The biggest gorilla in the room in my writing are ‘the circumstances’ in which the narrator finds themselves. It obviously isn’t true for everyone, but I’ve noticed that in my work, it is usually Fate that has put the main character in a situation of one sort or another.
I’m not overly linear in my story-structure. If anything, I like to come into a story three-quarters of the way through, and then back up – allow the character to speak, provide information about their early existence. I pepper these anecdotes with glimpses of the present reality, without nailing it down too deeply. (Mainly because, often, I don’t know exactly what the circumstances are – as I never plan anything when I write.)
So the reader is swept up, coming into this ongoing story, learning about it almost at the same rate the character is discovering and coming to terms with whatever has trapped them in place.
In much of my work there are pre-existing intolerable situations, into which characters have blithely walked, or are sitting stewing over their predicament. The only way out is ‘through.’ The characters are forced into flashbacks as they true to make sense of their surroundings – the Talking Head’s line about ‘and you may ask – how did I get here?’ runs under most of my work. My characters honestly don’t always understand how, in fact, they got there, or rather, they do, ‘sort of’ – but it fails to bring them any relief.
I leave psychobabble gobbledegook phrases like ‘empowerment’ back at the door when I write. ‘Empowerment’ is mostly just successful self-delusion, in my view. The things my creations learn are often deeply complicated. Sometimes, they don’t learn anything at all – while imagining they’ve achieved a happy ending. Think of Terry Gilliam’s ‘Brazil’ – with the happy ending peeling away to reveal the truth that the main character has been tortured into insanity. He’s free at last, Thank God almighty, free at last.
Just as in cinema, when directors have characters decide to ‘investigate that strange noise outside’ or stupidly ‘go up those stairs in the house’ – when they shouldn’t, I also enjoy setting up the self-discovery of the characters in a similar flawed fashion. My characters often achieve enlightenment, but it is often delusion, and readers can see it as such. There’s no feel good happy resolution to ease the tension of the narrative.
In ‘Depths of Deception’ – without giving away the climactic moments – there appears to be a happy ending for the narrator, and to him it is. But we the reader are aware that its grotesque and impossible, and even if its true, its against a backdrop of horrifying proportions. Yet the hero is left happy in the icy wilderness, and it is we who are discomfited. Our expectations have been deliberately fucked with. Up is down, and black is white, and we’re through the looking glass – we stepped through it from page one without noticing that this happened.
In ‘From Hell’ we move from a cheerful pop-culture savvy slick version of a stylized Hell, into an all-too-real world above, following the trail of someone whose ideas of good and bad, pleasure and pain are all mixed up and back to front. Yet this state is normal to them. The story remains ‘sort of’ funny, up until the main character experiences real pain, rape, physical damage. The inner journey of the character is mirrored by the outer geography of the Land they’re passing through. The character begins to change, mature, gain an education – but there’s always the inner conflict of how they were raised compared to how human society behaves. The ‘Hell’ in the book is more than just an excuse for jokes, it is examining the idea of what exactly is ‘decent’ and what is ‘perverse.’ The character is a victim on multiple fronts, slowly coming to terms with issues of mortality, conscience, as well as fighting nature and nurture as new relationships are formed.
I mention all this because I’ve finished a new work, and happened to notice that structurally I’ve again done what I detailed above: brought the reader into a situation where they have to play ‘catchup’ as the character tries to make sense of why they are, where they are. Part of it comes from not planning anything when I write – but I suspect, a larger part comes from beyond the weird event horizon that is my subconscious. I’d hate to start writing something where I knew what was going to happen at every step of the process. Sheer tedium would envelope me.
The new work isn’t that long, perhaps 110 pages. I think it will be an interesting counterpoint to another, as yet unpublished work of mine of similar length. I like the idea of a slim book containing two violently opposite stories, each setting off into distinctly different territory. Both deal with victims of their circumstances, communicating with the reader and fleshing out the world in which each protagonist finds themselves. Each main character naturally comes up with solutions for what they see as their problems. The twinned stories will hopefully make a delicious example of the Grotesque in action: the oscillation between the monstrous and the ridiculous.
And no, I don’t think of any of these things while writing. This is all pseudo-intellectual thumbsuck after the event. In truth, when I write, I just simply try to amuse myself and create interesting menageries of words on the page. Its only afterwards, if pushed, that I can perceive patterns or threads in what I’ve made, and concoct suitably erudite explanations for them.
Enough of the thumbsuck, I have to continue editing the new work and get it into a fit state to pass through the filter of firstly my Editor, and then my Agent.
So, until the next time, if carpal tunnel syndrome doesn’t get me 
