It’s the Atmosphere

My name is Eric Kent Edstrom. I’m a book lover and a writer. Here’s a picture of me.

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I’m guessing you are a reader. Like me. That means your to-read stack is . . . well, infinite. Your e-reader or Kindle app is so loaded up with unread books that you might not even buying some of the books that are on it.

I understand that, because I swear my Kindle is actually heavier because of all the ebooks in it. Okay, okay, that might be an exaggeration. But you know what I mean. 

I’m going to be honest with you. I’m writing this to convince you to read my book, Thief of Sparks. If you enjoy epic fantasy, I’m confident the story will delight you. I don’t mean to be braggy or egotistical; that’s not my intention at all.

I think reading Thief of Sparks will delight you because writing it delighted me.

Let me explain: I’ve written over a sixteen novels. I’ve written a YA adventure series and a popular dystopian series. I’ve written a thriller (under pen name) and short stories in all sorts of genres. I love them all. But when I began working on Thief of Sparks, I felt like had come home.

Fantasy is the genre that first fully captured my imagination when I was a kid.

It began for me—as it did for so many—with The Hobbit. I’ll be honest, I struggled with The Lord of the Rings when I was twelve. The pace was a bit slow sometimes for my attention span. It wasn’t uncommon for me to take a month or longer to get through one of those books. And that was with reading diligently every day. I was—and still am—a slow reader.

But I didn’t mind it. Because I was absorbed in those stories.

I went right into Terry Brooks’s Shannara series, which was only two books long when I started. (Wow. That makes me feel old!) And then Raymond Feist’s Riftwar Saga, and then Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman’s Dragonlance, And then . . . I think you get the idea.

Fantasy stretched my imagination (and my vocabulary). It showed me characters of modest birth standing up to godlike dark overlords. It told the story of loyal companions, fantastic magic, deep mountain caverns, swarms of vile monsters, and heroes with shining swords. And dragons! OMG!

Fantasy is full of atmosphere: In the morning frost before the battle, a line of horses stamped the turf, breath pluming into the predawn gloom as the men astride them prayed, or trembled, or joked with gallows-humor to their mates. (I just made that up! I think I have a new scene started for the series!)

I adore wise and enigmatic wizards who know more than they tell. Oh, I’m reminded of the urgency of this line:

“Look to my coming on the first light of the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east.” —Gandalf

The Two Towers, by J.R.R. Tolkien

I live for moments and dialogue like that.

Fantasy novels still resonate inside me—with that teenage me—with both their dire, gray-sky atmospheres, and with their shining moments of triumph. And more than anything, they instilled in me a belief that there could be a triumph when things were darkest. They made me optimistic at an age when pessimism and cynicism were seen as cool. Those novels made me want to be honorable, do my duty, and stand up to bullies.

Why am I telling you this? Why am I telling you, a reader who doesn’t need more books crowding the shelves of your home or ereader?