A Walk on the Dark Side
When I started this blog, I decided at the outset I would leave my politics out of it. I just didn't want to invest any energy in arguing with people who disagree, arguing over things that tend to make my blood pressure shoot up a few degrees. And I opted not to really discuss my personal life. Some writers blend both on their sites, which is cool, but other than as a frame of reference for how insane my life is . . . busy, stressful, fun, all cylinders . . . I figured I'd just shut up about it. There's a reference to it here or there, but that's it. And it's usually in the comments area. And so this blog has been about writing, about the writing life, dialogue, the path to publication, etc.
This weekend, the world of the news, the headlines, intersected ever so slightly with my writing world.
You see . . . I am working on a book for the new Nocturne paranormal line, and the opening scene is pretty dark. Bloody. Scary. Sick. In fact, it gave ME the creeps and I was writing it. I had no idea what the hell I was channeling, but it was good from a purely fiction sense. Then, I did some internet research on serial killers in Russia and the Ukraine. Sick, sick stuff. Useful for my plot. I was pleased, really pleased, with the direction the book was going.
Three chapters later, one of my characters has to confront the paranormal world she is about to have to navigate. And the dhampir showing her the way, so to speak, points out that wolves and wild animals don't "stage" their killing scenes. People do. He's got the pictures to prove what he's talking about--that the paranormal or supernatural world is involved and not the human one. And she has to take a leap of faith. Is the realm of, say, vampires or demons or take-your-pick so hard to believe versus what darkness humanity or supposed humanity is capable of? (And this is SUCH a happy talk for a Monday blog entry, eh?)
And then I read the headlines, followed them actually, which isn't like me, about the man who killed the poor child and planned to EAT her. WTF?!?! There is nothing a novelist can write, nothing, that can compare with what human beings will do. Nothing. In fact, the scene in my prologue is creepy, really creepy, but suddenly I can kind of laugh at it. It's contained in my BOOK. Shut the book, put it away, and hopefully keep the nightmares away. But REALITY?
I'm sure there are lots of writers out there--crime fiction, thrillers, paranormals--who have confronted this. No matter what evil you write about, it really doesn't compare to what walks among us. Lives next door to us. And that it truly scary, and wherein we can write really frightening fiction.
But the mother in me mourned this Easter weekend. As I mourn every child I read about in the headlines that populate our world. It's inherent. Bear a child and every child in the world is yours. It's part of parenthood. You cry for the lost ones . . . the ones like this weekend. In my case (short foray into personal life), I became a mentor years ago for unwed teen moms . . . I've taught ESL in some tough communities as a volunteer . . . taught people to read. I get involved doing what I can for the side of good versus the side of evil. But really? It's a drop in the bucket. My own father wonders why I try. And no matter what I do, it's still not enough to ease my heart at all. But I've always sought solace in my writing. And it simply was apparent to me as I was writing while all this was going on in the news, that reality is always darker.
This weekend, the world of the news, the headlines, intersected ever so slightly with my writing world.
You see . . . I am working on a book for the new Nocturne paranormal line, and the opening scene is pretty dark. Bloody. Scary. Sick. In fact, it gave ME the creeps and I was writing it. I had no idea what the hell I was channeling, but it was good from a purely fiction sense. Then, I did some internet research on serial killers in Russia and the Ukraine. Sick, sick stuff. Useful for my plot. I was pleased, really pleased, with the direction the book was going.
Three chapters later, one of my characters has to confront the paranormal world she is about to have to navigate. And the dhampir showing her the way, so to speak, points out that wolves and wild animals don't "stage" their killing scenes. People do. He's got the pictures to prove what he's talking about--that the paranormal or supernatural world is involved and not the human one. And she has to take a leap of faith. Is the realm of, say, vampires or demons or take-your-pick so hard to believe versus what darkness humanity or supposed humanity is capable of? (And this is SUCH a happy talk for a Monday blog entry, eh?)
And then I read the headlines, followed them actually, which isn't like me, about the man who killed the poor child and planned to EAT her. WTF?!?! There is nothing a novelist can write, nothing, that can compare with what human beings will do. Nothing. In fact, the scene in my prologue is creepy, really creepy, but suddenly I can kind of laugh at it. It's contained in my BOOK. Shut the book, put it away, and hopefully keep the nightmares away. But REALITY?
I'm sure there are lots of writers out there--crime fiction, thrillers, paranormals--who have confronted this. No matter what evil you write about, it really doesn't compare to what walks among us. Lives next door to us. And that it truly scary, and wherein we can write really frightening fiction.
But the mother in me mourned this Easter weekend. As I mourn every child I read about in the headlines that populate our world. It's inherent. Bear a child and every child in the world is yours. It's part of parenthood. You cry for the lost ones . . . the ones like this weekend. In my case (short foray into personal life), I became a mentor years ago for unwed teen moms . . . I've taught ESL in some tough communities as a volunteer . . . taught people to read. I get involved doing what I can for the side of good versus the side of evil. But really? It's a drop in the bucket. My own father wonders why I try. And no matter what I do, it's still not enough to ease my heart at all. But I've always sought solace in my writing. And it simply was apparent to me as I was writing while all this was going on in the news, that reality is always darker.
posted by Erica Orloff at 7:46 AM
9 Comments:
Hi Erica. Very nice blog you have here.
One of the reasons I like crime fiction is that we get to slay those dragons in the end. And we get to try and make sense of what, in reality, is senseless.
The news sucks. I avoid it, mostly. It's not that I'm apathetic, or fearful, it's just that I already know a whole bunch of horrible shit is going on somewhere today. The names change, but the story is always the same. The news is not the Truth. The Truth lies somewhere on the blank page, in a novel yet unwritten, where good triumphs over evil and the cruel are punished severely.
We search for Truth in our fiction, not on the nightly news.
Jude:
Poetically put (not surprising since I read an elegant, beautiful poem on your blog). I don't know if you read Andrew Vachss's Burke books, but there's a brilliant example. Burke slays some very ugly dragons, and he's not superhuman, but he is definitely so unusually tough, complicated, etc., that it lets us believe he is there slaying the dragons of child abusers. When the book ends, we know the world he inhabits is STILL just as ugly and awful and dark and dirty . . . and yes, chalk one up for the dragon-slayer. There's one less of THEM--the sickos.
I sometimes take news breaks precisely for the reason you mention. The politics drive me nuts, and the murders make me feel so helpless. It's there, it's always there, with nary a beacon of sunlight.
So maybe, when I write, it's like you say. I take back the night and slay a dragon or two.
E
I'm not familiar with Andrew Vachss, but I'll definitely check him out on your recommendation.
And thank you for the kind words regarding my poem. I wrote a lot of poetry when I was in college, but this was the first one I've written in about twenty years. I was very close to my Aunt Carol, and her death a couple of weeks ago seemed to have brought back my poetic voice. She was a beautiful person, and the best natural storyteller I've ever known.
For the record, you seem like quite a beautiful person yourself. I want to read your books. What would be a good one to start with (I know it's an unfair question, like trying to chose which child you like best).
Hi Jude:
Andrew Vachss's books aren't for the faint-hearted. He's utterly amazing, though. Very noir--so the writing style is distinct.
I used to write poetry too. Don't you find it helps you as a fiction writer? I really learned how to make each word count, to self-edit until I had the right word, exactly the one I was mentally searching for.
As for which of my "babies" I would suggest . . . if you gravitate toward crime fiction, then definitely The Roofer (MIRA Books) . . . it's about the Westies Irish mob told from the perspective of a daughter of the Westies covering up an even darker secret than the hit men. It's unique, I think, in that it's a woman's view of being in a crime family, but she's got her eyes wide open about the killers she loves (her dad, etc.) vs. sort of turning a blind eye to it. It is the book of my heart--though I am sure all my other characters are now perturbed. LOL! But they all know. It's the One, for me.
Oh Erica, I stumbled on that horrific story this weekend too. I'm not one to shy away from gore and horror, but it's keen to remember that the reality of such things is so much worse. There's no closing the book and going back to your happy life. I lit a candle for her family--it's so sad.
And as if it weren't gruesome enough that he killed that little girl...cannibalism? WTF is wrong with people??
Heather:
I also said prayers. To me, there is nothing worse than they thought your child's/loved one's last earthly thoughts were filled with terror. I am a huge devotee of Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, and he really talks in it of that spark of human grace, that indefinable bit of self that no one--not even, in his case, the Nazis--can take away from you. Yet that poor child--and others of course--that's what the killer aims for. Siezing that. Soul stealers. Just beyond comprehension.
Thanks, Erica. Okay, The Roofer it is. I'm looking forward to it.
And what you said about poetry is right on.
Hi Erica --
I'm commenting on this a day late. As a journalist, I confronted this issue all the time. I remember one case in particular -- a case of child sexual abuse -- that was so heinous, it haunts me to this day. The detective on the case let me read the transcript of an interview that one of the children gave to the cops. If a fiction writer had put this stuff in a book, an editor would have trashed it for being too awful, too unrealistic. Readers would have revolted.
The other side is this: I once covered the case of a serial killer who was about to be let out of prison on a technicality. For months, I had built this man up in my mind as a monster. I expected him to walk into court foaming at the mouth, with sharp fangs and horns. Instead, he shuffled in as an old man. He smiled and waved at his mom. He sneezed and had trouble wiping his nose. I went home that night and cried. I felt so betrayed. THIS was the monster? This little man?
Or there was the case I covered of the 11-year-old boy who was the youngest person ever charged with first-degree murder. His feet didn't touch the floor in the courtroom. They couldn't find a jail jumpsuit small enough to fit him. They arrested him at his middle school on Halloween. He was wearing a costume like the other kids. I have never been able to reconcile the image of his victim lying dead in the street with the image of his little feet swinging in shackles.
I learned as a reporter that justice in the real world is never clean. Never tidy. And never complete.
And maybe that's why I'm pursuing a fiction career.
Great blog...
Louise
Louise:
That's just chilling. Unfortunately, I know some stories that are like that, just make your hair curl. And I think you're right. That "normalcy" in serial killers is what gets people. The freak you see walking down the street, scary-looking, maybe reeking of violence . . . well, you can SEE that monster. It's the guy who just looks so ordinary, like BTK.
E
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