Author Interview
26 Apr 2010 4 Comments
A conversation between Jade McLeod, the central character of the novel Open Cut, and author Leeann Nolan.
You are a 44 year old woman, how are you going to write about a girl who is 15-16 years old?
Well, believe it or not, I was that age once. I’m also a teacher and so I’m around young people constantly, so I have a good idea of how they talk and what sorts of things concern them. I also have a daughter, who is now 23, and I saw her go through similar experiences to those I had as a teenager. In order to write the novel, and to get into the head space of a young girl, I will try and remember what being that age was like: the insecurities I felt about wanting people to like me, wanting to fit in and be part of a group. These issues are not new. I think that there is a need in every person who feels insecure and lonely, to belong to a group. It’s part of our humanity. Fundamentally I don’t think this changes. The context, suburb, state, decade may change, but the emotions one feels are the same. Strong emotions are what make Shakespeare still relevant today – anger, jealousy, fear, love – we all feel them. When we get older perhaps we get better at masking them, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still feel them. When I shut my eyes I am still in my bedroom at Sandgate, hating my mother and all my teachers, who I felt constantly picked on me. We don’t forget some things are etched on our minds forever. Perhaps that is why mistakes are repeated; because adults pretend that these things didn’t happen ‘in our day’. We try to forget, suffering from cultural amnesia, but the memories are there.
What of your own experiences will you draw upon to write the novel?
I grew up in a town called Sandgate, on the north side of Brisbane. It was predominately a working class area back in the late 70s and 80s, though it has become quite gentrified in the last ten to fifteen years. Twenty years ago it was very much like Moranbah. The people I hung around were similar to people in the mining town. I was friends with a group of boys who referred to themselves as ‘The Brighton Boys’, some of them were quite rough, I suppose. But I felt I belonged to that group. One of my best friends was gang raped when she was about 13 years old by two of them. It was never talked about it and was not even considered rape; she was seen as a slut who asked for it because she was drunk. There was a very sinister side to life in the town. Girls were treated as possessions by boys who would refer to them as their ‘woman’. It was often about ownership and control.
What made you hang around those types of people?
I didn’t have a very happy home life. My father died just before I turned seven, and my mother never really recovered from this. I had three older brothers, and so, for the most part, I was really comfortable around boys. I grew up surrounded by violence, watching my two eldest brothers beating the hell out of each other, and it was normalised for me to a large extent. I think being the youngest and a girl, I often felt a bit of an outsider, like I didn’t really fit in with my own family. The Brighton Boys became like a family, though they were rough, they were also very protective, and fiercely loyal. I felt happy to be part of a group.
In what way was Moranbah similar to Sandgate/Brighton?
Sandgate, when I lived there, was very working class, and so is Moranbah; however, Moranbah is unusual because although it is working class, it is extremely wealthy. I think that most males in the mining town still idealise the Aussie ‘working class man’ that Jimmy Barnes sings about. You would see miners down at Coles covered in grease and coal dust in their work uniforms. They were worn with pride, in the same way that stubbies and ‘wife beaters’ were worn with pride by the Brighton Boys.
It was funny also because when I was sixteen my favourite bands were The Angels, The Radiators and AC/DC, and in Moranbah that was still the kind of music you would hear on the radio five years ago. It was like the town was in a time warp. So it really reminded me of my youth.
In what ways do you think I am similar to you?
You are a very shy, insecure girl, who is desperately seeking approval and a place to fit in. You want to be accepted. I think sometimes I still feel like this, even now, but at fifteen the need to feel connected to friends is very strong.
Like you, I fought with my mother, often violently. My mother died when I was 23, and I still miss her greatly, but I can still remember the intense hatred I felt towards her at times.
You also feel more comfortable around boys. I think this is because they are often less judgemental than girls. It can simply be easier to be around them.
What character traits do I possess that you like?
I like that you are smart, clever, that you try to be a good person, though you often aren’t. I really like that you are forgiving, because I definitely am not. I like that you are passionate, that the people you care about, you love intensely. I like that you are very good at maths and science, because they are things that I have absolutely no understanding of at all. I always think that it is great to see a girl being able to do things that are predominantly seen as things that only boys can do well.
What character traits do you dislike?
I don’t dislike any character traits, but I suppose there are ones that could be described as negative, or that have negative impacts on you. The fact that you are shy can hold you back. I would like you to be more confident and self-assured, though I know that few teenagers are. I certainly wasn’t. I hope that by the end of the book you will have gained strength, confidence and the power to be yourself.
Why do you want to write about me?
I think your story is the story of many girls and it is one that is not often heard. You had to move away from friends and begin again at another school, which would have been extremely difficult at fifteen. You have also lived in housing commission, which is an environment that is often negatively stereotyped. It is mainly made up of single women and children who have often been abused by men. You have also lived in a mining town which is dominated by men.
Having said that, I think the things you went through transcend the environment/setting of the mining town, and are experienced by young girls in all socio-economic areas all over Queensland, and indeed, Australia.
I strongly believe that we need to acknowledge our own past in order to be able to move forward. Perhaps that is why I want to write about you, I felt silenced, shame, when I was young. I wouldn’t have the courage to do what you are doing. It would be very difficult to trust another person to represent you; to give up part of your own power so that your story can be told. I want to ‘get it right’, to tell your story as honestly and openly as I can. I think sometimes stories about young girls, particularly those in mining towns, have been silenced, and I would like to give you, and them, a voice. I also want to make sense of my own past and ‘write out’ my own demons.
The Suspense is Killing Me, I Hope it Lasts
06 Apr 2010 Leave a Comment
I am at a crucial point in my novel, Open Cut. The ‘set piece’ scene. I have been imagining this scene for years. It is the impetus for the entire novel, and the part of the book that everything else has been rushing towards. I have lived it in my mind many times, now all I have to do is write it.
In the Queensland Writers Centre’s Year of the Novel online course, Kim Wilkins has mentioned the Freudian terms known as ‘the pleasure principle’ and ‘the death drive’. She refers to that part of the book where the reader does not want the story to end, but also can’t wait to finish it. Feeling intense pleasure and simply not wanting it to end. In classical theory it refers to desire and death.
It’s the feeling you have when reading a great book, and you’re at the point where you think you’ve got the plot all figured out, and everything is starting to tie together. It has often been represented in films as the moment when the camera quickly circles the actor, and there are numerous rapid cuts to key events that have gone before. The spinning motion disorientates the viewer, and then suddenly the camera stops and there is a close-up of the actor’s face. The penny has dropped and it all makes sense.
I can vividly remember this feeling when I was a child. I’d stop reading, put the book down, and rush to tell my mother all about it, saying, ‘I’m nearly finished! I’m nearly finished! It’s so good.’ Then I’d relay the story to her scene by scene. I wanted to prolong the end; relish the excitement of being part of something that I thought was magical. But I also desperately wanted to finish the book, to know exactly what happened at the end. I can also remember going back to her after I had finished reading, feeling much more subdued and a little sad that it was over.
When my writing is going well, or I get a good idea, I can’t type quickly enough, my fingers fly over the keys. My skin tingles and I can feel every nerve in my body sharpened, on edge. I am awake, stretched. Sometimes I shut my eyes and type, feeling myself drawn into the story I’m creating. The computer is gone and my mind is running.
At this point I’ll often stop, stand up, go to the toilet, make coffee, talk to myself, pace, buzzing with energy. My mind is churning with fervour. I am not procrastinating. I am not unsure of what to write. I know what to write. It is clear and vivid. I am poised and ready to dive in, but I want to savour the moment, make it last. Just as I stop before reaching the climax of fantastic book.
I feel a little like this at the moment writing my novel. I have the sense that it is nearly over, and I really don’t want it to end. The writing of this novel has consumed me for almost five years, and the scene that I envisioned all those years ago is about to written. I feel excited, but also very scared. Part of this is because I don’t feel that I can do it justice. My expectations are high. I want it to be good. Really good. But, in the end, it is only words on a page. I have to transform those words so that the reader experiences the events with me and my characters, and I’m not sure I can do this.
Part of my hesitation though, is also the knowledge that once I write this scene, the book will be nearly finished. It has consumed my thoughts for so long. What will I do once it’s over? Some part of me will be missing. It’s a bit like saying goodbye to someone you know you probably won’t ever see again. I will be forced to move on, and it makes me sad.
Yet even as I baulk at writing this scene, I can feel that I am being pulled forward with a strange momentum. (Though part of that momentum is Kim’s voice telling me to ‘Cowboy the F*#k Up’, I must admit). The story is gathering speed. At the moment I’m in the wrong gear. I have to move into fifth if I want to stop that whirring, struggling, choking sound. I have that tingling, knowing feeling. It’s right. It all fits. The end is stretching out before me.
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