We’ve all been there. You run the errands, you walk the dogs. You deal with your boss’s needs, your family’s needs. You take care of business so that you have a few precious hours of Sacred Writing Time, all to yourself.
You feed yourself, you bring your mug of tea with. You get yourself in position at your desk. The door is closed. The laptop is open. Nothing can stop you now. Time to be brilliant, to weave magic onto the page, to create!
You poise your fingers over the keys, you look at that blinking cursor, eager to chew its way through evil blank space…
It’s all Tolkien’s fault, of course. He created races, maps, languages, poems, art… and then decided he better whip up a little story around them.
And everybody’s been trying to do the same since.
It almost seems like new fantasy writers think they have to build a giant background history and world for their characters to walk through like little figurines. How else are you gonna punch your weight in the big leagues of fantasy/sci-fi, right? Gotta outdo the old professor himself.
This is a continuation of my older site www.richard-weir.com, but oriented towards more theoretical, critical and ranty posts.
The other site will function as a professional “author platform” with links to the novel, published short stories as well as articles about the writing process and getting oneself published. It should be of interest to readers of fantastic tales, to up-and-coming writers, and to literary agents looking for a new, weird, splendid speculative fiction author to represent. (Subtlety is an art.)
But the ol’ bean bucket (a.k.a. the brain) needs a place to let the deeper thoughts go roaming and to question humanity’s fondness for utter BS. That’s here.
You’ve been warned, ok?
If you’re looking for light and fluffy diversions, well, the interweb has plenty of that. The exit is right over here by your back button. I’ll get your coat. Might we suggest something more along the lines of perezhilton.com or anything with the words “beiber” or “kanye” or “miley”?
One of my all time musical heroes is Mike Patton. I’ll never forget an interview of his where the interviewer (either genuinely confused about his subject, or willfully dismissive of the fact that he had one of the most eclectic performers in rock history sitting in front of him) asked Mike to specify his genre.
Mike looked at the interviewer with utter contempt, and responded: “That’s your job.”
Amen, brother Mike.
Artists (good ones, anyway) do not consciously seek to fall into a classification. They simply create. They leave others to the job of classifying things.