Someone asked me, “Why are you writing a book?” and it seemed like such a silly question to ask! Because I want to? I respond unsure. There are a million reasons why I want to write a book.
I mean I guess it’s not really a silly question to those who have no inclination to sit down for hours in front of a computer and type away nonsense until it becomes something readable. I mean who in their right mind would want to write a book. It’s hard. Brain busting. Messy. But us writers (are there others of you out there reading this?) are not really in our right minds.
So, why am I writing a book?
I have a story to tell.
It’s an epic fantasy adventure novel, with a splash of romance! Fede, a servant in the palace of Deltesor, is asked to spy on the King’s second wife by the King’s first wife, the queen herself. What happens is an unpredictable series of whimsical missteps that leads to more serious findings, and tragedy. What Fede discovers leads to new grief, new friendship, and a world of adventure.
I’ve heard this quote before that goes something like “write a book you want to read.” Which is good advice I think. And that is what I’m writing. My book Lady of Despair and Destiny has everything that I think a great novel ought to have. There are twists and turns plus lots and lots of adventure! I love adventure! Especially set in a land where people are graced with particular magical abilities. I don’t think there is enough of it in young adult (YA) fiction. A lot of YA fantasy books with female protagonists have more romance than adventure.
This book is something I would gobble up in a day and I think it’s so important to be writing something that you truly love. I love this story and I’m always excited to talk about it. The characters are rich and the story is original. The recipe for a great book.
Besides the tangible facts of ‘I want to’ and ‘I have a story to tell’ there is also this other intangible reason of why I write (and not necessarily why I’m writing a book, but the drive to write in general).
There’s this feeling I have at the bottom of my ribs that if I didn’t write my body would collapse inward. The longer I go without writing, the more likely each of my bones will crack one by one and I’ll crumble. It’s a physical need.
My head is full of ideas all the time– unorganized, random, intense at times– that need to be organized. I get inspiration for a novel, a sentence of description, or a character trait from observing the world around me. I have scraps of paper with scribbles of sentences or phrases. The notes on my phone have pages of separate ideas mixed among my to do lists. Not to mention voice memos of me rambling to myself as I drive. Oh! Or my favorite is when I’m just about to fall asleep and inspiration strikes and I’m up writing paragraphs of ideas so I don’t forget them.
I consider myself an artist. I arrange words that sound rhythmic and fluid, I create interesting patterns with sentences, I make beautiful metaphors, I stir emotion, and I transport the reader to wondrous places. It’s an art form.
Despite it’s challenges, writing books is nothing short of what I want to do for the rest of my life. To
steal quote from George Orwell’s “Why I Write,” there is also the “sheer egoism.” In part, yes, I am a selfish creature. I want to be remembered and have a legacy as a writer. I am a confident person and I am confident in my writing. But, I would argue, without it, I would never want to share my work. This egotistical part of me is proud of my work, of my art, and I’m excited to share it with the world.
Are you a writer? A reader? Or are you like me, just a vast consumer of words in all its shapes and forms.