Obsession

Emma Marie Hunneyball…a name and a person I could easily obsess about. Thanks to her for a remarkable and entertaining guest post today. Gives me a lot to think about, hope it does you to. For those that haven’t come across Emma she is a talented writer, reader, reviewer and editor. As well as being a lovely person. Check out her website – Inpotentia, or look her up in twitterland – @EmmaHunneyball.

I would like to thank Simon for inviting me to set up my soap-box in a corner of his blog. When he asked me to write a guest post a couple of weeks ago he told me to write however much I wanted of whatever I wanted, without being hindered by restrictions on subject, word count, or the laws of reason. He therefore has only himself to blame if this post is too long/short/boring/ridiculous/ irrelevant.

Obsession

“I knew that I had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.”
-Oscar Wilde, “The Picture of Dorian Gray” Ch. 1

It’s dashed hard to write something when you have the whole of space and time from which to choose. I wanted to pick something that would hopefully be a little different, maybe even a little interesting. I’d like to introduce you to my work by with an exploration of Obsession: one of the central themes of my Work in Progress, a collection of short stories entitled “Phantasmagoria”.
For better or worse, obsession is at the heart of almost every action undertaken by my characters. Their personalities are irrational, obsessive and they love and hate to extremes.
The idea of a fascination which drives one to the edge of one’s personality is intriguing. “The Picture of Dorian Gray” has had a great deal of influence over me.
Most definitions of “Obsession” focus on it as a negative concept. Words like “dominate” “beset” “haunt” “disturbing” “excessive” and “unreasonable” abound. Apparently the word itself comes from the Latin root “Obsessio” meaning to blockade or lay siege.
This idea of obsession as a “siege” fascinated me. It created the image of an individual as a fortress, with a battle being raged between objectivity and rationalism on the inside, and the extreme emotions of obsessive love or hate on the outside, bombarding one’s senses, battering one’s defences, seeking chinks in the battlements for ingress. This notion leads to the natural inference that if the defences are breached and you are overcome, the obsession will overwhelm and destroy you. I concluded that according to this notion obsession does not come from within; it is the result of an influence, supposedly negative, from without. It is a corrupting influence on the pureness of our existence. To continue the example from “Dorian Gray”: Dorian’s fixation with his youth and beauty is a result of the external influence of the painting. Basil Hallward’s fixation with Dorian is a result of Dorian coming into Hallward’s studio to sit for the painting.
But is this really the case? The changes in the picture are wrought by Dorian’s own soul, the corruption is within, it is only given form externally. Of course it can be argued that the influence of Lord Henry sets Dorian on his destructive course, but I would counter that Dorian’s vanity, curiosity and flirtatious nature are visible from chapter one. Lord Henry merely provides the opportunity. The same is true for Basil: Although it can be argued that he is vulnerable; he has lowered his guard, to follow the original metaphor, and allowed himself to become infatuated with his new acquaintance, he has actively sought the sensation of obsession as it allows him to create his best work. Too late, he realises his mistake in courting danger:
“The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.” (-Chapter 1)
And here Basil hits the nail right on the head: Obsession is a heightened state leading to enhanced creativity. It is an exploration of the inner workings of the soul which exposes our deepest thoughts and allows us to recreate them as art. Obsession spreads through your being and examines every dark corner. It brings darkness into the light and pushes light into the darkness. Through obsession you can discover truth about yourself and the world around you.
Or you can use your new perception to create truths about the world. Yes it can be dangerous, but growth and creativity cannot be experienced without stepping beyond the bounds of what is safe.
In “The Picture of Dorian Gray” the obsessions of Basil and Dorian ultimately destroy them both. While I would posit that obsession comes from within us, I do not underestimate the part played by the external influence: our obsession leads us to discovery through a focus on something-or someone- else. The classification of obsession rests on the question of whether or not the subject is worthy . If the subject is unworthy the attachment is described as obsession. However, if the subject is lofty and worthy we call it something else entirely. We call it love.
“Difference of object does not alter singleness of passion. It merely intensifies it. We can have in life but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible.” (-Wilde, “The Picture of Dorian Gray”)
And how do we determine whether or not the subject is worthy? This requires objectivity, which obsession precludes and often the determination cannot be made until the infatuation is over. Until it is too late.
So it turns out there is a fine line between love and obsession, as there is between desire and hate, religion and fanaticism.
Obsession breeds art: the whole of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” deals with this subject. Relentless thinking, questioning, self-doubt and fixation on something outside of ourselves breeds the best art and reveals the truths at the core of our beings. Whether those truths ought to see the light of day only we can decide, but often at that stage it is often far too late.
So the characters of “Phantasmagoria” battle with obsession. And it’s possible that some of those obsessions are mine, working their way out of my mind and onto the page. Like Basil Hallward, I occasionally wonder if too much of my soul is on view, but if my work turns out half as well as Basil’s, I would probably consider the experience to be worth it.
“If this girl can give a soul to those who have lived without one, if she can create the sense of beauty in people whose lives have been sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their selfishness and lend them tears for sorrows that are not their own, she is worthy of all your adoration, worthy of the adoration of the world”- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray Ch. 7
Did I just write a whole post about Oscar Wilde, obsession and sort-of-philosophy, but still manage to make it all about me? Wait, what do they call that? Oh, yes. Self-obsession.

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There’s a Black Hole in my Parent’s Backyard

Today I must give thanks to the delectable Ciara Ballintyne who has been kind enough to share a fun guest post. It kind of links to my previous post about genre and it made me smile. Is this story SciFi? Is it fiction or reality? It’s all about perception. Hope it makes you smile too! You can contact Ciara on twitter – @ciaraballintyne or visit her marvellous website to sample her writing here: Ciara Ballintyne

There’s A Black Hole In My Parents Backyard

I am geographically challenged.
What’s that got to do with black holes? When you frequently get lost, it’s easy to fly your spaceship into a black hole.
I have always known about the suburb just south of where I grew up. You can see it across the freeway from my parents’ house. It was under development when I was a little girl, though I very rarely go there. Officially called Glenmore Park, it is more often known to locals as the ‘rabbits’ warren’ or ‘the maze’, particularly by locals who don’t live there and are unfortunate enough to venture in.
On my most recent return I declared it to be the asshole of hell. However, on quick reflection, I decided it was in fact a black hole. Matter that goes in does not come out.
I can only conclude that I was fortunate enough to skirt the edges of the event horizon and slingshot out using the gravity well. Or something like that. Don’t ask me to explain, I stole this theory from Samantha Carter of Stargate Command’s SG-1 team. Clearly it works as I am here to tell the tale.
Why did I venture into the Black Hole?
My husband was out with some mates to celebrate the birth of twins. Not ours. Hell no. One of his mates had twins. Deciding it was time his mate stopped drinking and went home, he called and asked me to pick them up. Obligingly, I jumped in our spaceship (more familiarly known as our Volkswagen Golf) and navigated across known space to the pub.
My husband’s mate lives in the Black Hole. I knew this. Neither I nor my husband knew how to get there, but his mate surely knew his way to his own house, right? Right?
Wrong.
The mate had consumed far more alcohol than was good for him. While he was busy throwing up down the outside of my spaceship, I was directed to enter the Black Hole via the wrong entrance. There are only two. The other one would have required me to navigate far less uncharted space.
So we flew down the main intergalactic shipping lane. This road doesn’t seem to know the meaning of straight line – I swear this road was mapped out by someone only marginally more sober than the drunk sitting next to me. Incidentally, he’s now fallen asleep.
Fantastic. It was dark, I had no idea where I was going, and I had left my GPS at home since I’d no intention of entering the Black Hole that evening. And, don’t forget, I am geographically challenged.
My husband attempted to give directions, resulting only in directing me off the main shipping lanes far too early. I knew my phone had a GPS, but I’d never used it, on account of relying on my dedicated GPS system.
Temporarily parking my spaceship, I attempted to find directions on my phone. I could not find the GPS but did manage to log on to the internet and get directions. Great. I can follow directions.
Yes, I can. I’m a woman but I can read a map, more or less, especially when it comes with steps numbered one through ten.
What I can’t do is follow directions in deep uncharted space known as the Black Hole in the dark. Doing it to the orchestral tones of someone vomiting down your spaceship hatch is even better.
Half the space lanes don’t have street signs. The other half, when directed to ‘continue along’ the same street, in fact change their name. To stay on the same road often requires you to make a right turn. Or a left turn. Go figure. Obviously this is alien territory.
45 minutes after leaving my parents’ house (remembering that you can see the Black Hole from there) I knew how to get back to my parents’ house but had no idea how to find the mate’s house. He was still asleep in the front passenger seat, having just vomited down the outside of my spaceship – again.
I called my Dad. A girl should always be able to rely on her father in a tight spot. I couldn’t find the GPS on my phone (which I now know is appropriately labelled ‘Navigator’) but I did know how to use its comms systems.
So, with Dad using a good old-fashioned street directory and telling me to take the second left and then the next right, we managed to deposit the mate at his house and escape the Black Hole before its gravity well pulled us into oblivion.
It was a narrow escape.
Unfortunately I will have to go back. I have a friend who lives there.
But I’ve learned my lesson. When venturing into deep, unexplored space, make sure you always take a good navigator!

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