On writing: Staying true to oneself?

I came across a post the other day where a (published) author was asking his readers what they thought about the amount of violence and torture and unpleasant deaths occurring in a fantasy novel. The one he was currently writing contained a lot of graphic detail and he wanted to know whether he should tone it down.

A number of his respondents to his blog said things which amounted to: “It’s your book and you should stay true to yourself/to your tale.”

I am not so sure it is that simple.

Yes, there are times when an author needs to stand up for what they believe in, or for the demands of their story – but we want also to be published. We want publishers to make a profit so that they will give us another contract. We want our readers to be delighted with our novels so that they will buy the next one. We want to give reading pleasure to other people. (Besides, praise feeds our voracious egos!)

I look upon the publication of a book of mine as a sort of unwritten contract between me and the reader: the reader pays money, some of which ultimately gets to me, and I write the best book I can in return, so as not to disappoint. The trouble is…what defines “the best” I can do?

Well, it doesn’t mean that I deliberately write a story based on what I think will please my audience – you know, “Let’s throw in a bit of gratuitous sex here just to perk things up even if uit has nothing to do with the plot”. It doesn’t mean, “Let’s tone down the anti-religious tone of this story otherwise it will upset the Christians in the audience”, as seems to have happened with the filming of Pullman’s Golden Compass.

But on the other hand, a writer who doesn’t consider his audience and try to please them – within the bounds of his storyline and themes – seems a bit arrogant to me. “Here, this is my book, and I don’t give a damn what you think about it. And don’t you dare criticize it, either. It’s my book and I’ll darn well write what I like.” It is an attitude that surfaces in the occasional very successful author from time to time.

I guess it’s all about balance in the end.
What do you think?

Oddly enough, the author mentioned above left the violence in, but not because of an arrogant attitude to those who would read his book. In fact, he was uneasy about the level of violence himself. He left it in because others told him to do so … in other words, to please the readers.

I have broadband, and I didn’t have to sell my house to get it…

…as Jennifer Fallon did. I followed on her blog her long saga detailing her attempts and frustrations as she tried to subscribe (in Alice Springs, Australia, which admittedly is close to the end of the civilised world) until she finally gave up and bought a house that had broadband. Now that’s what I call determination. Or desperation. She did say that the jacuzzi in the new house had something to do with her purchase, but my feeling is that the broadband connection was the clincher.

If you don’t read Jenny’s blog, you ought to. She is exceptionally funny. (Besides, yesterday she plugged one of my books. 🙂 ) She is also a gifted fantasy author and one of the very, very few who can induce me to stay up past 1 a.m. to find out how a story turns out. She still manages to surprise me too, which is equally rare these days. Tip-top entertainment…

Now I have to resist the temptation to spend twice as much time as I should online. I wonder if I can get some tips from Jenny…

KOTA BELUD BIRD SANCTUARY

Kota Belud is a town just to the north of Kota Kinabalu, Sabah. It is chiefly famous for its Sunday market, but the area is also supposed to be a bird sanctuary because of its extensive wetlands and ricefields, a favoured stopover for migratory waterbirds.

We went birdwatching there just before we returned to Kuala Lumpur.

Questioning locals about birds got us nowhere. The only birds they could think of were the ostriches in a nearby ostrich farm. So we set off to explore the area ourselves.

Scenery – brilliant. Birds, all over the place. Egrets, snipe, herons, sandpipers, duck, grassbirds, pipits, wagtails – I could have spent days there just poking around.

But a bird sanctuary? Well, forget the sanctuary bit.

Along the main road, there was a licensed stall selling wild birds stuck in impossibly small cages, including fledgling hill mynas obviously taken from the nest and as yet unable to feed themselves, shamas, doves, hanging parrots, even a young barbet. Horrible, quite, quite horrible.

I am always tempted when I see such places to buy everything and let them go. I never do, because in the end that just encourages the trade, and a conservationist has to put the greater good of the species before the individual animal. But it hurts. It hurts for days. And were these folk locals, doing what they have done for generations? Nope. They were from Malacca.

We stopped to watch some farmers harvesting rice. The harvester circled around the padi field, making an island of the ripened rice in the middle of the field. A couple of boys, the oldest about twelve, ran around the edges of the newly cut crop with a dog. At first we thought they were playing. They certainly seem to be enjoying themselves, but it was hard to see what they were up to, as we were a long way off. And then we realised: they were catching what looked to be Slatey-breasted Rails. (That’s a bird, you non-birders out there, a type of ‘ruak’, waterhen-like, the size of a bantam hen.) These birds can fly, but their preferred desire to run and hide betrays them. The boys and the dog were too quick.

Soon, as the expanse of standing crop was reduced down the size of a tennis court, the boys each had five or six birds dangling by their legs – some obviously still alive. The boys contribution to the family dinner.

Does it worry me? Not as much as the caged birds for sale, not by a long shot. But yes, it does, even so. There are rare crakes and rails as well as common ones. These farmers don’t know the difference. They should. There should be laws to obey: “you can take this species, but not that one” or “you can take so many per family member and no more” and so on.

What worked as sustainable harvesting 100 years ago doesn’t work any more, what with a population growth that is totally out of control. Uncontrolled harvesting of wildlife is detrimental to the species as well as the farmer (for insect control as well as for future dinners). Everything has to be sustainable.

A bird sanctuary indeed. We Malaysians have a lot to learn about compassion for animals – even the ones we eat – about sustainability, conservation and environmental impact. Unless we learn these lessons, then we are dooming ourselves to an impoverished future, both for humans and for our biodiversity.

And don’t talk to me about education and waiting for the present day youngsters to grow up with different attitudes. We are running out of time.

For UK readers: look out for this….

In the U.K., the date that The Shadow of Tyr should be available is 6th December. Yep, just in time to give yourself – or someone else – a Christmas present. In fact, I note it is already on sale on Amazon here.

Power…it’s not everything.
It might not even be enough.

This is the second book in the Mirage Makers, and continues the story of Ligea, although it becomes – by the end – more the tangled tale of her son, Arrant. Themes of betrayal and belonging continue against a background of war and adventure and magic.

About this time every year I say the same thing to everyone: buy books as presents. Fiction, non-fiction, whatever. Especially buy books for children. Read them to the kids. Let’s not allow reading books to die in this digital world.

One of favourite memories was waking up as a child in the sleep-out on a hot summer’s Christmas morning, and finding that Father Christmas (whom I knew had to be Mum, not Dad!) had left a book in the stocking, plus other goodies. Actually, of course, this was Mum’s way of making sure she had a bit of a sleep-in before I padded along the veranda and into the house.

I usually had the book finished before breakfast…Christmas would not have felt right without a few new books.

Give the gift of reading to others this Festive Season.

Yes, but it’s a hospital…

As some of you know, I have spent the past 5 days in hospital, trying to find out why I was having repeated attacks of apparent food-poisoning. I’m out now, with no clear cut answers, but I do feel better.

Definitely I have no reason to complain. I was in a first class ward, in a room to myself, in a hospital that is only two years old. Believe me I have been in many a hotel room that was ten times worse. The bathroom was luxurious, with water pressure would clean the dirt off a logging truck at fifty paces. Puts my own house to shame.

The nurses were cheerful and obliging, the doctors attentive, and willing to explain what they were doing and why, without even being asked.

And I wasn’t even that sick. It was just that over the past three weeks, I’d had one bout after another, and it was obviously something that needed investigating with some urgency.

So into hospital – a government public hospital – I went.

So what am I doing complaining?
Well, it was a hospital

A green suit of hospital clothing that would fit a sumo wrestler, with pants that had room for two. I looked like Kermit the Cane Toad with a weight problem. That was the first night. The second day they gave me a green sarong instead. But alas, for all my Asian history, I have never been able to keep a sarong tied while asleep. Can’t be done. It falls off early in the night and ends up wound round my feet like camel hobbles. And this one was actually the size of a bedouin tent. No one less than seven foot tall would have felt at home wearing this, I swear.

Then there’s the ECG with such efficient suction caps I ended up with hickies all over my chest.

A needle in the back of my hand for a drip, because I was looking like a dried up old prune, one with dehydration at that. (I didn’t tell them that was my normal appearance.) Have you ever tried to get a good night’s sleep tethered to one of those things, rather like a recalcitrant cow the farmer wants to stop wandering off?

Inevitably, some time during the night, I roll over and squash the hand that has a six inch needle stuck in it. Aargh. (Ok, it’s not six inches; it just feels like it, especially when you are lying on top of it.) And they didn’t have one of those trundle things on wheels to take it around with you when you move, so there I am off to the loo countless times (because the drip goes in, and what goes in…), holding the saline bottle up like the Statue of Liberty looking for somewhere to hang it.

And it seems like every time you get comfortable, a nurse or doctor comes around to prick your finger, stab you with a needle, take your blood pressure, stick things into your various orifices with varying degrees of discomfort.

And what’s with this early rising thingy in hospitals?? World over, they all seem to think the day begins at 4.45 a.m. And that’s after a night where someone had a really, really bad time in the room next door at 1 a.m., 2 a.m. and 3 a.m….

Food – actually, not bad in selection and taste. You have a choice of diet, and I chose Western. But hey, this is a hospital, and the food is always cold by the time it gets to the patient. Cold spaghetti, cold chicken broth, cold fish and french fries, cold beef bacon and hash browns…you get the picture. And because it is Asia, they serve with spoon and fork, no knife.

But hey, I’m not complaining, right?

…What? … I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.

More tomorrow.

Sigh…no broadband

The techie spent another hour in my house, but was unable to get the broadband working.

So I am now paying for broadband which cannot be connected, even though it has been activated. Great.

The techie’s theory is that the telephone line into my house is not a main line but an extension line. Work that one out.

So now I have to find a telephone technician. And pay him.

I tell you, I am jinxed.

Today’s the big MS day…

…when I send off my manuscript [ “The Rogue Rainlord“, book 1 of The Random Rain Cycle ], to my beta readers.

I am making a few last minute changes, doing a final spell check, and so on, attaching a bit of a sketch map … and then off it goes to the hungry hawk-eyed vultures to tear apart.

Who are my beta readers?

  • Fellow published writers (bless them, wherever do they find the time?);
  • writers not yet majorly published;
  • fantasy fans with wide reading experience;
  • a speciality bookseller;
  • several part-time professional editor friends who love to read fantasy;
  • West Australian Perdy Phillips (professional artist who does the maps).

Some of them are people I have never met, some are friends, some are connected to the publishing business. They all have one thing in common: they love the genre and want the finished book to be special, so they are devastatingly honest, even when it hurts.

This last makes their praise, if it comes, very special indeed, because I know they really mean it. So as of tomorrow, I will do other things while I try to be patient and not develop a tic, or a desire to bit my nails, or a need to hit the gin.

Oh, note the title: here are the titles I finally decided on (but who knows whether these will be the final ones.)

Book 1: The Rogue Rainlord
Book 2: The Scarpen Stormshifters
Book 3: The Watergivers of Washbone
Or do you think they would be better without the ‘The” in front?

A post about birds


Sometimes birds look at windows and see the reflection of the sky. Which is unfortunate, because they then think they can fly through the glass…

The result can be a dead bird, or one with a very, very bad migraine. If you see a dazed bird on the ground, like this spiderhunter up at Fraser’s Hill, what should you do?

Well, first, nothing except protect it from any marauding cats. Give it a chance to recover and it may fly away under its own steam as this one did. If it hasn’t recovered within a few minutes, you can put it inside a cardboard box or similar, place it it a safe place for a while, and wait. Usually it will be fine within an hour or two. Then release it where you found it, preferably where it can’t see the window though!

If this happens regularly around your own house, contemplate placing decals (stickers) of flying raptors (eagles) on your windows. In Kuala Lumpur, pittas are famous for smashing into windows during migration.

Spiderhunters are nectar feeders (hence the long bill) and they love banana flower nectar. they also collect spiderwebs for making their nests, which was probably what gave rise to the name. Did you know, though, that as young birds need protein to grow, most parent birds of any species will collect what is basically foreign food for them to feed to the young? A seed-eater will come back to the nest bearing insects, and so on…

Isn’t nature wonderful? And people wonder why I watch birds…

TM and TMnet hate me

TMnet is the name of my IP which supposedly provides internet connection. I haven’t worked out what the “IP” actually does stand for in the real world, but it is not internet provider, not on a permanent basis. They provide occasionally. Funny thing is that the bill always arrives on time, nonetheless, they never forget that.

TM is the name of the company that (supposedly) provides me with a phone line. I have not had a dial tone since Sunday, and complaints in this world seem to be ignored.

So sorry, everyone, I have been in a cyber black hole.