The God Pan as Box Man - On the Road #7
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Hey y'all,
Since I don't have a common theme to play with today and there are lots of images I haven't found space to include, consider this the start of a rummage sale of moments, stories, and such that I've seen and heard while on the road.
But let's start with the god Pan, the avatar of drunken debauchery and profligate fucking from the pagan days when the worship of many gods for various purposes made sense and everybody was okay with that. Anyway, centuries later when the Word of the Lord was spreading far and wide and probably because Pan was the rock ‘n roll party god, he had the dubious distinction of his image becoming that of the Devil by over-zealous Christians who believed that the flavors of life should be only colored by shades of gray. In case you haven't figured it out, I am a blithering Tom Robbins fan, and “Jitterbug Perfume” gave the god Pan the respect he deserved, with a major, if not starring role, and the favorable impression stuck.
Why do I mention this now?
Because perhaps it’s possible that the god Pan had to go underground and reincarnate as various human beings to survive the attacks against him; and although he has lost a lot of power, his spirit still lives. And for some crazy damn reason, I'm convinced his current incarnation is in the form of Michael Pando, aka Pando to his friends. For those of you who know Pando, this statement makes total sense because he adores booze to the point of alcoholism and young girls barely into the phase of adulthood. Since he's lost god-status and invincibility, he is weakened by his passions for the party that doesn't stop and often winds up in jail. Everybody who knows Pando has a half dozen outrageous Pando stories to tell, which will become legend.
It is inevitable.
Love him or hate him, he is a character, but a character challenged by finding his good space in this world. He was chased out of Juneau due to a shoot out
with a psycho bum who had taken over the cabin Pando had built.
That kind of thing, you know.
This past summer, Pando had a touristic rafting job with an anal company - which seems to be the case with many touristic companies in Alaska, you know. Anyway, being himself, Pando got drunk one night and stole a golf cart - buck nekkid - and had security chasing him. To disguise himself, he put a box over his head and hightailed it to safety.
Thus he became known throughout this camp as "Box Man." Every so often, during the summer, Box Man would make a naked public appearance streaking through at the most random moments and it wasn't long before he became legend, and the best part was that nobody knew it was him. One day, he was talking to some dude from some other country and the guy said with a thick
accent, "Box Man, I think he like Zorro. Box man, he come for de peeple."
Can you imagine hearing something like that about yourself?
Eventually, Pando got booted out due to failing a surprise piss test – he also liked to smoke weed. Well, he had to make a spectacular exit, didn't he? His people would expect it of Box Man.
So one night, when everybody was at dinner, including all the bosses, Box Man makes his final appearance, nakedly running in with a box over him. He stops, strips the box away and stands there with his bare ass and cock, unmasked for all to see before streaking away and packing up his shit to go.
Pando may have even been sober.
Since I've only heard about this through the grapevine, I may not have all the details straight. But what the hell, it makes a good story. And when I showed this to Pando, he seemed more than a little flattered.
The god Pan keeping the spirit alive - what do y'all think?
Montgomery
PS This is from the DIY booktour/roadtrip I did in 2005-2006 when marijuana was still illegal everywhere. This is one of my favorite stories from that road trip. Although I did not experience it directly, I knew Pando, and Joe told me this story at the Blackburn Music Festival in Kennicott/McCarthy. I would later have a challenging night crashing in a squatters treehouse in Girdword with both Pando and Joe, while they were drunk and I was sober. Good times.
Let's Write About Sex, Baby! Ain't it Awkward?
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I love sex. Sex is sacred and sexuality is an endlessly fascinating subject. What drives us to our turn ons, our attractions, and how those change over time are mysteries that I’ve determined can never fully be solved. So needless, to say, when it comes to writing about sexuality and going into the details of a sex scene, I treat that with reverence because truth be told, writing about sex intimidates the hell out of me.
One might think I’m an exhibitionist from the sex scenes I write, but the truth is I’m very shy. My partner would tell you that I’m very reticent when it comes to talking about sex. So, it is really hard for me to write those intimate scenes in detail. I rewrite those the most often and those few pages take me the most time. But when I finally get those scenes down in a way that I believe that the sex is hot and the writing is beautiful, it is the best feeling ever. In “Ella Bandita and the Wanderer,” there are only 2 sex scenes and only 1 that goes into fine detail. It took me forever to get that scene to where I liked it, but I take the most pride in those several pages out of almost 300, because those were the most terrifying to write.
I’m working on the second novel in the Ella Bandita stories, and this one is much heavier on the sex scenes than the one that came before it. So that intimidation is with me all the time, as well as that challenge that I have to meet over and over again.
Given that I write erotic scenes in my novels, how odd is it that I don’t find most erotica erotic? Strangely enough, it may be because more often than not, the only point of the story is sex. But there’s no story of the characters and the mating dance between them. Without the psychological foreplay their motivations, demons, pain, willingness, obsession, reluctance, resistance, what they hope for, what they are willing to risk, how can there be anything at stake for the characters in a sex scene that happens? I find the sex scenes of most erotic short stories tedious, even silly more often than not. There’s nothing at stake for me between two imaginary friends that on the pages simply to get laid and for the reader to play the role of voyeur in a peep show.
I mean no disrespect to the writers and readers of these short and sweet erotic short stories. Erotica has its fans. But without a story before, during, and after the sex scene, I just can’t get into it.
Casanova allegedly said that the most satisfying part of a seduction for him was walking up the stairs to the lady’s bedroom. I think it’s interesting that history’s most legendary seducer said that. It wasn’t the act of sex that had his blood pumping. It was the anticipation of sex.
So if this was the opinion of the most celebrated rogue of all time, I ask myself how can a sex scene be truly erotic without any kind of story leading up to it?
As I said before, all this is on my mind because I’m working on the second novel in the Ella Bandita stories and there are many sex scenes. Happy reading everybody - that is when the time comes to release the 2nd novel. ;)
Trust Yourself
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I think the biggest mistake I’ve made in my writing career is listening to others, and believing their feedback was more important and valuable than my inner calling. This was especially true when it came to self-publishing.
The year that I was on the road, I started to get a glimpse of the possibility of self-publishing as a path. This was in 2005, before ebooks existed, blogging was in its infancy stages, and everybody in the writing world advised me – no matter what – to avoid telling agents and editors that I had self-published this collection of stories.
They would automatically assume that I was a hack if I did that. I hadn’t even gone to what was called a Vanity Press at that time. I had gone to a printer and my order was unique. The sales rep was quite intrigued with what I was doing.
That year, I got the idea of a collective of self-published writers who banded together to promote their work and each other? But when I mentioned it to others, a couple of ‘friends’ who were not writers told me that was redundant, that it had already been done, and there was no point in reinventing the wheel.
One directed me to some writers’ house in Seattle, where none of the authors were self-published, and I heard that advice yet again to not divulge that I had self-published a book from somebody who was very involved in that community.
She was very nice and understanding about it.
“They just don’t understand the need people have to experience the satisfaction of seeing your work in book form,” she said.
Looking back less than 15 years later, isn’t it so obvious what a mistake I made to listen to all those who thought they knew better, but didn’t. Since then, many authors have enjoyed a lot of success in the DIY arena and I could have been one of them.
The internet, Kindle, and ebooks have changed everything. If I had followed my instincts, instead of listening to others, I may have started at the beginning of the wave as it started to climb and enjoyed the sweetness of the crest and fall.
So what’s the moral of the story? Trust yourself. Even if you screw up, there’s a peace of mind to screwing up on your own ideas, rather than screwing up because of somebody else’s.
Hippie Paradise - On the Road #6
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Imagine a DIY music festival in front of this!!
Hey y'all,
In Anchorage with a lull in my book tour schedule - next round of dates not until September 12th and way out of cashola, thank god for the credit card.
Joe was lured by the promise of a fishing job in Valdez and he stayed while I drove on to McCarthy, and by some miracle, did not get flattened by the road leading to Hippie Shangri-la, the same road that just happens to be hell on tires since it's rocky dirt road built over old train tracks - nice! Just before the end of the road, I was tempted by the lure of full-service cabins with VACANCY sign. Pulled in and charged two nights for a yuppie cabin in the middle of nowhere - I mean, laminate floors in McCarthy! Andy, the keeper of the cabins, was very friendly and gave me three eggs, freshly laid, with some bread and butter for breakfast the next day, along with coffee. I figured what the hell? This is a business trip, I can write the whole thing off, treat myself to a comfortable bed, a big tub and lots of privacy after three weeks of camping, crashing on couches, and sleeping in the Brown Beast, which is hanging in there I'm happy to say.
The next day, I went across the bridge and walked to McCarthy, where I found out that the festival was in Kennicott - five miles away. There was irregular bus service, but the “contents were changing the world.” In other words, this bus in remote Alaska ran on peanut oil.
Layton and Sharmon, a couple from Soldotna, were on the bus with me. They were stocking up on beer and camping equipment, and when I said I was in work mode, Layton asked if I was a writer. I said yes, how did you know? And he said, you gotta be. He was a writer for the Clarion, a local paper on Kenai, and after telling him my story, he bought a book and assured me that of course I would sell all 20 as the bus running on peanut oil deposited us at the festival grounds in Kennicott.
I got off the bus and looked around; then I went into shock as the weight of 20 books in my pack settled on my back.
There were about sixty tents set up in a gravel parking lot with the ruins of the Kennicott copper mine and the Kennicott Lodge perched on the hill above us. Abandoned mining gear was laying everywhere in its rusting glory and a homemade stage was set up practically in the bushes. There were belly dancers undulating wherever they could find space amongst the rusting forgotten equipment, and people hanging out wherever they could find space.
Just beyond this scene looked like the other side of the moon, terminal moraine that's too cold to progress to the beginnings of forest because glacier ice is 3 feet underneath it - but just thick enough to cover the glacier, in uniform lines of silt in earthy tones of grey, beige, red, depending on which valley the glacier was carving through.
I looked at the homegrown festival - that was free, of course - and my vision of a big field with a variety of vendors was dashed. I muttered to the bus driver that this was not what I expected.
"Well, what did you expect?" he quipped. I’m sure he was as amused as he looked.
"I don't know, but it wasn't this."
Recognizing faces of people that I didn't know very well, I had the feeling I was at a Girdwood party in Kennicott and that this was not the right venue to be selling books. A gal named Valerie confirmed that suspicion a few hours later when she told me that she and her boyfriend were also promoting a book, "Wild Animus," written by an eccentric gazillionaire from Colorado, that wanted people to read his book so much, he was hiring promoters in every state to give his book away. Last year, they had given away over 2000 books and this year they were handing out CD's with him reading enticing segments of the book, so people would actually read it.
"Is it any good?" I asked her.
"It's a piece of shit," she said. "It totally sucks."
This was definitely not the venue for what I had in mind.
If you can't fight em, join them. I decided to just enjoy the party and hitched a ride by motorcycle back to the bridge and got my stuff out of the yuppie cabin I wouldn't be sleeping in that night, and got my camping gear for the party that went on until the wee hours of the morning...
That's all for now. Thanks for reading.
Peace,
Montgomery
PS This experience was one of my most cherished experiences from that year on the road. It was proof that one does not take a journey. A journey takes you!
PS This was one of the most epic experiences I had from the DIY booktour roadtrip I did in 2005-2006.
Storytelling and the Power of Space
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I love storytelling. I grew up with it, and when I found my ‘writer’s voice,’ it was in the form of the oral art of telling a story with simple language and basic tools. I used to throw Story Circles where everybody had to share a story, and it was pretty awesome to discover what people came up with, especially those who were shy or very left-brained.
So I use storytelling to promote my work. I have for years. All of my blast from the past blogs are from that year I was on the road, telling stories and selling a book of original fairy tales out of my truck. I was living new stories as I was selling the ones I’d made up. It was an amazing year, one of the hardest and most exciting of my life, when I was fully out of my comfort zone. And I sold most of my books during that time, and met a lot of intriguing and open-minded people. Had some good adventures, each one unique in and of itself. I still use storytelling as a method of getting my work out there, and eventually, I will start a podcast. I go to open mics, and of course, I prefer the ones that allow 10-15 minutes, and 20 minutes are a dream come true. But most of them have become 5-minute open mics and I’m not a fan of those. I get it that the emcee wants as many people as possible to have their chance, but that’s just not enough time for anybody.
My most recent open mic in Portland, I read my first sex scene to a room full of strangers. Given that this particular Open Mic is around sexuality, that was the right venue and the right audience of a sex positive crowd. It’s a way for people to find out who I am and I still sell most of my books this way.
But nothing beats a space I created and a vibe that I have some control over, as well as much time as I care to give the stories I share. So Tea & Tales is my favorite. I have 2 more before the sun gets high in the sky and the people get restless for being outside. At my next Tea & Tales, I’m telling an excerpt out of my novel, Ella Bandita and the Wanderer, as well as the Tlingit tale of How Raven Ruined Crow’s Voice. I don’t think that’s the official title, but it’s how I remember it. If anybody reading this is in the Portland, Oregon area and would like to attend, drop a comment and I’ll give you the Facebook event page with the info. It’s on April 7th.
Juggling Act of Creativity and Promotion - Me No Likey
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I’m not a fan of blogging. Isn’t this obvious given how long it has been since my last entry? It didn’t help that advice I received suggested the blog needed to be 1000-2000 words for SEO. Perhaps that is true, and perhaps it is not. I don’t think that makes a lot of sense for an author, because I’d much rather spend that time crafting a piece that is part of a much longer work – like my novel – rather than something that I do to promote my social media presence. This also doesn’t make sense to me because when I’m surfing the internet and come across blogs, I prefer them to be short and sweet. The ones that are longer and more detailed, I find tedious and usually stop reading after a couple of minutes unless the piece is really gripping.
I resent and resist this juggling act between creativity, promotion, and I drop a lot of balls.
Then I came across Seth Godin. This is a man who has written oodles of books and blogs EVERY DAMN DAY. Granted, he writes from a non-fiction entrepreneurial POV and I write fiction, fantasy that is rooted in archetypes and fairy tales. But he still has much to say that I need to learn about, so I finally checked out his blog.
Imagine my delight and surprise when I found that most of his blogs that I found are under 500 words. Within in those pithy pieces of brevity, there was plenty of sound advice and I didn’t have to spend twenty minutes absorbing his knowledge. He probably doesn’t need SEO like I do because he’s Seth Godin and I’m not an established name like he, but it made me stop and think that perhaps short and sweet pieces done quickly and more often might work more than having to spend more time on a longer article than I want to.
Like this blog. Less than 400 words. Perhaps you stopped reading after the first paragraph. But if you kept going, I didn’t demand much of your time and attention, now, did I?
Do You Want to Be a Writer? Then Give Yourself Something to Write About!
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Hey y’all,
Do you want to be a writer? Then give yourself something to write about.
I made a very nice, proper, young girl very uncomfortable with this piece of advice when she asked me about how I became a writer.
Until I said that, she looked at me with hero worship in her eyes when I told her about my year on the road, selling a book out of an old Four-Runner I called the Beast. Once I told her to get out and do some living if she wanted to find her best stories, she averted her eyes and looked down in the posture of shame.
I’m sad to say that there is no writing class that will give anybody the silver bullet. Mastering the mechanics of the art and craft of writing is valuable, but the real juice of inspiration is sucked from experience.
My best stories come from my life – especially vivid happenings that catapulted me out of my comfort zone, brought me to states of ecstasy and/or agony - anything that made me feel alive. There I found the richest fodder for stories, or even pieces of stories.
For example, there’s a really luscious scene in Challenge that I am especially proud of. Challenge is the third book in Ella Bandita and the Wanderer. The illustration above is the setting for that scene.
As you can see, the illustration is a very sensuous image of a beautiful, naked couple soaking in a shallow pool; the Wanderer is combing Ella Bandita’s hair, while she leans into him and lets her fingers dangle in the water. The backdrop is not only a forest, but the type of old growth woods in the temperate rainforest found in the Pacific Northwest and Southeast Alaska; the pool they are soaking in is a hot spring.
How’s that for a luscious setting?
Have I had a sexy interlude in a sexy hot spring that I’m disguising as fiction? Maybe I have and maybe I haven’t. But my points are I have the experience of living in Oregon. I lived in Alaska for 11 years where I went hiking all the time.
AND I LOVE HOT SPRINGS! I especially love hot springs that are found in the woods of a temperate rainforest, and I have the gorgeous experience of finding my bliss in fabulous places such as these. So…what better setting could there possibly be for a scene that builds sexual tension between these antagonistic characters?
That’s only the beginning. Other examples are the On the Road posts that I put up from time to time. Being on the road with a Beast full of books, telling stories and selling them out of my truck was wwwaaayyy out of my comfort zone. There were so many incredible stories that came out of that.
So, a few weeks ago, I gave my blog an official name, and therefore a theme and purpose, which should help on my author’s platform.
This was a necessary step to moving away from the theme started by my former Operations Manager, Jessica Cox. She did a lovely job of building a blog with writing prompts and writing how-to’s, but that blog did not reflect me, my writing, or my tastes.
Writing advice is well and good, and valuable information that people want and need. I will continue to write blogs offering this, as well as writing prompts. But I will add from my experience and perspective, and hopefully, that will fill in the missing pieces.
Knowing the tricks of the trade to execute good writing pieces is essential, but the experience to inspire those tales is priceless. The mechanics will take care of themselves in due time.
I hope this blog more thoroughly reflects my perspective on the journey of being a writer. Apologies on the month long hiatus. I was rather occupied with the experience of an ayahuasca journey. I’m sure eventually that will find its way into my writing.
So go have an adventure and give yourself something to write about. Happy trails!
Peace,
Montgomery
PS: If you’d like to download Challenge, to read that succulent scene for yourself, you’ll find it here!
On the Road #5
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Hey y'all,
In Anchorage to give the Brown Beast the medical care he deserves. Apparently, the BB has many leaking wounds, but according to the doctors, if I keep giving him transfusions on a regular basis, the BB should be good to go, for a long time...how about that?
Joe has joined the tour for the rest of the summer and he's set a goal to sell all the books in my truck. It is definitely more empowering to be a team of plural than a mission of singular, and the books are definitely selling. At Chair Five in Girdwood, I had people following me to the bathroom to buy a book - yippee!!! It is so much easier to have somebody else promoting me as a dreamer who is trying to manifest fantasy into reality. When I do it, I sound like a geek. At least for the next month, I don't have to endure the surface polite nods of those who can smell blood, while underneath the kitty sharpens its claws...okay, so I'm blowing things out of proportion.
Done with the Kenai Peninsula, and manana we're heading to McCarthy for the Blackburn Music Festival where we'll lay out a blanket and sell books. Heard good things about this festival, so it should be good, and then we'll be heading up north - we may even go to Prudhoe Bay just so we can say we did because I doubt a bunch of republican oil-drillers will be into fairy tales featuring my heart-eating seductress, but you never know. Then we'll be meandering on down to Fairbanks, and then...who knows.
Joe asked the I Ching a couple of questions...about chicks of course. And one said the great departs and the small approaches - after he made the decision to not spread himself thin to go see a gal on the other side of the world and the other was "The Marrying Maiden" with "The Arousing, Thunder" as the upper trigram, and "The Joyous, Lake" as the lower. Since that girl already compared him to a flower, because he's "sweet," that made Joe's day. He's been referring to himself as "I am the Arousing Thunder" ever since. And he's totally sold on the I Ching.
It's like traveling with my kid brother.
Anyway, my journal list is starting to get bloated, so I have a request of everybody...if you would like to keep hearing of what's going on, drop me a line and let me know one way or the other. If I hear nothing by the end of the month, I'll assume the answer is not and you're too considerate or too chicken to say so.
Anyway, hope all is well...
Montgomery
PS This is the 5th email I sent to my friends of what are now some cherished memories of my DIY booktour/roadtrip in Alaska in the summer and fall of 2005. It was literally called “I don’t know what to call this one; this is the fifth email.”
Strokes Before Pummels - Kindness Before Criticism
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Hey y’all,
Aren’t most people resistant to criticism. Some may even be terrified of it, especially writers when it comes to their work. For me, my anxiety around criticism started in my college creative writing class. In each one I took, there were students who loved to revel in their brilliance when it came to incisive criticism. To say I was traumatized might be going a bit far, but by the time I came to the Extension Writers Workshop at the University of Washington, Seattle in the 90’s, I was truly defensive (still am, really) and very apprehensive about the critique process.
The Writers’ Workshop was divided into 3 capsules of roughly 2 ½ months with breaks to make up a 9-month program. The Cage-Escape-Quest-Dragons-Home structure I wrote about in the blog on August 1st I learned in this course, in the 2nd and 3rd capsules.
But the most awesome teacher of the course was in my 1st. Margaret Grossman was so fantastic, all of us wanted to keep her. In her evaluation, many of expressed a preference to have her teach our 2nd capsule, and if we could, have her as our teacher for the whole course. Our praise of Margaret was so lavish that she almost got in trouble for it. Too many ruffled feathers and bruised egos, I suppose. Either way, she talked to us about the value of having a variety of teachers so we would learn more about the craft of writing, and to please be at peace with moving on for the next capsule.
In her mid-to-late forties, Margaret had the ageless quality that prompted her elder daughter’s friends to say: “That’s your MOTHER?” She had thick, dark, red hair, and hippie overtones to her style of dress. She had the good sense to prefer comfort over fashion, casually dressed in jeans and cozy sweaters (this capsule started in January).
“It is ridiculous for anybody to get an MFA right after undergrad,” Margaret said one night. “If you want to be a writer, give yourself something to write about. Get out there and do some living.”
Margaret was living proof good stories came from a vivid life. Her life story was as fascinating as anything you would read in a novel. She grew up rough. Alcoholic parents – her father drank himself to death by the time she was in her twenties. Her mother was still alive, but if Margaret didn’t call her by 11am, she was already incoherent. Margaret was a huge fan of Jack Kerouac before alcoholism sucked his soul dry. She had lived the On the Road lifestyle as a young teenager, leaving home to hitchhike at 14. When I expressed shock at how dangerous it must have been to throw herself in the world like that, she said: “With what was going on at home, I felt safer on the road.” She listened to Alan Ginsburg read poetry to the urchin runaways who found themselves in his backyard – she was one of them. This was the early days of Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado. Somewhere in all this, her mother got her married off to some guy she didn’t like all that well, with whom she had two daughters. She left him, managed to get an education (with an MFA), and remarry somebody she liked a lot more who took on her daughters as his own. Since they had no relationship with their bio-father, I think that made things much simpler.
“My husband’s pretty aware,” she said. “He knows sperm doesn’t really matter.”
Obviously, Margaret Grossman was a very intriguing human. And it was Margaret who taught us how to critique effectively. In fact, it was the first thing she taught us before she let us anywhere near each other’s writing. Her technique was simple. Rooted in kindness.
“Writers are insecure,” she said. “We all are. Just admit it. We don’t get enough nourishment, so always put the positive before the negative. Point out everything you like about somebody’s work before you criticize it.”
And the more we waxed eloquent over the qualities we liked – even loved - about a piece the better. Flattery was the silver bullet of criticism. For the recipient of the critique will receive what you had to say after you compliment their work. Also, as the giver of the criticism, you’ve been primed to deliver in a way that is softer and gentler. Instead of focusing on your critical brilliance, you find yourself with the desire to help your fellow fledgling writer.
Of course, for anybody who LIKES to give incisive, crushing critiques to kill the spirit of vulnerable, beginning writers, this blog is not for you. Unless you’re an editor of a major publishing house or at least an average literary agent, people are probably going to think you’re a douche bag, so I hope the ego massage is worth it.
Speaking of massage, that works the same way as an effective critique. Pummeling is a healing technique. When done with excellent timing, after the body is warmed up and relaxed, pummeling brings the recipient to even deeper relaxation. It is actually a pleasure when the therapist literally punches your back with their fists, if you’ve been massaged first.
Imagine that! What could be painful feels really good if it’s delivered after a whopping dose of praise! Healing massage and good writing - who would have thought the 2 had this much in common?
For the record, Margaret wasn’t all sugar and sweetness. She had an editing symbol reserved for irredeemable pieces of shit. From what I remember, she made a mini-tree, and what that symbol meant was: “You killed a tree for this!” She said she only had to use it once. She also said she still found something she liked about a piece that she thought so awful she used the dreaded murdered tree editing symbol. To my relief, Margaret did not use it on any of my work.
I haven’t thought of Margaret Grossman in years. I never saw her again after her workshop. I’ve used her critiquing technique ever since I learned it, and this came up in my most recent gathering of writers. I mentioned that I should write a blog about this, and their enthusiastic response: “Do it!”
Anyway, with my memory jogged, I tried to Google Margaret Grossman to see what became of her. All I found was something vague, but it looks like she died in 2001. She from the University of Washington had her in her journal footnotes – “Margaret Grossman’s death.” Why that was on the internet, I don’t know. I only know that my heart hurt when I read that.
RIP you spectacular, warrior woman. You inspired me more than you will ever know.
Massage before Pounding. Positive Before Negative. Kindness Before Criticism. It’s the only way to critique. In writing and in life.
Margaret Grossman’s legacy is worth remembering.
Peace,
Montgomery
Eternal Novicehood and the Saving Grace of Good Friends - On the Road #4
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Hey y’all,
This road trip was shaping up to be an exercise in humiliation until Joe showed up. For instance, in Homer, at my first open mike, I had right in front of my stage the Christian kiddie contingent. They were there to play cards, talk loud, and make smart-ass speeches after different musicians played just to show how cute they were, while the folks that were actually listening attentively were behind them.
I was lucky though, they got even more obnoxious when the guy after me went up to play his guitar and sing.
At the Land's End in Homer, my first night was the exact same time and date as the post-Memorial service for Drew Scalzi, a former state Representative, so everyone there was going to that. One couple tried to get me to go upstairs, have some food and drink and let people know I was there, but there's just something about going to somebody's funeral, especially someone that I'd never met, to hustle some business that is...distasteful to say the least. The same couple came down and bought a book - probably out of sympathy because nobody showed up that day, and the wife suggested that I should come in the winter when people are looking for things to do during that time.
The next day, a couple of acquaintances and a couple of total strangers showed up. I sold two books. All I could think was that it was a mighty fine thing that I did not pay a dime for that space and that my beginner's luck had run out. And I'm back in the time and space of being a novice...again.
I packed up the Brown Beast (that is burning through the oil, but other than that is running beautifully) and headed for Seward.
It seems like every year I decide to do something different that I know nothing about, just so I can be a novice all over again. Perhaps Zen Buddhists would applaud my embrace of Zen mind by constantly being a beginner; but given that I learn by making sooooo many mistakes, the novice/beginner period can be agony.
In Seward, at the Resurrect Art Coffee House – an old church that was converted into this little gem, I had set up a tableside storytelling for the sake of promoting my book. The owners are every artist's dream come true as they support the arts and would let me do whatever I wanted. So I set up for three days, hoping positive word of mouth would help.
Day one: I told several stories and sold...nothing.
Granted, I'm sure it could have been worse, I could have been insulted on top of it. But to be in a place for four hours and have people nod politely at my efforts is...awful and humiliating.
Why would any sane person put herself through all this?
It didn't help that I had a Homer friend tempting me to go back to Homer, go charter fishing and party. It was so demoralizing, I almost went, but I made a commitment and as much as it hurt, that commitment must be kept. I gritted my teeth to bear it on Thursday, where at least the day would be mercifully short.
Day two: I told two stories to four people...sold two books. I perked up a bit. I've survived painful learning curves before and it was always better. I even sold two more books to a waitress and one of her followers at the bar where I refreshed myself with a beer after hiking.
And then came deliverance...
Friday brought the arrival of Joe, who has absolutely no boundaries, and therefore, no inhibitions. A born balls-to-the-wall salesman type. For those who know Joe, after fishing in Bristol Bay, his dreds got inflected with fish bits, which shouldn’t surprise anyone. He said every morning when he woke up his head smelled like fish and he couldn't take it anymore. What should surprise everyone was that he shaved them off, along with his beard. And damn! He now looks like a respectable young man. He’s not, of course. But at least, he now passes.
Joe listened to a couple of stories, and even stopped being a smart-ass half-way through the first one. A Colorado woman who calls herself "Soozie Creamcheese," bought a book, and the two over-friendly studs I'd met at the youth hostel bought none. Then Joe took it upon himself to take a few books and hit the bars. He took four books, and within 45 minutes, came back with forty bucks, and left with ten more books. By the time people were only caring about getting drunk he sold seven more books. While I stayed put at the Resurrect Art Coffe House, told more stories, and sold two books.
I couldn’t believe it.
Here I am, busting my butt telling stories and recommending myself to strangers and all Joe has to say is: "Dude, you should REALLY buy this book," and he’s usually chatting up a female.
And it works.
I just might have to pack up Joe in my luggage...
Thank God for good friends.
Peace,
Montgomery
PS These were some great memories of my road trip book tour in the summer of 2005. FYI, the Resurrect Art Coffee House is still around. If you’re ever in Seward, go check it out!
Different Name for Children's Books Because...Morality and Sexuality
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Hey y’all,
I’m about to put out a children’s book, The Golden Pedestal. This original fairy tale is written in the classical style, with black and white illustrations interspersed throughout the story. There is no technology, the characters are archetypal, and there is a moral to the story. I wrote this story years ago, and a reviewer described it and the other kids’ story in the collection, Why Roses Have Thorns, as “gentle parables about the dangers of pride.” I concur.
To be more specific, I describe The Golden Pedestal as a cautionary tale about narcissism and how destructive it is to a community. My partner says The Golden Pedestal makes an effective allegory for popularity contests that gain momentum in high school.
Originally, the title of the story was Preacher Man and the Golden Pedestal, a friend of mine did about 7 illustrations, the books were handmade on 8.5x11” paper that I printed at the local copier and then bound with mini black binder clips. The cover was an illustration of the Preacher Man on top of the Golden Pedestal against a bright yellow background, whereas Roses was red. These were part of the DIY book tour/roadtrip odyssey that I took in 2005, and that I drop one of those old emails in this blog from time to time.
Perhaps because it was a pourquoi story, Roses sold noticeably better than Pedestal on that trip. Yet a lot of people preferred Pedestal when they read it in the collection.
So after messing about with the title and deciding to keep it simple, I hired an illustrator with some experience as a working artist to provide a fresh perspective, not to mention a lot more illustrations, and a book designer fresh out of a graphic design program who is eager to work in her new career. She did a lovely job with taking pieces of the illustrations and sprinkling them all over the book. Thus The Golden Pedestal is transformed into is a beautiful gem of a book. At least, I believe it is. I’m excited to get it out there.
I also am pretty clueless on how to market this to the general public because it’s completely different than the adult novels I usually write. It also complicates things just a bit that I write children’s fairy tales using my first name (Mary), and my adult fairy tales under my middle name (Montgomery).
I was advised to use different names to prevent confusion, especially for parents who might get scared off by the nature of my adult work. The Ella Bandita Stories – I’m at work on the second novel right now – cover the darker themes of sexuality, yearning, seduction, grief, loss, alienation, and these novels are for an adult audience. Although the sex scenes are not the majority of the story by any means, the sex scenes are explicit enough to be considered erotica. There’s only 1 scene like this in Ella Bandita and the Wanderer, but in The Shepherd and the Courtesan, there will be many more.
Although it may be the better part of wisdom to separate my children’s work from my adult work, I think it’s a shame. Sexuality and morality are two completely different states of being, and this really shouldn’t be necessary. Yet I was raised with the belief that good morals had far more concern with “not having sex before marriage,” and not enough concern for being honest, kind, and humble; having integrity; playing fair; living with courage and authenticity; acknowledging the dignity of others; and respecting the rights of others. It is very possible that somebody could have a sex drive so high they are what is considered “promiscuous,” but still embody all these beautiful traits that make a truly moral being. Yet how often is such a person given credit for having sound principles?
The cold, hard truth is we live in a highly sex negative society. That has not changed after decades of sex before marriage is the norm; many couples live together before getting married, and many young people have at least a few lovers before they do settle down.
Truthfully, I am so turned off by the word “moral,” I often substitute it with “principled” because it doesn’t have the emotional charge that makes my skin crawl. I often cringe when I hear “morals.” What comes to mind is the hard edged voice of an embittered dowager who is usually slut-shaming a girl or young woman for being sexual – whether she is “promiscuous” or not.
I could go on and on about this, and frankly, this last could be a long blog in its own right, and maybe it will be later. So I conclude with – I’m about to come out with a children’s book. I promise The Golden Pedestal will encourage good morals in your kids.
So what is The Golden Pedestal about?
A fable for ages 8 and up!
The Purple Princess has it so good. Her best friends, Sir Highbrow Olive and Miss Blue Begonia live on either side of her. The Purple Princess loves to play piano. Sir Highbrow Olive loves to study. Miss Blue Begonia loves to garden. They live with a view of the Golden Pedestal that drew their ancestors from the mountains to this valley. Harmony rules this village until the Preacher Man falls to his knees before the Golden Pedestal. Every day, the Preacher Man preaches of the glory of gold, begging the question: Who is good enough to be beholden on the Golden Pedestal? Then the people choose the Purple Princess as the one they should worship, the one who stands above all the rest. Sir Highbrow Olive and Miss Blue Begonia rush to her aid, and the three friends must find a way to reclaim the peace and harmony of their home before it is too late.
I hope you enjoyed some of the illustrations throughout this blog post. If this sounds like the kind of story you'd want for your kids and you'd love to pre-order a copy, write to me at freeflyingpress@gmail.com, send me a Paypal of $10 with both your email and physical addresses by September 15th, 2018, you'll get that beautiful book by the end of September. Unless you live in another country. It may take longer.
Thanks for reading!
Peace,
Montgomery
Tapestry of Life - On the Road #3
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Hey y’all,
Every time I'm on the road, it never ceases to amaze me how quickly friendships are bonded and easily untied - especially as the need arises. There's something about traveling - being suspended from the day to day life of jobs, rent, bills, social obligations, community service, and established groups - that suspends the usual rules of how people interact with each other. Boundaries are lifted, discretion is almost an insult when making friends and forming temporary community from town to town.
I met Ann at the Amped Cafe in Homer, the day after I arrived in town. She's torn between career and more school, and which way to turn. There was an immediate bond that forged itself when she mentioned living in her truck, with a dog, and a Holly Golightly-style best friend that was halibut fishing with a new fling who "wore his mullet well," and thus, was currently unavailable.
What a coincidence! I'm also living in my truck.
Ann talked me into doing a reading at the open mike that night to get warmed up for the Concert on the Lawn that first weekend. The next morning, she met me at 8:30 to help me set up my booth and was in and out every so often, as the need arose.
Hey, she got into the concert for free. After the weekend, she felt comfortable enough to let me stay in a tent outside the mullet-fisherman's house and I had a place to reorganize my truck and make coffee in the morning.
At the Concert on the Lawn, a volunteer named Lia offered to let me park my truck and sleep in her van with a double bed if I needed a place to stay. She was widowed from the love of her life two years before, and she had done her fair share of adventuring in her youth. She was also letting a young man stay on her property that was on a spiritual path of Buddhism and daily meditation, so it was really no big deal. But she felt the need to assure me that she wasn't coming on to me and that the young man was not her lover.
When Ann moved on to Seward to look into a possible dream job, I gave Lia a call and after it took her a moment to remember me...
"Oh yes, the Scheherazade..." she said. (I totally dug that compliment) before giving me directions to her house.
She got a little reluctant about using her van, but I had a place to park, and a kitchen to make my coffee, and an outhouse to do my business, and my body was scrunched again into my truck's proportions.
She told me her story, and it turns we have much in common.
"We are all interconnected," she said.
If she ever comes to Juneau, of course she'll have a place to stay.
Ann's sweet dog was hit by a car on Saturday night and killed, so she left Seward by the time I got there and the Holly Golightly-style best friend met her in Anchorage. I doubt I'll see her much from here on out, but I have a couple of pieces of mail and her PO box key. I'm sure we'll keep in touch and all, but I suspect that Ann was my Homer friend.
So here I am in Seward to do table to table storytelling at the Resurrect Art Coffee House in Seward. I'm staying at the hostel and it feels like high luxury accommodation to be able to stretch out in sleep and have a place to put food.
This morning I was looking forward to coffee in the communal kitchen and writing in my journal when a born-again Christian wrecked the peace of my morning today when she had to tell me her story of giving her life to the Lord and how happy she was that she didn't have to be good enough to get into heaven, because God sent his Son to die on a cross for her. It's incredible that Christians never stop to think how sadistic and cruel that is...
I felt my energy being sucked dry...dammit, I knew I should have kept my distance.
When I couldn't take anymore of her being saved speeches, I got up and told her abruptly that I had gotten screwed by the same system that had done so much for her, and would she please stop. She said, yes of course and we made banal chit chat and wished each other a good day.
I'm only one thread on the tapestry of life, and these intersections are only a moment and some are a part of beautiful patterns and others...are not.
But then my thread runs on, as does theirs.
As Lia said, we are all connected.
Peace,
Montgomery
PS: This is the 3rd email from my DIY booktour roadtrip that started in the summer of 2005. Ann was the first friend I made on the road, and her sweet dog, Wiley, snuggled against me one night when I was feeling lonely and sad, and maybe a touch of anguish. As amazing an adventure as this was, there were some things that were going on in my personal life that weighed heavy on my heart. I realized Wiley could feel my pain and was trying to comfort me. Later, it hurt so badly to hear that that sweet dog had been killed (frankly, from Ann's carelessness), that I couldn't bring myself to include that moment in this email at the time I wrote it. I regret that. So better late than never that Wiley was remembered as the awesome being that she was. I hope that dog reincarnated to a more responsible owner. Wiley also proved the point of how all of us are interconnected.
PPS: I never saw Ann again, and we didn't keep in touch.
Writing Prompts! Come and Get 'Em!
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Hey y’all,
Are you a writer? Or someone who likes to write?
Do you love fantasy?
Do you love fables and myths?
Do you love the idea of taking fables and myths in a different direction?
Did you like that prompt above?
If so, have a look-see at these bits of inspiration to get your creative juices flowing! Some are also rather pleasing to look at, if I say so myself. ;-)
Most of these are take-offs on myths and fables, but there are also two suspense prompts, and Rogue and Babe promise to make a romp of a romance – or a spoof of a romance if that’s how you roll.
The possibilities are endless…
FYI, these prompts are original and unconnected to my creative work, so use them however you like and enjoy!
Happy writing,
Montgomery
If only women would think like this more often...
The best treasures are intangible...
Scheherazade deserved so much better...
True love will challenge you...
Come on...run with this. I dare you.
Bloody murder mystery? Or suspense? Race against time!
I'd be terrified too if I had to rely on the police.
Great Expectations and the Death of Common Sense - On the Road #2
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This 2nd email from my road trip journal is of the first event I did on a year long booktour roadtrip of telling stories and selling a book out of my rig - the Beast. Looking back, I can't believe my mindset. I really was half cocked and had no idea what I was doing! It is a huge regret of my life that I did not get any pictures from that time. These photos here are much more luxurious than what I had to work with at that time, but they evoke the "vibe" I was going for in setting up my first booth for my first attempt at DIY writer/storyteller glory. Enjoy!
Oh Expectation!
That enemy of common sense, I had a mighty vision of massive book sales dancing in my head as I drove my poor, little, injured Brown Beast to the end of the road - also known as Homer, Alaska. There was a Concert on the Lawn weekend event happening in a town that was known for its artistic hippies. It was my first stop. How could anything go wrong? I pushed my broken Beast to the limit to get there.
The bands were my first clue that my vision and reality were not in alignment. Many of the bands playing were the baby-faced offspring of the artistic hippies. Therefore, most people in the audience were...kids.
But, I get ahead of myself...
I made a new friend at a coffee shop. Something about living in your rig really makes for fast and furious bonding glue when you meet somebody who's doing the same thing. Ann had arrived in Homer four weeks before from Montana. She's one of those who always needs something to do, so Ann was more than happy to play the role of my lovely assistant in setting up the cheap Wal-Mart special that was my canopy, and lining it with silk tapestries and sarongs, and putting blankets and pillows on the ground, as well as scented candles to make our booth smell nice. The idea was to make our space more appealing to the passerby. Our master plan was that people would be lured in by the atmosphere, would want to come in and sit for a spell while I captivate them with stories about my heart-eating anti-heroine. My mythical audience would be so enthralled they would have to buy the book. Of course, they would. To find out what happens next.
It didn’t exactly work out that way.
One thing I didn’t consider was how loud the music would be blaring into my cozy, seductive, storytelling space. Kind of hard to create a mesmerizing-sit-down-and-chill-so-you-will-buy-my-stories vibe when the background music is the off key screeching of 14-year-old punk rockers. They might have even been twelve.
As the day passed, several people asked how much the sarongs were. Even though there were books displayed with price tags. Many commented on how cozy we looked as they passed by. One guy offered me ten dollars to sit under the booth while Laura Love was playing, if it started to rain. He did end up being my last sale of the day.
But that's not the point.
Three teenage girls came up to the booth and said: "Okay, we're gonna do it. How much for all three of us?" Fortunately, by that time, word came around that everybody thought I was fortune teller reading tarot cards, so at least I wasn't caught off guard. When I told the girls I was a writer selling a book, they sneered and walked off. These kids wanted face paint, exoticism, and angsty teenage punk rock played by kids who had been doted on by their parents.
Enough said.
A red-headed Tinkerbell who came to my booth, declared she had participated in
the love-ins of the 60’s. She said that's what my booth reminded her of. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but decided to take it as a compliment.
An artist/writer named Nancy said "Eeewww" when I told her what Ella Bandita was about. Her disgust about my character was not enough to repel her away from my booth, however. Nancy proceeded to tell stories from her own life, about how much she had gotten jacked. She took up all the space – physically and psychically – and managed to repel any people who came by and showed some interest in my booth and my book. Possible customers craned their necks around her, but couldn’t seem to fit past the chip on her shoulder. So they moved on. After a few minutes of me saying: “Thanks for stopping by, Nancy. Nice to meet you! And have a great day!” Nancy finally left, after telling me she didn’t like to receive hugs from “strange women.”
I hadn’t been inspired to hug her.
A very sweet Swiss guy named Remo bought a book on CD after buying the collection of stories. He is in Homer, living in his van and staying out on the spit. Really, the fellowship of homeless travelers is pretty gorgeous. The next day, Remo brought me people to buy my book. One dude he roped in didn’t buy anything, but he sold me the “Key to Art” for $50. This Key to Art was mixed with chocolate, so it would even taste better.
Day one. 10 “Ella Bandita and other stories” sold. 2 “Why Roses Have Thorns” and 1 book on CD of “Ella Bandita.” That morning, I had had grand visions of 50 books a day. That evening, I knew that was unrealistic. It’s good to have dreams, I suppose. But it’s not so good to be attached to them.
The 2nd day came with tempered expectations and a more reasonable sense of promise. A guy who had stopped by the booth at the Concert on the Lawn, and had shown interest in the book but didn’t buy it was at the coffee shop that morning. I was there to brush my teeth and recharge my battery with a frothing mocha. His sister prompted him to buy the book before I got the Concert on the Lawn.
Ann and I rearranged the interior to make it more open. People were stopping by for a reading earlier and things were looking up. Around 3pm, I noticed a common trend that much of the interest coming my way was not exactly from my target market. It seemed a lot of interest was from 55 year old men who wanted to know me better. I’m no complaining. At least, not really.
In all, I sold 22 books. One was an exchange with the Reverend Poor Child and his CD of love songs. I didn’t have the heart to say no to a trade. Within hours, somebody told me that the Reverend Poor Child was considered the bad seed in town, and to “stay the f*** away from him.”
Oh gossip! Oh small towns! A friend in Juneau who knew the Reverend Poor Child from Anchorage didn’t go quite that far. But she did say that he was a prick.
This is an adventure. I’m meeting lots of really cool people and having a lot of fun.
Miss y’all.
Montgomery
Ode to the Brown Beast, King of Resilience - On the Road #1
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In 2005, I was extremely blessed to receive a grant from the Rasmussen Foundation in Anchorage, Alaska to self-publish a collection of original fairy tales and hit the road, telling stories and selling a book out of the back of my truck. I was on the road for a year. It was one of the greatest adventures of my life. I kept an email journal that I sent out to my friends, which eventually became a blog due to one of my friends being into it on Juneaumusic.com. I don't know if that site is still up, but if it is, my blog is not there. And self-publishing has changed a lot since then. We rely far more on the internet and more people are doing what I did now. Whereas no other writers were then. Anyway, it seems fitting as adventures in self-publishing continue to resurrect those stories from that time. Enjoy!
Ode to the Brown Beast
King of Resilience
(At least, I hope so)
Cursed be the blockhead that twisted the oil cap too
lightly,
The Brown Beast lost precious blood on the first run
of his long journey.
Clanking its death rattle into Tok, Alaska,
the rider of the Brown Beast was alarmed to
receive the news from a twelve year old with braces
that the Brown Beast would be lucky to make it to
Anchorage...
The Brown Beast would need bypass surgery, if not a
transplant...
"It's got an old heart, and old hearts get tired,"
said the shaman grandfather of the boy.
The boy offered to buy the Brown Beast, if the rider
cared to sell...
No, the rider most certainly did not.
Fear not!
The Brown Beast rattled and rolled its way out of Tok,
determined to make its way to the City of Muck.
The death rattles wound down to an occasional clank on
slowing to a walk and stop, and the rider was
reassured. Sort of.
The Brown Beast made its way to the city, coming to
life when called upon to do its duty.
But the need for a doctor is imminent, if not
immediate...
Will the Brown Beast ride again, valiantly to the end
of the road, holding out for the Carnival?
Or is it a terminal case?
Either way it sucks that my emergency fund is needed,
oh... immediately.
At least I had a place to crash...
Peace,
Montgomery
Why Do We Pin?
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Hey y’all,
It is overwhelming taking the helm and learning the steps of the social media dance that Jessica set up in the last four years. On one hand, I’ve never been a huge fan of social media. Yet, on the other hand, I use it in my personal life and I’m a little addicted – my partner would say I’m addicted A LOT. Be that as it may, I might as well use it for my work and work with it until I “get it,” which I really don’t right now.
I will learn a lot in the coming months. I’m pinning on Pinterest without a clear idea as to why I should do this. I’ve heard that it has helped with driving traffic towards my website, where people can find out I exist and about my work, etc. So I’m going through these images and pinning, without really understand what I’m doing.
Also, this lovely young woman I interviewed - who is likely to be the book designer for The Golden Pedestal - said she used to use Pinterest as a knitter, but she has found it to be full of ads and not as useful as a marketing tool. I'm scared she may be right, but I don't know enough to know that yet. So I continue to pin on a daily basis, and hopefully that will do something wonderful. And if it doesn't, I'm sure another social media site will come up and maybe I'll get in on that as the wave is coming up, not after it has peaked and crested and fallen down.
But I'm here now and I can see why people get really into Pinterest. It’s pretty amazing all the stuff I am finding there. In fact, it's fascinating enough that it’s distracting me from what I should really be doing.
Which is writing…
Any extra insights on how and why to use Pinterest would be gratefully appreciated. Thoughts?
Peace,
Montgomery
Tiny Victory and Giant Satisfaction!
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Hey y’all,
Something wonderful happened for me on June 30th and I’m so excited!
For the first time, somebody bought an ebook off of my website!!!
As silly as I feel getting euphoric over 1 penny less than a dollar, it is so thrilling to have made a sale off my website and not Amazon.
How did this happen? I look forward to the day when I won’t be certain of the answer to this question. But in this instance, I do know.
I was browsing a royalty free website for pictures that might work for a video I’m putting together. Yet instead of taking advantage of the free pictures, I donated a dollar per picture to all the photographers. As a writer who has done my fair share of giving away excerpts and doing storytelling for donations, I prefer to support other artists who are in the same boat as me. Any sale, no matter how small, gives me a boost. It gives me hope that maybe…someday…this will actually work and I will actually make a livable salary off work I love to do. Out of all the photographers who I supported, one came back to my website and supported me with a purchase.
It made my day! I was high off the sale, but it warmed my heart that another artist came back and supported me.
So to anybody who reads this and is tempted…well, go ahead and check out my ebooks and get the one that looks good to you.
Which ebook did the photographer pick? The sexy one. Of course. He picked “Challenge,” the ebook that is censored by Amazon because they don’t like sensuality and skin.
That also made me happy.
Peace,
Montgomery
Many Thanks and Happy Trails!
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Hey y’all,
This is Montgomery Mahaffey writing, the author behind Free Flying Press. Allow me to introduce myself, because the manager for Free Flying Press, Jessica Cox, has been doing the blogging for the past few years.
I’d like to thank Jessica from the bottom of my heart for her excellent work over the last four years. As the manager and promotions consultant, Jessica has single-handedly created the infrastructure for Free Flying Press, and I could not have done this without her. This pipe dream of mine would have tanked had she not been here.
But now, Jessica is moving on to new opportunities with her own business - Work Lunch PDX. For anybody who wants to have healthy, vegan, plant-based, and delicious lunches made with love and delivered to you, check out her new gig at worklunchpdx.com – you will not regret it. The picture is a lovely one of her next to the array of gorgeous food she did for my book release party 4 years ago! It was not all vegan, but it was delicious!
From here on out, it will be me doing the blogging, as well as trying to follow in the footsteps of the social media dance Jessica developed as I try to figure out my own.
So yeah, my input and feedback is likely to be very different from Jessica’s, but I hope all y’all enjoy it!
Change is beautiful. Good times!
Peace,
Montgomery
Fantasy Chose Me: A guest blog by Author Fiona Tarr
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Every so often we get a great up and coming author to share with you their personal story. Today we have Fioina Tarr, an Australian Fantasy writer.
Dig in as she discusses why she writes fantasy, and gives you an update about her latest work!
I have often wondered why I chose fantasy as a genre, but I have come to realise that I think it chose me.
Like most kids, I used my imagination; singing like a superstar in front of the mirror or making spaceships with sheets and cushions in the living room on sleep over nights, but fantasy is another step away from reality; or so I used to believe.
I became addicted to the fantasy genre when I read British author David Gemmell (since deceased). His novels are full of magic with good and evil characters, but what I most enjoyed about his writing style was how his evil characters often turned out to be heroes and his heroic leaders were sometime quite nasty people in private. This got me thinking how fantasy was not really so far removed from our reality as I had once thought.
Now I write fantasy adaptations of Old Testament bibles stories (among other projects).
Depending on who you speak with, the original stores are considered anything from pure speculative fiction to religious law. Over the years, as I have researched and worked with these Old Testament stories I have come to understand that although they are old, they still reflect so much of the cultural diversity we find today. Even though I reproduce my version in a fictional way, the reality and relevance of the context never seems to fade away.
The Jericho Prophecy is more than a retelling of a biblical tale, it is a fantastical reimagining of a time when genocide was normal practise, refugees were often murdered and women were traded as commodities. I never set out to be confrontational with my writing which is why I believe fantasy chose me as a genre, but it is my hope you enjoy the fantasy elements of my books and find the deeper humanity of why I chose to write the way I do.
