Robin Mahle's Blog - Posts Tagged "suspense"
My Biggest Influences as a Writer
I have always loved reading books. When I was in elementary school, I read every Judy Blume book I could get my hands on. Who doesn’t remember Are you there God, It’s me, Margaret. And of course, I absolutely fell in love with Wilber the pig in Charlotte’s Web.
But as I got older, my tastes turned to stories that were just a little darker. Call it my brooding teenage years. My generation didn’t grow up with sparkly vampires. We grew up with VC Andrews and Flowers in the Attic. Those books were disturbing, at least to my thirteen year old self!
That perhaps led to a revelation that the dark side was in fact very thrilling…to read about, anyway. I can also attribute this to a family trait. It was my mother who gave me my first Stephen King novel. I was about sixteen and I was reading Christine. Awesome. Since that first King novel, I’ve been reading his work ever since.
I definitely wouldn’t say my writing reflects the morbid aspect of King’s work or Dean Koontz, whom I am also a fan of. I enjoy writing the more mysterious aspects of a story. Don’t get me wrong, I do like to be scared out of my mind, but my own work tends to be more of the psychological suspense, mystery genre. Of course, King is the king when it comes to suspense, in my humble opinion.
So, I read what I love to write; suspense, mystery and in my next book, the sequel to Redwood Violet, you’ll see a touch of the macabre as well. The complexities of creating a picture in the reader’s mind that conveys a mixture of these elements will not be taken lightly. And I can guarantee the reader won’t be disappointed.
What were some of your favorite books? How did they shape who you are? That’s the great thing about books. The impressions they leave are indelible.
But as I got older, my tastes turned to stories that were just a little darker. Call it my brooding teenage years. My generation didn’t grow up with sparkly vampires. We grew up with VC Andrews and Flowers in the Attic. Those books were disturbing, at least to my thirteen year old self!
That perhaps led to a revelation that the dark side was in fact very thrilling…to read about, anyway. I can also attribute this to a family trait. It was my mother who gave me my first Stephen King novel. I was about sixteen and I was reading Christine. Awesome. Since that first King novel, I’ve been reading his work ever since.
I definitely wouldn’t say my writing reflects the morbid aspect of King’s work or Dean Koontz, whom I am also a fan of. I enjoy writing the more mysterious aspects of a story. Don’t get me wrong, I do like to be scared out of my mind, but my own work tends to be more of the psychological suspense, mystery genre. Of course, King is the king when it comes to suspense, in my humble opinion.
So, I read what I love to write; suspense, mystery and in my next book, the sequel to Redwood Violet, you’ll see a touch of the macabre as well. The complexities of creating a picture in the reader’s mind that conveys a mixture of these elements will not be taken lightly. And I can guarantee the reader won’t be disappointed.
What were some of your favorite books? How did they shape who you are? That’s the great thing about books. The impressions they leave are indelible.
Finding Your Voice - Writing in Third Person
How many times had I started a novel in first person, only to backtrack and change to third? A few times, but it was a few times too many and it didn't take long to learn my lesson that it was no easy task, changing POVs mid-stream.
I just couldn't find my voice. While I appreciate that the reader can closely relate to a character in first-person stories, it only means that I, as the author, have to work harder at accomplishing this same task in third-person narrative.
In my novels to date, I have written in third-person limited. That is, narrating from the main character's point of view; never shifting to the thoughts or feelings of another character, unless it is "perceived" by the main character.
However, I have read a few novels lately whereby the author's approach to point of view is unique in its switching from character to character. (I do read quite a bit as is a job requirement!) One such novel, Tom Rachman's, The Imperfectionists, is a great example of how switching points of view work. Gillian Flynn's, Gone Girl is another example of this approach. I have considered this style and will continue to play around with changing things up in my future novels.
However, sometimes I believe a narrator speaking to the reader, conveying the vast levels of human emotion in a character, can work just as well in third person limited. I also prefer past-tense narrative, overall. Present tense just doesn't connect as well with me as a reader and I'm not sure I could successfully convey it to my readers, were I to experiment with it. Again, some writers can absolutely make it work, as noted above.
One example of how effective third-person, past-tense can be is evidenced here in this quote from Robert Ludlum's The Ambler Warning:
"There was a warmth and a humanity to her that he desperately craved right now, the way he craved oxygen."
I had to dig for that one, but I think it sums it up. It is exactly the perfect tone for the reader. The narrator makes the reader feel like he/she is that character. I can imagine that the reader takes a deep breath at the mere mention of craving oxygen, as I did when I read it.
An author searching for her voice finds that it eventually comes with time and experience. I, of course, am only beginning this journey, but I look forward to discovering a variety of ways to give my readers the ability to feel my characters; to live through them as I do.
In the end, I believe it is the personal experience of each reader and how they best interpret a story and make it their own. Ultimately, this is what every author wants--each reader to create a world entirely of their own unique perspective.
I just couldn't find my voice. While I appreciate that the reader can closely relate to a character in first-person stories, it only means that I, as the author, have to work harder at accomplishing this same task in third-person narrative.
In my novels to date, I have written in third-person limited. That is, narrating from the main character's point of view; never shifting to the thoughts or feelings of another character, unless it is "perceived" by the main character.
However, I have read a few novels lately whereby the author's approach to point of view is unique in its switching from character to character. (I do read quite a bit as is a job requirement!) One such novel, Tom Rachman's, The Imperfectionists, is a great example of how switching points of view work. Gillian Flynn's, Gone Girl is another example of this approach. I have considered this style and will continue to play around with changing things up in my future novels.
However, sometimes I believe a narrator speaking to the reader, conveying the vast levels of human emotion in a character, can work just as well in third person limited. I also prefer past-tense narrative, overall. Present tense just doesn't connect as well with me as a reader and I'm not sure I could successfully convey it to my readers, were I to experiment with it. Again, some writers can absolutely make it work, as noted above.
One example of how effective third-person, past-tense can be is evidenced here in this quote from Robert Ludlum's The Ambler Warning:
"There was a warmth and a humanity to her that he desperately craved right now, the way he craved oxygen."
I had to dig for that one, but I think it sums it up. It is exactly the perfect tone for the reader. The narrator makes the reader feel like he/she is that character. I can imagine that the reader takes a deep breath at the mere mention of craving oxygen, as I did when I read it.
An author searching for her voice finds that it eventually comes with time and experience. I, of course, am only beginning this journey, but I look forward to discovering a variety of ways to give my readers the ability to feel my characters; to live through them as I do.
In the end, I believe it is the personal experience of each reader and how they best interpret a story and make it their own. Ultimately, this is what every author wants--each reader to create a world entirely of their own unique perspective.
All the Shiny Things - A Sneak Peek!
With only one week to go until the big launch, I thought I'd post just a little snippet!
Enjoy!
THIS WAS THE part that she dreaded the most: opening her apartment door first thing in the morning to get the paper. Would they be there again today; the three or four reporters that lingered outside her quiet building in hopes of getting a statement from the girl who escaped? Their appearance had almost become part of her daily routine. So much had happened since she came forward. Was it still September? Katie had to look at the front page just to be sure.
An unusual morning for this time of year; bright blue sky and air so still that as she looked out among the palm trees lining the street, not a single frond moved. A nice breeze could generally be counted on to drift in through the open windows of her second floor apartment; the air having been cooled by the ocean only blocks away.
But in the past few weeks, Katie’s life had been dramatically altered, leading her down a path she still feared, and so “unusual” had become the norm. No sign of the reporters yet, but it was still early. She stepped back into her apartment and closed the door. The latch clicked and she cringed, wondering if it would stir Marshall. He was still asleep on the couch. He hadn’t left her side since the sketch of her abductor went public.
After the night of the last dream, the one that changed everything, Marshall had accompanied Katie to the police station, where the composite artist had sketched out the face. She brought to life her worst nightmare and it was the first time others would see the monster that had been haunting her dreams for nearly a year.
His long, thin face, round eyes, and high forehead offered a good starting point, but the version she had in her mind was more than twenty years old. It was a distorted, scowling image of a man; angry that he had been bested by a child. But what about now as his youth had given way to middle age? Receding hair, skin leathered with age, waist expanded from years of excess. These were all things that needed to be considered. One thing was certain; she would recognize that scathing stare and twisted mouth if she got the chance to see him again.
Enjoy!
THIS WAS THE part that she dreaded the most: opening her apartment door first thing in the morning to get the paper. Would they be there again today; the three or four reporters that lingered outside her quiet building in hopes of getting a statement from the girl who escaped? Their appearance had almost become part of her daily routine. So much had happened since she came forward. Was it still September? Katie had to look at the front page just to be sure.
An unusual morning for this time of year; bright blue sky and air so still that as she looked out among the palm trees lining the street, not a single frond moved. A nice breeze could generally be counted on to drift in through the open windows of her second floor apartment; the air having been cooled by the ocean only blocks away.
But in the past few weeks, Katie’s life had been dramatically altered, leading her down a path she still feared, and so “unusual” had become the norm. No sign of the reporters yet, but it was still early. She stepped back into her apartment and closed the door. The latch clicked and she cringed, wondering if it would stir Marshall. He was still asleep on the couch. He hadn’t left her side since the sketch of her abductor went public.
After the night of the last dream, the one that changed everything, Marshall had accompanied Katie to the police station, where the composite artist had sketched out the face. She brought to life her worst nightmare and it was the first time others would see the monster that had been haunting her dreams for nearly a year.
His long, thin face, round eyes, and high forehead offered a good starting point, but the version she had in her mind was more than twenty years old. It was a distorted, scowling image of a man; angry that he had been bested by a child. But what about now as his youth had given way to middle age? Receding hair, skin leathered with age, waist expanded from years of excess. These were all things that needed to be considered. One thing was certain; she would recognize that scathing stare and twisted mouth if she got the chance to see him again.
Beyond the Clearing
The cover for
Beyond the Clearing
is finally here!
My latest suspense/thriller is set to be released in late March and I'm excited to bring you a glimpse of what's to come.
Be sure to check out the Goodreads Giveaways starting March 5th where I will be giving away 6 signed print editions!
In the meantime, please add Beyond the Clearing , to your To-Read list!
My latest suspense/thriller is set to be released in late March and I'm excited to bring you a glimpse of what's to come.
Be sure to check out the Goodreads Giveaways starting March 5th where I will be giving away 6 signed print editions!
In the meantime, please add Beyond the Clearing , to your To-Read list!
What Will He Find? - Beyond the Clearing Excerpt!
With one week to go, I thought I'd post a little snippet from my upcoming release! Look for it on Amazon on 3/26!
BEYOND THE CLEARING
Tony grabbed his rifle from the locked storage cabinet. He had a bad feeling and didn’t know what to expect and so it was better to be prepared. These parts were known to be home to black bears and mountain lions. This concerned Tony greatly if Mrs. Sylva had decided to go for a late-night stroll or pre-dawn walk. Mountain lions primarily hunted during those hours. But, it was the bears that posed a much bigger threat, especially if Mrs. Sylva encountered a mother with cubs.
He brought the beefy little machine to life and rolled out towards the wilderness. It didn’t take long for him to reach the outskirts of the compound and he continued on, searching for anything that might suggest someone had recently traversed the area outside the known trails.
Perhaps she’d gotten lost. It was a logical assumption, especially if one did not have the sun to guide them in any way. Tony highly doubted that Mrs. Sylva traveled with a compass. Most of the people that came to this place were city-dwellers in search of spiritual guidance; a magic healing power that could help free them of their past transgressions, or release their tortured souls from the confines of daily suburban life.
Tony had reached a point where his vehicle could no longer be of use. The narrowed trails would have to be taken by foot through this part of the mountainous woods. The winds last night might have taken whatever clues were left, with the exception of a few boot prints he had spotted at the bottom where his ATV remained. It was a shot in the dark, but it was as good a place as any to start looking for Mrs. Sylva. Fortunately, the rains came in sparse last night and parts of the area hadn’t been touched at all. He felt fortunate even to find any prints. Best to see where they led. This area was on the “do not enter” part of the resort, due to the rough terrain. So, finding prints at the base might mean someone who didn’t want to be found just might come up through this restricted area.
Although the skies were clear now and the sun shone brightly on this early morning, these backwoods, where the brush was thick and the trees were high, allowed for little light to seep in. The large pines and boulder outcrops nearly blocked out the sun.
He held his rifle in his right hand and made his way through the trees and rocks. The ground revealed more footprints and he followed them until reaching an unusually flat piece of ground, a clearing, where the prints ended. He had worked for the resort for the past two years and couldn’t ever recall seeing this place before. Many of these parts were off limits to the guests. But as a man who needed to know his surroundings well, this former Marine left nothing to chance and continued on with caution.
BEYOND THE CLEARING
Tony grabbed his rifle from the locked storage cabinet. He had a bad feeling and didn’t know what to expect and so it was better to be prepared. These parts were known to be home to black bears and mountain lions. This concerned Tony greatly if Mrs. Sylva had decided to go for a late-night stroll or pre-dawn walk. Mountain lions primarily hunted during those hours. But, it was the bears that posed a much bigger threat, especially if Mrs. Sylva encountered a mother with cubs.
He brought the beefy little machine to life and rolled out towards the wilderness. It didn’t take long for him to reach the outskirts of the compound and he continued on, searching for anything that might suggest someone had recently traversed the area outside the known trails.
Perhaps she’d gotten lost. It was a logical assumption, especially if one did not have the sun to guide them in any way. Tony highly doubted that Mrs. Sylva traveled with a compass. Most of the people that came to this place were city-dwellers in search of spiritual guidance; a magic healing power that could help free them of their past transgressions, or release their tortured souls from the confines of daily suburban life.
Tony had reached a point where his vehicle could no longer be of use. The narrowed trails would have to be taken by foot through this part of the mountainous woods. The winds last night might have taken whatever clues were left, with the exception of a few boot prints he had spotted at the bottom where his ATV remained. It was a shot in the dark, but it was as good a place as any to start looking for Mrs. Sylva. Fortunately, the rains came in sparse last night and parts of the area hadn’t been touched at all. He felt fortunate even to find any prints. Best to see where they led. This area was on the “do not enter” part of the resort, due to the rough terrain. So, finding prints at the base might mean someone who didn’t want to be found just might come up through this restricted area.
Although the skies were clear now and the sun shone brightly on this early morning, these backwoods, where the brush was thick and the trees were high, allowed for little light to seep in. The large pines and boulder outcrops nearly blocked out the sun.
He held his rifle in his right hand and made his way through the trees and rocks. The ground revealed more footprints and he followed them until reaching an unusually flat piece of ground, a clearing, where the prints ended. He had worked for the resort for the past two years and couldn’t ever recall seeing this place before. Many of these parts were off limits to the guests. But as a man who needed to know his surroundings well, this former Marine left nothing to chance and continued on with caution.
