Alice Bradley on Writing and NFD — Nameless, Faceless Dread

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Writer, blogger, and now podcaster Alice Bradley seems to have gotten inside my head. I'm half-way through THE PARIS SPY and am at that frustrating awful horrible point where nothing is working and I'm starting to panic. I think of it as my old friend, anxiety, but Alice calls it the Nameless, Formless Dread, which perhaps makes it a little less terrifying.

Maybe?

Anyone?

HELP ME!!!

ALICE BRADLEY:  Looking over list of tasks for the day, Alice hears a disembodied voice*. 

?: Ha ha, you’re not going to accomplish any of it. Again. 

Me: Who said that? 

?: Good morning. I am The Nameless, Formless Dread! 

Me: I need to cut down on my coffee.  

While working

Me: Huh. Did I eat something weird? 

NFD: Hello. I am the Nameless, Formless Dread. 

Me: Jesus—get off me! I’m trying to work. 

NFD: I will help. That thing you’re doing is bad. 

Me: How is this a help? 

NFD: How about this? That thing you’re doing is very bad. 

Me: Please unhook yourself from my abdomen. 

NFD: But it’s so soft here. (whispers) Too soft. 

After walking past group of neighbors who don’t seem to notice when Alice smiles hello

NFD: Nameless, Formless Dread, here! Ouch. That was awkward. Boy do they not like you. 

Me: That’s ridiculous. Why would they dislike me? 

NFD: (Shrugs) They have very good reasons that they’ve all agreed on but you’ll never know what those are. 

When the phone rings

NFD: AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH DON’T ANSWER IT HIDE HIDE THE NAMELESS FORMLESS DREAD SAYS HIDE 

Me: What the hell? 

NFD: Someone is dead! Or mad at you! 

Me (looking at number): It’s a telemarketer. 

NFD: Why don’t your friends call? Oh, because you’re… never mind. 

And then later 

Me: (closing laptop) 

NFD: Hey there, Nameless/Formless Dread, blah blah, hello, are you getting up? Where are you going? 

Me: I have a thing I’m supposed to go to. 

NFD: No way. Do you know how many things could happen to you out there? And why are you wearing that? Look, I brought kettle corn! 

Me: This kettle corn is stale. 

NFD: That's an early warning sign of dementia, you know. Thinking, uh, things are stale. I haven't thought this through yet. But don't worry, I will.  

In bed

NFD (clambering atop my head): Oh no, oh no! You forgot! YOU FORGOT! 

Me: What? WHAT? 

NFD: … I can’t remember. Huh. Well, at least now you have all night to figure it out. 

*(Don't worry, not really.)  

SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL: Does the NFD come to you, too, when you're working on something? Trying to sleep? What do you do? 

P.S. And does anyone else now want kettle corn?

Alice Bradley

I'm a writer, and I live in Brooklyn, New York, with my husband Scott, my son Henry, my dog Hazel, and Izzy the cat.

I write short fiction, personal essays, humor, and feature articles. I've created content for all kinds of publications and brands. Here's a selection of my work. 

I've been writing Finslippy since 2004 (back when I thought I could call it a nonsense word I came up with in my dreams, since no one was going to read it). In the beginning I wrote about parenting, but these days I blog about creativity, art, mental health, our surly cat and hilarious dog, and whatever is going in my life. 

I've got a podcast with Deanna Zandt called The League of Awkward Unicorns, It's about mental illness (depression, anxiety, etc. etc.) and emotional wellness (things that help, whether it's medication, exercise, or wrapping oneself up in a Snuggie while binge-watching The Mindy Project). We were called "funny, frank, and accessible" by the Guardian. 

Find us on iTunes here. 

I co-authored a book called LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES! with the beloved Eden Marriott Kennedy. It was published by St. Martin's Press, and we're quite proud of it. You can read all about the book (and enjoy our book trailer, excerpts, and reviews) over here.

I'm also a teacher for Gotham Writers Workshop, and often teach online courses in writing and creativity via this very website. Want to be the first to know about upcoming courses? Sign up for the newsletter! 

As of June of 2016, I am officially, unapologetically, calling myself an artist. Want to see my work? For now, it's mostly on Instagram. 
 

I love emails from readers. My favorite comments include the following:

"You write as if you're listening to the voices in my head."

And:

"I usually find things amusing online, but don't always laugh, like with my voice. Today I did."

If you have anything to say, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks.

Post-book depression

JAN: There are many different times you say you've finished writing your book. When you complete the first draft. After you've revised and are truly happy with your second or third draft. After you've sent it out for comments and have incorporated the reader comments you think were helpful. But when you finish the last little bit of copyediting and send it to your agent, then you are really done. Right? That's when you can celebrate and do all the things you've been storing up and promising to do when you've finished your book. When you have the luxury of time combined with the satisfaction of having completed a major project.

Only it doesn't work that way. At least for me. The strangest thing about finishing a book is the incredible sense of loss -- and yes, a bit of depression - when it's over. I've done what I've promised myself, I've attacked my task list -- I've called contractors to get house repairs, gone over my expenses and switched cable carriers, cleaned out my sock drawer, and even went to the library to research my next book -- but it's been like moving through jello. My brain hasn't been there. I've been distracted and malfunctioning all week. When I missed a turn yesterday for a routine trip to take the dog to the park, I thought: Geez, I'm just not "present," and then I realized, I WAS PRESENT. Only the problem was I was still PRESENT in the mythical town of Waverley I wrote about. I don't want to leave. I don't want to come back to earth. I remember this feeling from previous books, but I never remember it being THIS BAD.

How about you all. Do you suffer from this malady when it seems like you should be jubilant. Is it the same with every book?

ROBERTA: I've heard folks talk about that post-book depression Jan, but it's not my experience. I enjoy finishing something because it allows me to organize and straighten up and do little jobs I haven't let myself do for months. I was just noticing this today--and recalling that it happens EVERY TIME I'm writing: I can't seem to keep things neat. You could absolutely tell the stage I'm in by looking at my desk...

RHYS: I don't think I experience depression, but certainly a sense or emptiness. It's like the day after my kids went off to college and the house was clean and quiet. And the big question: what do I do with my time when I'm not writing? I think writing a series gives me a comforting sense of knowing I'll be back soon to visit old friends. I'm working crazily to send my next Molly book off before I go on vacation in ten days, so my desk at this moment is not a pretty sight.

DEB: Oh, I'm glad to know that other people experience the same thing, Jan. I usually have a huge surge of elation when I type The End and send that finished draft off to my editor--followed by a crash. And yes, I always have a huge to-do list, and of course I've been looking forward for months to fun things like lunch with friends, but still . . . Even though I write a series and I know I'll be spending more time with the continuing characters soon enough, there are always characters in each book that I hate to let go. Nor can you ever go back and really LIVE in that particular story again.

I'm sure the best way to deal with this is to dive right into the next book, but then there are revisions, and copy edits, and page proofs . . . this is probably nature's way of helping the writer let go, because by the time I've finished two versions (US and UK) of all the above, it's finally easier to move on to the next book.

JAN: Exactly! Finally, I pulled out of it by Saturday. But for three whole days, my brain couldn't concentrate on anything, no matter how hard I tried to focus on my research for the next book. But I'm sort of like that even when I'm reading a book. I hate to end a good novel and find myself very resistant about starting a new one.

HANK: When I finished PRIME TIME, I called my husband into the room, and said "Sweetheart, watch this." I typed "The End" and then I burst into tears. The other books--gosh, I think I was thrilled.

Funny you should bring this up today, Jan. Because at the end of today, I'll be able to gauge exactly how I'll feel. I'm gonna be done. And I think I'll be--ecstatic. But we shall see.

JAN: Well, I hope you fare better than I did. I was ecstatic for one day, and then.... aimless, I guess is the best description. But I'm over it now - THANK GOODNESS. How about the rest of you out there?

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

RHYS: As I said the other day, I've been having trouble sleeping, therefore I've been browsing through TV channels a lot more than I usually do. Am I wrong or is every second program a crime story? And not just a pleasant, uncomplicated whodunit with a Miss Marple or Inspector Alleyn at the helm, but the sort of dark, horrible CSI type of crime that one does not want to watch when falling asleep.


So I'm wondering why the world has suddenly become fascinated with darkness. God knows we are living in a dark enough time. The last depression in the thirties produced the big, glamorous Hollywood musicals--Esther Williams diving into a sparkling pool followed by a bevy of bathing beauties. Most of the stories were of the poor chorus girl who was plucked from the line and made anovernight star. It can happen to you, the messge was loud and clear. Yes, life is pretty grim at the moment but great and wonderful things can happen, and we can all be happy again soon. The sun will come out tomorrow.


Well, the situation isn't so different now. Plants closing, laid off workers not shopping,losing their homes, losing hope. And yet the fare on the screen is child abductions, warped serial killers, chainsaw masacres--both true crime and fictional. What is wrong with us? Can somebody tell me why darkness is appealing? Does it remind us that at least one person in the universe is worse off than we are?Does feeling scared remind us that we are still alive?
Interestingly enough the British crime scene has been all about darkness for some time now. Try and get a cozy mystery published in UK--it's not going to happen. And yet I read last week that the biggest grossing West End musical ever in London is Mama Mia--still playing to packed houses. It's as close to those old Hollywood movies as you can get--silly, light plot, everything is turned into a dance routine (and the movie has the added bonus of things that are easy on the eye--Colin Firth, Pierce Brosnan and Greece)


Can we hope that this will be starting a trend and we'll see the public clamoring for more feel-good movies, plays and books? More silly tales about members of the royal family struggling to surive in the Great Depression, for example? One can hope.


JAN: Most likely, television content is a lagging indicator. All the dark, gritty crime stories are in still in response from the economic-boom now bust.I agree, although I write a fairly dark mystery and enjoy an occasioally dark, gritty thriller/movie, I can't imagine watching all those television mysteries. Both my kids used to watch CSA and Law and Order SVU so constantly that now when I inadvertently flip to one of those stations, I immediately switch. I know people who adore Dexter, which I'm sure is terrific given the cast, but its just a story I don't particularly want in my head. My agent yesterday told me serial-killer thrillers were hot. I told him I'd rather write real estate listings than write about serial killers.


RO: I was never an ABBA fan, but I went to see Mamma Mia with two high school friends and it was impossible to sit still. We were jumping around in our seats. I had no idea I knew all the words to those songs.Anyway...there's enough darkness around...I don't need to add to it.


HANK: Mamma Mia the movie? SO terrible, embarrassing, and I loved every second. (Jonathan during MM: Are you crying? Hank: (sobbing) Jonathan: (baffled)
We're addicted to The Wire on Netflix right now. And I think that really balances the ugly with the sweet.
But when it comes to scary dark stories--there's a TV news notion that people watch say, car accidents, because it reminds them that *they're* safe. Sort of-"my life is sometimes sad, but it's not as bad as *that* person's."


ROBERTA: That's the point I was going to make Hank. In these horrible dark books, the bad people run loose for a while, but then they're caught and justice prevails. When the world seems so out of control, maybe that's a comfort. My favorite books are very real--no serial killing but plenty of suspense, derived from real people with real problems. Jan, love your answer to your agent's suggestion!


HALLIE: Yes, I agree--those crime shows are so appealing today because (usually) everything is resolved at the end. We all crave the kind of “closure” that the real world rarely offers. I think the economic downturn is just beginning, and what we’ll see in the pipeline is exactly what Rhys is talking about, music and laughs, stories to escape into. Though I can’t see cinematic opulence making a comeback. I wonder how the studios could afford to make those extravaganzas in the Depression?


RHYS: Maybe we'll have to leave that kind of movie to Bollywood. Didn't you think that Mama Mia had a Bollywood feel. You're right, Hallie, it really was bad. Pierce Brosnan trying to sing,Colin Firth trying to dance and those middle aged sex kittens seducing young boys--and yet it was fun and I loved it enough to go out and buy it!So I'm hoping we are right and that trends will swing away from darkness to fun and hope (this is especially true for those of us who write on the cozy side)And maybe the public will finally tire of reality shows and we can go back to a good drama or two!

On scrimping

"We can tell our values by looking at our checkbook stubs." --Gloria Steinem

JAN: My mother, were she still alive, would have an awesome carbon footprint.
Although she had a dishwasher, she preferred to handwash dishes because it used less energy. She was okay with the washing machine, because it was gas fueled, but spurned the dryer, because it was electric. She hung clothes to dry outside in good weather, and in the basement otherwise.

She also recycled religiously because she couldn't stand the idea of anything being wasted. Once she yelled at me for pouring a leftover pot of boiling water down the drain. "You could let that cool and it could go on the plants, you know."

But my mother wasn't green. And God knows she wasn't politically correct. What she was, was a child of the depression. She was forever telling stories of having to wash the floor in her father's bar with a scrub brush, and the economies of sewing her own clothes.

So each night as I hear some new dire economic prediction on Kudlow and Company or Charlie Rose, I wonder, will we all learn to scrimp and save? I've already cut out the gym and lowered my thermostat. But more importantly, could that scrimping and saving be a good thing for us all, benefiting the culture and the planet in ways we couldn't predict?

HALLIE: Learn? I've always been green. AKA cheap.
Call me what you will, I have rarely buy paper towels or plastic wrap. Dish towels work. I mortified my kids by wrapping their peanut butter sandwiches in wax paper (not made of petroleum). Store leftovers in bowls with plates for lids. Compost organic waste. And of course nowadays I bring my own cloth bags to the grocery store.
We also eat a lot of beans--white, kidney, black.... Still a great bargain and very healthy.
And...tah dah...I used cloth diapers for both kids!

HANK: Yes, I remember asking you, Hallie, for a paper towel. And got a nice cloth instead.
Today I took back a container of fruit to the grocery store. The berries had gone bad, gray and fuzzy, in two days, and that meant the fruit was old when it was sold. In the past, I would have just tossed them, angrily.
Now. I saved $3.00 by taking back the fruit. I spent--how much? by driving there. But--here's what I'm learning. I only buy EXACTLY as much as I think we'll need. No more random handfuls of green beans. I think: One bunch for me, one for Jonathan, done. I'm not throwing away any more food.

RO:This is hard to answer..because in some ways I'm thrifty and green and in other ways not. I don't bring my own bag to the market but when I remember I ask for paper (when I have plastic ones I use them for dog poop, which I'm sure will horrify some people.) I've changed most of the light bulbs to the squiggly ones, don't use chemicals in my garden, and I'm very happy shopping at tag sales and thrift shops. I rarely eat meat which makes me feel good about both my health and the fact that I'm not a part of the ginormous beef industry. And we only have one car for the two of us. But I don't compost. That's my dirty little secret. I've tried it a few times and the raccoons drive me nuts.
Right now my refrigerator in CT isn't working. Bruce and I went food shopping and spent $34. Maybe we shouldn't bother getting a new one.
(BTW that gray fuzzy stuff on the berries is botrytis. If there's even a speck of it, your berries are goners.)

ROBERTA: I love seeing all those cloth bags at the supermarket! It's just a matter of getting the old brain cells to remember to put them back in the car.

Maybe some of you read the article in the NY Times this weekend about the couple who decided to try eating on a dollar a day for a month. They ate tons of beans and homemade tortillas and had to cut out almost all vegetables and fruits. The woman said she almost wept when the month was up and she allowed herself to have strawberries. But she also noted how time-consuming it is to cook from scratch. Bottom line, I worry less about the conserving my family has to do--I think it is a useful exercise for us and good for the world. But what about the folks who are already living on the edge? these times are going to be hard, hard, hard.if

JAN: Roberta's right, it's a lot easier to take satisfaction in scrimping when it's not a matter of survival. But I think all of us are going to find ourselves scrimping more and in all this gloom, there might be an upside. (Researchers are already predicting a decline in obesity because of fewer restaurant meals.)

I'd like to hear from everyone out there who may be viewing the world with new or even old-fashioned frugality.