Interview with Xeus

Xeus has posted up an interview with me on her blog. Thanks Xeus!

Here’s a snippet:

Without giving anything away, how did you come up with (your story) for DC2?

I have always been eager to tackle a story in the first-person perspective. But for a long time, I just couldn’t find a good enough reason to do it. Since the first-person narrator is unreliable and egocentric, it presents all kinds of difficulties.

DC2, however, gave me the opportunity to get past my reservations.

Instead of telling a tale that is realistic and objective, I decided to approach it from a different angle.

ZERO SUM is about a man so consumed by hate that he devotes himself to vengeance. His state of mind is in question. He is egocentric to the extreme. He is not a born killer, but he morphs into one. And the fact that the narrative is unreliable only adds to the flavour of the story; a mix of surreality and madness.

Pursuit

He was bleeding and they were closing in to finish him off.

Clutching his arm, he staggered through the plantation, lurching between rubber trees, grass whipping against his bare legs. In the darkness, he had lost all sense of direction. Blinking away sweat and tears, he wheezed and he choked. His asthma was getting worse.

Trembling, he tried to push on.

But spasms racked his chest, and he doubled over.

Dear God.

Nearly delirious, he clawed at a tree. He wanted to climb it. Wanted to take refuge. But there were no branches. He succeeded only in scraping his hands raw, smearing his blood.

At last, he sank to his knees, then fell, tasting dirt and dust.

His tears flowed harder.

By the time they caught up with him, their machetes hissing, he was so numb, he couldn’t find a reason to care anymore.

His wife. His children. Gone. Butchered.

He would join them, soon enough.

Truth and justice are no longer Malaysian way

Michael Backman writes:

THE Government of Australia will probably change hands this weekend. There will be no arrests, no tear gas and no water cannons. The Government of John Howard will leave office, the Opposition will form a government and everyone will accept the verdict.

For this, every Australian can feel justifiably proud. This playing by the rules is what has made Australia rich and a good place in which to invest. It is a country to which people want to migrate; not leave.

Now consider Malaysia. The weekend before last, up to 40,000 Malaysians took to the streets in Kuala Lumpur to protest peacefully against the judiciary’s lack of independence, electoral fraud, corruption and a controlled media.

In response, they were threatened by the Prime Minister, called monkeys by his powerful son-in-law, and blasted with water cannons and tear gas. And yet the vast majority of Malaysians do not want a change of government. All they want is for their government to govern better.

Both Malaysia and Australia have a rule of law that’s based on the English system. Both started out as colonies of Britain. So why is Malaysia getting it so wrong now?

Read the full article here.

George Orwell’s Six Rules for Writers

• Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
• Never use a long word where a short one will do.
• If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
• Never use the passive voice where you can use the active.
• Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
• Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

NaNoWriMo and me

Back in 2001, I conducted an experiment.

In just under two months, I banged out a 120,000-word novel called BROTHERHOOD. Then, as a practical joke, I self-published thirty copies to give out.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was emulating National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), an Internet project that challenges participants to produce a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. NaNoWriMo wasn’t nearly as famous back then as it is now, hence my ignorance.

But here’s what I discovered:

1) Anybody can write a hasty novel.

2) Writing a hasty novel doesn’t win you any points in the real world.

Because writing a novel is a lot like building a house. The design, the foundation, the material, the workmanship; everything has to be perfect. There is no way you can rush through any of that unless you want a disaster.

Don’t get me wrong. I admire what NaNoWriMo sets out to do.

But I just don’t think it is going to get you any serious respect.

Why, after distributing my effort, someone read it and said, “His novel reminded me of a Z-grade action movie. Why on earth would he even write such shit?”

Ouch. I never rushed through a novel ever again. Not even for humour.

To be young

I was recently approached by MPH Publishing to go through a collection of short stories, featuring entries by young Malaysian writers. It is due to be published soon, and I received what is known as an Advance Reader Copy (ARC). An ARC is basically is a mock copy that is passed out to reviewers before the book goes into mass production.

Reading through the stories proved to be a revelation.

All of them share a common theme, which is time; time enough to hope, time enough to love, time enough to live. The oldest author among the bunch couldn’t have been more than 19. Yet they told their stories with passion and power. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see a breakout novel from among their ranks within the next few years.

Ah, to be young.

To write as one sees fit.

To let it all flow without fear or pretension.

I envy them.

Here’s the blurb I submitted to MPH:

“Taut, profound, and involving, this is a superb showcase of Malaysia’s brightest young talents. I loved it, and you will too.”

Final thoughts on the first-person

Some writers hate the first-person with a passion.

It isn’t difficult to understand why.

A story told in the first-person is often a giveaway that the protagonist has, in fact, survived his ordeal. There is never any real doubt that he will triumph over his perils and live to tell the tale. Depending on your tolerance level, this can seriously damage suspense or remove it altogether.

Also, being stuck in the first-person leads to claustrophobia; you can only see things only through one set of eyes, with no option for another.

Imagine, if you will, a story about a murderer and a victim.

It’s a pursuit; a cat-and-mouse game; the stakes are high.

Telling it in the first-person may not do it justice.

But selecting the third-person immediately opens up a world of possibilities.

By switching back and forth, a writer can amp up the thrill of anticipation. Any time things get dull or draggy, the writer simply works his magic and switches viewpoints. Presto. Instant suspense.

There are, of course, exceptions to the rule.

Several writers have gotten around the problem of claustrophobia by, well, cheating. They reserve the first-person for the protagonist, and the third-person for other characters. But this isn’t an altogether successful approach. It feels too jarring, too inelegant, sowing confusion as to who exactly the narrator is supposed to be. It may be better to stick exclusively with the third-person.

But, having said that, is the first-person a particularly weak perspective?

Does it deserve to be shunned?

After much thought, my answer is no.

Some of my favourite stories have been written in the first-person. Among them: BLACK BEAUTY by Anna Sewell, and DAVID COPPERFIELD by Charles Dickens. They are incredibly intimate, moving, and profound. To read them even today is to pay witness to the skill of their authors.

But therein lies the acid test.

Can you imagine these classics being told in any other way except the first-person?

You can’t.

Which is why they work so well.

No, there is nothing inherently wrong with the first-person. The key lies only in finding the right story to apply it with. Do it right, and you get something vivid and powerful. Do it wrong, and you run the risk of being conceited. If the latter worries you, then stick to the third-person. You can’t go wrong with it.

Fundraising

My friend Yvonne has kick-started several auctions to raise funds for her father. He has cataracts in both eyes and requires approximately RM4,000 for surgery, so do drop by Yvonne’s blog and help out if you can. A little assistance will go a long way.

Zero Sum (Part Two)

The first-person narrative, by its very nature, is unreliable.

So I decided early on that there wasn’t going to be much point in trying to pass off ZERO SUM as an objective story. Because it clearly is a distorted account. The state of the narrator’s mind is in question, and he may be prone to exaggeration or distortion. Is he a lunatic? Is he a liar? It’s all up in the air.

I am reminded of Mark Twain’s seminal novel ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN, where the character is young, uneducated, and naive. Unlike the uneven DELIVERANCE, I consider this to be a triumph of the first-person, because the reader often understands more than the narrator, Huck, does.

For instance, Huck is enthralled when he meets two men who claim to be descended from aristocracy. From their tatty clothes and larger-than-life mannerisms, it is obvious that these two bozos are conmen. But wide-eyed Huck is so taken in by their story that he goes out of his way to accommodate them, with comical results.

Not all of us can be Mark Twain. But we can certainly learn a thing or two from his ingenious delivery of the first-person. ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN is an example where the unreliability of the narrator actually adds richness to the story.

But having taken all this into account, I still faced the problem of validity.

How is it possible that the reader is reading ZERO SUM? How did it come to be?

So I conjured up a romantic subplot, where the narrator had written and left this tale of madness to a woman he loved. A sordid attempt to explain why he what he did. I also felt it would be a great way to soften up the story, dark enough as it is.

My editor, though, was quick to step in.

The romantic subplot was an unnecessary diversion, she insisted. She wanted a hard thriller with a gripping conclusion.

Ultimately, I relented.

Without giving too much away, the new conclusion is both sick and cool. But, it does leave me with the very same logic hole to deal with.

How is it possible that this story came to be?

Read it and you’ll understand.

Would love to hear your comments/thoughts on the matter.

Zero Sum (Part One)

With DARK CITY 2 now trickling out into bookstores, this seems like a good time to reveal something about my contribution to the anthology. It is a story called ZERO SUM, which for me, is a rare foray into the first-person perspective. It is about a man’s descent into madness when he plans and executes a terrible act of vengeance.

ZERO SUM, though, had a somewhat painful conception and delivery.

Because I am a skeptic when it comes to the first-person.

At best, it is unreliable; at worst, it is clunky.

But I know what you must be thinking. “What’s wrong with the first-person? All I have to do is write naturally, just like I am speaking to the reader.”

Therein lies the problem.

It is all too easy to confuse your own voice with the character’s voice. All the nuances of sensible writing are muddled, and it becomes a case of I-saw-this and I-did-this. For the discriminating reader, this becomes egocentric and jarring. A real turn-off. Some writers offset this by consciously reworking sentences so that they don’t begin with ‘I’.

Troublesome.

You are also locked into a narrow perspective that may force you to come out with contrived situations to advance the plot and reveal information. For instance, your protagonist accidentally picks up a phone and listens in on an evil conversation. We have all seen this device used repeatedly, no matter how weak it is. But in a third-person narrative, this wouldn’t be a problem, because you could skip directly to the villain’s perspective. The protagonist’s presence isn’t needed.

But, wait, here is my favourite gripe. Logic problems tend creep into the first-person, particularly if you have a story that exists, even though it shouldn’t. Perhaps the best example I can think of is James Dickey’s classic novel of survival, DELIVERANCE.

DELIVERANCE is the story of four city slickers who take a canoe trip into the wilderness. Unfortunately, they come into conflict with local hillbillies. Unspeakable brutality ensues. Members on both sides are murdered. In the end, the survivors decide to cover up the violence, and never talk about it again.

Yes, it is a compelling story, both shocking and surreal. One of the greatest and most literary of thrillers.

Except for one problem.

Dickey, being a poet, chose to tell his story in the first-person. The lyrical flow of the perspective obviously appealed very much to him. But consider, as a reader, how his choice weakens the taut ending.

If these men have sworn never to talk about the acts they have committed, then how on earth is it possible that I am reading this story? Couldn’t Dickey just have written the novel in the third-person and avoided this loophole?

Yes, nitpicker that I am, these things bug me. Very much.

In my next post, I will address how I attempted (with varying levels of success) to resolve these issues in my own story.