On location with Split Symmetry

My second novel, Split Symmetry, was set in a mountain range in Abruzzo, central Italy after I discovered it one year whilst on holiday with friends in the region. A ski resort in the winter, the mountain range is home to one of the highest peaks in Italy, certainly the tallest outside of the Alps. At nearly 3,000 metres, the Corno Grande peak within the range is so tall I nearly suffered altitude sickness the first time I went up it.

Gran Sasso also houses the southernmost glacier in Europe next to the summit of the Corno Grande, sadly expected to have disappeared by 2020 due to climate change.

On my first visit, I drove there on the back of my husband’s motorbike which he keeps at his family home in Rome for occasions such as these! En route we passed through a 10 km tunnel which cuts through the mountain itself. It was cold and we were running out of petrol (a typical scenario) so I started to look around me, in case we ended up having to stop.

I was surprised to notice reinforced metal doors cut into the sides of the tunnels. They looked like something out of James Bond and indeed afterwards I discovered that behind them lay something of great importance: Italy’s National Laboratories. It was in these labs that scientists received the ‘faster-than-light’ neutrinos which had been fired across from CERN in Switzerland in 2011.

The second time I visited the mountain I had to follow four bikers up to Campo Imperatore, a plain about half way up. Stopping every so often to provide them with roadside drinks and snacks, I had plenty of time to observe how the weather changed from hot and sunny to ominous and brooding to darkly torrential in the space of a couple of hours.

I waited at Campo Imperatore for an hour or so at the end of the bike ride, enough time for its strange atmosphere to soak into my skin: this was the last place Mussolini hid before the Germans picked him up during the second world war. And it feels like a small piece of those events still resides somewhere in the ether there. There’s something about the oddness of the tumble down hotel, little changed in several decades, and the gleaming towers of the Rome Observatory, which sits on the edge of the Campo, to lend the surroundings an other-worldly feel. The area seems to transcend time – quite apt for my novel.

On my third visit I climbed up the wrong side of the Corno Grande slope with ropes…with a guide, I hasten to add. It got me thinking about how perilous it could be to do this kind of climb in the middle of the night, and how resourceful you’d need to be to do it safely.

Each time I went, I passed earthquake-torn Aquila on the way, still looking tumble down and broken. I thought, what if an earthquake hit whilst you were up the mountain. Then I thought about all the times I’d been involved in near miss hiking disasters – a few times, as it happens, because hiking is a risky business, far more so than many people realise.

And that led to my ‘what if’ question which led to the novel.

There’s more to it, of course, including a backstory worthy of LOST and an incredible catastrophe, in which my protagonist, Elena, and her friends, are forced to question the nature of reality itself…Will they survive it?

 

Set in the near future, Split Symmetry is the story of what happens when a hike in the notorious Gran Sasso mountain range in central Italy descends into chaos on the same night that scientists decide to work on a clandestine experiment in a lab beneath the mountain. Dr Elena Lewis must work around the clock to find members of her group who have become lost on the mountain, but just as she is close to finding them, the region is rocked by one of the worst earthquakes central Italy has ever known.

Get your copy on Amazon, today.

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Writing Split Symmetry

Mountain split symmetryThe writing of Split Symmetry was an odd experience. It was a rollercoaster, on both an emotional and spiritual level. It was a process which changed my approach to novel writing, and which changed me. It was my ‘via crucis’, the road which would decide if this novel-writing business was for me.

In many ways, it is my true debut. Borderliners was a tale which exercised my mind and troubled my heart, but an easier story in many ways to categorise and get hold of. A learning curve, it was also a novel which was rewritten many times before it was done (and still, I wonder, is it really done?). It was my John the Baptist, the one who was to pave the way, my lost leader (all too important in the indie publishing trenches), my trial run. Although I may need to revisit at some point, maybe to tweak a bit for a second edition, for now my protagonist needed to move on.

So, there was a fork in the road, a Faber Academy course in the middle and many many game changing experiences along the way. I am not the writer I was when I stood at the start of Split Symmetry, thinking it would be easy, thinking I’d got my technique down. Not so.

Turns out I chose a difficult task to execute.

Blood sweat and tears didn’t cover it. I wrote every day and read as much as I could about the writing process.  I bared all to my fellow writers on the Faber course I followed. They were merciless – actually we were all merciless with each other (don’t worry, we’re all still friends), and to the benefit of everyone. I ended up living my characters like a method actor, in order to understand their motivations, their weaknesses and their character arcs. It wasn’t easy. Considering one of them has a condition which some might consider to be borderline psychosis (although I don’t, not really), this could have been a dangerous exercise.

But I lived to tell the tale, and finish the novel.

What I ended up with was a complex beast, and truly a story with many layers – probably more than this debut writer was really ready to tackle. It has had so many different reactions from readers, many polarised. Some people relate to the story as a pure action adventure, like the Poseiden Adventure. Others are drawn by the relationships between the main characters: two sets of siblings, all of them damaged, all of them with everything and nothing to play for. Others still, turned the pages to find out the conclusion to the story within the story, the dark secret one set of siblings has, which repeats on them forever more. For me, it was the spiritual, philosophical and metaphysical undertones to the story which exercised my mind most of all.

I enjoyed following Dr Elena Lewis into the next chapter of her life. It took me to places I wouldn’t have predicted as both she and her co-protagonist, James Dennison, took on lives of their own during the writing of the book. In some ways this was unnerving, but in others it was heartening: I had found my artistic distance in this book, the point where what I produced became something different, something unexpected.

Now, the tale is ready to be released.

Split Symmetry, available from 27 June 2014 on Amazon

More about Split Symmetry

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The allure of the strong female protagonist

I’ll let you into a secret. 

The protagonist of the Borderliners Trilogy, Dr Elena Lewis, is not a strong woman. At least, she doesn’t start out that way. She has her moments, but she is challenged, over-faced by the extent to which life pushes back at her, insecure, torn apart by the burden of knowing too much, seeing more than she needs to in the souls of others.

And here’s another one.

It’s been no easy ride writing a character like this. I’m writing another character now, one who is lined up to take the baton from Elena when she is ready to retire from centre stage.  This character is stronger, sassier, has less time for men and idiots than her more sensitive predecessor. This is a woman I like. The woman I would have liked to have been.

But it’s far too easy. I know that writing this kind of woman will resonate with readers. They will want to sit back and enjoy the ride, watching what this woman gets up to, peeking from between finger tips as she strides about, riding roughshod over fools.

Back to Elena. Why has she been so problematic for me? Because she represents challenges and insecurities, she shows me how it feels to try and fail, to opt for a quiet life and instead, to be found by trouble. This is the woman I don’t want to be, but fear I could become. Her character arc is important because it serves as a warning, a reminder of choices made and paths trodden which could have been otherwise, which could have been worse, a reminder of what can happen when the going gets tough.

So is it the responsible thing? To create a character people will more easily warm to, whom people will allow themselves to be entertained by. To pander to the need of people to be pulled along in their reading experience, by characters they can aspire to, rather than those they have to suffer alongside?

Time will tell.

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The writing process blog tour

I’ve been nominated by fellow ALLi author, EJ Lamprey, for the Writing Process Blog Tour.

Elizabeth Lamprey is working on her fifth whodunit after releasing Seven Eight Play It Straight in April – all the whodunits are set in Scotland, near Edinburgh, and are light-hearted fiendishly-plotted challenges to armchair detectives everywhere. She has a secret passion for SF and one day will invent a charismatic mystery-solving alien. One day.
Here is her post about her writing process.
As for my answers to the questions about what, why and how I write, here they are…

1. What am I working on now?
I’m working on my third novel, WorldCult, and a collection of poems. I’m also following a genre fiction course run by PWA, which I’m using to hone my awareness of genre. It’s all very exciting, but terrifying at the same time.

2. How does my work differ from others in its genre?

It differs a lot because it is all cross-genre!

Each of the books in the Borderliners Trilogy has a speculative undercurrent, but they are slightly different from one another in genre.

Book 1, Borderliners, is part occult, psychological thriller and part ghost story, whereas Split Symmetry (book 2, out July 2014) is an international adventure thriller as well as a metaphysical love story which some might categorise as ‘romance suspense’.

WorldCult (book 3, out December 2014) is more of a big-concept international conspiracy thriller.

3. Why do I write what I do?

I write in order to explore some of the questions I have in life. For example, what is reality? What about free will and personal responsibility, or the existence of moral systems? Why do powerful people sometimes decide this for others, often with disastrous consequences? What is love, and why does it bind us? This post by io9 pretty much sums up the main questions I’m interested in.

I like to explore these questions within my books. I also see the writing-reading relationship as a form of 3D communication. As Milan Kundera said in ‘The Art of the Novel’, the writer begins the vision but the reader completes it in their own way. Readers often see entirely unexpected elements in my work, and I welcome this.

4. How does my writing process work?
snowflakeI have two modes of operation, a writing mode and an editing one. When I’m working on a new project, I write every day. I do this, no matter how the prose comes out, in order to get into character and setting, getting down around 1,500 words a day. It’s a little bit like method acting. I also write poetry around central events in the book, or concepts, to get me in the mood and to shoot right through to the heart of the matter. Poetry helps. A lot.

The other thing I just have to do, is get the scaffolding up quickly. Without the bare bones of the entire story mapped out, I lose track of where I’m going. So I must admit, I’m a fan of the snowflake method.

It works like this: first, I put a basic story together, then I work on the detail of the characterisation and character arc of my protagonist and other main characters, then I work in the thematic undertones and lastly I polish!

Here’s where I first discovered the snowflake method. 

Finally, I operate Stephen King’s shut door idea (from ‘On Writing’). Figuratively speaking, you keep the door to your work in progress shut until you reach the end of the first draft, then you open it, release the novel to beta readers, collate comments and rewrite. This works very well for me.

The editing-redrafting-editing-redrafting cycle then usually takes at least the same time again, usually double the time. So, if it takes six months to write a first draft, it will take twelve to edit it to the point where I’m happy with the manuscript.

I am tagging two fellow Faber Academy alumni and talented writers:
AK Boheim
DM Sharp author of the Olivia Carter series

My books

Borderliners
Split Symmetry

Currently reading ‘1222’ by Anne Holt.

 

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Philosophical questions with no answers

I love this, eight great philosophical questions we’ll never solve.

Although I like to think we will solve them…one day.

In my books I explore some of these. Look out for #2 and #3 in my upcoming book, Split Symmetry, and number #5 and #7 in Borderliners. #7 also features in my third book, WorldCult.

Reblogged from iO9.

1. Why is there something rather than nothing?

Our presence in the universe is something too bizarre for words. The mundaneness of our daily lives cause us take our existence for granted — but every once in awhile we’re cajoled out of that complacency and enter into a profound state of existential awareness, and we ask: Why is there all this stuff in the universe, and why is it governed by such exquisitely precise laws? And why should anything exist at all? We inhabit a universe with such things as spiral galaxies, the aurora borealis, and SpongeBob Squarepants. And as Sean Carroll notes, “Nothing about modern physics explains why we have these laws rather than some totally different laws, although physicists sometimes talk that way — a mistake they might be able to avoid if they took philosophers more seriously.” And as for the philosophers, the best that they can come up with is the anthropic principle — the notion that our particular universe appears the way it does by virtue of our presence as observers within it — a suggestion that has an uncomfortably tautological ring to it.

2. Is our universe real?

This the classic Cartesian question. It essentially asks, how do we know that what we see around us is the real deal, and not some grand illusion perpetuated by an unseen force (who René Descartes referred to as the hypothesized ‘evil demon’)? More recently, the question has been reframed as the “brain in a vat” problem, or the Simulation Argument. And it could very well be that we’re the products of an elaborate simulation. A deeper question to ask, therefore, is whether the civilization running the simulation is also in a simulation — a kind of supercomputer regression (or simulationception). Moreover, we may not be who we think we are. Assuming that the people running the simulation are also taking part in it, our true identities may be temporarily suppressed, to heighten the realness of the experience. This philosophical conundrum also forces us to re-evaluate what we mean by “real.” Modal realists argue that if the universe around us seems rational (as opposed to it being dreamy, incoherent, or lawless), then we have no choice but to declare it as being real and genuine. Or maybe, as Cipher said after eating a piece of “simulated” steak in The Matrix, “Ignorance is bliss.”

3. Do we have free will?

Also called the dilemma of determinism, we do not know if our actions are controlled by a causal chain of preceding events (or by some other external influence), or if we’re truly free agents making decisions of our own volition. Philosophers (and now some scientists) have been debating this for millennia, and with no apparent end in sight. If our decision making is influenced by an endless chain of causality, then determinism is true and we don’t have free will. But if the opposite is true, what’s called indeterminism, then our actions must be random — what some argue is still not free will. Conversely, libertarians (no, not political libertarians, those are other people), make the case for compatibilism — the idea that free will is logically compatible with deterministic views of the universe. Compounding the problem are advances in neuroscience showing that our brains make decisions before we’re even conscious of them. But if we don’t have free will, then why did we evolve consciousness instead of zombie-minds? Quantum mechanics makes this problem even more complicated by suggesting that we live in a universe of probability, and that determinism of any sort is impossible. And as Linas Vepstas has said, “Consciousness seems to be intimately and inescapably tied to the perception of the passage of time, and indeed, the idea that the past is fixed and perfectly deterministic, and that the future is unknowable. This fits well, because if the future were predetermined, then there’d be no free will, and no point in the participation of the passage of time.”

4. Does God exist?

Simply put, we cannot know if God exists or not. Both the atheists and believers are wrong in their proclamations, and the agnostics are right. True agnostics are simply being Cartesian about it, recognizing the epistemological issues involved and the limitations of human inquiry. We do not know enough about the inner workings of the universe to make any sort of grand claim about the nature of reality and whether or not a Prime Mover exists somewhere in the background. Many people defer to naturalism — the suggestion that the universe runs according to autonomous processes — but that doesn’t preclude the existence of a grand designer who set the whole thing in motion (what’s called deism). And as mentioned earlier, we may live in a simulation where the hacker gods control all the variables. Or perhaps the gnostics are right and powerful beings exist in some deeper reality that we’re unaware of. These aren’t necessarily the omniscient, omnipotent gods of the Abrahamic traditions — but they’re (hypothetically) powerful beings nonetheless. Again, these aren’t scientific questions per se — they’re more Platonic thought experiments that force us to confront the limits of human experience and inquiry.

5. Is there life after death?

Before everyone gets excited, this is not a suggestion that we’ll all end up strumming harps on some fluffy white cloud, or find ourselves shoveling coal in the depths of Hell for eternity. Because we cannot ask the dead if there’s anything on the other side, we’re left guessing as to what happens next. Materialists assume that there’s no life after death, but it’s just that — an assumption that cannot necessarily be proven. Looking closer at the machinations of the universe (or multiverse), whether it be through a classical Newtonian/Einsteinian lens, or through the spooky filter of quantum mechanics, there’s no reason to believe that we only have one shot at this thing called life. It’s a question of metaphysics and the possibility that the cosmos (what Carl Sagan described as “all that is or ever was or ever will be”) cycles and percolates in such a way that lives are infinitely recycled. Hans Moravec put it best when, speaking in relation to the quantum Many Worlds Interpretation, said that non-observance of the universe is impossible; we must always find ourselves alive and observing the universe in some form or another. This is highly speculative stuff, but like the God problem, is one that science cannot yet tackle, leaving it to the philosophers.

6. Can you really experience anything objectively?

There’s a difference between understanding the world objectively (or at least trying to, anyway) and experiencing it through an exclusively objective framework. This is essentially the problem of qualia — the notion that our surroundings can only be observed through the filter of our senses and the cogitations of our minds. Everything you know, everything you’ve touched, seen, and smelled, has been filtered through any number of physiological and cognitive processes. Subsequently, your subjective experience of the world is unique. In the classic example, the subjective appreciation of the color red may vary from person to person. The only way you could possibly know is if you were to somehow observe the universe from the “conscious lens” of another person in a sort of Being John Malkovich kind of way — not anything we’re likely going to be able to accomplish at any stage of our scientific or technological development. Another way of saying all this is that the universe can only be observed through a brain (or potentially a machine mind), and by virtue of that, can only be interpreted subjectively. But given that the universe appears to be coherent and (somewhat) knowable, should we continue to assume that its true objective quality can never be observed or known? It’s worth noting that much of Buddhist philosophy is predicated on this fundamental limitation (what they call emptiness), and a complete antithesis to Plato’s idealism.

7. What is the best moral system?

Essentially, we’ll never truly be able to distinguish between “right” and “wrong” actions. At any given time in history, however, philosophers, theologians, and politicians will claim to have discovered the best way to evaluate human actions and establish the most righteous code of conduct. But it’s never that easy. Life is far too messy and complicated for there to be anything like a universal morality or an absolutist ethics. The Golden Rule is great (the idea that you should treat others as you would like them to treat you), but it disregards moral autonomy and leaves no room for the imposition of justice (such as jailing criminals), and can even be used to justify oppression (Immanuel Kant was among its most staunchest critics). Moreover, it’s a highly simplified rule of thumb that doesn’t provision for more complex scenarios. For example, should the few be spared to save the many? Who has more moral worth: a human baby or a full-grown great ape? And as neuroscientists have shown, morality is not only a culturally-ingrained thing, it’s also a part of our psychologies (the Trolly Problem is the best demonstration of this). At best, we can only say that morality is normative, while acknowledging that our sense of right and wrong will change over time.

8. What are numbers?

We use numbers every day, but taking a step back, what are they, really — and why do they do such a damn good job of helping us explain the universe (such as Newtonian laws)? Mathematical structures can consist of numbers, sets, groups, and points — but are they real objects, or do they simply describe relationships that necessarily exist in all structures? Plato argued that numbers were real (it doesn’t matter that you can’t “see” them), but formalists insisted that they were merely formal systems (well-defined constructions of abstract thought based on math). This is essentially an ontological problem, where we’re left baffled about the true nature of the universe and which aspects of it are human constructs and which are truly tangible.

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