Category Archives: The Writing Life

Many stories, from mystery to science fiction and fantasy have inspired and awed me. But my road to writing has been a tough and painful one. It wasn’t so much inspiration I needed as the courage to overcome an environment that discouraged reading, let alone writing for a living. One author gave me that courage.

Imagine growing up in a family where reading was never encouraged and was viewed as being lazy. Where farm chores and homework were the priorities. My father occasionally read westerns and Archie comics and then only after we were in bed. My mother just read recipes. Now, imagine the frustrations of a child whose imagination is so taken by the rich worlds in books that she wants to write but must suppress that desire and limit it only to school assignments.

What did I love to read? I still remember Dick and Jane’s antics in the grade one picture books – “See Dick run. Run Dick run!’ – those first words excited my tiny heart and showed me the power of words on paper. Then came rhyming and Dr. Seuss filled my world – “One fish two fish, red fish blue fish’. By grades five and six, I was sneak reading the mysteries of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys on the bus ride home – a book a day. Somewhere in junior high school, I discovered science fiction, fell in love with it and then got into trouble with teachers because my imagination and verbosity were greater than assignments demanded. When I took a degree in English and drama, I had relatives who shunned me for years.

Perhaps I should have quit then and for a few years life took over and I almost did. But I always dabbled and always loved reading. So, what changed? What gave me the courage to write and to overcome all the discouraging influences? Where did I find the confidence to achieve my goal of mastering and communicating in my second language? Oh yes, English isn’t my first language and throughout my life, I’ve had a desire to master it and rarely feel I have. Yet, one book, one writer gave me the courage to pursue my dream wholly – to throw myself into it with a modicum of hope to succeed. I owe my courage to J.K. Rowling.

When I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, I thought that if she could do it, so could I!”. Her life story, her courage to write and her perseverance to find a publisher were the inspiration I needed. Since then, I’ve written many wild tales. I can write! My childhood desire to engage in worlds so far removed from reality, to master their voices and breathe life into them in words not my own has blossomed!

Which authors inspire me today? They all do as do the readers who buy their books. Everyone who has the courage to pen their imaginations, to give life to new worlds and voices, and to all our readers who encourage us, I give you my heartfelt thanks.

Cheers and happy writing (and reading too)!

Those Who Came Before

May 17, 2013

David Carrico

Author's Perspective Reviews The Writing Life No Comments

I’ve said in previous Fictorian blogs that I’ve been both an omnivorous and a ravenous reader since as far back as I can remember. Oddly enough, though, as I’ve also previously mentioned, I was never someone who knew at an early age that I was going to be a writer. I’m not sure why, other than I remember being tremendously in awe of anyone who could write a whole book, and never dreamed that I could do that.

I did, however, begin wishing that I could write a book. And I can tell you exactly when it happened. In early 1963 I was in 6^th grade in a school on Ben Eielson Air Force Base, just south of Fairbanks, Alaska.

The Scholastic Book Program was in full swing by then, and every month or so a brochure would come out listing books we could order. I think it was in January that one listing in the brochure caught my eye. It had an intriguing descriptive blurb, an intriguing title-Catseye-and a cool cover.

It was by Andre Norton, whom I’d never heard of before, but that was okay-I hadn’t heard of a lot of authors. I checked the space for it on the order form, and waited.

The day that it arrived, I brought the book home, plopped myself on my bed, opened the cover, and found myself lost in a strange and amazing new universe.

I had just encountered my first real science fiction. Eleanor Cameron’s The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet and Edward Eager’s Half Magic, charming though they were, lost me to a universe of interstellar civilizations, space travel, warfare, telepathy, sapient animals, and aliens. To this day, if I’m asked the “you’re alone on a desert island and you can only have the books of one author” question, Norton would be a finalist in my short list.

Andre Norton was actually Alice Mary Norton. She began writing at a time when it was very difficult for women authors to be taken seriously, and she used the standard tactic of the time to overcome that problem-she adopted a pseudonym. She actually used at least three over her career, but almost all of her output was published under Andre Norton. Bibliography She did eventually legally change her name to Andre Alice Norton.

Norton was a superlative story teller, and had a gift for creating characters that even today I connect with. Whether it was space opera, or earthbound adventure, or historical fiction, or fantasy, a book by her sucked me in. I would read by flashlight at night in order to finish a book after bedtime. And it was her work, first and foremost, that lit in me not the desire to write, but the wish that I could write like that.

Of course, once I found real science fiction, I started hunting for as much of it as I could find. The libraries on the base had some, and I found Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Lester del Rey, and a lot more. But the only other author who grabbed me like Norton did at that age-the only other author who resonated with me like Norton-was Robert A. Heinlein.

Both writers plotted gripping stories. Both could write very taut fiction that moved at a fast pace, yet had depth and characterization.

Both writers excelled at writing “coming of age” stories, which even today is probably the single most popular plot form in the young adult market.

It would be hard to find two better exemplars of novel writing for either adult or young adult markets.

But at that age, that wasn’t part of my thinking. I learned from them by osmosis, as I dove into their books again and again and again, reading and re-reading ad infinitum but never ad nauseam. And both of them, more than any other writers at the time, fueled that wish that I could be a writer.

To pick a work from each that connected with me very strongly, take Catseye from Norton and Between Planets by Heinlein.

Both are coming of age stories. Both are not routine run-of-the-mill plots. And both are not “talk-down-to-the-kids” stories. Both include violence and death. Toward the end of his book, Heinlein’s protagonist is asked to man a “dead-man switch”-to commit suicide, in other words-to ensure that a space vessel is destroyed rather than captured if a battle doesn’t go their way. In Norton’s book, her protagonist is offered the return of a family treasure and heritage for which he has longed all his life, but only at a monumental and deadly price.

I can’t describe to you the impact those two novels had on me. I literally cannot communicate the feelings I had when I finished each one of them, the least of which was, “Oh, wow.”

But with each reading and re-reading of books by these two masters of their craft, that wish that I could write grew, until finally, sixteen years after I opened the cover to Catseye the first time, it became a desire to write, and I first set pen to paper-literally. It has been a long road since then to where I am as a writer today, and it’s one I don’t think I would have walked without the influence of Andre Norton and Robert A. Heinlein.

Thank you both.

Seeking Wisdom and Import from Bastions of the Banal

May 16, 2013

fictorians

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A guest post by Quincy Allen.

Like so many born in the sixties, I was raised on television. In my case it was mostly cartoons, and I reveled in them because they took me “someplace else.” Even as a preschooler I found the real world to be banal. Something was always missing from the universe around me, a sense of purpose in crisis. To put it bluntly, suburbia was-and still is-a hive, one with few predators beyond shady car salesmen and cut-throat roofing companies.

By design, the culture of suburbia suppresses any sense of crisis, attempting to bubble-wrap existence at every turn. It strives to create cogs born and bred for the great machine that is our society. That’s not a condemnation, merely an observation. Such were my early stomping grounds, and many of us-particularly devotees of geekdom-have our roots in just such culture.

Interestingly, there is a misapprehension among many Americans raised in suburbia that the Chinese character for “crisis” is the same as the one for “opportunity.” While this is inaccurate, I believe many of us cling to the notion because it speaks to an inner-self that few ever explore in their daily lives. It is this same inner-self that appreciates the film Fight Club and why most of us remember the phrase, “That which does not kill you makes you stronger,” probably learned from the 1982 film Conan rather than from having read Nietzche.

These things speak to us because we’re all seeking something, and in suburban society we can only find it in fiction and films depicting the fantastic. What we seek is import and wisdom-a sense of participating meaningfully in great events that shape the fabric of existence-whilst going mindlessly along in whatever daily grind holds sway over our mortgages and rent payments. Yet we desperately hunger for the wisdom of the ages, learned through epic events that threaten our sense of existence, whatever that may be.

During my formative years-and thanks to my brother-I discovered a handful of authors who stole me away from the banal. Within their tales I was carried to the stars and bore witness to great events, learning from them as if I had been an active participant. I discovered places like Heinlein’s Mars and Zelazny’s Amber. I cut my imaginative teeth on stories spun by Asimov and Clarke, delving deeply into tomes like The Science Fiction Hall of Fame Volume I (printed in 1971 and sitting on a shelf next to me as you read this). They were my first real exposure to import and wisdom, and done in a way that was both intriguing and meaningful to a tenant of the banal.

Philosophers-and they were philosophers-like Campbell, Sturgeon, Bradbury, and Leiber shaped what was a very young, hungry, and naive mind. I was the chalice to their wine, and what I learned between those pages read so long ago still shapes who and what I am today. Zelazny taught me what a shadow walk is and how to appreciate the significance of journey, even when I’m just hiking the Rockies. Heinlein gave me a comprehension of what it means to “grok” and helped me understand why a human should know how to “change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly.” Thanks to Laumer I understand the difference between men of action and men of sophistry; I comprehend what loyalty is and have a sincere sense of duty in the face of personal sacrifice.

I am a son of many such fathers… and mothers like Le Guin and Sheldon who helped me understand the differences between the sexes and, more importantly, how shameful inequality in any society really is. I have many more such parents, but you get the point. These thinkers, these visionaries, shared with us their distinct notions of humanity, speculating upon “what if” we were to take current societal constructs and follow them to their inevitable conclusions. Either that or they took societal norms, turned them upside down, and held them up to the light for all to see.

And thus, having set out upon this journey of becoming an author in my own right, I find myself editing my second manuscript. In it I alter American history and explore bigotry, zealotry and sexism. I hold them up to the light and expose hypocrisy. I cast in harsh light those who would discriminate and subjugate, dealing with them via the heavy hand of a six-gun-packing privateer. It’s pure fantasy, to be sure, and pulpy, but under the surface there’s a theme of equality, of treating with other sentient beings in precisely the same manner we wish to be treated.

I can’t imagine that my work will be as highly regarded as those great visionaries who influenced me, but I can aspire to walk in their footsteps and-perhaps-make my own small contribution to what Arthur in Excalibur referred to as “future memory.”

It is a dream I have.

* * *

Quincy Allen has been published in multiple anthologies, online and print magazines, as well as in one omnibus. His steampunk version of Rumpelstiltskin is under contract with Fairy Punk Studios, and he’s written for the Internet radio show RadioSteam. His novel Chemical Burn-a finalist in the Rocky Mountain Writers Association Colorado Gold Writing Contest-was first published in June 2012, and has been picked up by Fantastic Journeys Publishing. His new novel, Jake Lasater and the Blood Curse of Atheon, will be on sale this summer, and he’s writing an off-world steampunk-esque series. You can follow his ongoing exploits on Facebook and at his website.

The Benefits of Sibling Rivalry

May 15, 2013

fictorians

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A guest post by Megan Grey.

In retrospect, the signs of my becoming a fantasy/sci-fi writer and proud geek were all there from an early age. The joy I felt Christmas morning when Santa brought my older brother and me Castle Grayskull-the perfect backdrop to any number of adventures with He-Man and She-ra. The summers spent in my friend’s backyard, acting out the rousing adventures of Link from The Legend of Zelda. Perhaps the most damning piece of evidence is the note I found from my late grandmother, which references a story I wrote at the tender age of five and titled “Battle for the Unknown Universe.”

Despite these auspicious beginnings, however, I remained mostly uninterested in fantasy or sci-fi through middle school. I was always an avid reader, but my books of choice were standard fare for the time-stories about girls and their horses, or girls and their babysitting clubs

All this changed in seventh grade, when my dad introduced me to a series entitled The Lord of the Rings.

I can hear you already. “Oh, wow. A fantasy writer who was inspired by Lord of the Rings. I’ve never heard that before.” And I get it. Fantasy is a field rife with Middle-Earth wannabes. In some cases, they are great novels all their own, adding their own unique perspective to the genre, and in others, well… not so much.

There’s a reason for all the Tolkien love, and quite simply, it’s because Lord of the Rings is awesome, in the truest sense of the word. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I soon discovered that my dad didn’t bring home these books for me, the avid reader of the family. No, he bought them for my older brother, a high-schooler who played guitar in a heavy metal band and whose reading, I was fairly certain, consisted primarily of lyrics to Poison songs.

Surely my father was suffering from early-onset senility, thinking that my brother was the better candidate for this intimidating-looking series whose covers promised adventure and magic.

This couldn’t stand. So I, in an effort to show my misguided father who was clearly the smarter sibling, decided I would be the one to read those thick books filled with faintly archaic language and weird little poems first.

I swiped Fellowship of the Ring from my brother’s nightstand and started reading that very day. I admit I didn’t get into it right away. A birthday party for a one-hundred-and-eleven-year-old hobbit didn’t exactly pique my interest at twelve years old. But by the time the Ringwraiths showed up to attack our intrepid band of heroes at Weathertop, I was hooked.

For the first time in my life, I not only enjoyed and was entertained by a series of books, but I lived them. I stood beside Frodo, eyes wide with horror as Gandalf disappeared into the chasm in the mines of Moria. I trod silently through the beautiful and mysterious forest of Lothlorien. I rode on the massive branches of Ents, and triumphed in Saruman’s downfall. I swung my sword beside Eowyn and defeated the Witch-king of Angmar. I begged Frodo to cast the ring into the fires of Mount Doom. I stared solemnly out to sea, watching the ship that bore Frodo, Bilbo, and Gandalf from Middle-Earth disappear into the horizon.

And when I turned the very last page, I wept. I was certain I could never experience something that pure and soul-thrilling again.

Fortunately, though, I discovered that the bookstores had a whole section of fantasy books, full of worlds in which I could surround myself with wonder and magic. Worlds where I could discover who I really was, by living the lives of characters I wasn’t. I devoured every fantasy book I could get my hands on-books by great authors such as Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, David Eddings, Guy Gavriel Kay, Raymond E. Feist, Robert Jordan, and many more. Slowly but surely, I made my way across the speculative fiction aisle to discover the joys of sci-fi as well, beginning with Orson Scott Card’s excellent Ender’s Game.

What began as a healthy dose of sibling rivalry become an important part of who I am-not only a reader of speculative fiction, but a writer whose books will hopefully provide worlds that readers want to live in and characters they yearn to sorrow and triumph alongside.

Thanks, Dad, for bringing The Lord of the Rings into my life. And thanks to my big brother, for providing me the competitive push I needed to read it.

For the record, my brother is now a well-respected university professor with two master’s degrees and a PhD, so it turns out he was the smarter sibling, after all.

But I totally finished Lord of the Rings first.

* * *

Megan Grey currently lives in Calgary, Alberta with her husband, two kids, and two yappy dogs. Her story “To Be Remembered” won the Editor’s Pick Grand Prize in a fiction contest for the Animism: The God’s Lake animated TV series and will be featured in an upcoming anthology. She has received two honorable mentions and a semi-finalist award for short stories in the Writers of the Future contest.