Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 5, 2019

I'm Going To Talk To You About Women.

(Originally Titled - The Male Feminine.)


A friend of mine once made the observation of my writing that I am able to grasp female protagonists really well. It hadn't actually occurred to me that there was anything especially remarkable about this but on reflection, it is clear that as an author, I have gravitated towards strong women characters in my work.

In my first novel, The Hambledown Dream (2010), I conceived a grieving young lawyer, Sonya Llewellyn, a fiercely independent woman who is left to pick up the pieces after the death of her true love. Hers was a character study in grief based, in part on my observations of my paternal grandmother, who lost her husband to cancer after 48 years of marriage. In Gifts of the Peramangk (2012), I portrayed a complex Aboriginal matriarch in Virginia Delfey whose secret gift may or may not hold the key to her family's redemption. Here, I was influenced by my experiences as a community nurse, working with many Aboriginal families in the suburban fringes of Adelaide and noting how central and authoritative matriarchal figures are.


Casey Schillinge as portrayed by a stock photo.

In my 2016 psychological thriller, The Recipient, Casey Schillinge is a young heart transplant recipient who is introduced to us as her life hangs by a thread. At the eleventh hour, she is given a second chance of a donor heart. In the subsequent story, she is remade as a troubled young woman who sees her gift of this life saving heart as a curse that holds a dark secret. In this instance, there isn't so much a template for this particular character as there is an instinctual drive on my part to create a compelling female protagonist who, in the tradition of strong pop culture heroines like Ellen Ripley, Lisbeth Salander and, more recently, Imperator Furiosa, gets to kick some serious butt.


Australian actress Sophie Bloom was the inspiration for Isabelle Sampi in The Artisan Heart.

in my 2018 novel, The Artisan Heart, I returned to my romantic roots with a gentle tome about a brilliant paediatrician, Hayden Luschcombe, who - having lost everything after a tragic event - returns to his home town in the mountain country of Southern Australia. There he encounters Isabelle Sampi, a struggling single mother who is trying to resurrect a moribund bakery in the town of Walhalla whilst raising her hearing impaired daughter. Isabelle is introduced as another independent, no nonsense woman who is driven to succeed as a business woman and mother and has no time for matters of the heart. Her secret past makes her wary of men in particular, until the handsome and damaged young doctor arrives in town and gradually dismantles her defenses. The story starts out with Hayden as the protagonist, but I like to think that Isabelle becomes the protagonist by the end of it. 

Where does predilection to write female characters come from? As a male writer, I have tended to occupy a space that many would argue is not suited to me. Well, I can say that it was never a conscious "thing" where I said to myself - 'I'm going to break through a gender wall and shake things up'. 

It kinda just happened.

I simply enjoy writing women and, as my many readers have fed back to me over the years, they very much enjoy reading them, noting how fully realised, dynamic and believable they are.

The fact that I am a male writer who chooses to portray strong female characters doesn't make me unique but, I realise that it does place me into a fairly niche group - one that has been regarded with some antipathy in literary circles. 

In a 2013 article for The Hairpin, blogger Ester Bloom bemoaned the apparent inability of male writers to accurately portray female characters. "Far too often...when you open up a book by a male writer—even a good male writer, and occasionally even a great male writer—you encounter ladies who are a variation on one or more of four themes: virgin, whore, mother, bitch."


Ellen Ripley *is* Woman.

Bloom goes on to deride the mysoginistic tendencies of male authors in their depictions of women based on these four themes. Though, she does acknowledge some works where men have, sometimes, gotten it  right...almost.

Putting aside the healthy dose of snark contained in the article, it illustrates the kind of antipathy I hinted at; the suggestion that men can't possibly hope to accurately portray women in fiction.

I say bollocks.

I recounted to Australian romance author Georgina Penney on the Bookish Tarts Podcast, that in drawing my protagonists - regardless of who they are -  I am,first and foremost, drawn to their humanity and how that humanity serves the story I'm telling. What are their goals? What are their motivations for achieving those goals? How do those goals serve the story? These things happen regardless of gender. 

When it came to sketching the characters, having decided they were going to be women, I'm certainly not bound by arbitrary themes such those mentioned by Bloom - nor am I writing with an agenda. It comes down to observation.

My own observational skills are keen. I am inspired by human behaviour and interaction and I reflect on the people who have influenced and inspired me. It happens to be the case that a lot of those people are women.

Central among these are my partner, my mother and my two grandmothers. These are women who have nurtured me and guided me in life, who I have communicated with and learned from. There are the colleagues I have worked along side as an Intensive Care Nurse - often in high pressure situations requiring a special kind of resolve. And there are my writing colleagues - my publisher and editor, fellow writers and artisans with whom I collaborate with and learn from.  All of them are strong and independent women, filled with wonderful complexity and dynamism -from which I have mined enthusiastically for material.


Jean was as tough as Ellen Ripley...possibly tougher.

I admire and respect these women and they have enhanced my appreciation of what makes a strong, well drawn female character. It is perhaps, no accident that their character traits find their way into my fictional creations.

There isn't any great secret to writing character - be it male or female. The key ingredient to any character is an ability to imbue them with and convey genuine humanity, one that invests the reader in the protagonist's journey. As a writer, I see it as essential to be able to observe and accurately reflect that humanity.

Oh, and women are really great.

DFA.

Monday, January 4, 2016

Men Are Dickheads. Stop It!!

Men are dickheads.

It seems to be the case that my sex are increasingly displaying behaviour in public that has me dropping my head and shaking it in complete and utter bewilderment.



There have been three occasions within the past week here in Australia in which men have behaved like complete dickheads.

Last week, it emerged that a Minister of the Crown in our Federal Government, made inappropriate advances towards a female staffer from a Government department, known as the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, whilst on a tax payer funded delegation in Hong Kong. The details of the "inappropriate advances" have, so far, not been made explicit, however they were deemed serious enough for the Minister, Jamie Briggs, to have to tender his resignation as Minister for Cities.

In the fallout from this, our national broadsheet newspaper, the Rupert Murdoch owned Australian, released portions of text communication that occurred between the female staffer and her superiors over the incident but they also published a pixelated photograph of the staffer posing with the former Minister's Chief of Staff (taken prior to the incident of inappropriate advances). It has since emerged that the photograph had been distributed to his parliamentary colleagues, revealing the identity of the female staffer, by none other the Jamie Briggs himself.

Let's be clear here - a Federal Minister has behaved in a manner that has caused a female staffer to make a formal complaint and then he has distributed a photographic image of that staffer. This is conduct that is not only illegal, it is immoral.

This whole train wreck continues however. On Monday, January 4th here in Australia, journalist Samantha Maiden (of Rupert Murdoch's News Limited stable) penned an excoriating opinion piece in which she similarly chastised the behaviour of the Minister and the ramifications of that behaviour. Subsequent to that opinion piece, another Federal Minister, this time the Minister for Immigration and Border Protection, Peter Dutton composed a text message, referring to Samantha Maiden as a "mad fucking witch. The intended recipient of this text message was his colleague, slain Minister Jamie Briggs.

Peter Dutton sent the text message to Samantha Maiden herself.

It has often been said that our current government and many of its male Members of Parliament have a problem with women particularly and sexism/mysoginy more generally. I have highlighted two examples of our Parliamentary leaders, our legislators - Men!! - who have made themselves look like complete dickheads and, by extension make men look like collective dickheads.

I have problems with authority - particularly unearned authority. Messers Briggs and Dutton are two cases in point. Both men should be sacked and bundled out of Parliament immediately.

But this is not the end of my frustration.

Last night, (January 4 here in Australia), during our limited overs cricket competition, known here as the Big Bash League, former West Indian Test Captain Chris Gayle, who is currently playing for the Melbourne Renegades, was interviewed following his innings by Channel 10 journalist Mel McLaughlin. In the exchange that followed, Gayle said, on air, that he wanted to be interviewed by McLaughlin "just to see your eyes for the first time." 

In what quickly became cringe worthy television, Gayle continued his sleazy flirtation with McLaughlin by adding, "Hopefully we can win this game and we can have a drink after". 

A clearly uncomfortable McLaughlin tried to steer the interview back to cricket but (dickhead) Chris Gayle misinterpreted her unease by saying, "Don't blush baby".

Yep. He said that.

Predictably, the internet has erupted this morning in reaction to this exchange and it has been on a sort of rolling boil since (dickhead) Briggs and (dickhead) Dutton made prize idiots of themselves in the past week.

Men - particularly men of influence - treat women appallingly. Men everywhere treat women appallingly and I am completely bloody sick of it. Most men are dickheads and if we men that are left don't call out this dickhead behaviour then we are dickheads too.

There is a really nasty undercurrent of behaviour perpetrated by men in Australia that has been allowed to fester for far too long. And it has to stop. We have to stop it.

Stop. Being. Dickheads.

DFA.

Friday, January 1, 2016

The Snore Of Destiny.

So...I have a snoring problem.

I've had it for some time and it appears to be becoming more consistent. At least, this is what my partner tells me. For a while, I did the oft-done thing by...well...men and denied it. Told her that she must be dreaming it and I know for sure that I do not have a problem. And here was my first downfall - because my partner has an iPhone...and she knows how to use it.

Now, with this rather sobering evidence in hand, we both agree (trust me, I've checked) that my snore is not ground shakingly terrible, nor is it constant. But it is significant enough that it is waking my partner (who is a light sleeper) at night and forcing her to leave our bed. This is  depressing on two fronts.

Depressing that she has to leave the bed and thus I wake in the morning, alone...and depressing because of the realisation that another night has gone by in which I have snored.

Once I got over myself...and admitted that I have a problem, I have set about trying to solve it non surgically. Since my snore, as I've said already, is not an extinction level event - yet - it is reasonable to assume that I can correct this without resorting to cutting my throat out. I began by trying to contort myself into positions in bed and on pillows in such a way that would enhance airflow into my throat and neuter my snore. All I suceeded in doing was straining parts of my body that I did not think could be strained.

So, I proceeded to the next stage of non-surgical remedies - the kinds that grace many a pharmacists shelf. But herein lies the rub. There are so many non surgical "remedies" out there that it is almost impossible to work out what is B.S. and what is, well, not B.S.

I like to think I have a reasonable bullshit meter but, in the interests of solving this problem, I have committed to trying as many as I to see if I can hit the jackpot.

I first happened upon a packet of adhesive nasal strips or "splints" at my local chemist that are supposed to open ones nasal passages to allow greater airflow into the nose and throat. On night one, I applied one of these strips and, right away, I was dubious at best. At worst, I felt like a dickhead. Come morning, the snore hadn't resolved and the strip had disappeared from my nose and it was a complete mystery to us as to where it had gone.

Until I went to the toilet.

The adhesive is actually really strong. My pubes can attest to this.

The next remedy I tried was an anti-snoring throat spray. "Clinically tested" and boasting a "92% reported reduction in snoring" I gave it a go.



This shit is a cross between that cream in a can you can buy mixed with diesel fuel. You are required to insert the supplied applicator as far back into your throat as possible and spray for at least a full 1 - 2 seconds. It fills your throat with a foam that temporarily blocks your passages until it coats your throat in a disgusting slick.

It didn't work.

Yesterday, whilst on a leisurely drive out here on Kangaroo Island, we stopped by a Eucalyptus Oil Distillery at Emu Ridge.

Entering the shop attached to the Distillery and seeing the rows of little bottles of essential oils on the shelf, I immediately began to wonder if there might be a remedy worthy of exploration. There was, contained in a little booklet, just such a remedy supplied by a lady from Victor Harbour, who I am sure is a lovely lady who wears floral aprons a lot and bakes beautiful sponge cakes. The remedy consists of one drop of Eucalyptus oil, one drop of Tea tree oil and one drop of Lavender oil onto your pillow or a tissue at bed time.



Attracted by the thought of not having to shove a probe down my throat like a Face Hugger from "Alien", I bought three small bottles of said oil. Last night I tried the recipe on a tissue and couldn't decide whether to lay the tissue daintily on my chest or shove it up my nostrils. I tried both and dropped off to bed reading "The Casquette Girls" by Alys Arden.

I woke this morning, alone again...naturally.

These are early days admittedly, and the three failed experiments I have outlined here were always going to be a little out there. But, for the sake of my marriage and a harmonious budoir, the search for the Holy Grail continues. I'm the Indiana Jones on the trail of the Lost Ark of the Banished Snore.

I'm not happy.

Oh, and by the way...Happy Fucking New Year.

DFA.