neurodiverse

Reading Craft ion the Real World (CitRW)

~ Mel ~ 2 Comments

When I got Craft in the Real World (CitRW) by Matthew Salesses, I did with reservations. I have received a lot of craft advice in my life and have developed a raging rage against most of it. I have shown my whole ass ripping advice from Stephen King to shreds because, how dare?

I never found the words to express why craft advice was making me so angry. I pinned a part on it being prescriptive. One shoe doesn’t fit all, that much I knew. I just didn’t know how to argue for more diverse shoes because everybody was so set on having white sneakers.

I settled on “everything does something, you just have to decide if it is a something you want.”

A valiant attempt but falling short in so many ways. And I didn’t know how to catch the pieces and make them make sense. It was obvious to me. Why could others not see it?

Reading CitRW is like trying to chip a lion out your block of marble for years only to learn that the advice on how to do this was geared at people working clay.

  • The Surprise – I though I was just too stupid/bad at it/ incapable.
  • The Relief – I can still do this! There is a way and I am not all lost/wrong.
  • The Pain – Why did I try to apply the wrong approach for so long?
  • The ANGER – Why did nobody tell me this was wrong for me? Why did everybody insist on it being helpful and THE ONLY RIGHT WAY when it is clearly NOT? Why did I suffer through so much perceived failure and the inability to streamline my words and still keep them meaningful?

The realisation that, surrounded by white, mostly allo cishet people – who is there to notice we’re trapped in an ideology of our almost-peers making? White male supremacy is so insidious, we don’t see all its tentacles groping through our lives.

Craft advice with a clear ideology and target audience took a life of its own, pretended that it had no ideology, and was falsely accepted as a neutral thing. Just like not using Deus Ex Machina prevails in western literature because Aristotle didn’t like it and we just took his word for it being bad.

So I just took the word of other white people. I did not reflect on where they got those ideas from. I did not reflect on what the written said about who it was from and who it was for. After all, isn’t SFF a free for all? Shouldn’t the place of magic and spaceships be free from preconceptions?

I guess it should.

Doesn’t mean the readers are free of those. Readers have expectations. And those are learnt as much as writing to meet them is. And the small number of women heroines in SFF only mirrored it’s predominantly male audience, right?

The first five pages of CitRW taught me more about craft then everything else up to that point. The whole book has changed my world. Not the way I write, but how I think about it, how I judge the framework it comes from and the framework I want it to go into.

CitRW also changed the way I beta and CP. I now understand why things work for me better. I can rattle at my perception to better see where the work comes from and how that influences the way it was written. I can start to see your craft and with it your privilege – or lack thereof.

I don’t think my writing has become more palatable to an implied “general audience”. But now I know why and I can consciously think on whether I do want to change things up for them or if I want to stick with a craft that speaks to my desired audience. (My desired audience, quite shockingly, is not middle aged, able bodies allo chishet white men of fair income.)

Also, I am petty and angry. If I had to read stories for them for most of my life, it’s time for payback and for them to read stories for me for a change. If I find enough to identify with an identity so far from mine, so can you.

And, just so you know, I will judge you on your PERCEPTION of craft.

<hamster out>

A Roborovski dwarf hamster is running in a red running wheel. Suddenly it is caught by the wheel and spins around in, flipping over and over.

Ready – Set – Action!

~ Mel ~ 2 Comments

Beginnings are the bane of authors, it seems. They have to be Just Right™ or they will get your manuscript rejected. Or so the story goes.

Ngl, I hate it here. There’s few things I love writing as much as beginnings. It’s an enchanted moment, sacred, when I get to dip a new reader into my worlds. Yes, sometimes it is fun to dunk them head-first into the sea of sparkle but usually I want them to feel the same sense of wonder I did when I found/created/explored this world.

For me, starting a book is like opening a door. And there are few times when I want to topple and drown immediately after. Or duck out of the line of fire. I want a sense of my surroundings first. And yes, sometimes diving into the sea of glitter is great. Also, it gets boring after a while.

By now I know beginnings, how they are supposed to look and work and I hate it. Like actively NOPE. It is customary to start with some small action, something to set the scene while drawing the reader right in and also, get the plot rolling.

The number of books I start where I know that whatever the protag is about to embark on will fail is atrocious. I do not want to see my protgas fail. Truth be told, I absolutely LOVE it when the first thing goes right and that is the reason the rest of the book goes down. Chef’s kiss.

Yellow emoji wearing a che's hat doing a che's kiss gesture
Feel free to send me SFF recs that do this. 🥺

There are lists of ways how you do NOT start a book. I read them and I shake my head because, nope, I see nothing wrong there. I like beginnings that start with somebody coming to or running away. It complements my feeling of stepping into a new world. I can slip into it slowly and get to know its wonders.

I also like people running, because usually they run away from something which can tell you so much. 🥺

So, what am I supposed to do? Action.

And yes, many people interpret that as ACTION!action. Like, shooting, fighting, explosions. I find that dull and distracting. I don’t care about any of this yet. Yes, you can signal clearly who the correct side to root for is. No, it won’t work because I’m naturally suspicious about it.

If you wonder why I will not believe you, please confer with my Show vs Tell blog post.

What do I consider successful beginnings? (Not considering prologues here)

The Raven Tower by Ann Leckie. Two people ride into a city. Impending doom has not happened yet.

The Stardust Thief by Chelsea Abdullah. A magic merchant and her companion complete a deal and everything goes well.

Cambion’s Law by Erin Fulmer – The protag outs herself as half-demon getting coffee and goes for a jog where she stumbles over the plot.

Finna by Nino Cipri – The protag arrives at work to cover a shift and hates every second of it.

The prologue of Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao is the kind of beginning I mean. It starts, there’s fighting. Do I care? Nope. To this day I am very sorry for the poor Hunduns. 🤷‍♂️

The Simpsons meme of Helen lovejoy in a close up. Instead of "won't somebody please think of the poor children" the caption reads "won't somebody please think of the poor Hunduns".
No really, please think of the poor Hunduns

I think what is important for me in a beginning is to get a feeling of my new friends, their world and the story I can expect ahead. If you start with fighting, that’s what I will expect: fighting. If you start with characters, I will expect character development on the grounds of things happening. If you have a lot of descriptions (side-eyeing you, Gideon the Ninth) I expect many more descriptions.

Personally, I want to go gently into my new world. I want to get invested. And if I am getting dunked in a sea of glitter, I at least want to know that the details of this romp are irrelevant for what is coming.

Mel out.

A Roborovski dwarf hamster is running in a red running wheel. Suddenly it is caught by the wheel and spins around in, flipping over and over.

Manuscript Post-Production

~ Mel

So, what does a pantser like me do once they finished their first draft?

Well, after typing “The End” I bundle it up an yeet it at agents, naturally.
Joking. I only yeet it at agents I have beef with.
OK, still joking.

How does post-production look like?

Well, my first draft usually is the first version of the finished book. Sava had 70k in her first draft and got beefed to 96k in post because descriptions are just not a thing I do.

Horny WIP finished at 77k. It’s contemporary, so I hope I don’t have to add that much description.

Anyway, step one: letting the manuscript sleep. (I am SO bad at this and may skip it even.) At least 4 weeks of not touching it. I hope to forget a few things that I just know during that time and realise I forgot to put them on paper when I re-read.

The next step is soft edits. I already wrote the best version of the book I know how to. So at this point I just tweak small things. Put in some foreshadowing or weaving in things and characters that I came up with later.

I try to make notes about what needs to be done later while I write instead of going back and doing it right then. That way, I will remember later and it’s not disturbing my flow.

For Salma, this will be pointing out her autistic traits. I’m not going to make a big issue of it, but she’ll get her stimming and stuff. Not to mention that her LI gets her at first sight and helps her cope however he can.

Salma also needs some nice trauma. Not sure where to go with that except maybe undiagnosed autism in the real world. But CPs are part of post production and they do amazing work. (ILYSM 😭) This is where my manuscript goes after I edited out all mistakes I could find and put in all things I have to retroactively.

Then I sit on my hands and chew on my nails until the feedback rolls in.

Honestly, CPs are the best thing that can happen to a writer. I love mine with the ferocity of a million suns. They are willing to put in some work for quid in return and I am just so happy and grateful to know them. 🥺

Then I read the feedback, throw a few hissy fits and take some time to cool down again. I need time to digest feedback and hammer home the point that it is meant to help me and not an insult. (Note to self: feedback is really, really I helpful and in no way an insult.)

At this point a skill authors are not always told about becomes relevant: parsing the feedback. It is on ME to know who my target audience is and what my vision for the story is. On those grounds I have to decide whether feedback I get is helpful or not.

Ngl, it’s difficult in the beginning. What do I want?!? It’s also difficult when it comes form people you perceive to be further along/better with authoring than you are. Soul-searching commences and the horrible question of who I want to be as an author.

The realisation that who I want to be may not be (at all) what is sellable, doesn’t help. I cried so many times thinking about how my ideas and style and pace and voice are not, in combination, a thing that is likely to sell. 😭

Back to post-production. After realising what the vision of the manuscript is, I apply the feedback. I will always apply “descriptions needed here” feedback, because I know I don’t do descriptions. The rest I will compare with my vision for the character arc, the setting, the emotional oomph I want and apply accordingly.

Note: I take into account hints that things don’t work more than offered solutions. Things not working is usually on me. But then, so are the solution because it is my vision. If the suggestions align with my vision? All the better.

When all that is done, it is time for another editing pass. This is where I read my manuscript aloud to myself, even if I did that already for the soft edits. Reading out loud was The Horror™. I don’t like my voice. I really do not. But reading out loud makes me catch all the spelling mistakes and the bits where the prose doesn’t flow. Mind you, this is from my little nd perspective. My flow might be way off your flow. I LOVE my filler words because of the ensuing cadence. Priorities may differ.

After this I write my synopsis. Yes, this late. Maybe the synopsis-writing-demons possessed me before this, but usually they do not. So this is when I sit down and write the synopsis. I start by telling the plot as if I was telling it to another person. Then I condense and clarify. I aim for a synopsis of 2 pages double-spaced. That is also 1 page single-spaced. I just pray I don’t wanna sub to a place with 1 page double-spaced again. 🤷‍♀️

I also write my query. It is pain. It is crying on the floor. It is bad when it is finished. But at least I have a thing to throw at my writing community. And this, I cannot stress it enough, is where you you will find all the help and support you need. (Note: you also have to give back whenever you can however much you can.)

When all this is done, I try to give the manuscript another sleep (difficult because I am IMPATIENT bint) and polish everything once more. Maybe ask for help once more. (ngl 100% the hardest part of writing for me is asking for help.)

And that’s it. Now I yeet at agents for real.

Post-Post-Production:

The inevitable tweaks that accumulate during querying because you have the nagging feeling there is something fundamentally wrong with your manuscript. 🤷‍♂️

The Cat Game

~ Mel ~ 2 Comments

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. But I can’t program so it’s just like a thought experiment. A little something to make the nd experience, or at least my flavour of it, experienceable for everybody.

It’s just a little interaction game, where you explore and interact. The interface would look something like this:

At the bottom are the buttons for actions: play, angry, cuddle, hungry. At the top you have the exact same buttons again framed by a circle and a square button. There are no instructions. Except what the buttons mean though the icons are very on point (for me).

The game starts with a line of text:

First level is intro and easy. You walk around and can interact with things, play, eat, stuff. Just so you figure out the buttons. There’s a big teddy for cuddles.

From level two on things get more complicated. There are not only items, but also other dogs and humans. To finish the level, you have to do some tasks, like play with a human, get somebody to feed you, nap. Nothing difficult. But now the top row of buttons comes into play. Because few people you meet react to the buttons the way you want.

Like, most fellow dogs reply to Angry with Play. Humans, too. And when somebody signals leave me alone and you do, they get angry.

The solutions are the square – translate your signal – and the circle – translate the signals from outside. You can use them to translate an action you want to do to the outside, or let it run over a signal you get.

Surprise, surprise – most bottom row buttons need translation to the outside most of the time and vice versa. Though, once in a while, you will get lucky not having to do that.

The game gets more complicated as you have to translate both ways almost always. There are no keyboard short-cuts. You have to use the mouse. It is time consuming and the time allotted for the level runs out faster and faster.

When you failed a level three times, another line of text appears on the screen:

You get to choose and if you choose ‘yes’ all the lower row buttons suddenly mean exactly what they say to everybody you meet. No more clicking wildly to translate anything. It is easy to finish the level way below time-out.

Next level, you are a dog again. And each time you fail, you are asked again: Do you want to play as a cat? And the levels don’t get easier. You just can’t finish on time as a dog. You play as a cat. After a while, the game stops. There is one last line:

Black on brown text reading: Why do you keep playing as a cat?!? You are a do!The last line is bigger.

I don’t know if people would get it. But that’s what it feels like so often. The whole world is geared towards something I am not but everybody insist I must be. Because, what is the alternative? There is none, right?

Why don’t I want to play, aka live my life, as a dog? Everything is geared towards dog. Dog is easy.

But if you take into consideration the consistent translations I am doing all day everyday – I have learnt to emulate the world around me and I can “pass” for a dog well enough. So well, that people assume this is my normal and that it doesn’t cost me. But it’s not and it does.

I am tired.

I just want to be cat.

Did You Say “Free Floating Dialogue”?!? 👀

~ Mel

I think we have all come across it. I think we have all written it. There’s exercises in writing only dialogue to make it stronger. There’s also plays but those are a different bunny entirely. I am not talking about plays here.

I must admit that I didn’t always notice free floating dialogue (FFD). My background is in fanfic where you can write as you please and it pleases a surprising (?) number of people to have FFD. I never thought to take note because as long as I am not losing sight of who says what, I’m good.

In a recent workshop, I commented on the phenomenon.

Why?

Because I have now been trained to notice and avoid it. (It doesn’t always work, ok?) And while I typed out my comment that the dialogue was rather free floating I started wondering why commented on that? Why did I take the time to comment? Because I don’t care. I only noticed because I trained to notice.

In the workshop the subject came up with my dialogue as well. (What did I say above? 😭?) The explanation was also a good one. It is like a camera in a stationary close up. Nothing moves, nothing happens! Just talking faces!!!

Have you seen the music video for Proof by I am Kloot? Because it is just that (with the extremely ogleable face of Christopher Eccleston, too!). You get to see his face for three minutes straight. Nothing happens. Well, almost. In the end, he smiles. And boy, does that have an impact.

FFD is similar for me. The scope is a little bigger – face and shoulders (for the Shrugging™). And that is all I need really. People have expressions. And there is nothing to distract from this intense and intimate observation of two (or more) people lost in conversation. The smallest gestures carry weight and meaning. (Think of the hand-brushing in period dramas).

To you this may be heads floating in space. To me this is the experience of pure conversation, undistracted and served on the silver platter of (hyper)focus.

I don’t want to be grounded in the bloody world. I want to be grounded in the dialogue!

I do not want to hear about sunshine reflecting somewhere or the sound of feet going by or the scent of lost love wafting on a gentle breeze. Those are all intruders on a perfect conversation. Take those distractions away and let me focus on what is important here.

But Mel, what if I need the surrounds for the dialogue to work for me? That, my friend, sounds like a you-problem. And one you don’t have to worry about because we’re currently all being trained to write like that.

PS. The note I took during workshop.

a white paper on which is written with blue biro in a bad hand-writing: If so many people write "free-floating" dialogue on instinct and reading it is just fine - Who do we have to Stop? The question is written bigger and underlined three times.

A Neurodiverse Perspective on Show Don’t Tell – I Don’t Believe You

~ Mel ~ 1 Comment

Let’s get at this old bony bastard of writing advice. I’m not going into known things like:

1) It only works if you share the same background because – come on! Captain Obvious anybody? What do you think is going on if a happy guy wanders around his quarter handing out eggs dyed red?

2) It’s a relic from a time when Literature was written from and for white allo cishet middle class white men. (If you do not believe me, go read “Craft in the Real World” by Matthew Salessess.)

Instead, I will dive into my neurodiversity and what that does to y’all proudly showing me how your characters feel: I don’t believe you.

It’s that easy and that complicated.

I have masked for the longest time. When I was younger, I painfully learnt what the correct tells were for emotions, what the correct responses to other people were. It became important to show the correct image of what I wanted people to read.

Please take a moment with mere her to reflect how the showing something, especially if you do not want to, is called tells.
Thank you.

Let’s move on.
Of course, this can be used consciously as well. I can flit eyes around nervously, rub my fingertips, touch my hair. My voice is steel, my face is stone, and I am exuding nothing but calm concentration.

I know what I show.

I also know that inside, things are a completely different matter.

What does this mean for Show Don’t Tell? Easy. It means I don’t believe the Show part on its own. There is always the chance a character is reacting the way they are so the others will perceive them like this. There is always the chance, the reaction is a learnt response, a conscious deception, a performance of self-preservation.

I have myself done all of those things and then some. For somebody whose second nature is not showing what they actually feel, visible signs of emotions and reactions are a precarious information source at best.

It is my lived experience that the outward depiction of emotional reactions or reactions at all, is a carefully crafted construct.

It doesn’t matter how well crafted and detailed your show is. I will see A Show. I will see all the building blocks of a correct and socially acceptable reaction. If your character doesn’t tell me they mean it, there is no guarantee they are genuine. (Leaving aside unreliable narrators for the moment here because that is where things become really fun.)

It seems that many neurotypicals view learning body language and using it as a spy novel skill you acquire to bedazzle and manipulate. Many neurodiverse people learn it simply to survive. Without this skill, we don’t last a day. There is a running two-way translation going though our heads all day everyday turning the outside world into inside sense and translating myself into reactions the outside understands.

Apart from being utterly exhausting, it also makes super sensible to mood and tensions. It is sometimes called a sixth sense. When you have to observe every minuscule detail to derive the correct meaning, you see a lot more of them.

Do I shut this down when I read or write? I think not. How can I? It is how the world works for me. (Apart from a few select fellow nds. ‘allo frens!) it’s alike to asking if you shut down your eyesight for stories. How can you? It is an important part of how you perceive the world!

Naturally, this feeds back into my reading. I see your character’s reaction, but if you don’t confirm the truthfulness of it, I will reserve judgement and if the signs I know align, just know they are not, in fact feeling the way they present themselves.

It also definitely plays into how I write. My characters will show all kinds of reactions. And I will assume that, since it is obvious they only show a thing, the reader knows there is a great possibility they feel something else entirely. Even if they don’t admit it (not even) to themselves.

This leads to a great disconnect between how I am told stories need to be written and how I need stories to be written to reflect my reality.

I want to know and love the characters I read about. But how am I supposed to do that, when they rarely show their true self to me? How can you tell me that my characters should not open themselves to the readers? That they never allow a glance under their armour? That they must not be vulnerable and true?

TL’DR, as somebody trained to display the correct responses, to me showing will always be a smokescreen to hide behind.

Angry ND on Main

~ Mel ~ 9 Comments

Dear Publishing,

I’m afraid to write neurodiverse protagonists.

I know, I know – why should I, seeing how I’m neurodiverse and all that? Well, here’s the thing: I’m not doing it right. I’m not being the accepted and known kind of neurodivergent. I’m not showing an inspirational struggle. Come to think of it I do not show my struggles at all.

Not saying there’s nothing, mind you. It’s just – you won’t understand. Like, really, you will not.

I meet some other nd squirrel and they get it without me having to say a word. But the nt world at large? No such luck.

So I don’t use the a-words when I write. I am careful with what I show. Is the protag stimming or are they just nervous?
Listen, LISTEN …

My protags get their weighted blankets. They have their routines and need their breaks from people. Their brains spin around like that hamster overtaking himself in the running wheel gif.

A Roborovski dwarf hamster is running in a red running wheel. Suddenly it is caught by the wheel and spins around in, flipping over and over.

You don’t get it? That’s fine. Just enjoy the ride and take in the sights. It’s a whole new landscape. Nobody forces you to make sense of every last detail. Bathe in the flavour. This is the world experienced through somebody else’s eyes (and brain). Isn’t this what you want from reading? New experiences and adventures!

And we are expected to – and continuously do because what choice do we have? – translate neurotypical stories all the time. Nobody ever wonders – will this scan for nd people? Does it makes sense outside a neurotypical frame of mind? Are these nt character relatable outside their own in-group?

I’m pretty sure nt people reading my protags have several wtf-moments. Because their brains are not wired like that. I am not making sense (which, tbt, nothing new). And then the feedback piles in: can’t connect with the character, unrealistic, not making sense, nobody would ever…

Sounds familiar? Yeah. It is. And it’s nothing new for me because I heard that kind of thing about my-fucking-self for over 40 years.

So maybe sit down with a smoothie and listen for a sec.

  • I’m not here to make sense for you.
  • I’m not here to translate my experience for your brains.
  • I am here to give you a glimpse into what it is like.
  • I am here to write for people like me.

We deserve to see ourselves in stories. As we are. Not as NTs need to have us translated.

Sincerely,
Me

Lies, lies everywhere

~ Mel ~ 5 Comments

I keep getting comments on my stories that people say things that don’t make sense or just things that are not true.

And I’m like, yes, yes they do. My characters lie! They lie to your face, they lie behind your back, and they certainly won’t announce they are lying. They are here to fool you. That you think something is not right is just you seeing the edges of the lies shining through. Good work. I am proud of you.

Truth is, I want you to see the lies. And if not that, at least note there is something off.

Take Peter for example. He tells lies every day all day. He feeds different information to different people. Of course he won’t be going around announcing he’s manipulating everybody for his own gain.

And for one book, you will walk in my shoes. You will have to figure things out on your own from context clues that make absolutely no sense to you. You get my squirrely mind that can’t stop for long enough to dissect what’s going on. You get my issues that keep me from trusting my own gut and assessment.

Welcome to my world!

Of course, Peter is still a lying liar who lies. And you figure it out eventually. But until you do, he may not make sense. He lies and neither he nor I will tell you outright that he does so.

Tangent Time.

It’s quite possible this loops back into my neurodiversity. I had to learn context clues the hard way. And if you do it like that, you also learn not to trust them. People are also lying liars who lie. If you learn to reproduce the clues not because it makes sense, but because it is expected, you also learn that anything can be manufactured.

Everything could be a lie! There is no guarantee!

So maybe because I read people and stories differently, because the back of my mind is always open for what I am presented with being a lie, the way I express lying in what feels natural for me, is not natural to others. It makes sense.

Still, welcome to my world.

I hope you enjoy the ride as much as I do.