May, 2024 - Human Writes

Question: How do you hope readers will feel after finishing your book?

P.J. Moroney: I have to think about that. I guess there are the obvious things. I hope they enjoy it; I hope it makes them think a little, and it would be great if they thought it was the best thing they ever read. And I hope they tell their friends about it.

But really… I hope they understand it. The plot’s not too hard to follow, but I don’t mean that. I hope they understand the characters, their motivation and background. I hope they take in the psychological aspects – there are damaged people in this book, and their decisions and actions come out of that damage. We do as we are.

This is not a straight crime thriller with a linear plot and characters acting predictably. I tried to write something true to human behaviour and the traumas that bear on it. It just so happens it’s a human drama set within a crime thriller. The format places the characters in stress, which makes the story.

Ideally, I hope readers close the book and feel as if – for that moment anyway – that they have an enlarged understanding of human nature. We’re complex beings, and that makes for great literature when you do it right.

Question: You speak of ‘psychological aspects’. How did you approach them, and what was their genesis?

P.J. Moroney: I have no approach. I don’t begin a book thinking I will write about XYZ’s psychological aspects, though I will have themes in the back of my head. I’ll know what the story is about at a high level, but it’s not until I get into the guts of writing that I begin to get into the fine details. Often, it’s something I only realise in retrospect. It’s a cliche, but writing is a journey. I learn as much from the process as someone might do reading it.

Take Kurten. Like I said, he’s damaged. He comes from a famous and respected family, but he lives in disgrace and a degree of shame, thanks to his brother. He was an idealist once with grand ambitions, but now he lived in the shadows, solitary, bitter, and an outsider to the world he once belonged to. Then this case comes along, different from all the other shit he’s been doing, and that’s the story.

Now, there are clear themes there, as well as the possibility of redemption. But he has to live it. He had to go on that journey, and me, I had to write it. You do that, and you begin to inhabit their skin a little. You see through their eyes, feel as they do, and, with a bit of luck, the story brings that authenticity. Whatever I start off writing develops with the experience of writing it and shapes the words and perspective. Because you’re feeling as they do, you begin to understand the nuance of their experience. You grow into a more sophisticated understanding, and that feeds into your writing. I hope!

Question: Where do you think that psychological understanding comes from? How much of you is in it?

P.J. Moroney: Curiosity, mainly, and a wandering, provocative mind. I reckon it’s the same for most writers. I find a lot to be fascinated about, and much of it boils down to what people do and how they act. I’m a great observer, too. That’s pretty much a reflex, and I’m glad of it – I don’t think I’d be a writer or be interested in it if I wasn’t.

I don’t know the whys and hows of it, but I think I’ve always been pretty insightful regarding people. I seem to be able to read people. I’ve always been sensitive like that and had a natural understanding of what motivates people, what they’re thinking sometimes – and why – and ultimately, their triggers. It’s never what I tried to be; it just was. I had a bit of a party trick once where I would meet someone new and, within a few hours, explain back to them who they were. It was pretty shallow, but it would amaze many of them. Sometimes, they would be quite moved. Everyone likes to be understood.

I’m not an expert. I’m certainly not a psychologist. I read a bit, but most of it is experience. As I said, Kurten isn’t me, but I take my experiences and observations, and they naturally inform the characters and story. I draw upon what I know. To that extent, it’s personal.

Question: Isn’t that sort of insight shocking to other people?

P.J. Moroney: It’s certainly surprising, but I keep it under wraps 99% of the time. I’m sure it can be uncomfortable, and I have no desire to intrude upon a person’s privacy. And it’s not infallible anyway. It’s just something.

I will say it was useful when I worked in corporate. It helped me understand why people did what they did and sometimes how I could counter it.

Question: What has been the most surprising or interesting feedback from your readers?

P.J. Moroney: For a start, let me just say I welcome feedback. I’m always curious about how readers respond to my work and what they see in it. I’m happy to be surprised, mostly. If you’re reading this, feel free to send through your feedback.

Otherwise, I get a few questions about some characterisations, nothing too surprising. I got into a conversation with an older woman about the graphical nature of the sex scene. I felt a little embarrassed, actually, but she loved it. That surprised me.

I also get feedback about Melbourne from people living abroad. I think it’s a character in the story, and it seems to be well-appreciated.

I was going to the drafts folder in my email and came across an email. I wrote a couple of years ago and never sent it. It describes some of the processes I go through writing and specifically address the second novel I began to write. It’s the novel I hope to finish within a few months. Here it is

The second novel I’m working on came to me pretty well, complete as a story, from whence I don’t know. I reckon a lot happens in the subconscious. It’ll publish the idea to the conscious mind when it’s ready. In my case, I woke up one morning with it in my head. I shared it with someone at work, and they said great, go for it, and that’s what I’ve been doing.

Generally, when I have a novel like this in my head, I’ll have the beginning and the end and bits and pieces in between. I’ll know what the story is about and what I want to say, but there’ll be a lot of gaps in the storyline. It’s like planning a trip from Melbourne to Sydney and knowing you’ve got to go through Upper Kumbucta West, but otherwise, you don’t know what route you’ll be taking until you’re in the car driving.

What I’ve found writing this is that while the story was clear to me, many of the underlying themes only became apparent as I began to write. I knew the headline themes and could have explained to anyone who asked this is what it’s about. But then you get into the nitty gritty, and there’s much more complexity than a sheer headline. You advance carefully, feeling your way, like walking through a minefield. Many times you retreat knowing it’s not quite right. That’s when you sit in front of your screen looking blank while your mind goes a million miles an hour. You live the moment, searching through it and clarifying details with your mind. Is this right? Or this?

You’re searching for truth, but it comes from the story, the text, and not anything you impose upon it. By now, the story has its own life. It’s your job to understand and to chart it. That sounds a bit of a toss, but that’s how it is. Quite often, I start writing thinking it’s about one thing before discovering there’s more to it than that, and my job is to listen well and get it right.

I had the experience halfway through writing this novel when I read of Homer, specifically, of Achilles, the mighty Greek warrior. As I read, I reflected on my story, seeing the parallels for the first time.

In the Iliad, Achilles is nigh on invincible. By myth, he was held by the heel and dipped in a magical pool that made him immune to injury. He’s a proud, somewhat arrogant character, though capable of great complexity. Ultimately – beyond the pages of the Iliad, he will perish victim of his only flaw – an error to the heel left unprotected.

But what if Achilles doesn’t perish? What if he lives on well after the sacking of Troy and the death of so many mighty characters? What if he passes into middle age, a warrior of legend but creaking, aching, and grey now? His days of might have passed. He has defeated thousands in battle, but in middle age, he has settled into an existence where he wonders what it all means. Looking back, he knows it was real but feels distant and lost, as if he is a different man. It is this he must reconcile.

That’s what my story is, in a way, though inadvertent. It’s modernised, and instead of a warrior, the protagonist is a once great sportsman.

I’m not far off finishing the first draft of this novel, and there will likely be a couple of rewrites before I’m happy. The point is that I started with an idea that still holds true, but I’ve found unexpected complexity as I’ve gone along. That’s not surprising, but I learn from it myself as I reappraise, reflecting on its depth and meaning.

One thing I know is that this has a strong theme in me—we tell our own stories. I’ll post something about that another time.

Month: May 2024

Q&A Part 6: reader engagement and psychology

How it changes