In Review: A Fool's Goddess - Chapter Ten
Greetings, fellow humans. I hope your week has been one of ease and comfort. As it is Sunday, here I have returned to provide another review of a chapter of my novel. It is my sincerest wish that the words I inscribe here will cause serotonin to enter your system and leave you with a sense of satisfaction.
So let’s get to it, yeah?
The chapter begins with a pretty typical description of how one may feel after being knocked unconscious. To be honest, I’m not a fan of including cliches like this, but true originality left our world long ago. Learning to see tropes as tools rather than obstacles is a fine lesson to learn early in your career.
Noise description ended up being pretty key in the conclusion of Chapter Nine and in the opening of this one, though I was thankful to be able to return to a full range of senses soon after. Lior frees himself, looks about the room, and finds the corpse of his wonderful master, Malka.
That analog for someone dear to me in my own life.
There are two main topics I’d like to touch on in regards to Malka’s death: the purpose of visceral imagery, and the connection between a writer and their stories. As the former is something I can go over quickly, I’ll start with that before covering the latter.
As I mentioned previously, I very much enjoy the juxtaposition of violence within what are otherwise dulcet tales. I feel it was a scene from the opening parts of Uchikoshi Kotaro’s Nine Hours, Nine Persons, Nine Doors that instilled that appreciation within me, primarily the line “…stark white ribs jutted up and out of his chest, like the legs of some sort of macabre crab.” That bit has stuck with me—not only because it wonderfully illustrates the danger the cast is in, but it made such a violent scene poetic, perhaps even beautiful, in some sense.
Ever since then, I’ve found sharing such imagery to be an unhealthy joy. Another thing I probably shouldn’t open a conversation with, but hey, it is what it is. I’m particularly fond of that bit about Malka’s teeth being akin to islands in a red sea and the eerily calm description of the signs of asphyxiation I used for Chen. Both of those do a good job of stating the causes of their deaths while also alluding to Lior’s degrading mental state.
I’d also like to use this moment to kick myself for not knowing what the fuck an em dash was before I released the novel. I can now see so, so, so many places I should have used one—as well as places where I stupidly put a space after an ellipses—but that’s part of growth, I suppose.
Maybe I’ll get the chance to do a revised edition one day…
Anyways, that’s enough about my love of sudden violence. Now let’s go over the fears of a writer.
I’ll preface this by saying not everyone will encounter these, but being aware of their existence is a useful tool. There are two that I’m keenly familiar with and wish to go over here, though I would surmise there are many more that are also worth considering.
The first was brought to my attention by the illustrious Stephen King, through On Writing. I’ll have to paraphrase a bit as I don’t have the book available to me right now, but I believe he described it as the “fear of being misunderstood”, specifically as a writer who fails to properly express their vision. It is a common anxiety that the self-aware will experience, and it luckily manifests with visible symptoms.
King pointed out that most novice writers will begin to over-rely on adverbs in a desperate hunger to get their point across. Though I would argue that Mr. King is too vindictive in his war against adverbs, he’s also a bestselling author while I’m just some jackass with a keyboard. As such, I’ll concede to his wisdom—especially since he was absolutely right in my case.
While I still use more adverbs than King would willingly tolerate, there used to be many more in my novel. Thankfully, his book reached me before I sent A Fool’s Goddess out into the world so I managed to clear away those rough edges before release. I think I recall that his advice resulted in me going back in for a fifth draft, which subsequently cut around three thousand words.
Woof…
Other signs of this fear can be in how much description one puts into particular scenes or objects. Obviously, this is much less clear-cut and not truly indicative of the fear, however. Some scenes simply require more illustration, and I personally enjoy overembellishing certain things for style, a la Nisioisin. You’ll have to use your own judgment to determine if using several paragraphs to describe a girl’s panties is a result of your desires or because you’re afraid the reader won’t understand just how sexy those panties are.
The last symptom that comes to mind is relying on speech indicators, notably putting one on every bit of dialogue. You do not need to do this; have faith that your readers can keep track of alternating speakers in a scene between two characters. When it gets to three or more speakers, sure, make sure you note who’s talking when, but your Five Line Reminder should be good enough otherwise.
Remember that whoever reads your story is an intelligent being who wants to be entertained. While they may not have the same literary experience or level of patience as you, you do not need to treat them like a child. Believe in them, be kind, and meet them halfway.
Or ignore all of this and do whatever feels right. That also works.
Frankly, that’s one of my favorite things about writing. All these rules, suggestions, and stylistic norms, yet nothing is correct. No guarantee what you write will still be good, but the freedom in creation is quite delectable. Go ham and make yourself happy—you’ll probably please someone else along the way.
Now, fear number two was not shown to me by anyone but rather one I discovered in myself. I call it the “fear of misattribution”, and it is the one that’s more relevant to this chapter and review. This is the fear of how your work reflects on you as a person—not in its quality, but in its content.
A friend of mine recently shared with me a draft of a story they were writing. They and I had talked about this tale they wanted to create so I was able to go into it with a solid idea of what they were going for. After reading it over, I noted one key flaw that kept coming up, and—after working up the guts to express a criticism—we discussed what was bugging me.
They were holding themselves back.
(A quick aside to my friend: I absolutely do not intend for anything written here to be a jab at you. You know how much I like acting like I know anything, and I felt that that experience was a perfect example of this fear. My deepest apologies and more if this pains you in any way.)
What I mean is that I could feel they weren’t expressing things as vividly as they wanted to. Scenes of sexuality were toned down while moments of violence were forced into ambiguity. Despite their goal of showcasing depravity, they didn’t commit to degeneracy, and their story suffered for it.
So, why did that happen?
I can’t say for certain, of course. I’m no psychologist, and I only have their experience and my own to hypothesize off of. But I do have some ideas that I’ll throw out there, and you can decide for yourself if there’s any validity within them.
I think the most likely reason is also the obvious one: we are all afraid of what our creations say about us. Not our inner selves, mind you, but that outer persona that we use to face the world. As social creatures, we are inextricably obsessed with how other humans perceive us. Even if you have violent or deviant thoughts, you keep them to yourself to prevent making waves in your circles—or worse, becoming ostracized.
But that side of us may struggle against the creative half that craves to express such inappropriate ideas. One part wishes to tell a tale of a psychopathic killer, the other knows that doing so will cause people to associate you with such foul imagery. So how do you compromise these seemingly opposed desires?
I would say you can’t—and you shouldn’t.
Trying to do so results in a half-hearted story that neither expresses its core vision nor appeals to the masses. Instead, it reeks of its creator’s reluctance and leaves everyone dissatisfied. Those who are accepting of deviance won’t be enticed, while the prudish will still lambaste it for even hinting at the less-than-ideal facets of life. It’s a lose-lose-lose game that I don’t recommend playing.
And I dealt with that internal struggle when presenting the death of Master Malka.
Let’s step back a moment and pretend I’m not here. You just finished reading chapters nine and ten of A Fool’s Goddess and now you’re reflecting on what Malka’s death might mean about the author. Here are some conclusions you could potentially draw:
The author hates attractive women and thinks they should die violently.
The author hates lesbians and thinks they should die violently.
The author hates art teachers and thinks they should die violently.
…And much more. Ignoring the actual context of the story and instead assuming there is a higher meaning behind the events within, one could easily misattribute that I killed her off because of some internal, unresolved frustration. It is far from uncommon for writers to let personal feelings enter their stories, and I’m certainly no exception. So although I would call it a leap of logic, there is a precedence that lends such assumptions a level of reasonability.
Furthermore, even if I flipped Malka traits around so that she was instead a bubbly, disfigured, heterosexual man, that same assumptive personality could then say, “Oh, Varnicrast hates friendly/ugly/straight people”. Only those who take the time to read my In Review series will know that she is actually a reflection of an old boss who I deeply respect, and that I brought myself to tears by writing her off. Everyone else can walk away from that scene with a misconception of it’s author’s intent, and that is something every writer should learn to accept.
Basically, it’s a battle you shouldn’t even try to win.
Yet, for a time, I still wondered if I should spare Malka, out of a fear of coming off as homophobic. Back then, I was willing to completely rewrite a major scene in my story because I was afraid of attracting negative attention. Foolish in many ways—chiefly in thinking that a novel from a nobody would warrant any attention—but it was there. I went back and forth, considering each side before ultimately committing to Malka’s death.
No idea how I got over that anxiety, but in hindsight, I feel it was the right move. Not only so the story could flow as intended, but because Malka is more than just her traits. While she is well-endowed, sapphic, and skilled in sculpting, she was first and foremost important to Lior as a friend and mentor. And in that sense, her death was necessary.
So, yes, while you can infer all sorts of terrible things about me from that scene, I know they are not why I wrote it. And I have faith that reasonable folk will feel that as well. Sure, some may push that I’m lying, but that’s fine. People are entitled to their own beliefs after all.
And of course, this is all saying nothing about what happens to Chen. You could make a whole ‘nother slew of assumptions from that and determine that I also think my friends deserve to die for finding happiness. Similar to Malka, the answer is that Chen died because he was Lior’s friend and the freighter who was meant to deliver to the studio that day… and also that I’m an asshole who felt it would be extra fun to take away all of Lior’s companions in one catastrophe.
Now, to bring it all back, my point is this: commit to the nasty stuff you want to write about. Sure, it might make you look like an awful person, but that’s what pen names are for, right? Just don’t hold yourself back and weaken your story. Your fellow degenerates will appreciate your slimy creations while the strict-minded are impossible to please anyways. You will feel better knowing you gave it your all and expressed yourself as purely as you could.
As my spiritual godfather, Mr. Stephen King, said, “Tell your lies, but do so honestly.” Or something like that—I’m paraphrasing again.
“Jesus, does this guy ever shut the fuck up? On and on and on… You’d think he was getting paid by the word for how much he’s dumping here!”
Well, considering I’ve barely touched on the chapter itself, I’ve got a bit more to say. I’ll try and speed things up, however.
Turning Lior’s despair into rage is the voice of Asa, the revealed name of Malka and Chen’s murderer. He then goes on a tirade claiming that the city is infested with foreign heretics and his group is there to get exterminate them. Obvious bullshit when it comes to Malka’s studio, and digging further into my idea of “bad things can happen for no reason”.
I am, admittedly, unsure how well this plays out. I tried to do some buildup in prior chapters, but I know most stories typically present more of the encroaching danger before the shit hits the fan. Given how Lior was bullied out of Unoph for his beliefs, perhaps it was already illustrated that he lives in a religiously insular nation, but such are the worries of a novice writer…
I do enjoy writing about zealots, though. There’s something enticing about those who are so sure of their beliefs that they can kill for them. They are commonly cast as villains (tropes as tools at work again here…), but I think showing how average citizens avoid combating them is also an interesting detail. Despite Malka’s local popularity, no one tries to stop Asa’s group from burning the studio down.
Bystander effect in full force, eh?
With the building on fire, Lior’s priorities shift to protecting the relics of Tornara and escaping. He grabs the painting, runs into that fucking second story bathroom that has no right in existing and goes to jump free—only to reconsider his actions.
I think it’s reasonable if readers feel Lior is stupid for hesitating. I mean, he’s already made it clear he’s not the most logical man out there, but he is a sentimental one, and survivor’s guilt can be a helluva thing. Knowing he was the cause behind his friends’ deaths would not be an easy thing to ignore, so for a moment, he considers dying with them as a form of atonement.
Thus the “fool” in A Fool’s Goddess.
He then remembers the love Malka and Chen had for him, recalling the kind words they left with him only hours ago. Lior is able to realize that his life is more than just his own now, and that gives him the strength to continue. Though it is still rather foolish for him to run back into danger just to speak with a couple corpses, he does so to fulfill Malka’s wish, albeit not in the context she intended.
“Just don’t leave without saying anything.”
It might be prideful, but I have to say, I love how this whole arc turned out. That little callback to Malka’s seemingly insignificant line wets my eyes even now. It reminds me of just how much I love her character—making it all the more painful knowing she won’t be around anymore. N-not that losing Chen didn’t suck too, it’s just that Malka was so much fun to write while Chen was just a bro and…
I swear, I’m not playing favorites…!
Anyways, Lior is able to give some final words to his friends before the flames grow too strong. Then, with newfound determination, he returns to Tornara. He takes hold of her portrait and jumps to safety, without hesitation or fear.
End chapter.
…Goddamn, I thought I said too much last time, but I guess Chapter Ten was where my real chattiness was waiting. Personal anecdotes, writing suggestions, actual reviews—this In Review has it all, doesn’t it? Well, I hope it got your serotonin flowing.
I’m not sure how beefy the next episode will be, though I doubt I’ll be able to match today’s. There’s some interesting stuff in the next chapter (and another cliche…), so I’ll do my best to break it all down for you.
Until then, I’m proud to say I’ve finally begun working on my next project. It took me about a month to get all my preparatory documents done—character sheets, world information, story outline—so getting to do actual writing again is fantastic. Granted, I’m now trying my hand at a more comedy-focused light novel so I’m treading new ground here, but I do enjoy a challenge. I look forward to being able to share more about it in the future.
Okay, that’s more than enough. Eat your vitamins, get some sleep, and I’ll see you next time.
Hasta luego.
