When is it too much?

I just emailed the most graphic scene in my work-in-progress to a couple of pre-book reviewers. Friends I trust to point me in the right direction, who see things (mostly) the way I do, but who stand as the voice of reason. Because anyone who’s written a book, especially a fiction novel, knows that it can get away from you. That reason and creativity aren’t the closest companions.

I sent these friends the first draft of what has to be the most horrific event in the book, the event around which seventy-five percent of the story spirals. So this event, this scene should be disturbing, right? But I have to ask myself (and them) when is it too much? I posed to them the question: is this scene too graphic for my style of writing?

I usually don’t have a problem with graphic scenes, where warranted. I love detective novels and TV shows. I’m sad to say it, but I enjoy stories about serial killers. I enjoy the psychological part of the story. But there are also instances of books, TV shows, etc. that are overly graphic for no reason.

I’ve put down several books (and decided to never buy from that author again) because of gratuitous violence, violence that doesn’t add anything to the story other than shock value.

There’s a big difference between alluding to what’s behind the curtain and ripping the curtain down and shoving my face in it.

For a long time, I would buy Minette Walters’ books as soon as they came out. But I almost stopped following her completely after reading the animal abuse scenes in one of her books. I can’t deal with violence against animals. It’s another sad to say situation that I can deal with violence against humans, that it’s become not so shocking for me. But, to me, people who abuse animals or children deserve an especially hot place in hell. And I don’t want to think/read about the things those people do, or why. There’s no valid reason to harm something that vulnerable.

And I know it all a matter of what you enjoy. I’m not judging. Really. But I also know that I have certain expectations of the genre and the author. I don’t like it when I’m disturbed enough by what I’ve read that I have to put a book down. That’s what I’m trying to avoid. I don’t want to turn off my readers by making them think I’m including things just for shock value.

Getting to the middle of what starts out to be a good book and then not wanting to finish it is like finding that half-eaten worm in your apple. Like having the friendly-looking bee buzzing around that beautiful flower sting you on your nose.

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The Secret Way into the Cemetery

0903121607aUvi & Asbe, the story continues… (a bit of back story from my work in progress)

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Father has taken the long way around, the correct way, the way that Grandfather and Grandmother Ward would take, Mommy takes them through the shortcut. Even so, in the squeaky, pinchy shoes, the walk feels forever. Each step makes Asbe want to wrench the shoes from her feet and throw them as far as she can.

“Don’t snag your clothes,” Mommy says as they sneak through the hole in the shrubs.

As Asbe follows Uvi through the secret passage, she keeps a close watch for the cat. One of Asbe’s favorite stories is how, on one of Mommy’s walks, while she was pregnant with Asbe and Uvi, she followed a cat hoping it would share its wisdom, and it did. The cat showed her the secret way into the cemetery.

The cat told her that the dead are always with us. To be wary, but not afraid.

Asbe likes coming here. Mommy lets her and Uvi run around, lets them play hide and seek or tag. Once Mommy even brought a picnic. She found a grassy spot with a view of the sound, and they spent the afternoon snacking and playing and telling stories.

And she always leaves a bit of food for the cat.

Of course, Father doesn’t know about those times. He wouldn’t approve.