I’m not entirely sure this post will make sense to anyone but me. But I like to use this blog to clarify my thoughts and delve into the inner workings of my mind.
So that’s what this post is. Me explaining my thought process behind the common themes in my books, why I write about them so often across genres, and how fiction can help us escape and process our pasts.
So let’s take a deep dive into publishing with purpose…
An (almost) mid-life crisis
Since finishing The Mean Girl’s Murder – and burning out creatively pretty fucking hard, to the point where I almost quit writing fiction again – I’ve been left wondering: why?
Why am I doing this?
Why do I write?
What do I want to do with my life?
It’s a bloody big question, and one that many people never get to the root of.
But I’m a big fan of getting to the root of things. And if I don’t feel I’m there yet, I keep digging.
Thankfully I have a very large emotional shovel to make up for my lack of an ability with a physical one. Good at gardening and manual labour I am not.
But that’s ok. My power has always been in my head.
So, too, have the monsters.
And that’s where the challenge lies.
How do I balance what matters to me while fighting the monsters?
Collaborating with the monsters in my head
You may have noticed in some of my projects I refer to my mental health conditions and neurodivergence as the monsters in my head. I’m about 90% sure Jack says this in either Hollywood Destiny or Hollywood Heartbreak, but I can’t remember which one. (I think Destiny, but if anyone knows let me know in the comments!)
It’s likely to be the title of my second poetry collection, too.
But that’s not to say that monsters are always a bad think.
Frankenstein’s Monster wasn’t a bad thing. It was what people turned him into that was bad. (And the way he’s been confused ever since.)
If it wasn’t for those monsters, for the pain in my past, I wouldn’t do what I do. My books wouldn’t have themes of found family, moral support, processing trauma, or true love.
People say that romance and fantasy can’t have morals, but I think it’s the things we think can’t have those messages that can be the most powerful.
Comedians often point out the hypocrisy of politicians. And we laugh not because they’re wrong. But because they’re right and their delivery is impeccable.
It’s their delivery that’s the key and that gets through to more people.
I’ve studied comedy, but I’m not a comedian. When I try to be funny I’m usually not. When I don’t try I have people in stitches. That’s usually nerves/adrenaline/too much caffeine coming through.
But I digress.
Comedians often have a message. They often use comedy to talk about the things we don’t want to talk about. They give us a safe(ish) space to talk about the hard things.
It’s not revenge, it’s redemption
I’ve spent my whole life filled with anger. Bottling it up because it’s societally unacceptable for a young, petite female to be filled with rage.
But I’m so fucking tired of masking.
Of pretending I’m fine when I’m not.
The more I suppress how I feel, the more physical and emotional pain I feel.
And unlidding that can of worms has admittedly led to a flare up or too, but I’d rather have two horrific days than two bad months. Get the worst out of the way so that I can bounce back stronger, you know?
Maybe that’s just me.
But I like to do what I can to get the fuck on with life my way. On my terms.
(More on expressing female rage, and how poetry can help, a future blog post.)
Lifelong recovery
The thing is, dealing with any sort of long-term health condition can become a lifelong process. It is with chronic pain.
And tbh, that makes me angrier. Why should I have to work on this, every day, for the rest of my life, while the people responsible never even know what they did?
I may never be over that anger.
But it can help me with something.
It can provide me with energy and motivation. It can help me during a workout. And it can help me find my purpose.
Publishing with purpose: to process
Going back to my point earlier about how any fiction can have a message, for those of you who like to analyse fiction and have read all of my books, you might’ve noticed this already. If you haven’t, don’t worry, I don’t read things this closely either.
Or at least, I try not to. I like to turn my brain off when I’m reading.
But the truth is that any book, film, TV show, or game is stronger when it has a message.
Inside Out is all about mental health.
The Babadook is a metaphor for grief, for example.
Horror, and I assume dark romance although I don’t read it myself, is a coping mechanism for trauma. Those of us who read/watch horror coped better during the pandemic than those who didn’t.
My books aren’t horror, although Afterlife Calls takes inspiration from it. Not just haunted houses and ghost ships, but the emotional turmoil of being used, manipulated, and mistreated too.
Not the physical abuse, but the psychological turmoil we’ve all felt at some point. The strain of being trapped in a crappy job; an emotionally manipulative friend; being trapped in a body that won’t do what you want it to.
I guess you could say that the themes in my books aren’t the typical ways of processing trauma that people expect. They’re not the definitions that everyone expects.
But they are the ones that psychologists use.
In fact, my new counsellor said that the people she sees most likely to end up with chronic pain are the ones who were stuck in situations they couldn’t get out of. This is reinforced in The Body Keeps the Score* and How to do the Work*, two books that had a profound impact on my chronic illness journey.
There’s data on the mind/body connection dating back to the 1970s, so why don’t we know about it more?
Well, I think that’s a blog post for another day, but feel free to share your thoughts/cynicisms in the comments.
Publishing with purpose
So, to wrap up, all of my books have a message. The same message, really.
Every single one of my books is about understanding. Hope. Empathy.
Hope of finding our person; of defeating the Big Bad; of good prevailing.
Understanding of ourselves, of psychology, and of people who experience the world differently to us. Or do they?
Empathy with ourselves and others so that we can treat everyone with fairness, respect, and compassion.
And that, my friends, is why I write. It’s why I will continue to write.
And if I stop writing, it’s because I’ve lost sight of that purpose.
*Affiliate link. It won’t cost you any extra but I’ll receive a small commission.
