Sometimes reviewing films is hard work. When you have to weigh the lessons that writers can pick up from the movie and basically divorce that from the movie itself (in some cases), that can make the review even harder.
That's kind of the case with this steamy thriller about, Arabella Childs, a young woman pulled into a plot by a erotic female novelist, Marylin Blacklock-Charterhouse, who is apparently at the mercy of an abusive husband. Yes, Virginia, that does sound a bit like a lesbian retelling of Body Heat and Double Indemnity. And it is basically a soft-core version of the noir standard. While this flick isn't a product of the 1990s, it would have been right at home on USA Late Night back in the day.
Okay, now that all that is out of the way, this is a sort of fun little thriller that is not for all viewers. But if you enjoyed movies like the two mentioned above and DePalma's Dressed to Kill, well, this isn't on that level. But, if you like a little cheese and low-budget fun with your murder and seduction, then you might enjoy this one.
But does it actually have anything to say about being a writer between all the kinky stuff? Actually, yes. And some of it might ring really close to home (pardon the cliché) for some writers who watch it.
For example, one of the key arguments that leads to the marital discontent is that Marylin hasn't had a real hit in a year. Not only that, she has been writing her own sexual frustrations with her husband into her work.
We all tend to include stuff from reality in our fiction, but we tend to be a bit more subtle than sharing our significant other's inability to, shall we say, keep us satisfied.
Particularly, indie and mid-list writers face the lack of income issues that can come up with spouses/significant others who feel they are supporting the writing partners dream without any return. And trust me, that can become an issue. So, like I said, that hits close to home.
However, the one key moment in Dirty Work that I want to zero in on is this one. While doing an interview to promote her upcoming book, Marylin is told by the interviewer how much he feels like he knows her based on her work that she has read. She is quick to correct him.
"You know the me from the fantasies I used to have, not the the ones I have now."
Do you ever feel this way? You've changed and your writing has changed, but your readers still only see the you from the past. It's probably most common for series writers, particularly those who move on from the fan-loved series to something new, or, God forbid, a new genre.
People grow. And that includes writers. But books don't. (We're not counting movie adaptations here, just the words as they appear in our works.) The opinions and interpretations by critics and reviewers may and will change, but not the works they are critiquing and reviewing.
Whether The Awakening is viewed as feminist literature or universal literature 100 years from now, or even some new literary understanding we haven't encountered yet, none of that will change the actual words Kate Chopin wrote. The same applies to your work.
Your readers will always know you by what you've created and published, not by who you are. They will never have a window to the present you, only a recorded history of the you that used to be. And that will always be the way they judge you.
What does that mean for the writer? In a perfect world, nothing, because as the writer grows the readers should either fall by the wayside or grow with us. But in a smaller, net-connected world, sadly, there will be those who refuse to see beyond the work of your past and expect you to keep bashing out the same themes and styles and genres and stories you did fifteen years ago. Their sense of entitlement will demand it of them.
Your job doesn't change. Grow. Write. Grow some more. Write some more. Keep revealing the new you with every stroke of the pen (sorry, every click-clatter of the keyboard, though that doesn't sound nearly as fancy -- damn you, technology for ruining our pretty metaphors).
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