Hazards of Writing Fantasy
by Shannon on Thursday, 8 of February, 2007 at 4:02 am
I’m a fantasy writer for the most part, though I do occasionally venture off into more mainstream stuff, in recent years I’ve stuck pretty much to writing fantasy, or THINKING about writing fantasy anyway. I’ve learned lately though there are certain dangers to being a writer in general, and to speculative writing in particular.
I have a tendency to think up or think about my story ideas when driving. This is worse then talking on a cell phone and driving. My mind is completely absorbed by imaginary dialogues, creating descriptions, and just generally wondering willy-nilly. This means I often cut people off, run yellow lights (okay truthfully red lights, or at lest that’s what the cop who pulled me over said) and generally tend to piss off my fellow drivers. I’ve crunched garbage cans while trying to figure out my protagonists motivation, side swiped a parked car while going over the finer points of the climax of a novel, and once drove the wrong way down a one way street and ended up stuck on the median when I got this great idea for a story. Needless to say when I’m driving in “writer” mode, I’m a hazard to everyone.
I also am constantly running the risk of social ostracism. Not that I’m that much of a social person to begin with, but it would be nice to go to the local block party without people whispering behind their hands, and giving me the same kind of looks a platypus gets in a zoo. That “man god really does have a sense of humor” kind of look. See, the problem is I live in an area where people’s idea of creativity is getting out of a public intoxication rap, or seeing what kind of pretty tread marks they can leave in the local bar’s parking lot. So, while I won’t say being a writer itself makes them look at me funny, they inevitably ask what kind of writer I am, hoping to hear that I write for Hustler or something exciting. But no, I have to tell them that I generally write fantasy. This starts a conversation that goes something like this.
“Fantasy, like that Lord of Rings movie or Harry Potter?
Yeah, kind of like that, but Tolkin wrote epic, sword and sorcery fantasy, I write other stuff.”
“So you write about those pointy eared things…elves and junk.”
“No, not really.”
“Hmmm.” There’s usually an uncomfortable pause here, filled with side ways glances and that look of panic that only small talk at a party can produce.
“So…uhhh, I like romances, ever wrote one of those?” (This usually from women, most of the men around here don’t read anything unless a half dressed woman is sprawled all over the cover. Preferably sprawled on the hood of a classic car.)
“Nope,” I say, when what I’m thinking is, “Dear god no, I hate bodice rippers, and I’ve never used the words ‘throbbing member’ or ‘heaving breasts’. I’d never sully the sanctity of by brain with such drivel.”
Yes, I am a book snob, and that’s coming from an avid science fiction and fantasy reader, so I really don’t have much snobbish ground to stand on.
“So,” my forced companion will eventually ask, “You’re like a geek then, right? A Trekkie or something? Ever dressed up like a Star Wars character? You’d look hot in that outfit Princesses Leia was wearing in that last movie, you know that loin cloth thing.” That last sentence is usually (though not always) said by men, and is usually followed by the oh so subtle wink and elbow nudge into some other guy’s ribcage.
Just for reference, I would look hot in Leia’s slave outfit.
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