Tag Archives: fantasy writing

Lev Grossman on T.H. White and The Once and Future King

One of the subjects I will go on at length most often is, most assuredly, Arthuriana. My abiding love for that genre started with a gorgeous illustrated volume (an abbreviated Morte D’Arthur) given to me by my great-aunt, but really came to fruition during my Freshman year of college when I was assigned both The Once and Future King and The Mists of Avalon. Previous to this, the only fantasy I’d really read was Tolkien, L’Engle, Alexander, and some Terry Goodkind. And while Mists was very empowering, especially as feminist fantasy, T.H. White’s The Once and Future King changed the entire landscape of how I viewed fantasy storytelling.

If I had one book to keep with me until the end of the world, it would likely be The Once and Future King. I had no idea fantasy could be so multi-faceted, so humorous (and hilarious) and yet poignant. I can’t get through the damned book without sobbing (the scene with Gawain and Arthur in the tower… egads… hand me some Kleenex). But I can’t read it, either, without getting completely lost in the narrative, the philosophy, the language. It is, as far as I’m concerned, a truly magical book.

Which is all a roundabout way of saying that I read an NPR article today, where Lev Grossman, author of The Magicians, had something very similar to say. You ought to read/listen and take note. But here’s a good bit:

The Sword in the Stone set the standard by which I judge all historical fiction. It is also the most perfect story of a childhood ever committed to paper, and it is only the first part of The Once and Future King. What follows — Lancelot, Guinevere, Gawain, the Holy Grail — is a foregone conclusion to those who know the story of King Arthur. White took hold of the ultimate English epic and recast it in modern literary language, sacrificing none of its grandeur or its strangeness (and it is very strange) in the process, and adding in all the humor and passion that we expect from a novel. What was once as stiff and two-dimensional as a medieval tapestry becomes rich and real and devastatingly sad.

It’s no exaggeration to say that after reading The Once and Future King, I never looked at Arthur, or fantastical writing the same. And I am so thankful for that.

Falling in (and out of) love with fantasy

Épinal_-_L’Oiseau_bleu_09Occasionally, I still have moments where I look at a scrap of dialogue or a descriptive phrase, and I feel a little self-conscious, writing what I’m writing. It’s fantasy, sure. It is epic? Sometimes. It is heroic? Yeah, a bit. Does it have magic and all that? Of course. Am I way hung up on defining it? Not really. Okay, maybe a little.

But it’s also not a lot of things. There are no elves, dwarves or, really, even wizards. Magic is… ordered, in a way. Effectively I’ve written out a great deal of the things that define the genre for other people, and even for me. Sometimes I forget I’m writing fantasy altogether. The times that I’ve ever written anything remotely realistic have been utter failures. My brain, apparently, just doesn’t function in such a manner. But nor does it require orcs, apparently.

I say I love the fantasy genre, and I do. But I’m also revoltingly critical about it. I will reject a book based on a thousand things without hesitation. And I go back and forth, in my own head, about the balance in my own book. Sometimes it’s a little maddening.

My original drafts of Peter of Windbourne were not self-conscious. The characters did things and acted as they were supposed to. Swords were bequeathed, hearts were won, and the story finished with a horrendous James Bond villain-esque ending scene. I had no self-consciousness, though; I seriously just wrote for fun. In some ways, I suppose that was really freeing, but it was also what did the draft in, as it were.

This time, though, with a blind rewrite, everything is different. I don’t want the cliche, but I understand some of it has to be there. If not for me, for readers. Because I’m conscious of my genre, as a writer. I want to write not just for me, but for an intended audience. Last night, as I wrote an important farewell scene, I was contemplating the last draft of that scene. In it, the protagonist is granted a historical family sword by his mother. At first I thought I was just going to write through it, and then I stopped, took off my headphones, and consulted the characters again.

No, in this version, that would not happen. There are not going to be any named swords. It didn’t fit. It would throw the balance off in regards to some of the other decisions I’ve made, and so, I removed it. Peter’s relationship with his mother is so much more uncomfortable and complex in this rewrite, and her coming and giving him a sword was just… hackneyed and unnecessary.

I’ve moved further and further from D&D-esque fantasy with this book (thankfully), which the first was very much besotted with. More than anything, the book has become an exploration of power and relationships, and it happens to be a fantasy novel, rather than the other way around. Unlike the first draft, where Peter was tossed around, useless and clueless, here he has wants and needs. To the age old question of “What does your main character want?” (something I would not have been able to answer before) I’d say simply: knowledge and love. Those are Peter’s motivations in everything he does.

I digress a bit.

From time to time, people who know me ask what I write. In some ways, the steampunk stuff is easier to explain. I feel so much less self-conscious when I can talk about Gothic and Victorian inspirations. When it comes down to fantasy, and the dreaded M-word, there follows a very slippery slope. The only fantasy most non-fantasy readers know is The Lord of the Rings. And yes, there are echoes. I love Tolkien, and I would be an idiot to proclaim that he’s not influenced me a bit (this book owes more to him than any others, likely because I started it fresh off the Middle Earth high).

But, but, but. It’s fantasy with consequences and, above bloody all, no good guy/bad guy dichotomy in the way that it’s supposed to be. It’s fantasy writing inspired by the world around me, hoping to refashion in with a little more feathers and pixie dust. I’m trying to avoid what I see so often in fantasy writing, which is a complete refusal to be different.

… This post got absurdly long rather fast. Apologies. I’ve been on a bit of a word binge of late, and I see that such prolonged forays into my little fantasy world have clearly addled my rather fragile brain cells.

To sum up: Fantasy literature is like a big daisy, from which I pluck petals. Do I love it? Or love it not? Sometimes both. It’s still a daisy, even if I pick all the petals off and stomp on them. I can’t avoid the daisy. It is my daisy, and the only flower I really care about in the first place (seriously, screw those rhododendrons and peonies). So, that’s my book: a big daisy with no petals, that’s kind of bent in the middle…

By all that is holy, I really should have stopped writing this post about four paragraphs back…

So, that finally happened…

If you follow my Twitter feed, you’ll know I was on something of a writing binge this weekend. Every few months this happens. It’s like my own personal NaNoWriMo, where the book I’m writing takes on an absolutely powerful life of its own, and I’m kind of strung along. While it sounds kind of cool, and in some ways it is, it’s also quite exhausting. Usually, it means I can’t sleep, and every spare moment is at the MacBook, clacking away. Time slips, stars move, and I remain rooted to the keyboard.

At any rate, after clocking just about 13K in a day and a half or so, my mind feels a little like mush. Trying to sleep last night was darn near impossible, as even though I left the computer the part of writing that happens in my brain didn’t want to stop.

What was particularly interesting for me, however, was the progression of events within the book. I’m about 2/3 finished at this point. Actually, exactly 2/3 through (83K of a planned 120K). And these little bridge chapters are the backbone of the book, right before all the Really Big Shit happens. But, from a character perspective, for Peter–the main character–a whole lot just happened.

He finally had sex.

I don’t want to get weird about this, but sex scenes have been on my mind of late, not the least of which is because Peter is, well, gay. So. There’s that. My heroic fantasy lead is a gay male. I didn’t intend for it to happen like this. In the first three drafts of this story (I’ve been trying to write this story since I was 18… ) he always crushed on a girl. But it never ceased to feel odd. Forced, strange. It took me almost ten years to figure out that Peter didn’t like girls to begin with.

Part of me realizes that I totally pulled a Stephen King. i.e.–in The Stand, he makes sure Nick Andros doesn’t die a virgin, because I believe he thought that would be a fate worse than death. While I promise I’m not sending Peter off to his death, his sexual realization was actually intrinsic to the plot. There is so much more about sexuality than the actual sex, especially in his situation. And I thought a great deal about the scene before I wrote it, even if thinking doesn’t mean planning.

What surprised me is, writing as a woman, how powerful and emotional the scene was as I sat down to finally put it to paper. It didn’t need to be gratuitous, but it was very much about these two men seeking comfort and love, about learning to accept who they are, and definitely a bit of a rite of passage.

I talked to a few people about the scene before I wrote it. Some suggested simply writing “like a woman”–just taking the scene as I would. Others suggested not making it too graphic. I didn’t want it to feel disingenuine, you know? Or, ill-informed. Or whatever.

Ultimately, I let Peter lead me. I mean, he’s a character, a person, regardless of his sexual orientation. It’s emotion, it’s passion; these are all things I understand. The story is third-person limited, very much his story. And approaching this scene together… somehow that felt right. I let the character do the talking, in a way, and I realized how absolutely important the scene was for his own journey. I didn’t want gender and sexuality issues to define the book, but be part of his struggle to fit in, to come into his own. (I also didn’t want the scene to feel spliced in, which is the case in so many fantasy books.)

So, that finally happened. I feel like I can move on now. So much of what happens in the last third of this book is tied to The Aldersgate, and it’s giving me a bit of performance anxiety. Hopefully in the next week I can really get the gears moving. I can finally see the full draft taking shape (again) and it’s definitely… heartening.

The self-conscious fantasy epic.

AnneauUniqueThis morning I read a piece in the Guardian called When the Lord of the Rings doesn’t cut it: Confessions of a fantasy junkie, and found it rather amusing. In particular this bit (which makes us all sound a bit like Gollum, I think):

I understand the pain of the addict. At the turn of a page, weeks of total immersion in a fantasy world come to an end and mundane reality is waiting. Fantasy is epic because that is how we like it. But like any narcotic substance, fantasy operates on the law of diminishing returns. Once you’ve see a few dozen dragons, you’ve seen them all. The fantasy fan is on an eternal quest to recapture that first taste of magic. Eventually, the doorstoppers don’t cut it anymore. And then we are forced to go underground.

I’ve written on this topic a few times, and it certainly hit home for me. As someone weaned on Tolkien and Lewis, I know the feeling well. I remember trying to hide my undying love for Middle-Earth, and failing miserably when my book report gushing to the world was read aloud in class by my teacher. My school was small enough at the time that there weren’t any D&D groups to join, and the only person I know who also read fantasy read Terry Brooks. And I did not.

Anyway, it didn’t get easier or better for me as I got older. I’m now convinced that my time in both undergraduate and graduate school studying Middle English was only in an effort to study the roots of fantasy literature. It was cheating a little, because all that chivalric literature really isn’t any different than fantasy, save in language and occasional subject. (I should argue that plenty of medieval stuff is even more revolutionary than today’s contemporary fantasy–read Silence for a cross-dressing heroine, for example!) I found quite a few friends in graduate school, however, who loved fantasy, and that was certainly a help.

But my roundabout point is, in spite of coming to grips with liking to read fantasy epic, it’s taken even longer for me to accept writing it. Why? Because it’s a genre that breeds self-consciousness. It’s practically made of cliche and stereotype. Saying you write fantasy literature to some people is no different than admitting a penchant for furries, or a LARPer. I know, I’ve gotten the looks before. Eyebrows up, mouth agape–they struggle for things to say, but the fact is, even if the book was on the Bestseller list, they’d likely never read it. And if they did, it’d probably make them laugh hysterically.

Anyway, currently I am writing a fantasy epic. True fantasy. No steampunk, no time-travel, no squids. And I find that I’m incredibly self-conscious about it some days, and completely revel in it on other days. I have moments where I ask myself, “Is this too fantasy epic?” and others when I think I’m really on to something different. Truly, it must strike a balance to be good, and I’ve never had such a set of demons on my shoulder arguing it out over a book. I love the genre to bits, and I am indeed still reaching to capture that magic–but doing it with my own wand, as it were, is another spell all together.

I wrote a sequel to The Lord of the Rings when I was fourteen. It was about Merry and Pippin meeting up together in old age and making a trip across Middle Earth to Gondor, and their final days there with Aragorn. I wish I had a bit to share, because it is quite amusing. Regardless, I have always expressed my love in writing. I scarcely know how else to do it. I even re-wrote half of The Stand once…  And while I am a bit self-conscious about this particular endeavor (and… well, thankfully not plagiarising) it’s still done with joy. Part of me is very much that same fourteen year old with the ugly sweater and wire-rimmed glasses hunkering down at my Aptiva and composing everything in Footlight.

And thankfully, at long last, I don’t care who knows. I only hope I can do it well enough.

Notes on the woman warrior, fantasy literature style

The first woman warrior I remember reading was Eowyn in The Lord of the Rings. That image of her standing before the Nazgul Witch-King, her sword brandished, her blond hair spilling down her shoulders and catching in the wind is probably one of the most vivid early memories I have of fantasy literature. And I remember feeling a swell of pride, too, that this woman had done something so remarkable in a world so dominated by men.

Just the other day, my husband remarked to me how surprising it was that Tolkien chose to have Eowyn act so. On the surface it sure seems that way; she’s a rare spot of feminine power in the books, and certainly the only one with martial abilities. Was he showing feminst leanings? I don’t think so. Firstly, he was writing from the Germanic lore tradition, in which there were many shield-maidens. The concept was a bit romanticized, honestly, and I think he liked the idea of a kind of Valkyrie figure. But more than anything, Eowyn’s presence served to fulfil one of Tolkien’s favorite literary mechanisms: the riddle. The Witch-King of Angmar can, of course, be killed by no man. And she is, well, no man. I think the cleverness of that scene is what drove Tolkien to do it, rather than any feminist sympathies (because, as much as I love LoTR, I don’t believe his intention was to rally the cry of repressed women).

Though certainly there are moments in the text that Eowyn gives glimpses into her desire to be treated as her brother (“Too often have I heard of duty. But am I not of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?”) in the end, she marries and is taken care of, and quite quietly fades into the background. She is a lone woman in the texts–Peter Jackson, of course, had to beef up Arwen’s role in the film to make another engaging character.

There have been many other female warriors in fantasy fiction since Tolkien, of course, and many weild martial power and prowess. But few, I think, have real complexity. I’m thinking of Brienne of Tarth in George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series, in particular, as she’s the clearest woman warrior in the bunch. She’s complex, in some ways, but her sense of duty and simpleness make her a little grating. I like that’s she’s not the sexiest chick on the block, but she just always felt like one of the flattest characters in the series to me. In some ways, she’s not that different from a guy, I guess.

Of course, there’s also the whole gorgeous, leather-clad, bodice-squeezed warriors we know and love, like the Mord Sith in Terry Goodkind’s books. While powerful, and certainly complex from a psychological standpoint, it always irked me that they were “rescued” by Richard. Okay, lots about Richard irked me in general, not the least of which was his instent chatting and feeding forest animals, but that’s another rant for another day.

I should mention that my critique doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy these books. I have, and I will again. The role of the woman, and anyone who’s not a classic male hero, is changing. What’s difficult for me is that so many women are portrayed as either mannish or sexpots. And there’s got to be some middle ground. Women happen to be warriors, or warriors that happen to be women. Sometimes just writing a character means stripping away ideas of gender, and simply writing them the way they are.

Maybe what the issue here is a desire for more complexity from a society perspective. Anyone who chooses voilence as a means of action in life has reasons, and those reasons are often deep-seeded in politics and societal norms. When fantasy leans too much on the shock value of a female warrior, or the “just because” aspect or, the dreaded “I was abused by a man” trope, it lends a flatness to characters. Fantasy societies have the chance to be truly spectacular, and so many fall short. (I poke holes in my own stuff all the time, and don’t exclude my stuff from the list, I should point out. It’s my pet peeve with, um, myself… However, someone who I think does this particularly well is Joss Whedon, especially in the case of River Tam.)

At any rate, the concept of female warrior has been heavy on my mind as of late, as I have two in Peter of Windbourne who could not be more different. One is a warrior of martial power soley, and the other is a little more complicated than that. As secondary characters to the main POV, it’s a tricky trying to convey the depth of character I want. I suppose, at a point, there’s only so much you can do.

Part of the problem is that readers like the sexy ladies in chain mail, and especially mainstream fantasy–or, big-selling fantasy anyway–is reluctant to piss off their fan base. I don’t blame them, in a way. It’s business. You need only wander in to WoW or any convention to see sex sells, and the skimpier the armor, the more attention.

I wonder if the recession will push writers to challenge or to conform. Time will tell, I suppose. I’m intrigued as to what kind of woman warriors this generation will create.

Glut, glut, glut.

I am trying to be candid here.

I have too many words.

Not counting finished drafts, I have somewhere around 230K of unfinished business. This is either work in process (currently I am writing two separate books) or words that need to be edited. This morning I thought I’d total it up, for reasons of amusement. But now? Looking at it I’ve got to wonder what the hell it is I’m getting at.

This started when I got frustrated editing a first draft. Then I decided to do something else; which lead to something else… which means, ah, what the hell?

Self: Stop this grumblefest. You need to look on the bright side.

Glutty McGlutterson: Wha? Like, the fact that I’m writing and that’s something and I should keep my chin up, buster, and dance with rainbows and dragons and flying horses?

Self: Um, no, not exactly. Since when have I ever called you buster?

McGlut: Ugh, you always do this.

Self: Do what? Force you to accentuate the positive?

McGlut: I’m going to start calling you Pollyanna.

Self: Seriously. Remember that 10,000 hours thing? You’re being a writer. Not an editor. So you’re writing.

McGlut: I can scarcely think where to go.

Self: You were on a roll.

McGlut: *sigh* That peksy past-tense.

Self: Oh, grow up! Just sit your ass down and write. Stop complaining. You are a professional.

McGlut: A professional word-vomiter.

Self: Better than the other way.

McGlut: … true.

Self: Consider the current project. Marketable, single person narrative… just focus on that. The rest will come. Or it won’t. And you’ll drown to death in words.

McGlut: *glub, glub, glub*

Writing with the darkness.

This week’s writing has been more difficult than others, and not because of the usual reasons (laziness, business, distractedness). While I’ve slowly made progress from 0k to 4K (about 2K from the chapter end) it’s been laborious, to say the least. Though I’m writing from a draft, I know what’s going to happen, so technically I shouldn’t be having issues.

Except I am. And it’s all because it’s so damned dark.

Fantasy tends to fall to either side of the extreme: light and hopeful, or dark and mournful. Or at least, it’s light peppered with enough dark that the contrast leaves you a bit heartbroken.

And I have to blame myself for this predicament, because with Peter of Windbourne I really wanted to take the last draft, completed some three years ago, to another level. I wanted to complicate the characters and relationships more, shake up the alliances, and use a broader brush to pull in the shadows. I wanted it to grow up. As a result, scenes that were once a little depressing, perhaps, are all the more dark, and it’s made a tough haul for me.

Typically this kind of thing doesn’t bother me. I dealt with darkness a great deal in the last few books. It may be that it affects me more this time around because this story is the first story I ever completed, and I know the characters more than any others.

So, this week’s writing has been in fits and starts. I typically finish a chapter a week, sometimes more. But it’s been all herky jerky, and distracted. Happy funny things on Twitter are so much better than writing about the destruction of a kingdom, and the inability of even remarkable people to do anything to save it. Perhaps it’s that hopelessness that’s getting to me… it’s quite likely.

The destruction of hope isn’t a pervasive theme in the book, but it’s one that I wanted to write more about in this draft. I think that helplessness is important especially in relationship to our world. I have a really difficult time wrapping my head around the kind of hopeless injustice that occurs around the world–violence to children, families, cultures–and this is my way of dealing with it, with commentary.

Because heroes can’t always win. In fantasy we are programmed to think that heroes, if given the right tools and spells and time, can save anyone. But sometimes they can’t. For all the flak that Tolkien gets, I think that was the greatest gift he gave the genre (even if it is so often ignored). Sometimes the hero fails. But in that moment of darkness, out of that despair, comes such a rich possibility.

Anyway, talking to a few people about the issues, the advice has ranged from “carry on” to “don’t write about it”. I am moving foward, albeit slowly. Because if I stop writing about the things that matter to me, if is stop telling the stories that are difficult, I compromise one of my core beliefs. Holding a mirror up to nature, and all that. In reality I may not be the bravest of beings, but in text I can forge on further than the boundaries here in my world…

Crowded house: writing a party

Nah, not the kind with ale and food and wenches, though that happens from time to time.

More like a party of people. At the moment I’m struggling with some of my chapters, as there are just too many damned people there all the time. Up until this point most of what I’ve written has been fairly straight-forward, with a handful of people doing fairly straight-forward things. Two, maybe three people in conversation, nice tight little story arcs… It was particularly comfortable in The Aldersgate because, well, every chapter was a new point of view, and helped me keep things neat and in a row.

Now, in Peter of Windbourne, all of the sudden there are at least five people in just about every single scene. Oh sure I can write it out. Sure I can finagle it. But that doesn’t give me many options. Not to mention that my inability to balance characters was one of the reasons the first draft didn’t work (one of myriad reasons, but one still). I mean, I’m traveling with an entourage. There were five, but soon there will be seven. Seven!?

Maybe this is one of the hallmarks of pure fantasy, rather than steampunk fantasy. With no travel available but horseback, people tend to cluster together and travel in groups. It certainly goes back to the whole retinue concept, of a knight and his soldiers trolling the countryside, and always reminds me a bit of Tolkien’s Fellowship. What Tolkien did was to segment his characters, and build stronger relationships between the to facilitate dialogue and plot. Legolas and Gimli had their competition, Merry and Pippin their food, Frodo and Sam their melancholy, and Aragorn and Gandalf their leadery stuff. Oh, then there was Boromir somewhere in between. But he didn’t end up so well.

So certainly the first step is trying to forge relationships between the characters. It’s also essential to “pull a Dumbledore”–that is, to have a character who serves as a point of exposition, someone that the reader–and protagonist–can believe. Not only does this prevent all the characters constantly asking questions of one another (which would be unbearably annoying) but allows me to advance the plot without resorting to straight-out exposition.

One of the biggest changes I also have done in this draft is to make Peter, the protagonist, smarter and a little older. I think in the first draft he was 15 or 16; by the second he was 18. This draft, he’s almost twenty, and he’s spent his life with tutors. It makes sense for the course of the story, as he was schooled for a monastery. In earlier drafts I was frustrated with his lack of character, which was really more a result of his ignorance and starry-eyed (cliche) nature. Well, suffice it to say I was a little sick of it. I mean, this is sword and sorcery; there are some things I should keep from the genre. But not everything.

More than anything though, it makes Peter active. Even though he’s learning a great deal through his new companions, he’s got something to say. He’s got opinions. He’s not just a sponge. And sponges, as I’ve learned, are boring. Right?

What I didn’t expect, however, is a heightened sense of tension with this revamped crew. I find that because so many characters are in so many scenes, there’s much more opportunity for argument, disagreement and confrontation. It also makes fight scenes a whole lot more like a coordinated dance. Without guns, which was the primary weapon in The Aldersgate, there’s a focus to combat that I didn’t have before. And it’s actually a blast. Both of my readers have commented that the scenes are a bit nail-biting–and they should be. It’s one of the things about medieval warfare that I love so much; it’s more brawn and endurance than skill, sometimes, and it’s drawn out, difficult.

I’m still learning this whole “big crew” perspective. Thankfully it’s not something that will be apparent through the whole book–they move on and split up a bit, and reconvene, etc. But I’ve got at least one more solid chapter to keep the balance…

Any writers out there experience similar juggling acts? I’d love to know how you manage a crowd!

Ten Things I Want to See More of in Fantasy Literature

Consider this a call for suggestions. While I do my best to catch up on reading, covering both classics and new material, I can’t be everywhere at once. And between my own writing and editing I don’t have a lot of time to scour the internet…

So: ten things I’d like to see more of in fantasy literature (some I’ve already mentioned but hey, if they’re still irking me, they’re worth mentioning again!).

  1. Gender bending. Why not? If I read one more fantasy novel with a deviant/evil homosexual character I might actually light it on fire. I mean, come on people. Fantasy is the most forgiving of all genres, and yet we’re still conforming to antiquated notions about sex, sexuality, and gender? Shame, shame!
  2. Women heroes that don’t suck. This is still an issue. Or if the women are heroes, they either resort to sex or violence to get what they want. Or they depend on a man for power. Or they are looking for a man’s approval. How about a woman just being plain smart? Or skilled? How about a woman with kids instead of some moody, love-stricken maven?
  3. Animals other than dragons. I’ve written about this before. And I like dragons, really, I promise I do. But it’s swords and sorcery, not dragons and sorcery.
  4. Creatures other than, say, vampires and zombies. It’s high time we give the less-known werewolves, manticores and minotaurs their turn, wouldn’t you say? Or at least if you choose the vampire/zombie type story, write them well. And please stray from sexy, cute, and/or sparkly.
  5. Really gritty battle. Fights that draw blood, that incapacitate, that leave scars mentally and physically. Even on heroes. Even on wizards. But not to the point of innards flying all over the place.
  6. Risks other than the Bad Guys Winning. Yes, I know that one of the comforts of the fantasy genre is the notion of good vs. evil, the light vs. the dark, and all that jazz. But hasn’t that been done to death? Aren’t we beyond that at this point? Readers need to be challenged, and as much as I love the old regime like Tolkien and his ilk, that model just doesn’t hold in our world anymore. Give me the gritty gray area!
  7. Realistic dialogue. Sure, writing dialogue in a fantasy world is tough. They’re probably not even speaking something remotely English. But the stiff, heightened, and often laughingly archaic language just cheapens the whole thing and often comes in the way of good writing. Chill out, use contractions, and make it readable!
  8. Settings that don’t look like England. Okay, I’m guilty as charged, but well, you know. Though I’m currently writing a story in a very Britain-esque world, I am hungering for something sweeping and foreign. A fantasy in a rain forest, or the steppes, or the Serengeti.
  9. Intriguing cultures. Not cultures based on real cultures. Not even necessarily human cultures. I want whacked out weird and above all, convincing cultures. Down to the food, the gesticulations, and the customs. Yes, I’m in a demanding mood. Why do you ask?
  10. Stories that make me cry. Epic and fantasy go hand in hand for me. But if the story doesn’t move me, is predictable, and leaves me scratching my head or checking to see if I missed something, it feels like one hell of a waste of time. And these days I don’t have that time to waste!

So how about you? Any fantasy genre gripes? Or good reading suggestions?

What future Natania told past Natania.

Photo by Pierre J.

Photo by Pierre J.

No, I can’t really go back in time (if I could, you’d be reading this on a telegraph!). But if I could, there’s a few things I’d tell myself about writing, publication, and and the business of print.

Never underestimate the kindness and generosity of other writers. Most of the progress I’ve made this last year has been because of the friendships I’ve made with other SF/F writers. First it was through WordPress, then it was through Twitter. Not only have other writers helped me learn the ropes and what to expect, but they’ve been a constant source of inspiration and support during the writing, editing, and shopping process.

Never underestimate the selfishness and self-centeredness of other writers. While, thankfully, not as common as the nice folks, there are some astonishingly vain writers out there who are writing for one reason: themselves. They feed off of praise and adulation, and love to talk about themselves and their work but rarely help other people. Steer clear of these folks, no matter what honeyed promises they give you.

Listen to agents. It’s hard advice, at first. It will likely burst your happy little bubble, and will be difficult to hear. At first you’ll be overwhelmed by the number of queries each and every agent gets, then by the sheer fail of it all. But then you’ll realize how important it is that you listen to their advice because, unlike ten years ago, now with Twitter and Facebook and the blogsplosion, you have the opportunity to be in the know. The secrets are out, for the most part. But, conversely, you have no excuse for being ignorant! So in some ways, the competition is even more intense. Keep on your toes.

The Internet is not magic. Just because you blog, podcast, write, critique, and are involved in active Twitter chats doesn’t mean you’ll find success. It can help, of course, but it still takes persistence and work. There are no magic publication fairies that will scoop up your manuscript and whisk it off to Tor. That said, you have to act as your own emissary–so be on good behavior, and try not to be a dick.

Rejection isn’t personal. It’s biased, yes, but not personal. It’s also part of the game. Learning to wear rejection as a badge of honor is a good idea, but it’s no easy task. You can think you’re tough, but life is weird. Chances are you’ll get a major rejection on a day that was crap already, and no matter how much you try to say it doesn’t bother you, it will. It’s natural. It’s something you hoped for, and nothing sucks so much as the destruction of hope (even if it’s just temporary). However, you’re only allowed to let it bother you for a day, an hour, a small increment of time, and then move on. If you can’t move on, frankly, you’re just not cut out for this business.

Make your own victories. It’s not about what you’re writing compared to everyone else. It’s not even about your word count. It’s about telling your story and telling it right. It’s about finding your own voice. Make daily goals, and stick to them. As long as you keep championing on, the sting of rejection won’t be so harsh.

Never take your readers for granted. Their input is some of the most meaningful and helpful you’ll ever get. There is nothing so amazing as sharing something with a reader and having them enjoy it, having the story mean something to them, too. Listen to everything they say… their comments can be more insightful than the most seasoned critic.

Grow a pair. You’ll find, as you continue to write, and move beyond that first novel, that there are things you should have done, could have done, and were afraid to do. Be fearless. Go out on a limb. Be the voice you want to hear. Maybe you can’t slay dragons in real life, but you can do anything between the lines. Trust your imagination, listen to your characters, and be brave enough to heed what you hear.

Read, read, read. Never go a day without reading something. Read books that rock, books that suck. Read how-to books and mystery novels and gardening books. Read cooking books and encyclopedias. Learn from the craft, never stop the stream of information. It is what you love, and if you stray from that path, you’ll get lost. Trust me, I know.