilty, he would tell her she did the most she could and then he'd go find the guy and buy him a new pair of shoes. Okay, maybe not with the shoes, but it could happen that way.
If Étienne was late for a business meeting because of his outing with the beggar, his staff would murmur and Adelaide would adore Étienne all the more for his compassion.
If Basilie heard that Étienne was buying shoes for homeless men again, she would call him an idiot and threaten to take his charge cards away.
And Étienne would consider Basilie's approach cruel.
On election day, there's some heated arguments in my universe.
Showing posts with label Adelaide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adelaide. Show all posts
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Characterization
I have opted to review the first 150 pages of Courting Apparitions, the second volume of my Fashion and Fiends series and the ghost story of the trilogy.
By the middle of chapter two, I am amazed at how much characterization the dead person (Adelaide) has.
And she's dead.
It's a great reminder of the little things that make a character, and it's not always what that character *says* or *does*.
In this case, the character comes alive because of:
- memories provided by other characters
- nicknames revealed by other characters
- rumors about the character and the circumstances around her
- the stuff she left behind (like a collection of novelty rubber ducks)
- the smell of her perfume
- her pet
This is the same way to develop a character who's off stage. Their car is in the parking lot. Or the book they are reading in on the table. People are more than dialogues and actions.
By the middle of chapter two, I am amazed at how much characterization the dead person (Adelaide) has.
And she's dead.
It's a great reminder of the little things that make a character, and it's not always what that character *says* or *does*.
In this case, the character comes alive because of:
- memories provided by other characters
- nicknames revealed by other characters
- rumors about the character and the circumstances around her
- the stuff she left behind (like a collection of novelty rubber ducks)
- the smell of her perfume
- her pet
This is the same way to develop a character who's off stage. Their car is in the parking lot. Or the book they are reading in on the table. People are more than dialogues and actions.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
In Character
WARNING: This blog post may contain colloquial language, vulgarity and discussion of different sex acts.
2ND WARNING: Author has had three cups of coffee
Sometimes, as authors, we view our stories and our plots with the detachment of an outsider. I'm not saying we don't get lost/caught up in our stories, because we do. What happens is more like worrying about making sure we get the road to lead where we want it to that we don't pay attention to the actual path.
I was editing a chapter today. In that chapter, Galen the bad guy is coping poorly with the fact that the now-dead ingenue from the previous book (Adelaide) has possessed him. To add insult to injury-- to use a cliché-- Adelaide has noticed a young man her age and her lust has left Galen with an erection. Galen gets into his car where his mate and fellow witch, Flidais, laughs at him for his predicament.
Now the basic road map for this scene required that Galen and Flidais drive from Point A to Point B. I got the sense upon reading it, that Flidais would do more than laugh at him. I spent the next 24 hours contemplating whether Flidais would give him a hand job or a blow job.
Yes, seriously.
One of my friends suggested a little bit of both. But that didn't seem right. As a writer, I typically can write through big problems. Little problems like this, or even smaller ones like what the characters had for dinner, can halt my progress for hours.
Today, I labeled why these things often stump me. It's not because of the sex acts. It stems from not thinking inside the character's head. The chapter I'm writing comes from Galen's third person limited point of view. I pondered the problem as if Galen had a say in which sex act Flidais performed. Which, he could ask, but he doesn't.
As soon as I considered the conundrum from Flidais' point of view, I had to weigh the magical consequences. In that case, a hand-job seemed vulgar and like a waste of male essence. She might try that if she wanted to weaken him or merely distract him. I think she would perform a sex act for her own gain. In that case, what can she receive?
In my series, any sex act has a supernatural weight to it and it all means something. Feminine power must be given, not taken. Masculine power must be taken. Sex, in the male/female intercourse variety, adds something to the universe and provides energy that can fuel rituals.
The answer became obvious, Flidais had to give Galen a blow job because she needed a shot of masculine power and that was an easy way to take it.
The moral of the story:
If you're stuck at a point where characters have to make a choice, make sure the characters reason out the problem and chose according to their motivations, not yours. Don't confuse the POV character's preferences with the character who is actually the one in control of the choice.
2ND WARNING: Author has had three cups of coffee
Sometimes, as authors, we view our stories and our plots with the detachment of an outsider. I'm not saying we don't get lost/caught up in our stories, because we do. What happens is more like worrying about making sure we get the road to lead where we want it to that we don't pay attention to the actual path.
I was editing a chapter today. In that chapter, Galen the bad guy is coping poorly with the fact that the now-dead ingenue from the previous book (Adelaide) has possessed him. To add insult to injury-- to use a cliché-- Adelaide has noticed a young man her age and her lust has left Galen with an erection. Galen gets into his car where his mate and fellow witch, Flidais, laughs at him for his predicament.
Now the basic road map for this scene required that Galen and Flidais drive from Point A to Point B. I got the sense upon reading it, that Flidais would do more than laugh at him. I spent the next 24 hours contemplating whether Flidais would give him a hand job or a blow job.
Yes, seriously.
One of my friends suggested a little bit of both. But that didn't seem right. As a writer, I typically can write through big problems. Little problems like this, or even smaller ones like what the characters had for dinner, can halt my progress for hours.
Today, I labeled why these things often stump me. It's not because of the sex acts. It stems from not thinking inside the character's head. The chapter I'm writing comes from Galen's third person limited point of view. I pondered the problem as if Galen had a say in which sex act Flidais performed. Which, he could ask, but he doesn't.
As soon as I considered the conundrum from Flidais' point of view, I had to weigh the magical consequences. In that case, a hand-job seemed vulgar and like a waste of male essence. She might try that if she wanted to weaken him or merely distract him. I think she would perform a sex act for her own gain. In that case, what can she receive?
In my series, any sex act has a supernatural weight to it and it all means something. Feminine power must be given, not taken. Masculine power must be taken. Sex, in the male/female intercourse variety, adds something to the universe and provides energy that can fuel rituals.
The answer became obvious, Flidais had to give Galen a blow job because she needed a shot of masculine power and that was an easy way to take it.
The moral of the story:
If you're stuck at a point where characters have to make a choice, make sure the characters reason out the problem and chose according to their motivations, not yours. Don't confuse the POV character's preferences with the character who is actually the one in control of the choice.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Writing in my head
I love when I find myself writing in my head. It provides a welcomed escape from what normally occupies my head, which right now is something like this:
Oh my... the car's brakes and inspection cost almost $700. We have $100 in the checkbook for food and unexpected bills and it has to last throughout all of April. I have lots of schoolwork due and my textbooks for my seminar are still in the car. I hope I don't overdose on iron. I have a doctor's appointment Monday and I think I'm looking forward to it. Sh*t, tomorrow is Easter. I forgot.
So, I'm in the shower. And instead of these things I'm thinking:
Galen sits on the bench drinking coffee. A cute guy walks by. Adelaide, now dead and cohabitating Galen's body with him notices. Would she have the power to prompt a sexual response in his body? If so, what would it be? What would Galen think? And since she later uses her powers to assist impotent Étienne, maybe she should inadvertently cause something now we foreshadow that she can *ahem* assist the male anatomy.
Which also brings to mind... What kind of guy would Addy find attractive? Would he be a hip, young, American Étienne?
Oh my... the car's brakes and inspection cost almost $700. We have $100 in the checkbook for food and unexpected bills and it has to last throughout all of April. I have lots of schoolwork due and my textbooks for my seminar are still in the car. I hope I don't overdose on iron. I have a doctor's appointment Monday and I think I'm looking forward to it. Sh*t, tomorrow is Easter. I forgot.
So, I'm in the shower. And instead of these things I'm thinking:
Galen sits on the bench drinking coffee. A cute guy walks by. Adelaide, now dead and cohabitating Galen's body with him notices. Would she have the power to prompt a sexual response in his body? If so, what would it be? What would Galen think? And since she later uses her powers to assist impotent Étienne, maybe she should inadvertently cause something now we foreshadow that she can *ahem* assist the male anatomy.
Which also brings to mind... What kind of guy would Addy find attractive? Would he be a hip, young, American Étienne?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wondering if I fixed it
Here is the next draft of the problem scene from yesterday:
Helen Pitney, in her plaid nightgown, walked along the bar, her hand trailing the surface. Her moccasin slippers shuffled against the slate. Her scratchy footfalls were the only interruption to the awkward silence. Gerald hunched nearby, his hand grasping the wine bottle. Zélie adjusted her robe. Helen commenced another lap. Jules’ eyes sought direction from Étienne, but Étienne wasn’t sure whether he should dismiss the chef or tell him to do something.
“This is the first time you’ve served ice wine,” Gerald Pitney said.
“Your daughter bought it,” Étienne replied.
“Adelaide?” Gerald said.
“Oui,” Étienne confirmed.
“When did she learn about wines?” Gerald asked.
“You don’t spent a decade with Étienne d’Amille and not learn about wines,” Zélie said.
Étienne approached the bar, reaching for the bottle from Gerald so he could have a second glass. Gerald passed it and his breathing, heavy with emotional uncertainty, filled the kitchen. Étienne poured the wine, only partially aware of the alcohol filling the cup. He focused instead on Gerald’s detached stare. Étienne righted the wine bottle, returning it to the bar. He lifted his glass, talking a half-step toward his wife, when he paused and rested his hand on Gerald’s shoulder. Gerald’s eyes met Étienne’s and while they said nothing, the sadness in the air made the fruity notes smell sickeningly sweet. He deserted the wine on the counter. Jules swept across the room and dumped the contents of the glass in the sink.
“My pumpkin and the wine,” Gerald said. “I like eiswein. Other countries flash-freeze the grapes. In Germany, nature does it. Did you know that?”
“Mais oui. This bottle is from the Saturday harvest,” Étienne replied.
Zélie braced her arms against the overstuffed chair and pushed herself to standing.
“Oh, for the love of heaven. What’s going on?” she asked. “Are we here to have a wine tasting or did we hear something in that bathroom?”
Helen Pitney, in her plaid nightgown, walked along the bar, her hand trailing the surface. Her moccasin slippers shuffled against the slate. Her scratchy footfalls were the only interruption to the awkward silence. Gerald hunched nearby, his hand grasping the wine bottle. Zélie adjusted her robe. Helen commenced another lap. Jules’ eyes sought direction from Étienne, but Étienne wasn’t sure whether he should dismiss the chef or tell him to do something.
“This is the first time you’ve served ice wine,” Gerald Pitney said.
“Your daughter bought it,” Étienne replied.
“Adelaide?” Gerald said.
“Oui,” Étienne confirmed.
“When did she learn about wines?” Gerald asked.
“You don’t spent a decade with Étienne d’Amille and not learn about wines,” Zélie said.
Étienne approached the bar, reaching for the bottle from Gerald so he could have a second glass. Gerald passed it and his breathing, heavy with emotional uncertainty, filled the kitchen. Étienne poured the wine, only partially aware of the alcohol filling the cup. He focused instead on Gerald’s detached stare. Étienne righted the wine bottle, returning it to the bar. He lifted his glass, talking a half-step toward his wife, when he paused and rested his hand on Gerald’s shoulder. Gerald’s eyes met Étienne’s and while they said nothing, the sadness in the air made the fruity notes smell sickeningly sweet. He deserted the wine on the counter. Jules swept across the room and dumped the contents of the glass in the sink.
“My pumpkin and the wine,” Gerald said. “I like eiswein. Other countries flash-freeze the grapes. In Germany, nature does it. Did you know that?”
“Mais oui. This bottle is from the Saturday harvest,” Étienne replied.
Zélie braced her arms against the overstuffed chair and pushed herself to standing.
“Oh, for the love of heaven. What’s going on?” she asked. “Are we here to have a wine tasting or did we hear something in that bathroom?”
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Those 2D secondary characters
So I presented a chapter to my critique group. It was a revised version of a chapter they had already seen and they, in a round-about fashion, pointed out that a very important character was flat.
Some people said he lacked emotion and implied that there was a lack of transition between parts of the scene.
But the real problem was that he was a two-dimensional character.
Gerald. He's middle-aged and portly. In the first book, he has two mentions: 1. Étienne remembers running into Gerald and his two daughters in the airport in 1989. Literally, it's one sentence. And 2. Gerald calls his daughter on a Sunday morning to see how she's doing.
This is the conversation:
Then, [Adelaide] heard it: muffled electronic music from her dry cleaning pile. When she got closer to the dirty clothes, she recognized "Jack and Diane." She dug toward yesterday’s slacks and retrieved the ringing cellular.
"Hello," she said, wondering if it were her mom or her dad.
"Hey, Pumpkin," her dad replied. "How’s my girl? You didn’t answer your phone [in your New York apartment]. You get away for the weekend?"
"Yeah," Adelaide replied. "I had a date."
"Oh, no, Pumpkin. Who is it this time?"
"He’s a photographer, Dad."
"Not another fruit…"
"Daddy!"
"I don’t want to hear anymore. Whatever happened to Thad?"
"Tom, Dad."
"I liked him. He played rugby, didn’t he?"
"Yeah, Dad. That was Tom."
"Never saw a rugby game. But he seemed..." her father’s voice trailed.
"Manly, Dad?" she suggested. "Have you heard from Jay?"
"She likes it in Germany. She likes the school."
Of course Janine likes the school, she’s the bookish one, Adelaide thought. Her sister, the Fulbright Scholar. Everyone referred to Adelaide as the pretty one long before Étienne.
"Okay, Helen… Your mother wants to talk to you," Dad said.
So, now I'm in the next book in the series. Adelaide has committed suicide and Gerald has just heard her voice in the bathroom. Étienne, Zélie and Adelaide's mother have also heard the voice.
This is how the conversation in the kitchen, about ten minutes after hearing the voice, started:
Helen Pitney [Adelaide's mom], in her plaid flannel nightgown, walked beside the breakfast bar, her hand trailing the surface as her moccasin slippers shuffled against the slate. Gerald sat on the other side, hunched over his wine. Étienne emptied his glass as Gerald reached for the bottle. Zélie adjusted her robe. Helen commenced another lap. Jules’ eyes sought direction from Étienne, but Étienne wasn’t sure whether he should dismiss the chef or tell him to do something.
“This is the first time you’ve served ice wine,” Gerald Pitney said, raising the glass.
“Your daughter bought it,” Étienne replied. “Since we are thinking of her...”
“I like eiswein,” Gerald said. “Other countries flash-freeze the grapes. That’s not the same. Germany does not flash-freeze. Nature does it.”
“This bottle is from the Saturday harvest,” Étienne replied.
Zélie rose from the overstuffed chair.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Can you see how even in such small scenes, Gerald has a personality in the first one but he's nothing in the second? This is Gerald's last scene. In my mind, I made him disposable and never bothered making him real because I know he'll be out of the book within the next ten pages...
So I tried again...
“This is the first time you’ve served ice wine,” Gerald Pitney said.
“Your daughter bought it,” Étienne replied.
“Adelaide? Bought such a fine eiswein?” Gerald said.
“Oui,” Étienne confirmed.
“You don’t spent a decade with Étienne d’Amille and not learn a thing or two about wines,” Zélie said.
“I would not have guessed, about my Adelaide and the wine,” Gerald said, lifting his glass as if studying the color of its contents. “I like eiswein. Other countries flash-freeze the grapes. In Germany, nature does it. Did you know that?”
“Mais oui. This bottle is from the Saturday harvest,” Étienne replied.
Zélie braced her arms against the overstuffed chair and pushed herself to standing.
“Oh, for the love of heaven. What’s going on?” she asked. “Are we here to have a wine tasting or did we hear something in that bathroom?”
It still lacks any emotion. This man's daughter just committed suicide. Even though it's Étienne's POV, Étienne would notice this man's state. I haven't fixed it yet, but this is my progress:
Helen Pitney, in her plaid nightgown, walked along the bar, her hand trailing the surface. Her moccasin slippers shuffled against the slate. Her scratchy footfalls were the only interruption to the awkward silence. Gerald hunched nearby, his hand grasping the wine bottle. Zélie adjusted her robe. Helen commenced another lap. Jules’ eyes sought direction from Étienne, but Étienne wasn’t sure whether he should dismiss the chef or tell him to do something.
“This is the first time you’ve served ice wine,” Gerald Pitney said.
“Your daughter bought it,” Étienne replied.
“Adelaide?” Gerald said.
“Oui,” Étienne confirmed.
“When did she learn about wines?” Gerald asked.
“You don’t spent a decade with Étienne d’Amille and not learn about wines,” Zélie said.
Étienne approached the bar, reaching for the bottle from Gerald so he could have a second glass. Gerald passed it, and as he did, his breathing filled the kitchen with the heavy sound of a man struggling with his composure. Étienne poured the wine, only partially aware of the alcohol filling the cup. He focused instead on Gerald’s detached stare.
“My pumpkin and the wine,” Gerald said. “I like eiswein. Other countries flash-freeze the grapes. In Germany, nature does it. Did you know that?”
“Mais oui. This bottle is from the Saturday harvest,” Étienne replied.
Zélie braced her arms against the overstuffed chair and pushed herself to standing.
“Oh, for the love of heaven. What’s going on?” she asked. “Are we here to have a wine tasting or did we hear something in that bathroom?”
Hopefully, I'll feel more inspired another day.
Some people said he lacked emotion and implied that there was a lack of transition between parts of the scene.
But the real problem was that he was a two-dimensional character.
Gerald. He's middle-aged and portly. In the first book, he has two mentions: 1. Étienne remembers running into Gerald and his two daughters in the airport in 1989. Literally, it's one sentence. And 2. Gerald calls his daughter on a Sunday morning to see how she's doing.
This is the conversation:
Then, [Adelaide] heard it: muffled electronic music from her dry cleaning pile. When she got closer to the dirty clothes, she recognized "Jack and Diane." She dug toward yesterday’s slacks and retrieved the ringing cellular.
"Hello," she said, wondering if it were her mom or her dad.
"Hey, Pumpkin," her dad replied. "How’s my girl? You didn’t answer your phone [in your New York apartment]. You get away for the weekend?"
"Yeah," Adelaide replied. "I had a date."
"Oh, no, Pumpkin. Who is it this time?"
"He’s a photographer, Dad."
"Not another fruit…"
"Daddy!"
"I don’t want to hear anymore. Whatever happened to Thad?"
"Tom, Dad."
"I liked him. He played rugby, didn’t he?"
"Yeah, Dad. That was Tom."
"Never saw a rugby game. But he seemed..." her father’s voice trailed.
"Manly, Dad?" she suggested. "Have you heard from Jay?"
"She likes it in Germany. She likes the school."
Of course Janine likes the school, she’s the bookish one, Adelaide thought. Her sister, the Fulbright Scholar. Everyone referred to Adelaide as the pretty one long before Étienne.
"Okay, Helen… Your mother wants to talk to you," Dad said.
So, now I'm in the next book in the series. Adelaide has committed suicide and Gerald has just heard her voice in the bathroom. Étienne, Zélie and Adelaide's mother have also heard the voice.
This is how the conversation in the kitchen, about ten minutes after hearing the voice, started:
Helen Pitney [Adelaide's mom], in her plaid flannel nightgown, walked beside the breakfast bar, her hand trailing the surface as her moccasin slippers shuffled against the slate. Gerald sat on the other side, hunched over his wine. Étienne emptied his glass as Gerald reached for the bottle. Zélie adjusted her robe. Helen commenced another lap. Jules’ eyes sought direction from Étienne, but Étienne wasn’t sure whether he should dismiss the chef or tell him to do something.
“This is the first time you’ve served ice wine,” Gerald Pitney said, raising the glass.
“Your daughter bought it,” Étienne replied. “Since we are thinking of her...”
“I like eiswein,” Gerald said. “Other countries flash-freeze the grapes. That’s not the same. Germany does not flash-freeze. Nature does it.”
“This bottle is from the Saturday harvest,” Étienne replied.
Zélie rose from the overstuffed chair.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Can you see how even in such small scenes, Gerald has a personality in the first one but he's nothing in the second? This is Gerald's last scene. In my mind, I made him disposable and never bothered making him real because I know he'll be out of the book within the next ten pages...
So I tried again...
“This is the first time you’ve served ice wine,” Gerald Pitney said.
“Your daughter bought it,” Étienne replied.
“Adelaide? Bought such a fine eiswein?” Gerald said.
“Oui,” Étienne confirmed.
“You don’t spent a decade with Étienne d’Amille and not learn a thing or two about wines,” Zélie said.
“I would not have guessed, about my Adelaide and the wine,” Gerald said, lifting his glass as if studying the color of its contents. “I like eiswein. Other countries flash-freeze the grapes. In Germany, nature does it. Did you know that?”
“Mais oui. This bottle is from the Saturday harvest,” Étienne replied.
Zélie braced her arms against the overstuffed chair and pushed herself to standing.
“Oh, for the love of heaven. What’s going on?” she asked. “Are we here to have a wine tasting or did we hear something in that bathroom?”
It still lacks any emotion. This man's daughter just committed suicide. Even though it's Étienne's POV, Étienne would notice this man's state. I haven't fixed it yet, but this is my progress:
Helen Pitney, in her plaid nightgown, walked along the bar, her hand trailing the surface. Her moccasin slippers shuffled against the slate. Her scratchy footfalls were the only interruption to the awkward silence. Gerald hunched nearby, his hand grasping the wine bottle. Zélie adjusted her robe. Helen commenced another lap. Jules’ eyes sought direction from Étienne, but Étienne wasn’t sure whether he should dismiss the chef or tell him to do something.
“This is the first time you’ve served ice wine,” Gerald Pitney said.
“Your daughter bought it,” Étienne replied.
“Adelaide?” Gerald said.
“Oui,” Étienne confirmed.
“When did she learn about wines?” Gerald asked.
“You don’t spent a decade with Étienne d’Amille and not learn about wines,” Zélie said.
Étienne approached the bar, reaching for the bottle from Gerald so he could have a second glass. Gerald passed it, and as he did, his breathing filled the kitchen with the heavy sound of a man struggling with his composure. Étienne poured the wine, only partially aware of the alcohol filling the cup. He focused instead on Gerald’s detached stare.
“My pumpkin and the wine,” Gerald said. “I like eiswein. Other countries flash-freeze the grapes. In Germany, nature does it. Did you know that?”
“Mais oui. This bottle is from the Saturday harvest,” Étienne replied.
Zélie braced her arms against the overstuffed chair and pushed herself to standing.
“Oh, for the love of heaven. What’s going on?” she asked. “Are we here to have a wine tasting or did we hear something in that bathroom?”
Hopefully, I'll feel more inspired another day.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
What does our writing convey?
I almost forgot to write today's entry. School started yesterday for me, and usually, when the schoolwork starts, my time to write disappears. I have two classes this semester. Both are very interesting to me...
This will relate to writing, stay with me.
Last night I had my history colloquium, Modern French Identities. This afternoon, I had my special seminar in Values in Science and Technology on Body Politics. Having a French family in my novel and a fashion house... Well, it should be a fun semester.
My identity is full of contradictions. I'm an educated, bilingual feminist addicted to fashion. I'm not a naturally patient maternal-type, but I wish I could have been a stay-at-home mom. I have trouble, psychologically, how parents can leave their kids in daycare for eight hours a day. If they sleep ten, go to daycare eight, spend one in the car, another eating, another getting dressed/ready for bed, when do you get to enjoy your kid?
But that's another argument.
I also don't believe it's the mother's job to stay home with the babies.
Again, wrong argument.
But we talked a bit about women, self-esteem, body-image and cultural expectations today in class. We each had to draw a picture of our bodies and show it to the class, and rate our comfort with our bodies on a scale of 1 to 1o.
The one male in the class said 10.
The highest woman's score was 8.5. Mine was 8.
The teacher pointed out that in the years she's taught the class, no woman has EVER given herself a 9, and when the classes had a better gender ratio, the men never went LOWER than a 9.
We talked a lot about how society makes gender myths into reality, how we train women to be graceful, more petite. How men are strong. How a woman always needs to lose weight but a man always wants to be "bigger."
And we talked about the era of Photoshop and how the people in the pictures don't even look like the people in the pictures, not in real life.
And this made me think: What societal biases/ideals do we convey in our writing?
I write about a fashion house, and my fashion designer Étienne loves women, loves curves, and complains how thin the modern models are. His supermodel Adelaide is a Cindy Crawford body shape, and she has self-esteem issues. Throughout the first novel, she keeps comparing herself to the girl in the photos and thinking that she will never be that girl. And she's the top model! So, am I writing a satire? a commentary?
In book two, she accuses Étienne of hiring her only for her beauty, and he tries to deny it, but she does screw things up and he forgives her probably because she's pretty. ]
Next week's class will look at intersexuals, or what used to be called hermaphrodites. For instance, girls (as in genetic XX) born with enlarged genitalia that resembles a phallus. Many doctors will cut it off and not consult the parents. In some cases, this removes the infant's clitoris or disconnects the nerves. Now those who know me know I tend to go ballistic at the practice of circumcising the penis of a boy child, and I certainly wouldn't want them hacking body parts off my child without my permission. I don't care if my little girl had a full-blown penis.
Anyway.
The magic word was hermaphrodite. I read of one intersexual disorder: Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome I believe. With this disorder, a traditionally male fetus (XY genetically) cannot process testosterone and will exit the womb looking like a girl. In many cases with labia and a vagina. And potentially with an enlarged clitoris of like an inch. At puberty, the child will develop hips and other apparently female characteristics because of the estrogen produced even though the child does not have ovaries or a uterus. Despite the fact that the body DOES have testes and produce testosterone, the body cannot use any of it. In some cases, the person may be oddly hairless in the armpits and pubic areas.
Based on genetics, this person is male. He/she would appear and act female. The sex is male. The gender is female. Roll that around your mind.
The supernatural forces in my novel are based on masculine and feminine elemental magic. Sex rituals have profound power because of the interaction of masculine with feminine. Air and fire are masculine elements, and earth and water feminine. Your sex does not dictate your ability to do magic, but the magic itself has a gender. So regardless of your physical sex, your gender has to be balanced in order to master all four elements.
Wouldn't one of these women with AIS, then have the capacity to be the perfect witch? It's a woman with a Y chromosome. That's a unique form of balance.
This will relate to writing, stay with me.
Last night I had my history colloquium, Modern French Identities. This afternoon, I had my special seminar in Values in Science and Technology on Body Politics. Having a French family in my novel and a fashion house... Well, it should be a fun semester.
My identity is full of contradictions. I'm an educated, bilingual feminist addicted to fashion. I'm not a naturally patient maternal-type, but I wish I could have been a stay-at-home mom. I have trouble, psychologically, how parents can leave their kids in daycare for eight hours a day. If they sleep ten, go to daycare eight, spend one in the car, another eating, another getting dressed/ready for bed, when do you get to enjoy your kid?
But that's another argument.
I also don't believe it's the mother's job to stay home with the babies.
Again, wrong argument.
But we talked a bit about women, self-esteem, body-image and cultural expectations today in class. We each had to draw a picture of our bodies and show it to the class, and rate our comfort with our bodies on a scale of 1 to 1o.
The one male in the class said 10.
The highest woman's score was 8.5. Mine was 8.
The teacher pointed out that in the years she's taught the class, no woman has EVER given herself a 9, and when the classes had a better gender ratio, the men never went LOWER than a 9.
We talked a lot about how society makes gender myths into reality, how we train women to be graceful, more petite. How men are strong. How a woman always needs to lose weight but a man always wants to be "bigger."
And we talked about the era of Photoshop and how the people in the pictures don't even look like the people in the pictures, not in real life.
And this made me think: What societal biases/ideals do we convey in our writing?
I write about a fashion house, and my fashion designer Étienne loves women, loves curves, and complains how thin the modern models are. His supermodel Adelaide is a Cindy Crawford body shape, and she has self-esteem issues. Throughout the first novel, she keeps comparing herself to the girl in the photos and thinking that she will never be that girl. And she's the top model! So, am I writing a satire? a commentary?
In book two, she accuses Étienne of hiring her only for her beauty, and he tries to deny it, but she does screw things up and he forgives her probably because she's pretty. ]
Next week's class will look at intersexuals, or what used to be called hermaphrodites. For instance, girls (as in genetic XX) born with enlarged genitalia that resembles a phallus. Many doctors will cut it off and not consult the parents. In some cases, this removes the infant's clitoris or disconnects the nerves. Now those who know me know I tend to go ballistic at the practice of circumcising the penis of a boy child, and I certainly wouldn't want them hacking body parts off my child without my permission. I don't care if my little girl had a full-blown penis.
Anyway.
The magic word was hermaphrodite. I read of one intersexual disorder: Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome I believe. With this disorder, a traditionally male fetus (XY genetically) cannot process testosterone and will exit the womb looking like a girl. In many cases with labia and a vagina. And potentially with an enlarged clitoris of like an inch. At puberty, the child will develop hips and other apparently female characteristics because of the estrogen produced even though the child does not have ovaries or a uterus. Despite the fact that the body DOES have testes and produce testosterone, the body cannot use any of it. In some cases, the person may be oddly hairless in the armpits and pubic areas.
Based on genetics, this person is male. He/she would appear and act female. The sex is male. The gender is female. Roll that around your mind.
The supernatural forces in my novel are based on masculine and feminine elemental magic. Sex rituals have profound power because of the interaction of masculine with feminine. Air and fire are masculine elements, and earth and water feminine. Your sex does not dictate your ability to do magic, but the magic itself has a gender. So regardless of your physical sex, your gender has to be balanced in order to master all four elements.
Wouldn't one of these women with AIS, then have the capacity to be the perfect witch? It's a woman with a Y chromosome. That's a unique form of balance.
Friday, December 18, 2009
A little piece of me
I started today thinking about how my writer friends all have a tendency to lose themselves in whatever is the topic/interest of the moment. I'm specifically thinking of someone who recently spent a day researching Jane Austen. For no reason.
This random knowledge always comes back somewhere.
My stories have grown with me. Some are mere outlines waiting for me to pay them attention (the serial killer and the journalist; the ugly inner workings of a non-profit The Devil Wears Prada style). Others have influenced who I am.
Sometimes I can just research that tidbit I need and let it go, but other times these bits of information stick to me. I find myself approaching my 35th birthday with the alter-ego of a 50-year-old (straight, male) French fashion designer. And I really wish I could own my own French fashion house, but even though I could theoretically become French, I will never have the ability to sew...
This got me revisiting a familiar thought of mine. Each of my characters represents a different part of me.
Adelaide: my naive, lost side that always lacks confidence and feels like I'm failing.
Basilie: my smart, bitchy self
Étienne: my artsy, easygoing, charming self (the self I really want to be)
Galen: my selfish, mean self
Flidais: my powerful yet defiant self
In other stories I have alter-selfs that are more obvious. The housewife who buys herself a new outfit at Saks and cheats on her husband, for one. I have never done what she did, but her actions stem from exactly the ennui I experienced a few years ago. I can't imagine a writer who doesn't use their characters to do the things we really want to do but never would... That's part of the fun.
This random knowledge always comes back somewhere.
My stories have grown with me. Some are mere outlines waiting for me to pay them attention (the serial killer and the journalist; the ugly inner workings of a non-profit The Devil Wears Prada style). Others have influenced who I am.
Sometimes I can just research that tidbit I need and let it go, but other times these bits of information stick to me. I find myself approaching my 35th birthday with the alter-ego of a 50-year-old (straight, male) French fashion designer. And I really wish I could own my own French fashion house, but even though I could theoretically become French, I will never have the ability to sew...
This got me revisiting a familiar thought of mine. Each of my characters represents a different part of me.
Adelaide: my naive, lost side that always lacks confidence and feels like I'm failing.
Basilie: my smart, bitchy self
Étienne: my artsy, easygoing, charming self (the self I really want to be)
Galen: my selfish, mean self
Flidais: my powerful yet defiant self
In other stories I have alter-selfs that are more obvious. The housewife who buys herself a new outfit at Saks and cheats on her husband, for one. I have never done what she did, but her actions stem from exactly the ennui I experienced a few years ago. I can't imagine a writer who doesn't use their characters to do the things we really want to do but never would... That's part of the fun.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Defining a character's sexuality
Yesterday, I started talking about the how I use sex in my writing. When we think sex and writing, normally people think of two things:
As I mentioned yesterday, my characters have healthy libidos. I also talked about sex as a way to reveal how characters feel about each other. For the English major geeks out there, I see my main supernatural bad guy as a bully, and I see the woman who falls in love with him as a victim of domestic violence. This is intentional on my part, because if a mortal man *hurt* her in the ways he does, the reader would never finish the book. And when you look at their relationship, the bad guy only manipulates/hurts her in private. In public, they look like the perfect couple. Isn't that usually the way with domestic violence?
But this entry is not about that.
This entry is about the love of my life, Étienne, and his girls, Adelaide and Basilie. Étienne married Basilie in 1979. Basilie divorced Étienne in 1993, but she forgot to leave. They moved into separate domiciles, but life became a great big sleepover game of who would stay at who's house what night. To end it once and for all, Basilie moved to New York City in 2000 on a work visa. She assumed Étienne would stay in France. Instead, he applied for an O-1 visa followed her.
Now, Adelaide works for Étienne. She's worked for him since she was 13. (Actually she was 12-and-a-half but Étienne prefers that she round up, sounds better if she were 13 instead of 12.) She spent her school years modeling, then moved into the PR department after high school, and when Étienne moved to New York, he brought her along, figuring he'd need an American around to start his New York office.
None of that tells you how these characters feel about each other.
Chapters three and four of my first book involve a large party. Chapter three is the bad guy's perspective. Chapter four is Étienne's.
This is the first time we see Étienne and Basilie together:
Étienne kissed [her]. He angled for her lips, but she nudged away redirecting his effort to her cheek.
Without even delving into Étienne's POV, we hear this about him and his ex-wife:
"Mon jeune ami," Étienne said. "I have papers... papers say we are married, others say divorcés. Paper means nothing. Rien. Je ne crois pas les papiers.”
Now this is the very first paragraph from Étienne's POV. It's not sexual, per se, but it does set up a great deal of his sexuality:
In the farmhouse’s dark, cool basement, Étienne maintained his cellar. He fondled his 1921 Château d’Yquem Sauternes, brushing off the dust, turning the bottle, and leaving it. Nothing compared to a good woman or a quality wine. Since he no longer collected lovers, he shifted to fine vintages, almost as enjoyable a hobby.
And his first interaction with Basilie (or as he nicknames her 'Zélie') shows us something about each of them, even though it's his POV. I wanted a scene that would show his devotion to her without having him go through a diatribe of internal dialogue. I wanted to show you, not tell you:
Étienne placed his arm around Zélie’s waist. He moved a hand into the hair cascading past her shoulders, tumbling in tight curls. He pinched one. The spiral crackled under his touch, crispy with the hairspray from the stylist. He sniffed it.
L'ananas... The English challenged him… Pineapple and Chanel No. 5. The combination always signaled a celebration.
"I’m sure your wife is here, Bob," Zélie said.
Her words sounded as crisp as her hair. The sentence slid off her tongue with ease, her English enunciation perfect. He couldn’t have said it, not like that, not even when sober. Yet she was as French as him and she could… Zélie flinched, swatting at his hand. He lowered his head toward her bare shoulder. His lips brushed her flesh...
"Étienne, stop it," she commanded.
He pulled away with a devilish smile.
But the very next line shows us his different attitude for his young employee:
Adelaide burst into the room, apologizing as she knocked into several guests. Her head jerked. Her gown shed feathers. In her clumsy distress, Adelaide’s lips puckered. Her eyes pleaded. Her cheeks and jaw hung with anxiousness. Even so, she remained the most beautiful fixture in the room.
The most beautiful fixture in the room. The phrase gives me chills. But wait, you say, how does this all relate to sex? Well, from here we progress to sexual tension.
Adelaide unzipped her boots. She stretched her legs across [Étienne's] lap. The weight of the beads pulled the dress away from her thighs. Her garters poked from beneath the fabric. Zélie never wore garters, no matter how much Étienne wished she would as his chouchou did. He rested a hand on Adelaide’s ankle.
But it isn't the magnificently beautiful Adelaide who truly captures Étienne's attention, but his ex-wife, as they dance:
“Chut,” he whispered.
He brought his lips to hers to quiet her, and they danced, tenderly tasting each other. In the final measures of the song, Étienne stepped away, twirled her to the end of his arm, then pulled her back, and dipped her across his thigh where he kissed her, this time long and thorough.
The black silk sash had fallen covering her breasts. Her creamy skin set off beautifully the strand of black pearls he had given her earlier. He liked how the pendant sparkled, though now it hung upside-down making a cloverleaf instead of a heart. He squeezed her hand and roamed her body with his eyes. His outlined her jaw and her cheekbone with his index finger.
"Étienne, let me up, chéri," she said, interrupting his visual consumption.
"I was just—"
"I know exactly what you’re doing," Zélie said. "Let me up."
She takes him to bed. As he is very drunk, he requires some assistance. But once his teeth are brushed and his clothes removed, they do tumble into bed. Every touch and every breath (I hope) shows their desperation for each other. In their care and their enjoyment, the familiarity of the moment shows how long they've been together. But as I mentioned yesterday, in a way, this is a "baseline sexual encounter" so that the reader can detect changes in their relationship later and also know later when Étienne gets accused of cheating, whether or not 'the other woman' is telling the truth...
- Erotica (like good old Anais Nin, The Story of O, etc.)
- Romance novels (gotta have that perfect love scene where the characters climax in each other's arms after having that orgasm that made them come alive in new ways...)
As I mentioned yesterday, my characters have healthy libidos. I also talked about sex as a way to reveal how characters feel about each other. For the English major geeks out there, I see my main supernatural bad guy as a bully, and I see the woman who falls in love with him as a victim of domestic violence. This is intentional on my part, because if a mortal man *hurt* her in the ways he does, the reader would never finish the book. And when you look at their relationship, the bad guy only manipulates/hurts her in private. In public, they look like the perfect couple. Isn't that usually the way with domestic violence?
But this entry is not about that.
This entry is about the love of my life, Étienne, and his girls, Adelaide and Basilie. Étienne married Basilie in 1979. Basilie divorced Étienne in 1993, but she forgot to leave. They moved into separate domiciles, but life became a great big sleepover game of who would stay at who's house what night. To end it once and for all, Basilie moved to New York City in 2000 on a work visa. She assumed Étienne would stay in France. Instead, he applied for an O-1 visa followed her.
Now, Adelaide works for Étienne. She's worked for him since she was 13. (Actually she was 12-and-a-half but Étienne prefers that she round up, sounds better if she were 13 instead of 12.) She spent her school years modeling, then moved into the PR department after high school, and when Étienne moved to New York, he brought her along, figuring he'd need an American around to start his New York office.
None of that tells you how these characters feel about each other.
Chapters three and four of my first book involve a large party. Chapter three is the bad guy's perspective. Chapter four is Étienne's.
This is the first time we see Étienne and Basilie together:
Étienne kissed [her]. He angled for her lips, but she nudged away redirecting his effort to her cheek.
Without even delving into Étienne's POV, we hear this about him and his ex-wife:
"Mon jeune ami," Étienne said. "I have papers... papers say we are married, others say divorcés. Paper means nothing. Rien. Je ne crois pas les papiers.”
Now this is the very first paragraph from Étienne's POV. It's not sexual, per se, but it does set up a great deal of his sexuality:
In the farmhouse’s dark, cool basement, Étienne maintained his cellar. He fondled his 1921 Château d’Yquem Sauternes, brushing off the dust, turning the bottle, and leaving it. Nothing compared to a good woman or a quality wine. Since he no longer collected lovers, he shifted to fine vintages, almost as enjoyable a hobby.
And his first interaction with Basilie (or as he nicknames her 'Zélie') shows us something about each of them, even though it's his POV. I wanted a scene that would show his devotion to her without having him go through a diatribe of internal dialogue. I wanted to show you, not tell you:
Étienne placed his arm around Zélie’s waist. He moved a hand into the hair cascading past her shoulders, tumbling in tight curls. He pinched one. The spiral crackled under his touch, crispy with the hairspray from the stylist. He sniffed it.
L'ananas... The English challenged him… Pineapple and Chanel No. 5. The combination always signaled a celebration.
"I’m sure your wife is here, Bob," Zélie said.
Her words sounded as crisp as her hair. The sentence slid off her tongue with ease, her English enunciation perfect. He couldn’t have said it, not like that, not even when sober. Yet she was as French as him and she could… Zélie flinched, swatting at his hand. He lowered his head toward her bare shoulder. His lips brushed her flesh...
"Étienne, stop it," she commanded.
He pulled away with a devilish smile.
But the very next line shows us his different attitude for his young employee:
Adelaide burst into the room, apologizing as she knocked into several guests. Her head jerked. Her gown shed feathers. In her clumsy distress, Adelaide’s lips puckered. Her eyes pleaded. Her cheeks and jaw hung with anxiousness. Even so, she remained the most beautiful fixture in the room.
The most beautiful fixture in the room. The phrase gives me chills. But wait, you say, how does this all relate to sex? Well, from here we progress to sexual tension.
Adelaide unzipped her boots. She stretched her legs across [Étienne's] lap. The weight of the beads pulled the dress away from her thighs. Her garters poked from beneath the fabric. Zélie never wore garters, no matter how much Étienne wished she would as his chouchou did. He rested a hand on Adelaide’s ankle.
But it isn't the magnificently beautiful Adelaide who truly captures Étienne's attention, but his ex-wife, as they dance:
“Chut,” he whispered.
He brought his lips to hers to quiet her, and they danced, tenderly tasting each other. In the final measures of the song, Étienne stepped away, twirled her to the end of his arm, then pulled her back, and dipped her across his thigh where he kissed her, this time long and thorough.
The black silk sash had fallen covering her breasts. Her creamy skin set off beautifully the strand of black pearls he had given her earlier. He liked how the pendant sparkled, though now it hung upside-down making a cloverleaf instead of a heart. He squeezed her hand and roamed her body with his eyes. His outlined her jaw and her cheekbone with his index finger.
"Étienne, let me up, chéri," she said, interrupting his visual consumption.
"I was just—"
"I know exactly what you’re doing," Zélie said. "Let me up."
She takes him to bed. As he is very drunk, he requires some assistance. But once his teeth are brushed and his clothes removed, they do tumble into bed. Every touch and every breath (I hope) shows their desperation for each other. In their care and their enjoyment, the familiarity of the moment shows how long they've been together. But as I mentioned yesterday, in a way, this is a "baseline sexual encounter" so that the reader can detect changes in their relationship later and also know later when Étienne gets accused of cheating, whether or not 'the other woman' is telling the truth...
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Characters with a healthy libido
In my spare time, I serve on several non-profit boards. One I truly enjoy is my role as trustee at my local library. My family and I helped with the book fair this year, our big fund-raiser. My daughter even did her share.
At the book fair, one woman carefully looked through all the fiction in hopes that we might have an author recommended to her. She was a big fan of Nicholas Sparks and his love stories. (He makes me cringe.) Someone had told her this other author had similar stories of love "without all the intimate stuff."
I almost laughed. But then I bought the Anaias Nin books from the sale tables.
My characters have a healthy libido. There is a very good reason for this. Two fold.
At the book fair, one woman carefully looked through all the fiction in hopes that we might have an author recommended to her. She was a big fan of Nicholas Sparks and his love stories. (He makes me cringe.) Someone had told her this other author had similar stories of love "without all the intimate stuff."
I almost laughed. But then I bought the Anaias Nin books from the sale tables.
My characters have a healthy libido. There is a very good reason for this. Two fold.
- My stories involve a supernatural element. This means magic. And whether you draw on magic or religion, the obvious and universal truth is sex = creation. My magical characters exploit this creative power. My mundane ones also manipulate it, though they know not what they do.
- Each character's sexual relationships reinforce who they are. And their attitudes toward one another. Not a single one of my sex scenes is gratuitous. They all serve a specific purpose.
- The supermodel exudes sex and attracts men. Obvious on one level. But because she has this tendency to attract men, she also can't have a healthy relationship, because they seek her merely for sex. This destroys her self-esteem, despite the fact that she's a supermodel.
- Étienne and Basilie. The divorced couple who never stopped acting married. In the first book, they have sex. (In the office, at home, even a reference to conceiving their child in a car at the airport.) In the second book, they can't. This has been a central focus of their relationship for 25 years and suddenly it's gone. How do they reconnect?
- Étienne. For him, alcohol increases his desire for sex. Which actually plays into the plot line when alcohol plays into the confirmation or the dismissal of charges of his misconduct. Especially when you add the problem of the supermodel listed above.
- Flidais. My evil female witch, a smaller character, but an important one. When she conducts blood rituals, she uses the blood of an aroused male. More creative power.
- Galen, the main bad guy, manipulates desire to gain feminine power from his victims.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Me and My iPod
Music.
Most of my writer friends use it in some form. Except for one. She writes while she watches TV. But, in general, my writer friends all utilize music in their writing.
My iPod has my (and my daughter's) entire music collection. So, I often put in on shuffle and listen to the random selections as I work through a literary problem. (Doing it right now... Sixpence None the Richer is on, Salt N Pepa before that.) Some times being out of control of the music leaves me to look at a problem from a new direction.
I also have playlists. These are usually for the car, when I'm brainstorming a scene. I have playlists for romantic scenes (usually dedicated to a specific couple, like good, old-fashioned mix tapes), others for sex scenes, others for fights and others for making up... I have playlists that bring to mind certain characters, and help me get into their POV; and playlists that those characters would listen to.
For example: Adelaide, my 25-year-old former American supermodel-- born in 1978, listens to Placebo, Depeche Mode, Noir Désir, Cake and Salt N Pepa. But her boss, 40-something Étienne d'Amille prefers Jazz, some Norah Jones, Melody Gardot, Django Rheinhart and Juliette Gréco, and anything from the James Bond movies. And Carla Bruni's music amuses him to no end. Now, his wife, Basilie, she likes Jazz but prefers classical. She adores Joshua Bell.
I've purchased CDs because I thought these characters would like them.
Now, the playlists geared at helping me write about these characters are different. When I write about the bad guys, I listen to a playlist my husband made: Chevelle, Prodigy, Nine Inch Nails, Limp Bizkit, Radiohead, Pixies, Tool, The Toadies, Alice in Chains...
And these are all different from the soundtrack for each book, which is usually compiled after the first draft of a novel to keep me focused during revisions. In some cases, they creep into the story, some more clearly disguised then others.
For example
From the opening chapter of the first book of my Fashion and Fiends series:
Competing with the country music from the bar, distant rock music assailed his ears screaming ‘dazzled and doused in gin' about changing tastes in men. A convertible zipped so close by him it lifted his shirttails. Galen broke from his prey. The music blared from a powder blue Mercedes with top down.
It's "Taste in Men" by Placebo from the album Black Market Music.
More later...
Most of my writer friends use it in some form. Except for one. She writes while she watches TV. But, in general, my writer friends all utilize music in their writing.
My iPod has my (and my daughter's) entire music collection. So, I often put in on shuffle and listen to the random selections as I work through a literary problem. (Doing it right now... Sixpence None the Richer is on, Salt N Pepa before that.) Some times being out of control of the music leaves me to look at a problem from a new direction.
I also have playlists. These are usually for the car, when I'm brainstorming a scene. I have playlists for romantic scenes (usually dedicated to a specific couple, like good, old-fashioned mix tapes), others for sex scenes, others for fights and others for making up... I have playlists that bring to mind certain characters, and help me get into their POV; and playlists that those characters would listen to.
For example: Adelaide, my 25-year-old former American supermodel-- born in 1978, listens to Placebo, Depeche Mode, Noir Désir, Cake and Salt N Pepa. But her boss, 40-something Étienne d'Amille prefers Jazz, some Norah Jones, Melody Gardot, Django Rheinhart and Juliette Gréco, and anything from the James Bond movies. And Carla Bruni's music amuses him to no end. Now, his wife, Basilie, she likes Jazz but prefers classical. She adores Joshua Bell.
I've purchased CDs because I thought these characters would like them.
Now, the playlists geared at helping me write about these characters are different. When I write about the bad guys, I listen to a playlist my husband made: Chevelle, Prodigy, Nine Inch Nails, Limp Bizkit, Radiohead, Pixies, Tool, The Toadies, Alice in Chains...
And these are all different from the soundtrack for each book, which is usually compiled after the first draft of a novel to keep me focused during revisions. In some cases, they creep into the story, some more clearly disguised then others.
For example
From the opening chapter of the first book of my Fashion and Fiends series:
Competing with the country music from the bar, distant rock music assailed his ears screaming ‘dazzled and doused in gin' about changing tastes in men. A convertible zipped so close by him it lifted his shirttails. Galen broke from his prey. The music blared from a powder blue Mercedes with top down.
It's "Taste in Men" by Placebo from the album Black Market Music.
More later...
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