![]() ![]() The book may feature a seven-foot denim clad madwoman who smells of smoke and whiskey, but what Daphne really is Kit Lamb’s coming panic attack. It’s not something I set out to do, but something I recognize now. Is there anything more frightening than identity? And loss thereof? Or, perhaps worse, fooling yourself into thinking your identity is static, that you can no longer change? The horror of misplaced identity has become a theme through many of my books (none more than Carpenter’s Farm). It’s a thrilling (and possibly unanswerable) question one I adore. What’s the real root influence then? Who made me me and you you? Yet… we’ve all watched similar films, read similar books. Or maybe it’s the books you read, the films you see, the art you experience. ![]() And what influences your writing more than your worldview? And who influenced your worldview… to begin with? The parents who cheered (rose from the couch to do so) when you read your first book, on your own, no help from them, from beginning to end? Or maybe it was your closest friends, the birds of a feather who drank together, tried LSD together, experimented with sexuality, started a band, moved to NYC, toured the country… maybe it’s them and their worldviews, so similar to your own, who influenced that perspective that now shines in your writing (whether you mean for it to or not). ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |