S.R. Garrae's Blog

So I haven’t blogged for a long time. Partly, it’s laziness. Partly, I had nothing to say. Partly, there’s been a lot going on in my life that took up all my non-writing time – and in the last year or so, a lot of writing time too. However, here I am again. Maybe I’ll be more disciplined about blogging. I can try.
Try. Yes. Famously, Yoda said “Do or not do. There is no try.” (Star Wars. Even I know that.) I don’t necessarily agree with Yoda. I can try to sing – but without a vocal chord transplant I doubt that I’ll ever manage to sing, as opposed to sounding like a strangled raven that’s off key in two different octaves at once. I can try to paint a picture, but most four year-olds can do better than I can. I’ll never be a heart surgeon, or an architect.
Which brings me to the point. We tell our families, friends, and especially children that they can do whatever they want, be whatever they want to be. They can do it. They can do anything.
Except they can’t. They can’t be a film star if they can’t act – which starts with an inherent talent. Likewise, they can’t be the next Beyonce, or Taylor Swift, if they can’t sing or write songs – which also starts with an inherent talent. They can work at both, or either, and they may well become the mainstay of the local drama group or choir…but superstardom needs more than competence, and – certainly in the creative sphere – also needs a handy dose of luck. Right place, right theme, right time.
Children need encouragement to try things, to find their talents, to experiment. But later on, when the real world starts to bite, is it kind or wise to let people think that they can be a superstar, when hard work isn’t enough any more? (It’s certainly not kind or wise to let people think that they can be a superstar without putting in any hard work!)
Sometimes, you can try – but you can’t do. Maybe that’s the time to say, with Yoda: “I – or you – will not do”. But first, you have to try. Otherwise you’ll never know if you can do, or not do.
S.R. Garrae
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08BL935WY

I was interviewed by the amazing
@NickHennegan for @ResonanceFM.

You can watch and listen on Bohemian Britain.
https://bohemianbritain.com/2022/02/0...

S.R. Garrae
Death in Focus
Death in Camera
Death in Sight: Secrets lead to lethal results
Death in Frenzy

On 13 Feb at 6.30pm (repeated Tuesday 16 Feb at 2.30pm) I was interviewed by Nick Hennegan of Literary London on Resonance 104.4FM, about my books and how I came to write as SR Garrae. Listen on www.resonancefm.com/programmes/558d77...
Death in Focus
Death in Camera
Death in Sight: Secrets lead to lethal results

The fourth book in the series is planned for early summer 2021.

From their earliest days, people – especially girls – are socialised to be “nice and kind”. The two words arrive together, most of the time. Too often, being “nice and kind” actually translates as “do what someone else wants you to do, even at the expense of your own feelings, happiness, and mental or physical health”.

But surely being nice is the same as being kind…

Or is it?

It’s very nice to make someone’s meal every night. But is it kinder to teach your child to cook?
It’s very nice to be supportive and sympathetic. But is it kinder to suggest that washing a little more often might stop people avoiding you?

Sometimes, being nice isn’t the same as being kind. Being nice might mean that you listen to your friend who’s being bullied, over and over again. They don’t want to tell tales. They don’t want you to tell tales, either. But being kind might be going against their wishes and reporting anyway – it’s not nice, and you may lose a friend because of it, but bullying should be called out.

Being kind is harder-edged than being nice.

Being kind isn’t unequivocal support: my country (friend, child, partner) right or wrong. Being kind means being willing to do what’s right, not what’s easiest: to stand up for the correct course.

Being kind doesn’t mean being a martyr, or a doormat, or a pushover. Of course, it doesn’t mean being rude, or cruel. “You gotta be cruel to be kind,” the song said, but that’s a fallacy too. You often have to be honest to be kind. You may well have to lie to be nice.

Being nice is the mental state that says “Oh, this poor person's future will be ruined by going to jail”. But being nice is what we are told we should be. We should be nice
to the poor student who tried to assault another student – or indeed succeeded – because we’ll be ruining their future if we don’t.

No, we won’t be ruining their future. They already did that. How does it help them, or us, or society, if they get away with it? How nice is it to allow them licence – and let them assault or rape or brutalise or murder again? How nice is that to their next victim? How nice was it to the first victim to say, in effect, “You are less important than the aggressor. You have to be nice because their life and future is more important than yours.”

And yet we should be nice.

I don’t think so. I think we should be kind. Being kind says “This person has done wrong, and they must be shown that there are consequences”.

Niceness excuses. Kindness teaches.

I prefer to be kind. Do you?

Death in Focus: Passion and photography meet a multimillion dollar cover-up and murder.

@jennybent Tweeted an article by https://thebodyisnotanapology.com, “We Belong To Ourselves”, which said a lot of things which needed saying. (Read it: it’s worth it.) But it didn’t go far enough.

Women have the right to say no to men, the article said. Sure we do – or we should have. But we should also have the right to say no to anything else, or anyone else.

Women are socialised not to say no: to put others first, and themselves behind. We see it all the time.

“Don’t blow your own trumpet – don’t boast.” So we minimise our achievements and wonder why men are promoted faster and paid more. Funny, boasting seems to work for them. Why not for us?

“Don’t nag.” Alternative phrasing: don’t tell someone else to get off their ass and do their fair share. Because after all, our time is valueless and we can be expected to spend twice or three or four or an infinite number of times more than anyone else, picking up their shit.

“You’re being selfish.” Usually translates to “how dare you have time to yourself when you should be doing something for someone else which you don’t want to do or which will cost you time or money,” or “how dare you have time for yourself when you could be doing something which is someone else’s share or responsibility but if they ignore it for long enough or put enough pressure on you’ll do it for them.” Women are so often expected to make everything work. “Oh, but you’re at home, you can easily look after my cat for a week while I’m away.” Actually, no. I don’t like pets – it’s why I don’t have one. Oh, but if you were a good friend you’d be happy to do it. It’s only a week. It’s no big deal. Well, maybe it’s not a big deal to you, but it is to me. And by the way, why the hell should I pay for its food, litter, and a litter tray? Do I have IDIOT stamped on my forehead or something?

And yet, we feel guilty about saying NO, even when the request is clearly inappropriate.

Why don’t we feel we have the absolute right to say NO to requests which will cause us difficulty? Why don’t we value having free time as highly as men value theirs? Why do we find it so hard to set boundaries even when our own finances, children, leisure time or health is at risk from complying with others’ demands?

But then, from our earliest days, little girls are socialised to be nice. It’s dressed up as being kind. What it actually is, is training girls to be submissive. To put their needs and wants last. To share everything. To do the tidying up. Not to take the last piece of cake. To dress in pretty clothes which are not always suitable for robust play. To sit quietly. To be polite, and not question. To pick up the pieces and make sure everyone else is happy, even if you are not.

But it shouldn’t be like that. Women should have the choice. The choice to say NO, I won’t cat-sit for you because I really don’t want to. The cat is your responsibility, not mine. The choice to say NO, I am not your servant. Clean your own dishes up. The choice to say NO, I’m going to trumpet my successes and go for that promotion and NO I am not going to share the corner office. The choice to say NO, I am not going to sacrifice my happiness to pick up someone else’s responsibilities.

And along with that goes the absolute right to say NO to any person of any description whatsoever with whom we do not want a romantic relationship. If I’m a straight female, I should not be called homophobic because I don’t want to date a lesbian. If I’m gay, I should not be called transphobic because I do not want to date a non-transitioned transperson. If I’m trans, I have the right to turn down a gay person because I am interested in persons of the opposite gender to my identified gender. And none of that is wrong.

I have the right to say NO to anyone I don’t want to date, for any reason whatsoever. And no-one has the right to say that I shouldn’t. That way lies, at the logical extreme, coercion into dating and sex.

And so we return to the article, which said essential things, but not enough of them. It’s not just about men, and sexual consent. It’s about everything.

Women have the right to say NO, simply because we don’t want to do something. We have the right to say NO, simply because we don’t want to do someone.

Women have the right to say NO.

Death in Focus: Passion and photography meet a multimillion dollar cover-up and murder.

A couple of months ago there was a tweet inviting retweets should the female reader have walked through a dark area with keys in hand or pretending to be on the phone. I have. I retweeted. A couple of days ago, a male follower replied to the retweet stating that he had also done so, and that women had no exclusive right to insecurity in public.

That answer made me angry.

Women do not have an exclusive right to insecurity in public. But they sure as hell have a much better reason for it.

A straw poll – which is anecdote, not data, agreed – revealed that every single woman I knew had been harassed or assaulted. Every. Single. One. Not a reaction to a wolf-whistle, either. Touching. Groping. Have sex with me or I’ll stall your career. Rape. These are actions from men they know and men they don’t know.

I was groped by a total stranger on public transport. Now, I’d raise the roof. Then… I moved seat, and didn’t say a word. It was broad daylight. I’m sad to say, it’s common.

So don’t give me “women don’t have exclusive rights to insecurity”. Don’t tell me “men are scared too”. When men are harassed at the same rate as women, when men are told that it’s their fault for, oh, let’s see: dressing nicely, not crossing the street, being out when it’s dark (you know, between say 4.30pm and 8am in the winter – just explain to me how that works, please?), taking public transport because what can you expect if – shock horror – you go out as a woman on your own?

The hell with that. When that happens to men too, to the same extent, then I’ll accept the patronising comment that – effectively – it’s not just women. When men are raped at the same rate as women, I’ll call it insecurity – a word which demeans every assault women suffer, a word which minimises our experiences.

But notice that women still go out. Women still participate in the world. Women go about their business even though they may be scared or nervous or insecure in public, even though they have most likely been assaulted or worse for the apparent crime of being female in public.

Because women are brave. Women know they have the right to be out in the open and, every minute of every day, in every place, women go out, despite their experiences. We don’t take precautions because we are insecure. We take them because they are necessary.

But, precautions taken, we go out, loudly and proudly, and go about our business. #MeToo unites us. #Courage binds us. And no-one will stop us.

So don’t demean us by calling it insecurity. Call out those who make our actions necessary.

Death in Focus: Passion and photography meet a multimillion dollar cover-up and murder.

Great authors take inordinate care to ensure that they are using exactly the right word for the situation that they are describing, and no doubt they frequently refer to their dictionary and thesaurus. We all know that there’s a huge difference between, say: stride, run, trudge and amble in the image and feeling each word creates in the reader’s head. Words are evocative, and precise words are essential to creating an impression.

Words matter.

That’s why it matters that different words are applied to the same actions or attitudes depending on whether they are performed or held by men or women; or by hetero- or homosexuals. The most obvious example is a person taking charge of a group. For a man to do so is assertive. For a woman, it’s bossy. The second word has a connotation of unpleasantness; of nagging. Or imagine a situation of looking after one’s child. For a mother, it’s caring. For a father, far too often, it’s babysitting. For heterosexuals, getting dressed up and going out is cleaning up nice, but for homosexuals it’s far too often flaunting oneself.

Disparagement of minorities isn’t always overt, or assault, or obviously offensive words. Disparagement is evident in the choice of words we make (or don’t make), which is driven by the same set of societal attitudes that are designed to keep people in their proper (for which, read lower) place.

So the words used to describe women with approval are those which refer to good looks, quiet nature, nurturing and homemaking skills, and the ability to please others, no matter whether that is at the expense of their own physical or mental health. As soon as women step outside that societal expectation, the words change to ones which connote disparagement, or doing something wrongly. Nagging. Bossy. Ballbreaking. Strident. Alternatively – when applied to men: Clear instructions. Assertive. Strong. Orator. See the difference?

Or for people of colour, though I wouldn’t claim to speak for them and they will speak loudly for themselves: the words of approval are those where they work hard and keep their heads down. Disparagement comes when they demand equality, and equal respect.

And so on, and so forth. So when you see an article, or a press conference, describing a woman or minority in terms which would not be applied to a straight white man – ask yourself why?

Because words are a feminist issue. Words are a minority issue.

Words have power. Use them well.

Death in Focus: Passion and photography meet a multimillion dollar cover-up and murder.

It’s funny how in many, many romance novels and in plenty of films, a man is pursuing a resistant woman, draws her into his muscular embrace, kisses the hell out of her – and she succumbs to his masculine virility and loves it.

A group of friends pointed out that if that happened in real life, it would be grounds for a harassment suit, or possibly a sexual assault charge – if, of course, the woman in question thought that she would get a fair (or any) hearing.

So why is it such an attractive trope in books and films?

Partly, many of the books and films were written or shown much earlier, and social attitudes have evolved – maybe. The #MeToo movement shows how much pent-up history there is of sexual abuse in the workplace, and there is plenty of abuse in social settings as well. Very few women of my acquaintance have not experienced groping, overly persistent chatting up, or unwanted sexual contact, and not one of those who has experienced them has enjoyed it, still less fallen in love with the perpetrator.

So why does it work – and more, is popular – in fiction and film?

Well, it doesn’t hurt that the man is handsome, magnetic, or both – and usually powerful and wealthy. But mostly, I think that it’s because we know the ending. We know that these two people are in love with each other: we know that there is intense sexual attraction. In summary, true love forgives everything, and we know from the outset that they will end up admitting their true love for each other.

Unfortunately, in real life that is not the case. The gropers, insulters and assaulters are rarely film-star handsome or wealthy – sure, #MeToo started with the powerful, handsome and/or wealthy, but abuse is carried out by far more men than those. We don’t know that the victim is, or will be, in love with the perpetrator – almost certainly not. And there is no instant sexual attraction.

But.

But the ideal portrayed in fiction and film is pervasive, and it feeds into a narrative where society cannot distinguish, or does not want to distinguish, between fantasy and reality. Someone said: if you repeat a lie often enough it becomes the truth, and assuming that women are receptive to assault because of the fictional narrative in which it is welcomed and enjoyed – is a major social lie.

In film and fiction, the narrative works because we know the story.

Real life is not a story. Don’t assume there’s a happy ending.

Death in Focus: Passion and photography meet a multimillion dollar cover-up and murder.

It’s said that there are, depending on who you believe, one to thirty-six basic plots which cover fiction writing. Interestingly, however, it’s only when you get to a higher number of basic plots that “romance” (or love) is specified. Conflict, on the other hand, is mentioned from the beginning.

Does that mean that fighting is a more important human instinct than love? Or is it just that aeons of conditioning have made an ostensibly male pursuit more important to write and read about than an ostensibly female pursuit?

The first types of stories all seem to be quest/saga: great leader or warrior overcomes conflict in the form of war, enemies, monsters, or natural disaster to save his (it’s always his) people, sometimes from the leader’s excesses and sometimes from external forces: for example the Epic of Gilgamesh, Noah’s Flood, Moses leading his tribes from Egypt, and Beowulf killing Grendel and Grendel’s mother.

The first romance I can think of is the Book of Ruth: whither thou goest I shall go, which is some time later. The expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden isn’t a romance, it’s a tragedy.

The majority of the stories which have survived are those which were told by men to other men. There’s very little record of the stories which women told to women, in just the same way as there’s very little record of women’s work or achievements. There seem to be very few books about women’s pursuits until you get to Fanny Burney and Jane Austen.

Coming to the modern era, in 2015 crime, mystery and thriller was the most popular fiction genre (but I’d bet that at least some of those books also had a romance element). Romance, written and read mainly by women, was fourth. On the sales statistics, clearly, fighting beats love every time.

Interestingly, by the end of 2017, according to one source, 90% of romance was bought in e-book format, in which it’s rather difficult to tell what the reader is reading without actually resorting to reading over their shoulder (which is rude). Are people embarrassed to admit to reading romance, where they aren’t embarrassed to admit to reading other books?

Or is it that reading about conflict is more socially acceptable than reading about romance? Have we all been conditioned to think that’s the case? Even non-fiction genres tend to be about male-dominated pursuits: great political battles, wars, sports... with the possible exception of cooking, the explosion of which is fairly recent and also reflects the cult of the celebrity chef – mostly male, again. Gardening began with Capability Brown – another man.

We’re conditioned to think that the types of books women read are lesser. Less important. Less intelligent. Less literary. Less popular. By implication, that means that those who read them are less. Even in literature, which should be equal for all, women are made less.

Women’s fiction is a minority genre.

Men’s fiction is simply fiction.

Death in Focus

Right now, I’m stuck. Stuck somewhere around two-thirds through the sequel to Death in Focus, stuck with how best to market Death in Focus, and stuck with my usual go-to to clear my head, writing fan-fiction. I know where I want my sequel to go, but I don’t see how to get there, and “just writing” isn’t really helping me right now.

So I thought I’d muse about procrastination, since I’m doing a lot of it.

The house is tidy. My chequebook (well, bank account, since I haven’t written a cheque in years) is reconciled. The washing is drying on the washing line. The latest domestic disaster has been dealt with (nail polish on bedlinen, since you ask, and no, it wasn’t me). I’ve read all my favourite websites, checked pathetically to see if anyone’s bought the book or even shelved it on Goodreads, pondered the appalling state of the world today and even done some exercise. Hitting the nadir, I ironed!

I always hope that some well-judged procrastination will clarify the story in my head. Sometimes, that even works. Usually, I manage an idea in the shower, or when I’m somewhere I can’t write it down – of course. Murphy’s Law is universal – but not for the last few days. Nothing has worked.

However.

Perhaps blockage is good for me.

That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But. As I’ve mentioned before, I used to be a financial type. I had deadlines and requirements and stress and long hours and enormous responsibility – people’s futures depended on the decisions I made. If I didn’t do tasks, it mattered. It really, really mattered – in both dollar and employee terms. So I always had to be focused on completing the task. Getting the job done. Finding the best solution available in the circumstances and the few moments in which the decision had to be made – and owning the results of that decision.

In those situations, you become very task and results driven. You also become authoritative – and sometimes authoritarian! There is a little time for discussion, but in the end you must make decisions on imperfect information and in a hurry. Nothing else matters but – again, for emphasis – getting the job done. You cannot put it down, let it wait a bit, put it off till tomorrow – in short, you cannot procrastinate.

You could say that you’re always on.

And then I retired, specifically so that I could publish Death in Focus and write more with the same characters. A series, I hope. We shall see.

It was a big change. But. But I’m still the same: target driven, authoritative (my child would say dictatorial, but she loves me anyway), decisive, do-it-now and do-it-better personality that I always was.

So what blockage is teaching me, is that sometimes it’s good to have to wait. Sometimes it’s good to stop, smell the flowers (or in my case weed the flowerbed so that next year there might be flowers), and simply be. It’s teaching me that you can’t always force things to happen on your own timetable.

Blockage is teaching me to relax. And for that reason alone, although I wish it would clear, it has value.

S.R. Garrae