[Writing] Writing with Depression (aka: Why My Books Aren't Finished)

After Scott Lynch (author of The Gentleman Bastard sequence) posted about depression earlier this week over on his Live Journal, I thought it was a good opportunity to describe how depression affects an aspiring writer’s life and work. Mainly the work.

I’m twenty-something, I’ve studied for degrees at Bachelor and Masters levels, and I’m also writing a trilogy. Or would be...if I wasn’t still stalling on the first book. I say “stalling”: this doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s in the book—hell, I know what’s in the trilogy and the trilogy after that, and so on and so forth. Basically, it’s not that I don’t know what to, or how to write, on the contrary. I know precisely how to do both, and I get irked if I don’t manage to write in a day.

I am a writer; if I do not write, I start to develop sociopathic tendencies. Alright, that last part was an exaggeration. Either way, I get very, very cranky if my mood prevents me from writing.

And here’s where we get to the “mood” part.

I am depressed. It’s lot better than it was when studying for my MA, when I essentially took up the role of a well-dressed zombie, shambling about the house daily, hardly doing anything but staring meaningfully at an open blank page, almost hoping my novels would just splurge themselves onto the awaiting spaces. In fact, I tried this for two years, whilst plodding along with my postgraduate studies, working on trite nonsense dressing itself up as science-fiction, but in plain enough clothes to pass as “normal fiction” for the genre-hating lecturers at my university.

I got precious little done, in the end. Oh, I might have gotten a Masters Degree, but who’s counting that? Certainly not me.

Now?

Things are better.

Marginally.

 I don’t think depression ever goes away, I merely think we learn how to cope with it. Coping mechanisms are what enable us to actually plod the hell on, and take a moment and think “right, I’m sitting here like a zombie; I’m frustrated and upset—oh! It’s a blip, that’s what it is”.

Unsurprisingly—yet it took me some time to actually realise it—my mechanism is reading. I’ve been reading fantasy for years, however, it’s only in the last two years I have been eating books. I’ve found that when I read, I can write, and when I can write; I’m happier (happy, some days).

It seemed as good a time as any to blog about this, because I really am getting better: it’s not as hard as it used to be, and once you identify triggers and the pitfalls of your own moods, you can begin to overcome the depression on a level you previously never could. So, I can pretty much understand everything Lynch talks about in his blog. Not all depression is the same, but, I think we can at least understand each other a little.

Depression is the single reason I am plodding through The White War; the first book in my trilogy. (Well, that and the reasons discussed in a previous post.) It’s coming along, now, and the whole series is planned out: everything is merely waiting to be written. It’s frustrating, really, that my head and plans are so far ahead of my fingers on the keyboard. 

Frustrating as it is, there’s little point in forcing or rushing things: it’ll merely disrupt whatever progress I’ve made through my depression. So, instead, you have to work day-to-day. It’s awkwardly annoying for a control freak like me, but, it’s all I have. (And it appears to be working.)

In essence, I’ve given myself a very harsh deadline for The White War: I won’t say when it is, but, by hook or by crook, it will be done by this date. Then I have the joy of beginning on The Black Rebellion. Being a writer is fun, isn’t it?

I’m hoping for a productive summer; I’m hoping to make a lot of progress both with my writing, and with my depression.

And one can but hope. 

[Review] The Fallen Blade: Act 1 of the Assassini (Vampire Assassin Trilogy #1), by Jon Courtenay Grimwood

I'll begin by making it clear that this was a novel I read a) because it was recommended so highly by various people on my Twitter  network, and b) understanding I was entirely out of my comfort zone. 

Despite being an avid fan of both Venetian settings, and vampires (as well as general occult themes), I am woefully under-read when it comes the nightwalkers: their unfortunate relegation to the romantic realms of YA fiction has dampened my enthusiasm for anything vampiric outside of manga and anime. The Japanese just seem to handle vampires better. Much like science-fiction, if you ask me. 

Regardless, I wanted to read The Fallen Blade, because I expected it to be a different, intriguing read. I wasn't disappointed, that's for sure. Although at times I felt so bewildered it was frustrating. 

I'll clarify: There were aspects that I found lacking, but they are the same things I found wanting in Stephan Deas' Memory of Flames series thus far. I'll come back to this later. Furthermore, anything else I'll pick fault with in the first instalment of the Vampire Assassin trilogy is entirely subjective, and related to the depiction of vampires in general.

What's apparent from the very beginning, is how theatrical The Fallen Blade is going to be: the "dramatis personæ" is only the first hint, followed by both the detailed family tree, the Shakespeare quote, and finally, the "Part One" proudly heralding the book's beginning. Theatrics in fantasy are not something I've experienced much, outside of The Lies of Locke Lamora. I was expecting something special and exciting when I began.

The Venetian setting is seamless; Grimwood effortlessly captures the magic, squalor and darkness of 15th Century Venice, conveying the glamorous lives of the rich, side-by-side with the hopelessness of the poor. Grimwood's Venice is alive, pulsating with life and death. And magic. 

The pacing is excellent, and The Fallen Blade is definitely a page-turner. 

Initially, I was unconvinced. I found it difficult to really become absorbed in the story, because for me, one crucial thing was missing: characterisation. And yet, that isn't quite right. There is plenty of characterisation, in fact, the characters have quirks and traits and idiosyncrasies in abundance. But what they don't have are personalities. I found myself attached to and absorbed in the plot itself, but not particularly bothered--for or against--any of the characters. In the entire book, perhaps three characters stand out to me, and these are not the three I initially expected. 

Tycho. Tycho is amazing, entirely because of what and who he is. In regards to his character and personality...as with the rest of the cast, there's little to grow attached to. I like to latch onto the characters I read; I like to learn to love them. I relish nothing more in a story than growing attached to the characters I'm reading about. I only care about Tycho because I have a soft spot for vampires. Of course, Grimwood is artfully vague about what Tycho actually is, and this works: the last thing needed in such a slick, sexy and dark novel is the (unfortunate) misconception that comes with the word "vampire" in fantasy fiction at the moment. The same goes for the krieghund. That they aren't merely "vampires" and "werewolves" adds a sophistication to the story. There is magic at play, and this very magic permeates the hidden places, the secret places of Venice. The Fallen, and the krieghund are merely part of this. 

Desdaio. She's, quite honestly, wonderful. Whilst she at once fills the role of Othello's Desdemona, she is also the most heart-warming character in the book. Her character is one of the most clearly conveyed, and this is probably why I took to her as much as I did. That there's little to say about her, in no way reflects on her as an uninteresting character. In fact, there's little to say, because saying she's well-developed and well-conveyed amidst a cast I found otherwise lacking, conveys just how fantastic she is. 

Lady Giulietta. That Grimwood manages to effortlessly convey all the petulance, fear and childish innocence of a girl as young as her, in such a specific setting, only serves to elevate him to a higher pedestal as a writer. There isn't a second where her character falters; she remains flawless throughout, even as her personality changes in response to the horrors that befall her. Essentially, Grimwood captures her perfectly. Whether in her snobbish, spoilt anger, her bewildered terror, or devastated perseverance, Grimwood writes her seamlessly, with never a jarring moment. I make a point of this, because I know from my own writing how difficult it can be conveying the opposite sex, let alone a frightened young girl. Occasionally when writers portray teenagers and children, their ages can be forgotten in the delivery; this not once happens with Giulietta, even throughout her most womanly and adultly of troubles.  

The rest of the cast; I couldn't care a fig. They could die, slit each other's throats, and play each other for all they're worth, if they like (and they probably will). It feels as though it's none of my business. I'll be honest; if any one of the three I mentioned is offed (unlikely with Tycho, for obvious reasons, at least at present), I likely won't care as much as I've cared for other characters in  other books. 

The character development feels very literary, and whilst this is excellent in regard to clean, sophisticated writing, I can help feeling that it's lacking. I felt this way after Memory of Flames. I just didn't care about any of the characters. This is obviously by choice. Grimwood has clearly opted for a dazzling, dark and gritty drama, with a heavier emphasis on fast-paced, sexy theatrics, than who his characters are. Whilst this isn't my favoured approach to the people whose stories I'm essentially reading about, it works in this instance. It more than works; it wouldn't be the same without it. Grimwood couldn't be half as ruthless if he'd presented a cast the reader could actually, deeply care for. (Well, he could....but that would be cruel!) 

The fact remains that characterisation is the single fault I could really pick, and even then, I accept that for The Fallen Blade, it works. Other than this, I wasn't sold on the notion that vampires 'transform' into something else, in a similar fashion to how the krieghund do.  This, however, is entirely subjective, and just happens to be because I know how I like my vampires. 

All in all, The Fallen Blade really is as good as I've heard everyone say. Moreover, it's different. For a first foray out of my cosy, warm comfort zone, I wasn't disappointed. The Fallen Blade delivers a pure shot of sophisticated, devilishly wicked dark fantasy at breakneck speed, whilst offering a theatrical, Shakespearean experience that really, truly is "as dark and dazzling as a masquerade". 

Read this book; you will be at once surprised, and delighted. 

3.5/5

[Review] Shadow's Son, by Jon Sprunk

This will be the first in a series of regular reviews that I hope to sprinkle amidst the usual updates. Why? Well first off, I like making it known when books are good (or bad, or great!) and by the end I think it'll be a collection of reviews that will show off where perhaps some of my influences come from. Every single book I ever read influences me in some way; whether its writing style, character development or simply tropes and techniques, I take in everything. 

There's a backlog of reviews I want to write, but since I finished this book just last night it seemed as good a place as any to start. 

Before I even read Shadow's Son  [Jon Sprunk] there was already a little story around it growing. Having ventured into Waterstone's and being drawn in by the blurb, title and front cover (everything, really) I was ready to pluck it from the shelf and skip to the cashier. Then, it was pointed out that the book wasn't hardcover—which I have a penchant for—and that Amazon proffered such, at only a couple of pounds more. Reluctantly (I wanted to return home happy with book in hand) I waited on Amazon. An uncharacteristic delay saw me receive the book some two weeks later. I was not impressed. 

Still, when I finally received it I was not disappointed. 

From the beginning I warmed to Caim. What can I say? I detest whiter than white protagonists whose back-stories are cleaner than a nun's unmentionables. Caim is the kind of hero I like: he's clever, quick rather than strong, and pushed forwards by a mysterious past. Moreover, he's a little dark. Sure, he's an assassin, but he's as nice a man as you'll find in his profession, and that's saying something. 

Early into the book we meet Kit. Seconds after meeting her, I loved her. A stunning, strange girl, Kit is witty, clever and the way in which she and Caim interact brings their relationship to life. You can almost feel Caim's ache for her at times, just as strongly as you can sense his desire to wring her neck. Their relationship is one of my favourite parts of the book, and I look forwards to more of it throughout the second. 

Purely because it was set in a city it brought images of both Mark Charan Newton's Nights of Villjamur and Scott Lynch's The Lies of Locke Lamora to mind. Though whilst you're not taken to the chilly winter streets where bistros' steamed windows overlook the trodden cobbles and the undeniable sense of a metropolitan community permeates the air, or the lavish Italianesque streets enhanced by ancient towers and alchemical lamps, traversed by the dandy, the rich and the thieving, the city is alive nonetheless.

In fact, the setting is so rich that you're treated to almost a guided tour of the city as Caim treads its many paths, streets and obviously, dark, dangerous alleyways. The city is ruled by the True Church, which essentially is the Catholic church. This allegory immediately piqued my interest, as I gladly warm to any setting where the church and monotheism are in the firing line. This further compounded the notion that this city was European in appearance and feel, and the same Italian verve from The Lies of Locke Lamora remained. 

Caim boasts a colourful cast to support him. A nobleman's daughter who bears a secret she's unaware of, but that could tear apart the city from its heart. A dandy young activist whose father perches at the very top of the establishment he strives against. An ambitious assassin whose loyalties are as fluid as the silk with which he adorns his apartments. Finally, a dark and dangerous pair; a powerful, influential priest and his dark sorcerer who, whilst he might lurk in the shadows he appears clad in, is not as easy to tame as his master might assume. 

Essentially the book begins with little plot in a sense; only Caim and his occupation, and Caim with a job to do. As the blurb promises, Caim soon is pulled into a deeper plot—a plot against him—and this is when the story heats up. Other books that start with little plot on the table upfront can be a little difficult to really get into, but that wasn't the case at all with Shadow's Son. Quite the contrary, actually. Caim and Kit make for such a dynamic and intriguing pair that their escapades are exciting enough to hook and reel the reader in until the big wheels start to turn. 

And boy do those wheels turn. 

Shadow's Son not only presents Caim as an assassin with a difference—namely, with powers—but also reaches far, far higher than the streets of Othir from which he takes his living, suete knives in hand. The plot reaches the lofty heights of the palace, with Caim struggling to stay one step ahead of enemies who have too much to lose to merely back down. Caim the Knife soon finds himself fighting battles that his knives alone can't match, and that he must rely on the one thing he's been trying to deny since he can remember: the shadows.

Good pacing, gripping action and sublime duelling scenes make this story a winner. Packed with dark sorcery and darker secrets, romance and suspense, all topped off with the proverbial cherry that is Sprunk's excellent writing, Shadow's Son was exactly everything it promised to be. 

4/5