Why I Write

by

I’ve realized that I never explained why I write. I’ve mentioned my love for stories and that I write because I love stories and not the other way around. But I’ve never told you wonderful people why I do it.

It’s not because I like Telling People

If you’ve met me in public you’d probably have no idea that I write. It’s not something I like to talk about with people. I’d much rather hear their story, I already know mine.

It’s just awkward to tell people something that feels so personal. And people usually make it even more uncomfortable.

I’ve encountered multiple different reactions but I can boil them down to five kinds of people. The Disbelievers, The Suggest-ers, the Critics, the Disinterested, and the Encouragers.

The Disbelievers

These are the people who just can’t wrap their heads around the idea that anyone would bother writing a book, let alone try to get it published. They’ll give you a confused look and say some variation on, “Oh why?” Or “I haven’t read much since high school”

They are generally nice but will classify you as odd and probably avoid you or try to forget about your weirdness.

I suggest leaving these folks alone or changing the topic to Game of Thrones.

The Suggest-ers

“Vampire books are really in right now.” Or “Have you considered self-publishing that’s where the money is.”

These are my second favourite type of people. They are generally well meaning and trying their best to help you out. They’ll tell you everything they know or read somewhere on facebook. They’ll offer to help and talk to their third cousin’s neice’s ex-fiancé for you.

The major downside is if they try to tell you about their novel idea that they think you’d be better at writing.

The best way to deal with them is know that they’re trying to be supportive. Try changing the topic to what they like to read.

The Critics

They just met you and really don’t care about your writing but they will tell you how horrible the state of fiction is right now. Nothing but crap and magical-teens. They’ll complain about everything.

If you’re really unlucky, you’ll get those who will criticise the industry as a whole and tell you that you’ll never be published because of such a reason etc.

It’s best to smile and nod until they get it out of their system, then go find someone to give you a hug.

The Disinterested

These are the people who ask you what your passions are only so they can tell you about theirs.

They are more interested in telling you about their book/idea/life than hearing anything about you. Heck once they’ve started talking, they might not notice you leaving.

Again it’s best to smile and nod, then find someone else to talk with.

The Encouragers.

These are people who will want to hear about what you’re saying, about your story, and about your life. They’ll let you talk and they’ll comment in the right places.

They will freak you out completely. They are the ones that will understand your pain when you get a rejection letter and not go, “Well Tolkien submitted LoTR blah times before…” They’ll know to give you a hug.

If you find them, treat them well, you’ve just met a rare specimen.

I don’t do it for the Money or Fame

Let’s be clear, the amount of people who make enough money to quit their jobs are the minority. If you think you should start writing because it’s an easy way to make cash, you’re going to be severely disappointed.

It takes years of practice, and years of patience to get enough money to cover your own costs. Brandon Sanderson said that it was bitter sweet to be nominated by the Hugo awards for “Best New Author” since he’d been writing, and trying to publish, for over a decade.

As for fame, if I’m never recognised in public, that’s ok with me.

The Real Reason I Write

I enjoy it.

Yes it’s that simple. I enjoy it.

Do I want to make a living with it? Absolutely, if you found something that you loved doing, wouldn’t you?

Will I stop because of my annoyance and dislike in the publishing industry? No.

I plan on writing as long as I enjoy it. Seeing as I’ve enjoyed it for most of my life I doubt it’ll change.

 

What’s your passion? Are you trying to turn it into a career?

Eric

The Ridiculous Adventures of Felix Felicis – Part Four

by

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

With a hissing voice, a human sized reptile riding a giant cyborg ape declared, “Felix Felicis, you are tried by the Sauran court and found guilty of crimes against time and space. Prepare to die.”

It was strange and frightening; especially the part where the lizard was pointing a machine gun at him, but it wasn’t as frightening to Felix as knowing that they had bombed his apartment.

“If they had been smart they’d have taken my brother or niece hostage,” Felix shook his head at the lizard’s poor planning skills.

“What about your sister in-law?” asked the now familiar voice of Miss Eris. Like an annoying itch he couldn’t reach, she was still following him. She must have walked up to stand next to him while he was gawping at the cyborg ape and its rider. He was amazed at how quietly and quickly she could move in her heels.

“I don’t have one,” Felix answered.

“Oh?” she asked.

“My brother has a husband not a wife. I have no sister in-law but I do have a brother in-law,” he answered curtly.

“Ok. What about him?”

“What about him?” Felix was confused, having already forgotten what he’d muttered. He turned to her, looking down into her green eyes. He couldn’t decide if she was being purposely obtuse or just annoyingly innocent.

“Why wouldn’t the Sauran kidnap your brother in-law?”

“He’s in Amsterdam for work and won’t be home for a few weeks. It would be highly inefficient for them to take him as a hostage. There would be little chance I would find out in time for them to get anything out of it.”

“Excuse me. I believe we were in the middle of something,” hissed the lizard.

“Ah yes, you were about to execute me,” Felix said, standing to face the strange creatures.

“That’s better, now stand still,” the lizard seemed quite pleased with itself.

“Felix, you can’t do this,” whispered Miss Eris.

“Trust me,” he half whispered, half sighed. Raising his voice he yelled, “Oh my god, watch out behind you. It’s a bear with sharks for arms.” Pointing behind the lizard he tried to look panicked.

There were a lot of things that irked Felix, but only one thing that he hated. Pranks were vile tricks played by bored or mischievous people. If he had yelled that out in a normal situation, he’d consider it a prank. Now he considered it a distraction.

The moment the lizard’s head turned, Felix started running. He turned into an alley and hoped the lizard hadn’t seen him. He’d never admit it but he was worried that Miss Eris would fall for the distraction. She didn’t and was magically keeping up with him as he ran down alleys.

It didn’t take long for his ruse to be discovered, however he was surprised that it wasn’t the lizard but the cyborg ape that noticed. In a loud booming British voice the ape yelled, “Poor sport, my good man” and took chase.

“So what’s the plan,” asked Miss Eris. She didn’t seem out of breath at all.

“Right now… Just run… and find someplace to hide. Good it’s chasing me…” he wasn’t being sarcastic. He’d rather that they chase him rather than stay and hurt his family.

“Do you want my suggestion?” How was she not out of breath?

“I was thinking the subway station, they can’t fit into there.” There were some screams as the large ape crushed fences.

“Why don’t we hide in the past?” she asked not having the decency to sweat. She could be having a polite conversation in an air-conditioned room for all she showed strain.

“Don’t be silly,” he snapped.

“Oh you think the future? No, no, the past is safer. Harder to get to.” With that she slapped his back and the world melted around him.

In total darkness he stopped running. He felt her warm hand on his shoulder and felt a little nauseated. Then the world came back in a flash. He was standing in the same alley and looking out into the street, only the street was filled with antique cars.

“See, isn’t that better?” Miss Eris asked chipperly. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, there was a loud clicking noise.

Felix recognized the noise from a few old movies he liked. They were the sound of guns being cocked.

Three men in nice pinstriped suits walked around the corner. Then another three came up behind them, “Mister Felicis, the boss wants to talk to ya. And don’t go trying no disappearing acts again. You won’t surprise us twice.” With that the rat faced man who spoke gestured at him with his gun to start walking.

“Much better,” he grumbled at Miss Eris.

Read Part 5

Writers aren’t their Characters, or their Plots

by

I read a news story last week and brushed it off as some sort of misunderstanding, prank, or click-bait. Today I saw another one. In short a man in Maryland was detained and forced to have a psychological evaluation, then suspended from teaching English in a grade school. All because he’d published a Science-Fiction book about the worst school shooting in America, he published this book under a pen name in 2010. This was before he was hired.

The police apparently closed down the school and swept it for guns and bombs, they did the same to his house. All despite the fact that he had no police record, had no red flags in his public records free for anyone to check, and didn’t have any firearms registered in his, or his alter ego’s, name.

This is by far the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

I will allow that maybe we don’t have the full story and there’s maybe something that we haven’t heard about yet but I wouldn’t be surprised that this is the whole story.

It reeks of a bad movie plot and is scary for anyone who’s ever written anything violent. It also makes you wonder if the fact that he’s African American has something to do with it. (It’s sad that this article makes a little more sence in a racial context. Really sad.)

The book looks like a bland YA mystery novel with some science fiction aspects thrown in. From what I’ve read it looks a little derivative but that’s still no reason to put a man in jail or the psych ward.

In high school I published several stories in the newspaper that were murder mysteries, written from the point of view of the murderer instead of the investigator. I thought it was clever. The worst that happened was one teacher asking me if I was ok and that she was willing to talk if I needed it. Who knows what would happen to me now.

If a writer is criminally responsible for writing something that makes the authorities worried, we’re about to live in a very bad world.

The idea that someone could be mentally unstable or violent because they wrote about it in fiction isn’t new but that doesn’t me its ok.

Fiction is supposed to be a safe way to explore our feelings and our world. It’s an exploration for both writer and reader. It’s a way to work through difficult themes and emotions. It’s no more a barometer for mental stability than the kind of cereal someone eats.

This kind of overreaction isn’t new. It often seems that in an effort to make everyone feel safe we’re attacking everything that may be dangerous.

It’s not a far jump from, “He wrote a book about school shootings, let’s investigate every part of his life and keep him away from the children,” to “He wrote about a banned subject, let’s throw him in jail for subversion of people.”

And it’s not just the “Man” or police. We live in a world where “SWATTING” is a thing. Sometimes my faith in humanity wavers.

What do you think? Was he violently investigated for being a writer, being African American, or is there something else going on?

Éric