When we were young we were natural storytellers, concocting tall tales to tell our friends and our parents. During that brief moment of childhood, we are a temporary microcosm of primitive man, telling stories not on cave walls using pigments, but upon paper using crayons and markers. Within our small frames is the soul of ancient mythopoeic thought, enabling us to see the world. We anthropomorphosis the world around us, everything from the animals to the plants. We tell outlandish stories to our parents with gusto, taking upon us the mantle of bards. Mankind was born to tell stories.
Yet, as many people age, that self-confidence in storytelling, endemic within children, wanes. Practicality takes over passion. It’s not to say that people cease to enjoy storytelling. Whether someone likes to read novels or comic books, or watch television shows, or go to the movies, there is an element within all of us that crave a good story. Except many become the listeners instead of the tellers.
Then there are those who never grow up, who still yearn to tell outlandish stories of fantasy and magic. Others do grow up but they are analytical, suffering under the burden of life to pound out their pain upon paper in the form of intensely emotional character-driven drama. Some possess the hearts of explorers and scientists, asking what could be, as they craft words into spaceships to explore the cosmos, or mold their thoughts into cities of steel populated by androids. Then there are those who are gifted with the ability to paint a picture with poetry, they being like those in Norse myths who drank from the divine mead of the gods. Each person in these groups is their own bard, knowledgeable in their own subjects.
Regardless, those who remain as storytellers yearn to be authors so that their words may be memorialized. But each one faces steep uphill battles in terms of gaining recognition. Such thoughts hit me during my middle school years when I decided I wanted to be an author. I had stories to tell, and I wanted to share them with the world. Back then I was under the mistaken impression that it wouldn’t be a challenge. All I had to do was sit down and type away on the computer, and then submit a finished manuscript to a publisher who would readily accept it. If it were only that easy.
For I learned that writing is not just tapping away on the keys, but how words and sentences are formulated to flow smoothly, while the plots of stories are crafted in a way to draw the reader in. It’s about constant writing and rewriting, up into the hours of the night, sometimes for days, weeks, or months on end, as the first draft is hardly ever perfect. It’s about knowing that it won’t be just admirers reading ones work, but detractors as well, in which the writer has to learn to take criticism whether it be negative or constructive. I’ve had to learn firsthand that one is liable to get more rejection slips from publishers than they are to get green lights to publish their work. In short, writing is an emotionally taxing journey as much as it is a joy.
The purpose of this blog is three-fold. One is to document my own writing and to keep my fans alert with the status of my novels, poetry, short stories, and their publications. The second is to explore the art and style of writing, its history and the philosophy behind it. And finally, I would hope that this blog acts as an inspiration for writers by giving them advice and encouragement.
So, sit back, relax, and be inspired. After all, as writers we are all in this together.