Trusting your instincts
So, the sales of my novel haven't been as amazing as I would have liked. Everything in life, however, has a lesson in it, whether we can see it or not. My lesson from this has been extremely multi-layered, starting with knowing myself better, knowing my writing better, and starting to understand what it is that I want from my work.
There's been a lot of talk around lately about a writer's "legacy"-- as if it's something you can actually talk about during someone's lifetime or within their career. Lots of people talk up these fantasy books as if there will be some lasting import to them. It's kind of odd, especially in a genre like ours, to think that there's really ANY lasting import. Just look at the huge fantasy novels of the 80s-- most of them are so dated at this point that I hesitate to even recommend them to new readers of the genre. Most of what was best-selling, mind-blowing, "oh, their legacy" work in 1980 is a stylistic joke at this point. And, in another 30 years, grim-dark and steampunk and all the new subgenres will be just as faded and listless. There's no guarantees that anyone will continue to like your books, even in your own lifetime.
Dragon Venom is published and available, whether it's wildly successful or not. I accomplished what I wanted to with it, which was to write a book about loyalty, friendship, faith, doubt, and difficulties, all without throwing in sex to "spice it up." I chose to write about monks because it's a sacrificial lifestyle, and I find it compelling when people are willing to give up everything for a cause. I've spent hours reading about mountaineering this week, watching documentaries about it, and learning about the people who risk their lives for a very transient sort of accomplishment-- literally getting to stand on top of a big rock that they climbed up all by themselves. But it's incredibly interesting because these people are willing to risk death to stand on that icy rock. Why? What drives them to it? What drives any of us?
I remember finishing the rough draft of Dragon Venom and feeling completely deflated. I knew I hadn't written the next Lord of the Rings, not yet. I think it's a sound first novel, and I still believe that it has an audience. But my instincts are telling me that there's something deeper that I need to be digging for, some story that's still untold that I need to be focusing on. So I am going to be too busy to spend a lot of time on marketing and trying to drum up sales. If people like my book, that's great-- if they like it enough to give it a good review, I will be very pleased. If you like it, please recommend it to your friends who may like it. If you hate it, well, I am sorry it wasn't to your taste.
But it's time for me to spend time on the next story. I've learned a lot since I wrote this book, and I hope to transform some of that knowledge into improvements in my writing skill. To lvl, so to speak. In Dragon Venom, I have told the first part of my story. I'm not the same person I was five years ago, and that has to make a difference in the next book I write. My instincts are telling me to keep moving towards the real tale, towards the source. Towards the passion and the sacrifice and the tears and the blood. And I've got to go.
There's been a lot of talk around lately about a writer's "legacy"-- as if it's something you can actually talk about during someone's lifetime or within their career. Lots of people talk up these fantasy books as if there will be some lasting import to them. It's kind of odd, especially in a genre like ours, to think that there's really ANY lasting import. Just look at the huge fantasy novels of the 80s-- most of them are so dated at this point that I hesitate to even recommend them to new readers of the genre. Most of what was best-selling, mind-blowing, "oh, their legacy" work in 1980 is a stylistic joke at this point. And, in another 30 years, grim-dark and steampunk and all the new subgenres will be just as faded and listless. There's no guarantees that anyone will continue to like your books, even in your own lifetime.
Dragon Venom is published and available, whether it's wildly successful or not. I accomplished what I wanted to with it, which was to write a book about loyalty, friendship, faith, doubt, and difficulties, all without throwing in sex to "spice it up." I chose to write about monks because it's a sacrificial lifestyle, and I find it compelling when people are willing to give up everything for a cause. I've spent hours reading about mountaineering this week, watching documentaries about it, and learning about the people who risk their lives for a very transient sort of accomplishment-- literally getting to stand on top of a big rock that they climbed up all by themselves. But it's incredibly interesting because these people are willing to risk death to stand on that icy rock. Why? What drives them to it? What drives any of us?
I remember finishing the rough draft of Dragon Venom and feeling completely deflated. I knew I hadn't written the next Lord of the Rings, not yet. I think it's a sound first novel, and I still believe that it has an audience. But my instincts are telling me that there's something deeper that I need to be digging for, some story that's still untold that I need to be focusing on. So I am going to be too busy to spend a lot of time on marketing and trying to drum up sales. If people like my book, that's great-- if they like it enough to give it a good review, I will be very pleased. If you like it, please recommend it to your friends who may like it. If you hate it, well, I am sorry it wasn't to your taste.
But it's time for me to spend time on the next story. I've learned a lot since I wrote this book, and I hope to transform some of that knowledge into improvements in my writing skill. To lvl, so to speak. In Dragon Venom, I have told the first part of my story. I'm not the same person I was five years ago, and that has to make a difference in the next book I write. My instincts are telling me to keep moving towards the real tale, towards the source. Towards the passion and the sacrifice and the tears and the blood. And I've got to go.
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