Stacia Kane

Well. Things totally do change, don’t they? I certainly have changed, and I will prove that now.

Over the weekend, the hubs and I were looking for something. We couldn’t find it. We tore the house apart hunting for it, and in the process came across a lot of old pictures and a stack of my old report cards from first, second, and third grade. At my elementary school, you got one of three grades, basically, and then there was a space for the teacher to write a comment.

You’ll see how very, very different I am. Maturity has taken me in its grip and made me its bitch.

This is another very photo-heavy post.
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Hey, so I can’t think up a good title today, so what?

Actually, titling is an issue I’m having these days. I’m 2/3 done with the third Downside book and it is still saved in Word as “Chess3″ because the title I originally planned, CITY OF GHOSTS, was apparently a major film a few years ago and I’m leery of using something with that many Google hits. So that needs a title, bad.

I’m also just about 1/2 of the way through a new project which Agent Man and I both love, which has no title. It’s currently saved as BLOOD AND FAE, which is not really very good. Especially since while both blood and Fae figure in the plot, it’s not really about either of those things.

So anyway. The hubs and I were discussing titles in the car the other day, which led to movies, which led to movies that piss us off for one reason or another, which led us to A League of Their Own.

I hate that movie. I really, really hate that movie.

Or rather, I hate the ending of that movie. It pisses me off like almost nothing else.

What message are we supposed to take from that horrible ending, where in order to make her bitchy, miserable sister happy–to give her happiness she doesn’t deserve, as she is loathesome–the Gena Davis character throws the championship? Is my heart supposed to be warmed by that? Am I supposed to think that’s sweet?

Or am I supposed to think that if the Gena Davis character were my teammate, I would have ripped her eyeballs out of her head with a teaspoon?

Or, am I supposed to think that when it comes down to it, women just aren’t very good at competing, poor little dears, and they will always make emotional decisions rather than rational ones, and cannot ever get past their personal feelings and live up to their responsibilities?

Seriously. The fact that this ball of patronizing sexism was passed off as a movie for women to enjoy astounds me. It reads like something from a 70′s anti-women’s-lib screed: You can’t trust women because they can’t separate their emotions; you can’t put them in charge of multinational corporations because they won’t do what’s best for the company, only for themselves; they’re incapable of making sound decisions based on facts and not feelings.

And it was such a cute movie until then. I really enjoyed it. But what the hell good is it to have a movie where women are railing against sexism and determined to prove they can compete just as well as the men can–that all the silly little skirts and make-up tips are a big joke because women are tough and strong and can play a hell of a ballgame just like men–and then have the entire ending turn on the fact that at least one of them cannot in fact do that? So instead of having a film about how women really *can* do things, you have a movie about how women *say* they can do things but really are irresponsible and silly and will let their teammates down to make their sisters happy?

It just frustrates me and irritates me. Gena Davis’s character had a responsibility and she threw it away–threw away the hopes and dreams of people who supported and cared about her–in order to please someone who clearly did not particularly care about her because she was too busy caring only about herself.

I think this is doubly on my mind of late because I’m dealing, in the third Downside book, with a lot more emotional crap than I have in the first two, as my MC struggles with the consequences of hurting other people emotionally, and realizes that she herself does have those inconvenient things called feelings and that she can’t pretend she doesn’t. So there’s a lot of facing-up-to-things and a lot of thoughts and worries about feelings that, while they existed in the first book and a bit more in the second–Chess was never an automaton or someone so Tough And Hard she ate nails or anything like that–weren’t really focused on then.

And it’s difficult to find a balance, between trying to write an awesome, creepy, scary, exciting urban fantasy (trying to write, I said; I’m not claiming my books are any of these things although I certainly hope they are), and trying to write a book where people are having emotional issues and those emotional issues feel organic and real; which is to say, the characters think about them even at inconvenient times, and are confused about them, and hate having them, and want certain things emotionally and feel embarrassed and silly for wanting those things, and generally don’t know how to deal with them. Especially as they’re emotional issues with which the characters have never dealt before, and that makes them vulnerable.

How do you decide which decisions are practical and which are emotional? How do you handle making an emotional decision when you know you should be making a practical one but can’t help yourself?

For me the difference is in how the character themselves feel about the decision they’ve made. My biggest issue with that stupid League of their Own ending was that we as the audience were seemingly pushed into feeling that Davis made the right choice; her disgraceful, disrespectful, cruel little trick on the rest of her team was played off as the moral and caring choice. I found that offensive, personally; I wouldn’t have had such an issue with the film had her character been castigated for what she’d done–the way she deserved to be.

So I work hard, generally, to show that there are consequences to incorrect decisions and that emotions breed complexity. You can’t just tell someone you’re sorry and have that make everything okay. You can’t ask for forgiveness and expect to be given it immediately. You don’t get to make all of the decisions in emotional situations involving other people.

It’s a fine line to walk, I think. And I hope I’m walking it well, that my characters’ emotional issues aren’t overpowering the rest of the story but aren’t suddenly disappearing and reappearing, leaving the reader to wonder what the heck is going on. I guess we’ll find out.

How do you handle your characters’ emotional decisions? What is your favorite book or film in which those decisions were made?

Yes, it’s a recipe! I know, I haven’t posted one of these in quite a while; I’m actually considering putting a page on my new website for them all, or would that be lame? What do you think?

Anyway. Most of the recipes I’ve posted have been my own inventions. This one isn’t. It’s taken from Nigella Lawson’s “How to Eat”, which is one of my absolute favorite cookbooks in the world ever. Certainly out of all the cookbooks I own, this one is my favorite that was written after about 1980.

Okay, I started to put this little rant in parentheses but decided it was too long to be parenthetical. I buy most of my cookbooks from used bookstores, or especially from antique/antiquarian bookstores, for one simple reason. Good recipes.

The thing is, most modern cookbooks aren’t written for people who enjoy cooking or who cook on a regular basis. They’re just not. They’re written–so it seems to me–for people who enjoy reading and eating more than cooking; for those who enjoy “food porn”; for those who cook once a week, an elaborate Saturday or Sunday lunch or brunch.

I like those books, I do. I own a few and love to look through them. But they are not practical at all. I am a stay-home Mom, as you guys know. I cook dinner for four people at least five nights a week (usually six, but we do have the occasional Leftovers Night, or fish & chips craving, or whatever, so I’m saying five even though it’s usually six or seven). When you cook dinner for four people, six nights a week, you do not have the time to spend on these ten-step recipes every night. Nor do you have the money for some of the ingredients in those books. Nor, especially, is there a snowball’s chance in Hell that your four- and seven-year-old daughters are going to even consider eating anything served on a bed of crispy-fried frissee lettuce, with capers, and bearnaise sauce, and whatever else. Seriously. I love those cookbooks. But I cannot actually cook from them; I do not have the money or the equipment or time, and I need to cook food that my children will actually eat.

Older cookbooks were written for housewives who had to cook for their families and their picky children. The recipes in them are less expensive. They use more common ingredients; no hunting around for passionfruit or beef marrow. No dirtying dozens of pots and pans. And that’s what I need.

I also feel that modern cookbooks are waaaay too full of salads and desserts. You know, I know how to make a salad, and I rarely make or eat dessert. I don’t need those recipes, I need main courses. Actual food. Not thirty different salads that are really all the same; it’s a freaking salad, you know?

And that’s one reason I love Nigella’s book. I love her, frankly. I love how the book reads more like a novel than a cookbook. (Funnily enough the few negative Amazon reviews are from people who don’t like this; they just want recipes and pictures.) It’s like a little wander through someone’s culinary life, and it’s a lot of fun. And while I admit some of the recipes don’t appeal to me, some of them do, and are delicious (although I do wish she would stop putting chiles in everything as I cannot take spicy food with my delicate stomach.)

Anyway. This is for gooey chocolate puddings. And they are fantastic. I made them New Year’s Eve. This is the kind of recipe I love because it looks really complex and sophisticated when you serve it; it’s like a little chocolate cake still all melty in the center. And I could never figure out how that works, and now I know.

Preheat oven to 400F; turn it on at least half an hour before you want to cook the puddings so it will be nice and evenly hot.

4 1/2 oz high quality chocolate, chopped. (4 1/2 oz is 125g; see what measurement the chocolate bar uses. I’d make sure the chocolate is at least 70% cocoa solids. Also, I used “Mayan dark” chocolate, with spices, do you know the kind I mean? It has a little cinnamon and stuff. It was really good, but plain choc would be fine.)

8 Tbsp (1 stick) unsalted butter (I only had salted and it was fine, so I wouldn’t worry about that too much)

3 large eggs

3/4 cup sugar

1/4 cup all-purpose flour

In a saucepan (or double-boiler, if you’re fancy) melt the butter and chocolate together slowly, stirring fairly often.

In a bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, and flour until just blended. It will be this weird sort of translucent yellowy goo. Slowly whisk in the chocolate mixture; set aside.

Butter four 1-cup ramekins (I used my special heart-shaped Le Creuset Xmas gift remekins! Oh joy! I felt *very* grown-up and special) and flour them. Pour the misture into the ramekins–mine were filled just over halfway–and set them on a baking sheet, in the middle of the oven, for 10-12 minutes, until the tops are firm and cracking slightly and the edges are set. I’d actually give them maybe a minute more; oven temps vary a little so keep an eye on them.

Serve immediately, with cream. I’m not usually a fan of simply pouring cream over things–I used single cream, which is like half-and-half I think, but you could use whipping cream too. It doesn’t need to be whipped (though you can, I didn’t), just pour some of it over after you’ve taken the first couple of bites.

The thing is, these are *very* gooey and *very* hot inside, and *very* chocolatey. So the cream is cool, and actually does provide a little relief from the strong chocolate flavor, so it adds a nice contrast. So I would definitely have the cream. I liked it much better with than without, and so did the hubs. Loooovely.

A few more things:

Friday night I was hanging out on Twitter, wishing AW was up (I’ve heard it’s back now but haven’t had time to go check yet), and I got into a fun little chat with Colleen Lindsay, who is probably one of the most–if not the most–successful new agents to, um, start agenting, in the past few years. She’s with Fine Print, an excellent agency, and is the living embodiment of my “A new agent at an established agency is a good bet” dictum. Anyway. I thought Colleen was a nice, friendly sort, until she practically throttled me and pushed my face in a muddy puddle until I agreed to allow her to set up a Facebook page for me. I gave in.

So now I have a Facebook page. Which some of you already know because I Friended you. If I didn’t friend you, it’s because I did not know you were there, so please don’t hesitate to friend me if you want.

I’m actually really enjoying Facebook so far. Much more adult than MySpace, which you all know I loathe. We’ll see if it becomes a major timesuck; so far I’ve been doing okay.

A terrifying thing happened Saturday night. No, really. Hubs went to his Mum’s on Friday to discuss some things with her. He came back Saturday; I picked him up at the train station at 7 pm. It was dark. It was pouring down rain. It was horrendously windy.

Unlike pretty much every other town in England, our train station is miles away. You have to take a separate highway to get to and from it. It’s a four-lane highway, two lanes on each side, with a metal dividing rail between, and it is a very hilly, very wind-y road with lots of twists and turns. No lights, of course. That would make it safer and we can’t have that.

So. We are headed Westbound, in the left-hand lane (which is the outside lane here, remember.) Toodly-doo, along we go, chatting, when we turn a corner, go about half a mile, and a car passes us going Eastbound.

Eastbound. In the Westbound lane. On a dark and windy night, on a twisty narrow road.

(Another fun feature of this road, as with so many roads in the Southwest, is there are no exits for miles. You get on, and you are not getting off for a while.)

So of course we take a second or two to wonder if we actually saw what we think we did. Another second or so to freak out because we could have all just been in a head-on collision at 70 mph. And we dial 999 to report it. We would have liked to have turned around and followed along with them (on the correct side of the road) blaring our horn or something to try and warn people, but again, it is impossible to exit or turn around anywhere on these roads. And that probably would not have been particularly safe either.

One really cool thing they do here is, if you call to report a crime or incident or whatever, they are legally required to update you on it. Which is a tremendous violation of privacy, but is still really cool. We arrived home, still freaking out, and waited.

Fifteen minutes later the phone rang. It was the police. There had been a massive car accident.

Luckily, she said no one was killed or even injured very seriously. And she said thanks to us they already had police etc. on the road, on the way, when the call came in. So we were at least able to help.

The driver was apparently very elderly.

Just awful. Very scary. And I believe it is entirely possible that had there been street lights the accident could have been prevented. Seriously, getting onto the highway here at night is like being in a submarine plunging into black water; the lights stop at the top of the exit ramps, and you’re on your own. It’s incredibly dangerous.

But the important thing is no one was killed.

See? I told you it was terrifying.

But on a brighter note…there’s an Inauguration tomorrow! I love Inaguration Day. I always watch them–I always love to watch them. I don’t care who’s being inagurated, I just watch and take pride in the whole system. That we elect a President. That we swear that President in with great ceremony and pride. That we are solemn and joyful at the same time. It’s fantastic. It makes me proud, and it usually makes me cry a little, and I just love it and I’m very excited. So who’s going to be watching with me? (Assuming I get to watch of course; I don’t know if CNN or Fox will be covering it, and those are the only news we have access to that might show the whole thing. So fingers crossed. I haven’t missed watching an Inauguration in…oh, gosh…since Reagan’s first, so this is a Big Deal to me.)