Oct 052011
 
Woman Eating Apple - photo by Ambro

Woman Eating Apple - photo by Ambro

I’ve been thinking about my female characters. Or any male author’s female characters, for that matter. Commonly I, and perhaps everybody else, as well, see what we want to see. Some ten or fifteen years ago, on a sunny spring day, I walked through a small town. Having walked through the whole town, I thought that there seemed to be a disproportionate number of females in that town. Unusually attractive as well, I thought. Strange. That didn’t seem statistically correct. So I walked the same way back, but this time with my eyes a bit more objective. It wasn’t true, of course, there were an equal number of women and men, and there were, of course, all kinds of beautiful and ugly, just like everywhere else.

How do we portray people we never see? How does a man portray a female character and vice versa? Supposedly men are from Mars and women are from Venus and we don’t even speak the same language. When it comes to me, I don’t really understand any human being fully. But then again, I’m from Earth. The point is: who are these people? What do they not tell me and what do I not see?

So, how do I portray other men and women convincingly? Do I really have to understand all the motions? Or can I just simply describe what everything looks like to me and hope that it is close enough to get away with?

I’m a man. I do not have a vagina and I cannot give birth. I’m raised as a male, and all what comes along with that. As a boy all my friends were boys. However, I had a mother and I have a sister, and have had a few girlfriends and a wife. I have three daughters and most of my friends are female. Still, I know less about the female mind and of women’s true feelings, than I know of the male psyche. Or so I believe, anyway.

In an attempt to rectify this, I read a lot of female authors these days and preferably literature where the main character is female. I need to know the character I am writing about. I cannot write about someone I know nothing about. Well, I know some things, but not nearly enough. So I study.

Meanwhile, I’m still writing her. I will get her right sooner or later. It may, or may not, be a fairly accurate account of a woman, but she will be there.

Sep 052011
 

It’s the 11th of May and there’s a tree in full bloom outside my window. The sun makes it stand out against the building behind it and I just want to climb up into the tree and be there. Nothing else but just to be there, sitting on one of its branches, watching the people pass by and catch a few rays of sun between the flowers and the leaves.

I used to do that a lot as a child. Sometimes when I got fed up by being with my friends, I would climb up a tree with a book or something else to read and sit there for an hour or two. I’d watch the people walk by; I would listen in on their conversations and really love the fact that nobody knew I was there. Like a fly on the wall.

That feeling never went away as I grew older. It still comes back now and again, but it has been a long time since I climbed a tree. Instead I go to a cafe, which is much like sitting in a tree, except they all see me sitting there.

Perhaps some would say that it is bad listening in on other people’s conversations, but I look at it as a class room, a place for research. Without life and other people, I would have nothing to write about. Of course, I could write about myself and what happens to me, but that universe is not in itself big enough. This universe of mine (we each have our own) is a product of many things, including the people around me and I am the main explorer of it. However, even though almost endless, it’s not big enough.

The explorer in me wants to travel to every part of that universe which holds all our individual universes. My life is not going to be long enough, of course, but I aim to explore much more yet. For every place I go to, my own universe expands.

Aug 032011
 

Quest. Windmills. Love. Pain. Fears. Caution. Masks. Opportunities. Moment. Passed.

Suddenly, and again, all the world’s a stage… I’m a really bad actor.

Be. Love. Simple. Hero.

Jul 242011
 

For each script of an episode of Fawlty Towers, John Cleese told that they used to work six weeks. Two and a half weeks of those six they worked on the plot. They always made sure that they had the plot complete before they started on the dialogue.

Sometimes I get an idea for a dialogue in my head and I usually go with it. The plot might be born out of that dialogue, but most of the times I’m just left with a piece of dialogue that I put away for later use.

The plot is always the hardest for me; I have poor imagination, it seems. It’s never easy to come up with why my characters are doing and saying what they do if I start without the plot. I guess that’s why John Cleese and Connie Booth and most other writers spend so much time with the plot, and why some stories I write take more than a fair amount of time to complete and why some of them never see the light of day.

So, now I will be changing my modus operandi and make sure I will have a well thought up plot before I venture on to writing my next story. I have tons of ideas for dialogue and characters, but they will just have to wait.

I have been writing in a more serious way for about 9 months now, but it’s time to step up the game. I had a wish to have a first draft ready for October and that’s only 3 months away and that is, now, not enough time. Who knew writing would take so much time (no, you do not have to speak, it wasn’t really a question).

8 connected short stories. 3 are coming along nicely; 2 are on their way; and 3 more to start on. Guess how many of them have well thought up plots? I’m too embarrassed to say.

Time to plot and scheme.

Jul 232011
 

Yesterday hatred, and/or perhaps insanity, showed its ugly face in Norway. Voices of anger and hatred are raised all over the world. I have no words of my own, so I’ll borrow a few:

“Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction. [...] The chain reaction of evil — hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars — must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.”

Martin Luther King, Jr

Sometimes it seems that love in man is buried so far down, so deep inside, that I almost lose all of my own light. I have nothing but pain and tears to offer on a day like this. But tomorrow… I’ll still be loving you.

Jul 172011
 

A possible future book title:

“The One-sided Coin or How To Avoid Being A Complete Arsehole When Discussing Things.”

The subject is very dear to me.

Jun 262011
 

Aha!!! Jag tror jag har kommit på det: eftersom det för det mesta finns något som man tycker mindre om på ens tallrik (som t.ex. löv och grönsaksröror), så ska man spara det till sist. Sparar man det godaste till sist så vill man bara ha mer. Alltså ska man börja med efterrätten. En insikt av närmast religiösa proportioner.

Jun 262011
 

When I started on this book I figured that 333 words per day would be a reasonable goal. It might still be, but today I wrote one(!) sentence, and it wasn’t even made by my own words (I stole them from the neighbouring table at the café, where I was waiting for some friends of mine). Today’s word count: 7. Some days are better, of course, but I better shape up if I’m going to make my own deadline.

Procrastination is, however, not all bad; my kitchen is quite clean.

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