Ask Robin: First Story

 

One of the several jobs I'm falling down on is answering Ask Robin questions.  One of the things that keeps happening is that I get a lot of questions that have already been answered, if perhaps not in exactly the same words*, then grangblattingly near enough, it seems to me, or that the questioner should frelling well take a little effort to find out for themselves,** and I get preoccupied with deciding whether I should shout and stomp and get it over with, or whether I'm missing some point or other from painful overfamiliarity with the whole writing business, and if I thought about it I could find a way to answer this or that question which I haven't used already and which might even conceivably be illuminating.  I do know from trying to learn other stuff—bell ringing, say—that there are flabbergastingly many ways to learn, and while a lot of it you may only be able to embed by grind, that grind may be occasionally brightened and clarified by someone saying something to you about the process that you haven't heard before, and that chimes or marches or knits with your experience.

            Meanwhile, I keep not getting around to answering any of the perfectly reasonable questions, that don't need any complex decisions about whether the asker should be offered a brickbat or a rose. 

After reading through your Ask Robin archives and pouring through your blog and your novels, I've been wondering what was the first ever memorable story you wrote/wrestled with? I don't mean the first one you had published, but the first one you can recall pouring your heart and soul into and deciding that you wanted to be an author/writer from that point on.

That's at least two questions.  Maybe three.  And is a pretty good illustration of the different ways different people think.  Because I've told you most of this, but it's coming in at a different angle, you know?  I grew up telling myself stories and when I got old enough, I started trying to write them down.  I was pretty old—I think right around the time I read LOTR for the first time, which was eleven—before I realised that not everybody did this—not everybody did anything more extravagant than imagine that they were that boring paragon Arwen.  My romance with Strider (not Aragorn:  Strider) involved a fairly complex series of adventures in which I started out as a Ranger, disguised as a man.  Of course I was discovered, in time for Strider to fall in love with me without having to get into sticky questions about his sexuality, but by that time I had proven myself so valiant in battle and cunning in pursuit that they decided to keep me.  Well, I had to be disguised as a man, didn't I?  A lot of my alternate-classics when I was a kid involved me disguised as a man.  ARRRGH.  Anyway.  That's another rant which you've heard before.  I also wonder to what extent my story-telling got off to a particularly muscular start as a result of both/either being a military brat—and an only child—and constantly moving on, or being five years in Japan, which is a very alien culture to an American kid whose idea of the Far East has been Boston, Massachusetts.  I was in Japan during those preteen years too, when you first start realising that you're a specific you and no one else, and that you're going to grow up whether you're ready or you get it or not.

            But my point is that there isn't really a first memorable story—and I never really did decide I wanted to be a writer.  It's like asking when I took my first memorable breath or made my first memorable blood, or decided I wanted to grow up to be Robin McKinley.  I'm a story-teller like I'm now a middle-aged female American émigré with bad vision, bad teeth, a cranky personality and a serious addiction to chocolate.  When I was eleven I was a shorter, fairer-haired version, but I still had bad vision, bad teeth, a contumelous personality, a scary capacity for chocolate, and a need to tell stories.

            Tomorrow, if I can't think of a better idea, I'll run you through a few highlights of those early stories.  And yes, the earliest ones all feature serious borrowing from my elders and betters.  Tolkien pastiche?  I had a corner on the market.

            You can all use a laugh, right? 

* * *

* I don't myself feel there's a significant amount of difference between 'Where do you get your ideas?', which is #1 on the FAQ on my web site, and 'I know what you said on your FAQ, but do you get your ideas anywhere in particular?'  What?  Did you actually read what I wrote? 

** 'What is ME?' is in the front rank of the latter category—which is still the one I hear oftenest—so is 'Who is Peter?', 'What do you mean, hellhounds?', and 'I don't get it about bell ringing.  What is change ringing?  Will you please explain more about it?'  All of this is in 'about', second click down on the left-hand column of the blog.  There are LINKS for the complicated stuff, like ME and bell ringing.^  Use them.^^   Good grief, people.  I am aware of the rush of blood to the head when you find out that someone you admire, or whose books you admire, or whatever, is more or less available their own self on line and you are suddenly seized by a passionate desire to have an answer to your question, your particular question, asked in your words—or you're so distracted by the fact that this person you used to admire is this crabby, disorganised maniac that you ask your question(s) in a vague, dizzy, trance-like state:  what . . . do . . . you . . . mean . . .  you . . . ring . . . bells—?

            But.  This is my rant on responsibility again.  When the info is readily available out there I feel that questioners have some responsibility to find their own answers.^^^

            Also . . . although this may derive from being woefully and wailingly easily embarrassed myself^^^^ . . . I would have thought the fear of making a complete and utter horse's butt of yourself by asking someone a question the answer to which is emblazoned all over the opening pages of her blog and web site would make you a little cautious.  Apparently not.^^^^^

^ Not that Peter and the hellhounds are simple.  

^^ And how many times and in how many ways can I say Google is your friend?  So is Wikipedia.  I can't trust what my Google gives me, because it remembers that I look up ME and change ringing references fairly often.  But on Wiki ME is easily found as soon as you eliminate everything that isn't medical, and the very first click on the list if you type in 'bell ringing' gives you a link to 'change ringing'.  

^^^ Note that everyone asking any variation on a theme of 'Are you writing a sequel to PEGASUS?' and 'When does the sequel to PEGASUS come out?' will be rapidly killed.  The paperwork came through recently and the first executions are already scheduled.  I don't know why these thrice-blasted people are still getting through to me.  I may ask Blog/Sitemom to insert a multiple-choice test that you have to pass before you can email me.  Question #1:  Does your email contain the word 'sequel'?  (a) yes (b) no (c) maybe.  If (a), your computer explodes.  If (c), it merely melts a little.  If (b), please continue.  Looking forward to hearing from you.+

+ Unless you want to tell me that SUNSHINE/DEERSKIN betrays my audience.  Or that BEAUTY is my best book and why can't I write more like that.

^^^^ Don't ask.  Just . . . don't ask. 

^^^^^ Although of course I have no idea how many people have paused with their finger  over the 'send' button and thought, hmm, maybe I should read that stuff that my glazed eye passed right over on its hellhound-after-a-rabbit trajectory.  —Oh, and the emails that say 'I got to the end of PEGASUS and panicked, but then I went on line and found out there's a sequel coming in 2012' are fine.  In fact, they cheer me up.  It's working.  At least sometimes.  So please write more of these.