Thinking With My Skin
Natterings and Fulminations by Bill Cameron
The Dark Poodle of the Apocalypse receives her due
As some know, a large part of my day is taken up catering to the needs and requirements of Jasmine, also known at the Dark Poodle of the Apocalypse. I’ve been known to document her nefarious activities via Instagram and the occasional tweet. These are but a glimpse into the corners of her existence.
At long last, her story has been told.
Head on over to the Crimespree Magazine blog to get to know the Dark Poodle of the Apocalypse a little better. But don’t say I haven’t warned you … few who encounter the Dark Poodle come away unscathed.
Tip of the Hat to Steve Ulfelder
Friend and fellow mystery author Steve Ulfelder’s debut mystery, Purgatory Chasm, was nominated for an Edgar Award for Best First Mystery. The winners were announced tonight, and while Steve didn’t take the prize, I’d like to offer my heartfelt congratulations to him on his nomination. Purgatory Chasm is a superb novel, a definite must-read.
Cheers to you, Steve. And congratulations to all the nominees and winners.
A Small Matter of Privilege
Last night, my writing critique group got together for our bi-weekly klatch. It’s a great group. I’ve been with them for twelve years. There’s been some comings and goings over the years, but our core group has been set for a while, and a few of us go back to the beginning.
Every critique group has their process. Ours is very social, so there is lots of gabbing before we get to the critiquing. Last night, among our wide-ranging topics, we touched upon someone who is no longer with us.
It started as “I wonder whatever happened to …” and moved on to “…you know, I don’t miss that guy at all.”
Thing is, he was a bad fit. He didn’t share our goals, either in terms of writing craft or in terms of friendship. That’s fine, of course. We all gave it a try, and after a while he quit coming to our gatherings. He was probably as relieved as we were.
But an interesting point came up during the discussion. The group is currently three women and two men. One of the women said to me and the other fellow, “One thing about that guy is he kinda brought out the misogyny in you two.”
Wait, … what?
Now, at this point, a common response of the (allegedly) enlightened white male in America is to sputter and deny. “I’m not a misogynist!” We’re then supposed to list all the evidence for how we’re not misogynists: we support a woman’s right to choose, we believe in equal pay for equal work, we think Rick Santorum is a medieval douchecanoe and we think those Catholic bishops just need to STFU already. And don’t even get us started on Mitt Romney and the Republican War on Women. (*sputter*)
And we’d be full of shit.
Getting back to the moment above, to my and my fellow male’s credit, neither of us sputtered. I think I may have shown a little shock or dismay, but I didn’t try to defend myself. Because I couldn’t. Not really. The woman added, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I just think he made it easier for you guys. You know how privilege can be sometimes.”
That’s the thing. Privilege is insidious.
Mind you, all those defenses I listed above are true of me and of my male friend. We would both describe ourselves as feminists (admitting that the degree to which a man can be a true feminist is open to discussion and that there are those who would argue we can’t really be feminists).
I do believe women are owed the same rights as men. I think the patriarchy is profoundly damaging (for both women and men). Etc.
But the fact remains, one cannot escape one’s privilege so easily. For men, it’s there and we benefit from it whether we agree with it or not. We’re brought up in a culture infused with male privilege (and white privilege, and wealth privilege) so deeply that usually we can’t even see it.
But as a self-described feminist, this only makes me all the more responsible for acknowledging those times when I abuse our privilege—unconsciously or not. My friend sat across from me and pointed it out, and I needed to hear it.
And I needed to not sputter and defend myself, but to learn something. The pernicious nature of male privilege makes it all too easy to behave in ways I find appalling, even toward my friends. And if it’s that easy with those I personally know and care about, the danger is greater outside my relationship circles.
I’m glad my friend pointed about my unconscious misogyny, even if I also felt ashamed. And even more glad she felt she could. Too many self-described male feminists would only have sputtered and shut her down.
In light of the topic, I’d like to suggest some reading. Today happens to be the release day for a couple of superb books. Unraveling by Elizabeth Norris features a strong young woman fighting to save, well, everything … and time in running out. Blackbirds is Chuck Wendig’s hard-boiled tale of a strong woman who knows what’s coming next; spoiler: it’s not good news. I highly recommend both.
Lucky Seven Mark II
A couple of weeks back, I found myself tagged in the Lucky Seven meme. At that time, I choose to share from my current novel-length work-in-progress, a young adult mystery.
Well, lo and behold, my friend, the very talented author, Laura Benedict tagged me a second time. My first instinct was to link back to the original post, but since I’ve been writing a short story the last few days, I decided to share again from that.
“The Missus” is a short story featuring Skin Kadash. It takes place about a month after the events of Chasing Smoke, and as it happens is peripherally linked to the YA mystery novel I shared in my first Lucky Seven post. In that novel, mention is made of an unnamed cop who solved a crime which took place five years before. That cop, as it happens, was Skin. “The Missus” tells of the investigation from Skin’s point of view.
From page 7* of “The Missus”:
“Foster parents are supposed to check in whenever anything serious happens. There’s individual discretion, obviously, and I sure as hell don’t want my phone ringing for every stubbed toe or screaming fit. But a runaway? Then waiting two days—?” She blew through her teeth. “Mr. Yearling said he didn’t want to bother me. He thought he could find Joey on his own. Using his super police powers, I suppose.”
“I see.” I licked my lips. “You don’t like cops.”
“That’s not it at all.” Anger radiated off her in the infrared. “I love good cops.”
So many others have already been tagged in the Lucky Seven meme I can’t seem to find anyone new to nail. So I encourage you to check out Laura’s choices (all fab folks) as well as those I tagged previously.
*In Laura’s version of the meme, one is to choose from page 77 of your current WIP. “The Missus” ends on page 21, so I chose from page 7 instead.
The 5-2 Blog Tour
Hit and Run
Sometimes, the less said the better.
In fiction, the tension between showing, telling, and withholding is ever-present, but on balance the pressure tilts toward fleshing out the tale. Oh, there are the rules, guidelines, and canards people love to throw around on the Twitter; Elmore Leonard’s “leave out the stuff people don’t read,” for example. And we can’t forget the much beloved, “Kill your darlings,” the imprecation to prune the excess details.
Still, fiction is a landscape of detail. Immersion is often the goal, a sense of space and time so rich you lose yourself in it. Darlings may be killed, and the parts people don’t read left out, but still fiction is a world we move into. We inhabit it, smell its smells and feel its grit between our fingers. At their best, prose writers choose detail carefully and never provide more than necessary to evoke a moment in time and space. But still, there’s gonna be plenty.
Poets use detail differently. Though there are as many approaches to poetry as their are poets, most would probably agree the key is to distill things to the bare essence, to find the elemental core of the moment. In a novel, a crime scene may have a ratty old couch, a toppled table lamp, mold on the walls and the smell of vinegar in the air. The body is in the corner, bathed in weary yellow light. That same scene in a poem might be reduced to the lamp, coated with with jaundice.
To me, the difference is the way the story unfolds. In fiction, the tale id provided. I fill in the gaps between details, but those gaps come with a roadmap. When I read a poem, I tell the tale to myself. And each time I read it, the tale may be different, or have a different center. As such, the poet takes a risk the fiction writer doesn’t — the reader may tell themselves a tale the poet didn’t intend. Yet out of that risk can come so much reward.
Over at the 5-2, Bruce Harris offers a poem, “Hit and Run,” in which he would be hard pressed to say less, yet manages to evoke so much. Gerald So reads the poem below, though I encourage you to read it yourself. Words have a different texture when read aloud than we read off the page or screen, and experiencing a poem both ways expands the experience.
As spare as this poem is, the carefully chosen details and structure create a vivid image. But what’s striking to me is the way the image changes upon subsequent readings. Sometimes it’s a matter of focus. Perhaps I fix on the sparks and wander down a trail of arcing power lines and voltage run amok. Next time I might fix on a chosen word, how it feels in my mind’s ear, in my mouth as I speak it.
“…low-blows…” “…low-blows a po—” “…low-blows a pole…” I like it, yet it makes me uneasy.
The rest unwinds, again and again. The best poems (and stories) come back at you. You’re walking the dog and it hits you, “Cop shows teeth… cop shows teeth… cop shows teeth.” Meanings flow, and each time you ask yourself What did he mean? and each time you find a new answer.
The Right and the Real
I’m here today to wish a very happy birthday to Joëlle Anthony‘s latest, The Right and the Real. Early reviews have been stellar—Publishers Weekly said, Fast pacing and a strong first-person narrative voice combine to make this coming-of-age story a harrowing page-turner.
Add me to the list of those who love The Right and the Real. I had the privilege of reading it this past winter and I couldn’t put it down.
As part of the celebration, I get to share the book trailer for The Right and the Real. (Great guitar!)
Edit: By the way, I love this cover art.
Congratulations to Joëlle and Happy Birthday to The Right and the Real!
For folks in the Portland area, be sure to come out for Joëlle’s appearance at Powell’s at Cedar Hills Crossing, May 5th at 2:00pm. Joëlle is appearing along with Holly Cupala, author of Don’t Breathe a Word.
Nerd Alert: iPad Wallpapers
In a fit of nerdly batfoolery, I have created iPad wallpapers of the cover backgrounds for both Chasing Smoke and County Line. These add to the set of County Line Smartphone Wallpapers I made available a while back.
These new wallpaper images are sized to fit either iPad 1/2 or iPad 3.
Smartphone wallpapers which will work on iPhones and many Androids devices can be found at either the Chasing Smoke Wallpapers or County Line Wallpapers pages.
This thrilling digital artwork has been brought to you by my bloated ego. Enjoy!
Lamination Happens
A critical development in my personal life story has occurred. I have acquired an laminator. Things will never been the same.
Because they will be laminated.
Below, I document my first thrilling adventure in lamination. There will be many more to come, I’m sure.
