Author Archives: Anne Michaud

About Anne Michaud

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Author of Dark Tendency
June 17, 2011

Whoville

By Anne Michaud

It angers me when I read that writers should stick to what they know. Why the heck do I even bother inventing worlds and creating characters for then? This ‘what’ that I know feels a tad claustrophobic, so I say nay! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve traveled and met people, but I’ve never been a part of the New American Order (the zealous army in Rebel, my dystopian young adult thriller) and I hope to never meet a living and breathing Gargoyle (yes, my WiP series, Wanderlust, scares the shit out of me).

And mostly, what I think I should get from this erroneous quote is this: Don’t write what you know, because your stories will become boring, but write WHO you know. And who better to base your newly created characters on than yourself – or who you think you are? It can be anything, from a nasty habit of biting your nails to something you like to eat, which reminds me…

I went shopping with my sister at an Asian food store and as soon as we got there, I went straight to the candy aisle and looked for the treat that’s been my favorite ever since I can remember: Chinese HAW FLAKES. I don’t know if it’s the packaging (you’ve got to work for them suckers) or the bitter-tangy-sweet thin disks of exotic goodness, but once I’ve opened one, I can go through many disks in an hour or two, depending on whether I’ve had a good lunch or not.

So as I watch my provision of haw flakes slowly diminishing by the second, I get this flash: What if my character Quim from Land in Abyss has this kinda cute and peculiar thing for haw flakes? What if he can’t get enough and needs them like cigarettes? Oh, I can definitely understand THAT habit.

Happy writing, everyone 🙂

4 Comments   |  tags: , | posted in All about me, myself and I

June 15, 2011

An unlikely muse

By Anne Michaud

They bring death on their wings, flying low near roadkill and cawing in packs to announce dawn, to warn the ghosts of night that daylight is coming. They’re black, mean, and more intelligent than most people on TV. Huge, too, with wings that go from here to there. Love them crows, always have.

I’m so happy to have found a home for all their feathers cluttering my head – Land in Abyss, the first of the Wanderlust series, flies on crows’ wings. It’s also great to have waited for the perfect project to explore the dark bird, and since I’m also on the lookout for inspiration, I realized I didn’t have to go too far.

Entre Ciel et Terre, mix media on canvas, 16” X 16”

An artist friend of mine is also exploring crows through her work. I ask her why and she says, ‘‘I relate to the Amerindian view of the bird’s sacred side, a guardian of magic, creator of light, fire and water. The crow symbolizes reason, the messenger to our subconscious inviting us to look into the great below to find answers to our questions.’’

Marie Claprood has been painting for more than twenty years, has participated in international solo and group expositions, her pieces sold all over Canada, the United States and Japan. Through the years, she’s been dipping her brushes into environmental issues, so dear to her heart, trying to put into images the interrelation between Nature and Man. In constant evolution with her paintings, she now explores crows after having expressed the bird nest, the horizon line, and the tree on her canvases.

I tell her the crow is so dark, often reminds us of what lurks in the night. She says, ‘‘We all have a dark side, it’s part of human nature. Everyone has bugs they’d rather not see and confront, but if we avoid our dark side, it will catch up sooner or later… To confront our dark side frees us to move forward in our lives.’’

I love her work and enjoy her friendship, stop by her website and discover Marie Claprood’s fascinating world.

6 Comments   |  tags: , | posted in Musing

June 13, 2011

I miss Film

By Anne Michaud

I was supposed to be a filmmaker. From the tender age of 17 up to my mid-twenties, I studied, ate, lived film – and not the type you watch in a theatre. For me, it was all about making a vision come to life, putting into words and images what was in my head. Finding the right face to represent a broken character, the perfect fabric for the dress of the girl who stomps on his heart, the ideal location for the scene to take place. And then, I fell in love with writing and I realized that it was a lot less expensive in all aspects to just stay home in my yoga pants and write all day.

I miss it so much, but not all of it. Not the egos, not the tantrums or “cheer up” speeches. Not the blazing heat of a small room filled with kinos or the late technicians with that one piece of equipment you can’t start without. Not the fragile actors or the zealous director of photography, or the stress peaking when there’s no more time, no more money, no more patience.

What I cannot replace is that feeling, between ‘Action!’ and silence, that everything is possible, that this might be the perfect take, that this is what I’d always dreamed of doing and that someday, I’d get paid to do it. It was tangible, it was real.

Like the first time I worked with a Steenbeck flatbed editing machine and touched with gloved fingers the film printed with my vision anchored into them, 24 images a second at a time. The crunch to splice out the unwanted bits, the chemicals leaving a short buzz in the edit suite, the strain on my eyes after hours of watching the same sequence over and over, to make sure it was perfect. That was it for me, that was when I felt most alive.

I wrote, directed and produced three short films. With my own money, begging for favors, finding a team through my short list of contacts. It worked, the films are distributed and I sometimes catch a glimpse of them on specialized channels. But that feeling of excitement, of accomplishment after long hours of shooting, is forever gone. All because of this thing called writing.

Maybe I’ll get that feeling back someday, but it won’t be because of a film. It will be because of a book, all mine with only my name on its cover, and my voice printed on its pages.

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June 10, 2011

Miranda July’s future

By Anne Michaud

I rarely get excited about upcoming films now that I’m absolutely positive producers are losing their grasp on what people want to see in movie theatres. Seriously, what is it with all these remakes? No need to fix what ain’t broken, I say. Like that new Jane Eyre: how dare they question William Hurt’s haunted blue eyes and Charlotte Gainsbourg’s fragile performance? That film was perfect, with its beautiful photography and gorgeous settings… I will not comment on Working Title’s take, I refuse to watch it.

Then comes this multi-media artist Miranda July with her second feature, The Future. The premise is cute: a couple fights end of thirties blues by pursuing their dreams before adopting a terminally ill talking cat. Yes, I am aware I wrote ‘talking cat’. Normally, I’m no fan of artsy films and get annoyed quite easily with fartsy details. But this artist, this Miranda girl, she knows what she’s doing. Proof? Let’s go back in time to the year 2005, to when I was finishing my Master’s degree in Screenwriting.

I went to see Me and You and Everybody we Know (2005) with my friend Adam Sydney, who is also a terrific writer. We laughed, teared up a little in this tiny, indie movie theatre on Finchley Road in London. The magic? Everybody stayed seated after the credits.

Next to me sat a twenty-something girl who had just come out of chemo for breast cancer, and she said this was the first movie in a while that she truly enjoyed. The couple in the row behind us admitted this was their first date. Next to Adam, an older couple kept giggling at the blow job jokes in the movie. In the front row, a guy admitted that this was his fourth time seeing the film, and then blushed as he insinuated how photogenic Miranda is as the main character.

And I remember them, their smiles, their bright faces. Their laughter, too. Never happened before or since—strangers talking in a movie theatre until even the projectionist joins in the conversation. I think Miranda would like to see how her intimate story touched all of us, how deeply it affected us.

I consider Miranda July some kind of a magician: her stories always hold such beautiful universes and dark realities, I just can’t help but be excited to see where she’ll take me next. The Future by Miranda July is coming to theatres July 29th.

4 Comments   |  tags: | posted in Highly recommended

June 8, 2011

My love of bookstores

By Anne Michaud

Used and abused, shiny and new, accumulating dust in an old Victorian basement or neatly packed in rows in a glass building downtown—whatever, I don’t care, I just want to read any books that make me feel, that trigger something other than boredom. For hours, stuck between the science fiction, horror, lit, fantasy and young adult sections, my hands and eyes can’t move fast enough. It’s like a drug, something that has become a part of me and won’t let go: I need books and always more books.

Stories, it’s all about who does what and when. What happens, what the characters learn, what we learn about ourselves through them. Entertaining, yes, but it’s so much more personal than that. I become friends and foes with some of these people the writers have created. I hate when something bad lurks around the corner and relish a good fight scene where the villain gets it in the nuts. I become involved with the characters, their stories become mine, for the length of a book. And if I’m really lucky, it stimulates ideas for a new story—hint, hint, Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist inspired the character Liriel in my novelette Misery of Me, published in Tattered Souls Volume 2 by The Cutting Block Press, available on Amazon.com August 1st.

I even travel across the border for good, used books, but sadly, I’ll be looking for a new pusher because the one I love, the Corner-Stone Bookshop in Plattsburgh, NY, is shutting down. Sad face, broken heart.

I also go to this huge bookstore near my home to feast on sales, tables of them, luring me in, tantalizing my want for distraction and, somehow, education. And I always give in, I have no power against a glossy hardcover or bendy paperback: I am that weak. When my stash starts to thin out, I know the time is coming to make a little trip to my ‘medicine’ supplier.

Whenever I open the door of a bookstore, I feel it in my veins: the possibility of reading something great, something that will change my view on things, which will leave a mark for a few days to a few years. If not forever.

9 Comments   |  tags: | posted in Little Obsession

June 6, 2011

Like Cockatoos by The Cure

By Anne Michaud

The mood, the imagery, the rhythm. On an album that is mostly upbeat with a tinge of melancholy, this song reaches my dreams. I see trees rustling in the summer breeze, fighting the promise of rain. I hear sounds that come alive only at night, looming in the dark to disappear when the sun shows up. I smell a forgotten garden with flowers withered to the soil. And that voice… Robert Smith takes me to another world.

Whenever I think of my Wanderlust trilogy, the first instalment being Land in Abyss, in which a girl chooses her darker side so she can go through another dimension, Like Cockatoos feeds my soul. The first steps to becoming someone else, someone knew, letting go of who you thought you were. The final look at where you come from, saying goodbye to someone, something you will never feel, see or touch again. Like birds flying high, brushing the clouds, lost in a mass of blue.

This song molds my Wanderlust writing cocoon. The first notes take my breath away, and lead to the sinuous path of inspiration. I see black melting into deep purple, losing myself in the night’s sky. I see a girl facing the unknown, scared but brave, surrounded by creatures made of nightmares. I see her give in, becoming who she fears most: herself.

I was so young the first time I heard Like Cockatoos. Kiss Me… was the third album I bought from my beloved Cureheads, and it took me a while to fully understand it. Subtle, like most Cure songs; sad, which is a prerequisite; surreal, painting a landscape of abandonment. But love, always love, whether it breaks you, engulfs your very being, or leaves you standing in the rain.

And ever since, the song pulls at my heart, leaving me wanting much more.

Kiss me

Kiss me

Kiss me

(1987), Fiction Records

2 Comments   |  tags: | posted in Music Monday

June 5, 2011

Musings & Little Obsessions

By Anne Michaud

I find inspiration in every single thing I touch, I see, I feel. This blog is about what I take from it and how I transform a note, a raindrop, a funny-shaped stone into a story.

And more often than not, my musings turn into a dark, little obsession.

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