In August I spent several days with my friend Carol in Studio City, California. Carol works in the movies as an art department coordinator. She was working then on a film called The Artist, so we partied in the evenings and I entertained myself during the day. I took my mini-cam and explored Ventura Boulevard. I trekked from Laurel Canyon Drive almost to Universal Studio, alongside a relentless stream of traffic. It seemed never to let up. My husband the eco-critic (yes really, he and Robin Murray write books on eco-criticism and the cinema) informed me later that Los Angeles has the most polluted air in America. It certainly seems that way when you breathe it.

Side streets with quaint names like Blue Canyon Road branched off Ventura and twisted up the steep hillsides, but the boulevard was mostly commercial. A sinister atmosphere emanated from the hustle and bustle and mixed with the pollution. Maybe it came from my assumption that so much commerce cannot exist without some corruption or from the bleak depictions of Los Angeles in novels by James Ellroy and Michael Connelly and films like Chinatown and Mulholland Drive. I imagined dark happenings in the seedy motels and massage parlors. I wondered what was cached in the windowless storage facilities. So many businesses exploited parents’ dreams of vicarious stardom: “Comedy Lessons for Kids,” “Children in Film.”


I passed a building of gleaming black glass with a large courtyard behind the tall bars of a fence. The sign on the building said only “Pure Beauty.” A spa, maybe? I must have passed 15 or 20 downscale spas in various strip malls. This could be an upscale spa. But a sign on the gate into the parking lot warned that the place was under “constant video surveillance.” What would happen if I took pictures? Would guys in suits and sunglasses come out and break my camera? Later I searched online and discovered it was just an ordinary spa. Maybe the patrons felt insecure or the facility needed protection from  feral gangs of starlets foraging for beauty products.


I’m thrilled to be a guest blogger on the site Review from Here. My post describes the moment when my imagination came to life:

 When I was four, my family lived in Soldiers’ Summit, Utah, a forlorn place high in the Wasatch Mountains. Population two or three dozen people, tops. Our house was heated with a coal stove. It had running water but no indoor toilet. My father had been working as a dispatcher . . .

Yesterday I was looking through an old copy of Milan Kundera’s The Art of the Novel when came across this form rejection tucked between the pages. I forget what story I submitted to The Quarterly but  I remember that this form letter, which tries so hard to cushion the blow, didn’t make me feel any better about being rejected. Why is that? If anyone has a theory, let me know.

Sorry it’s so huge. The type gets very blurry when the size is reduced.

Talion has received a short but sweet review from Mystee on her blog, A Moment with Mystee .  The blog is worth checking out for the many giveaway opportunities as well as the reviews.

Please join me on my first virtual book tour. The complete tour schedule can be found on my Web site or at Pump Up Your Book promotions.

Mighty Bear Woman (a.k.a. Daiva Markelis) poses incisive questions on my writing and career. Check it out. And while you’re there, enjoy the thrilling and unpredictable Adventures of Mighty Bear Woman!

Talion began as a novella about a friendship between teenage girls from very different backgrounds. The story dragged, weighed down by exposition of the characters’ pasts and a present where the conflict arose from their general distrust of one another. Nothing was happening! I came to realize the plot needed a catalyst, a threat that would bring them together or destroy them.

 

So Conrad (Rad) Sanders entered the story, stalking them, watching them sunbathe at a old dam in the mountains, waiting his chance. The narrative was third person with multiple points of view, and I couldn’t avoid including Rad’s. But his character was so far outside my experience that I couldn’t get very far without doing research on sexual sadism and serial killers.

 

I didn’t have to look far for material. Serial killers had already been popularized in other fiction, most prominently Thomas Harris’ Silence of the Lambs and his compelling  villain Hannibal Lector, whose powers verged on the supernatural.  It seemed Harris and every other creator of fictional serial killers drew material from the work of the FBI agents who had studied these criminals: Robert Ressler, John Douglas, Roy Hazelwood. These men had spent years tracking, interviewing, and analyzing serial killers. They had written books on the subject, both popular works and criminology texts. After reading these, I moved on to books by police detectives who had worked serial killer cases and books devoted to the crimes of particular notorious criminals: Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, the Zodiac killer, etc.

 

I came to the conclusion that serial killers are losers. Abused or neglected as children, driven by rage and inadequacy, they lack the capacity for empathy that makes love possible. Yet, like all monsters, they can be fascinating.

 

Before long, Rad began to take over my novel.

 

 

One-minute video trailer of my novel TALION, on sale as a paperback or Kindle book at Amazon.com

Some readers have asked me what Talion is supposed to be: a symptom of Lu’s psychosis? a supernatural being? an angel?

Talion and his cohorts are none of these things entirely. Lu’s senses tell her they exist, but others do not see or hear them. A psychitrist would not doubt label her psychotic. They are central to her world, like Rad’s fantasies. He feeds his fantasies and make them real through the torment and death of his victims.

What does Lu feed Talion to make him real?

Her love.

When he enters the story in first chapter, her first words to him are “I love you.” And because she loves Talion she does his bidding and so brings her fantasy into that narrow realm of existence we share with others and call reality. It’s like one of many frequencies on a radio, and for many people the only one that counts. For those readers who must make sense of Talion in reality, he and Black Claw and Delatar may be conceived as aspects of Lu’s Self. They are actors in her inner struggle for survival.

Whatever is he, Talion has the potential to betray Lu, just as Rad’s fantasy of absolute conquest of his victims has the potential to betray him.

This is the journal of my creative life. Much of it centers on my fiction, but my views of literature and the world will inevitably come into view.

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