Showing posts with label Polly Iyer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Polly Iyer. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Fiction can give you perspective on your own life

Last night I started reading InSight by Polly Iyer, and it kept me up way too late. Polly throws together a blind counselor and a deaf police officer. Abby Gallant, blinded by a vicious ex-husband, is a psychologist supposed to help Luke McAllister deal with issues over sudden, duty-related total loss of hearing. But the professional relationship is compromised when they develop an almost instant mutual attraction, and Abby refers Luke to another counselor. Meanwhile, it appears someone is stalking Abby.

Polly has done a terrific job capturing the world of the handicapped (Abby resents such pc terms as “hearing impaired” or visually challenged,” saying “I’m blind; you’re deaf.”) But we feel Luke struggle as he reads lips and Abby worry about whether or not she’s facing directly at him so he can read what she’s saying. Her house is arranged so that she knows her way around it, as she knows the way from her taxi to her office and to the restroom. We even watch her feeling for utensils and her food at the table—I’ve eaten often enough with a blind friend to know Polly got it just right. Helen Keller is supposed to have said once that of the two senses, the loss of hearing would be worse because it cuts you off from communication, music, all that ties us together as humans. As someone whose hearing is going, I understand and sympathize with that, but I think a world of blackness would terrify me.

No spoiler to stay that in an early scene Abby is tempted out of her well-known paths to the back of her large yard to rescue her whining seeing-eye dog. She makes her way over rough grass, finally holding onto the wooden fence until the reaches the dog that has been injured. Then the stalker appears—she can hear him approaching. There’s a scene of true stark terror when the villain chokes Abby before finally releasing her. She’s left in the dark, far from all that she uses to guide her, with an injured dog. I could feel her panic.

Thinking about the obstacles faced by these two fictional characters—who seem so real to me—I got to thinking about my anxiety problems. Lately I’ve felt my old friend anxiety hanging around—a knot in the center of my chest one night, an uneasy feeling yesterday morning (I think I was worried about President Obama’s safety)—sort of there but not really, nothing disastrous.  And it all fell into perspective. I can see and, with hearing aids, I can hear. I am blessed, and I can deal with a bit of anxiety. Hey, it’s all in my head anyway, isn’t it?

If you haven’t read Polly Iyer’s books, explore them. They’re worth it.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Writing: and the angst goes on

I am 30,000 words into my work-in-progress, but the remaining 40,000 loom before me like a great chasm. I'm not sure who's behind all the bad stuff that's going on in the novel, and I've got one character who is so enigmatic I don't know if she's one of the good guys or bad, a victim, a martyr, or--maybe--a heroine. Hey, I like that idea. Kelly seems to be waiting for things to happen, but she has to be pro-active if she's to be the protagonist. I have scads of notes, but no outline--that's not my style. My mentor/beta reader/good friend/whatever-he-is has read the first 10,000 words--I gave them to him when I was desperate, but now I've moved on beyond that, changed a major plot element, and made lots of other changes. We're to have lunch next week, and he'll give me his comments--always sharp and incisive, written out so that I can study them. But it's changed so much I now think I was hasty--or panicked--in giving the first bit to him. I keep remembering the words of a fellow mystery writer that the point of a first draft is simply to get to the end.
Last night I read sixty fives pages of Polly Iyer's Murder Deja Vu. (A note of explanation: Polly is a friend; I've never met her, but she's a fellow member of Sisters in Crime and fairly active on the Guppies sub-list; we've exchanged Facebook comments, and I definitely feel she's a friend.) The tension in the opening pages of this novel was terrific, and I was mesmerized, only put it down because I knew I had to be up early. The story has a much harder edge than what I write, and for a few minutes I beat myself up because I don't write like that. But then I explained to myself, with fair success, that each of us write what we write, the way we do it. I suspect it has something to do with the way we see the world. That may make me a Pollyanna type, but so be it. I started out as a  young-adult author way back when and later so tired of agents reading adult manuscripts and telling me they thought they were for the y/a audience. But another friend, commenting on a post on "Judy's Stew" wrote "You made me care about your characters, so you are doing something right. Buck up!" So I will.
But not tonight and not this weekend. I'm taking a brief holiday. Sunday is my birthday, and I'll spend the weeked surrounded by family and friends. I'll read a lot, while grandchildren swim, and put all thoughts of Kelly O'Connell and her unsolved mystery out of my mind. Monday, when I get back to work, I will check the first round of edits on another author's manuscript that I'm editing. So maybe after a break, I'll go back with renewed enthusiasm.
The motto for all writers is, I suspect, "Persevere." There's a lot of advice out there, but that one word seems to sum it up.
Happy weekend everyone.