Little rays of sunshine

As the weather in dear old England gets steadily colder and the days grow shorter, I need all the bright sunlight and cheery things I can get! Let's face it: I grew up in India, where it's hot more often than not (hey! Rhyme!), so how I'm going to learn to love the cold in the UK, I'll never know. So here are a few things I'm excited about...

1. I've just signed up to participate in Nina's FicSwap over at her awesome blog Wickfield! Click on the link for proper details, but the gist of it is that this is kind of a Secret Santa thing. You make a request for a story, while also explaining what sort of stuff you will and won't write, and then Nina will give you someone to (secretly) write a story for, while someone else will be (secretly) writing a story for you.

Quite frankly, I can't think of too many things better than getting a story for Christmas/New Year! So do hop over if it sounds like something you'd like to do.

2. Steve and I are going to Bangalore in ten days. Yes, that's right. To the land of sun. Of course, it's approaching winter in India too, but winter in India is downright springtime-y compared to what it's like here. Holiday! Hooray! I don't expect my blogging habits to change much because I'll be back in my old bedroom in my parents' house for a few weeks, with easy access to my laptop, so expect to hear tales from me.

3. Mary Byrne. She's a contestant on the current series of X Factor. She has an incredible voice, is a great sport, seems like such a nice humble person, and she's in her early fifties and is cheerfully competing against bright cute things half her age or younger - and doing better than most of them, in my opinion. She's such a joy to watch and her spirit is amazing! But the reason I really, really like her is quite simple: she's got a great voice and it's a singing contest. I could listen to her forever.

4. Writing. I write because I have to. I can't not do it. But often, it also makes me feel really excited and really happy. 

What's got you excited this week?

A Reflection on The Inbetweeners

Believe me, I never thought I'd write this post. In fact, even the thought of trying to be straight-faced about The Inbetweeners is enough to give me a jaw-ache.

Yet here I am.

Some of you may have heard of The Inbetweeners. Some of you may be fans who watch it religiously for the endless laughs. For those of you who have no idea what this is, in short, it's a British TV show about four teenage boys at the end of their high school lives. It's also about four teenage boys who swear, drink, and seem to talk almost constantly about sex. It's also a BAFTA award-winning show, which means somebody has found something to admire in it.

The most important thing you need to know about The Inbetweeners, though - and the thing that I notice most about it - is that there are no lines. The show doesn't take itself seriously. It's not supposed to be taken seriously. It's about silly fun, cheap laughs, and the odd moment of 'aw that was quite sweet' where the characters (sort of) redeem themselves. Just about every Naughty Word has been used in just about every episode. We have seen testicles. We have heard about a million different words for parts of the female (and indeed, male) anatomy. We've seen and heard about various bodily functions. We've seen, for Christ's sake, a squirrel being deliberately run over. And as someone who once watched her younger brother try and fail to save an injured squirrel that fell off our roof, I did not enjoy that.

The other thing you should probably know is that I'm not generally the blushing damsel type. I was raised by a family who didn't believe in censoring anything. I had aunts who loved to squabble (colourfully), an actor father who got me to run lines with him from scripts sometimes filled with profanity and sex, and a mother who is so liberal that the only thing she wouldn't let us read or watch was The Exorcist because she was afraid it would scare the tonsils out of us. Fair.

And when I was in high school, I was pretty much known to most of my friends as the one whose mind was in the gutter. Someone said 'long', I usually finished the sentence with a euphemism for boys' private parts. Someone said 'hard'... you get the idea.

Yet in spite of this upbringing and this high school career, I, Sangu Mandanna, Mind in the Gutter, spend most of The Inbetweeners episodes cringing. And blushing. And wincing.

Which goes to show you just how far the show goes.

I'm sure there are thousands of people who claim the show goes too far. Way, way too far. Sometimes, I even agree. Last week's squirrel-killing episode, for a start. I hated that bit. Steve, who derives immense amusement from the cheap laughs and the silly gags, didn't like it either. In fact, I wouldn't even call myself an Inbetweeners fan. I probably wouldn't notice missing an episode, and I certainly don't clear my day to watch it.

But for all that, I admire it. I admire the writers. The producers. The actors. Everyone who lets the show air exactly the way it is.

Why? Because The Inbetweeners is a rare example of something that's rapidly vanishing: the lack of boundaries. I might not agree with or enjoy everything I see in an episode, but I admire it all the same because there are no lines. In a world where books are being banned from libraries and TV channels censor out kissing (yes, this happens), I think a show like this is a nice, nice thing.

As someone who writes for young adults, whose YA novel is out on submission to publishers right now, I worry all the time. I find myself censoring myself when I write. Is this too politically incorrect? Will someone kick off if they read this line? And I wish I could stop doing that, because there's enough being cut out and chipped away out there already.

That's why I admire The Inbetweeners. It's a show about young adults that doesn't hold back. It airs late in the evening, so that children aren't unwittingly subjected to the swearing or sexuality, and it gives us a choice. If you find it offensive, don't watch it. If you like it, you can watch it, no holds barred and all that. We get to choose. And I love that. 

I'd love to know what you guys think.

[Insert Euphemism for 'Lunatic' Here]

The scene. An ordinary day. A couple of weeks ago. I sit upstairs in our bedroom, painting my toenails a nice shiny plum, when without warning...

ECHO: Hello.

SANGU: You've got to be effing kidding me.

ECHO: You weren't expecting me, then?

SANGU: No, as a matter of fact, I wasn't. I mean, Echo, for God's sake, I'm painting my toenails. Can't you come back later?

ECHO: That colour doesn't suit your toes. Why don't you try the red instead? I don't see why you haven't been expecting me. You know patience isn't, well, my strongest suit. It's not even one of my suits! Put yourself in my shoes! After the way you ended the book, can you blame me for being a teensy bit antsy? When do I get to find out what happens next? When am I to be, once again, nearly killed, tormented, betrayed, loved and loathed? 

SANGU: I suppose you're trying to make a point. If you think I treat you so unfairly -

ECHO: I didn't say that. I'm only trying to point out that you could be a little kinder. There's only so many times someone can be nearly killed before their luck runs out, you know!

SANGU: Well, that's my business. Leave me alone. [Echo looks hurt and Sangu immediately feels guilty.] Sorry.

ECHO: So... Chapter One, then?

SANGU: Echo! I can't write Book Two yet, okay? I have to work on something new in case Book One doesn't sell! 

ECHO: But that's silly. I tell a great story.

SANGU [sighs].

Have I ever mentioned I hate spiders?

The funny thing is, I didn't have a problem with them until about four months ago. Growing up in India, I encountered spiders occasionally. Sometimes they'd have a web in the corner of a ceiling, or they might scuttle over the floor of an outdoor inn, but these occasions were quite few and far between and the spiders were always of unalarming small size.

In fact, in spite of being allergic to spiderwebs (yes, I get hives), I didn't actually yelp or cringe or gasp at the sight of a spider.

Until I moved into our new house, where, to date, we must have unearthed about thirty spiders. For the most part, they've been the small spiders that end up living in houses that aren't occupied (no one had lived in ours for a few months before we moved in). Occasionally, they've been quite large, prompting a squeak from me and an attempt to curl into the farthest corner of the couch while Steve deals with them.

Yesterday?

I kid you not, the spider was nearly four inches long from leg to leg. That's ginormous. And it was smack bang in the middle of the stairs. I didn't see it on my way down, which means I spotted it on my way back up, let out a shriek, and backed hastily down again. I couldn't go back up. Which left me downstairs all day, with my phone, the bathroom and my clothes upstairs.

Yep. I was stuck in a cold house in a flimsy see-through nightshirt until Steve came home from work. Five hours later.

The spider, thankfully, did not move. I checked on it every five minutes. As the day grew darker, I could have sworn it doubled in size.

The moral of the tale? Spiders are the root of all evil. 

And get dressed before you go downstairs. 

On Writing Relationships

I've neglected the blogosphere shamefully this past week. Partly it's been a case of Real Life taking over, and I haven't wanted to visit blogs knowing I won't be able to properly sit down and read and comment on posts. So sorry about that, everyone, I'll be back to making my rounds of my favourite bloggers this week!

It's also been a case of not really having anything to blog about. Yes, I have ideas for posts and stuff I want to say, but I never write up these posts if I'm not feeling passionate about the topic at the time. So I've waited until I have felt that spark again.

I don't know about you, but relationships in fiction are so important to me. The relationships between friends, lovers, family are, to me, the anchor of a story. No matter how great a plot is, no matter how clever the twists and turns are, I'll never be able to love something if the characters and the relationships between them (or even some of them) aren't interesting, compelling, moving, fraught, amazing... I could go on.

So I'm going to offer up a few things that have occurred to me about why fictional relationships work, and what specific story or relationship made me realize these things.

Tension is key. No one cares about a relationship where everything goes swimmingly all the time, and the characters never have doubts, or argue, or do something awful without meaning to, etc etc. In Veronica Mars, my favourite relationship is the one between Veronica and her father. They stick together through thick and thin (and believe me, things get thick). But they're also not above lying to each other, protecting each other through various underhanded means, tricking one another, and generally confronting each other over issues that are important to them. This is why this relationship works. 

On the flip side, they do stick by one another and that's as important as the doubts. The reason I lost interest in the Logan/Veronica romance was because there was too much doubt, too much conflict, too little loyalty and faith and awesomeness between them. They were unhappy far more than they were happy. I think there needs to be a balance.

The nature of the relationship itself is in question - and is then satisfactorily resolved. Do they love one another? Hate one another? Are they going to betray the other? Will they forgive the other one? Will they overcome their different ideals to love each other, or will their ideals matter more? This kind of conflict is an off-shoot of tension, I guess, but I needed it earmarked separately because it's so effective. When you question a relationship from the outside, and then finally get your answers, it's satisfying and moving. And it keeps you interested right through.

Key example? Luke and Darth Vader in the original Star Wars trilogy. Being twenty-two and the daughter of a Star Wars fan, I knew Darth Vader was Luke's father before I ever watched any of the films. I think most people do these days. But that, if anything, makes the question even more gripping. Will they reconcile? Can he be redeemed? Will he kill his own son - or save him?

We got great answers to those questions, and that's why I love their relationship so much.

The characters have to be able to stand on their own. They have to be able to stand individually as great characters before they can make a great relationship. Otherwise, it's just a hollow relationship that doesn't quite ring true, no matter how much you praise the love. For me, Romeo and Juliet epitomize this. Everyone knows them for the tragic love story, but when I read the play, it was kind of disappointing. I just thought 'meh, they're not that great, either of them. Pfuee!' And their relationship didn't feel real at all.

You have to be invested in them. Some of you may disagree, but for me, a relationship in a book or movie or TV show has to be something I'm deeply invested in for me to care at all. It's amazing how much of a difference that emotional investment makes. Even if you tick every single one of the boxes above, a relationship will still fall flat if a reader or viewer is not invested in it. This is the wild card and it's annoying because it means we as writers could tick the boxes and still not create that special spark. To use a reality TV metaphor, the relationship might be able to dance, have a great voice, look good - but it's always going to be trumped by something that has that special X factor.

For instance, when the Harry Potter books were still coming out, I had my heart deeply and firmly set on the idea that Harry and Hermione were better together than any other characters in the books. They had a spark I couldn't identify, something that made me go 'wow, I love seeing how these two interact and stick by each other'.

This made me a little impatient (to put it mildly) with the Ron/Hermione romance and don't even get me started on the Harry/Ginny one. I used to find Ron and Hermione's bickering irritating. But other readers tell me they loved this because it threw up 'sexual tension'. Me? It left me cold, in spite of ticking the 'tension' box. But if Harry and Hermione argued? I lapped it up like a starving cat confronted with cream. 

Oh. And did I mention relationship-love is so subjective?

And that's my (rather long) two cents on the subject. What do you guys think?