In other news: This weekend I had a pretty amazing time at Armadillocon.
For those of you that don’t know, Armadillocon is a SFF literary convention in Austin Texas. They’ve got an excellent writer’s workshop, a wide number of panels covering the business of writing for a living and dealing with social issues, and a chance to meet with authors, editors, and publishers. There’ve been quite a few other write-ups, but here’s the highlights of my weekend.
Marshall Ryan Maresca put on an amazing workshop this year. I got a chance to meet several published authors, several aspiring authors in the area, and generally have a great time. Special thanks to Marshall for putting the workshop on, Martha Wells and Rebecca Schwarz for leading my little critique group, everyone for taking the time to read and give feedback on my story (which felt like a hit, though definitely needs some work), Steven Brust for allowing me to mumble at him about how much I loved the Taltos books, Stina Leicht for being a fount of clever, Derek Johnson for some of the best advice on what not to do, and Ken Liu for an authorial Silent Bob. (by which I mean, during several of the workshop discussions he would sit and listen to different camps go back and forth on a point, then drop some poignant remark that effectively tied up and closed out the conversation)
It was well worth my time, inspiring, and I’d suggest that if you’re an aspiring author and find yourself in Texas next summer, you should sign up.
I scheduled myself from early morning until late into the night each day of the con. The panels covered topics from Research to Humor to Feminism to Silkpunk to Lovecraft to the Hugos and everything in between.
I learned so much, but my biggest takeaways were:
- Learn to be ok with failure and rejection
- You won’t know how good you are until you try
- Listen to others, especially if you are writing from their view point
- Talk to people after panels. You’ll make new friends.
Side note: If you ever get a chance to see a panel with Marguerite Reed or Justin Landon, it will be worth your time. If you get a chance to see a panel with Marguerite and Justin, it will be worth skipping out on something else that’s worth your time.
Another awesome thing that happened occurred while I was hanging out at the bar, downing a ginger beer and conversing with a few of the authors about life, writing plans, and the like, when someone brought up food. I mentioned that I was fine, as I’d had a grand total of three candy bars since that morning and should be able to grab something once I got home around 11pm. Fortunately for me, they insisted that I not starve myself to see more panels and we wound up at the hotel’s restaurant. So, a big thanks Derek, Gwen, Stina, Marguerite, and Marshall for letting the new kid tag along and break bread with you. The conversations were delightful, silly, and made me feel at home. Someday I hope to be able to do the same for someone just starting out (and to hang out with you all again). You folks rule.
I had a great time, learned quite a lot, and made new friends! All in all, a great experience.
I seem to have caught the con bug. Next stop: Nerdcon!
(but for now, back to the word mines)
— Fred Y.
Chunk Wendig posted a challenge last Friday. A non-fiction essay, no more than 1000 words, about why we write.
The short answer is: I write because I have stories in my head and I write because of a life long love of reading. See, there we go, all nice and wrapped up in less than fifty words.
But… that’s not the whole story, not really. For the whole story, we have to go back in time almost thirty years, and you’ll have to indulge me in accepting the truth of the memoir. (Events happened mostly like this, but we’re relying on my rather shaky remembrances)
When people ask me what my first real memory is, I tell them about a nightmare that I had when I was three or four. My parents read me to me every night since I learned to crawl, and that night was no exception. The book of the night was the classic story ‘The Three Little Pigs’. I listened raptly to the tale of a hungry wolf and three brother’s attempt to escape him. I was spellbound, but I felt a dark seed worm its way into my imagination. For you see, I was an anxious child, and preschool was only a few weeks away.
That night, I dreamt of my first day of school, but the wolf followed close. When we were let out for recess, spread far and wide, the wolf attacked and I ran and I ran, but the other kids ran faster. I was almost at the schoolhouse door when I saw the look of terror on the teacher’s face, the same instant I felt the wolf’s shadow fall over me. She slammed the door, sacrificing me to save the other children.
I woke up screaming.
My cries disturbed my parents, so my father came in to check on me. In between wailing sobs, I told him what was wrong. He smiled sympathetically, telling me there was nothing to fear, that it was a dream, and a story. Just a story. He wrapped me up in a bear hug. Nothing could comfort me. So he told me a new story, one of heffalumps and woozles that fought wolves and protected young children.
I calmed down. I went back to sleep. I learned the protective power of stories.
I tell people that’s my first memory because it’s a good one, but my first memory is of a plate shattering just a little too close to my head, thrown by one of my parents at the wall I happened to be cowering against as they fought. I’m positive they didn’t know I was there until I screamed in terror.
Many people have had it worse than I did. I always knew I was loved. They never blamed me for what they were going through. But they fought. Constantly. Come to think of it, that might explain why I grew up with mostly plastic cups. But I digress. This is just a variation on the same old story, kid has a not so spectacular home life, kid escapes into books.
And escape I did. I read voraciously. My parents learned to fear the scholastic book-fair. My mom got a job at a book store, mostly so she could bring me home stacks of stripped books because they couldn’t afford to keep up with my reading habit. I almost got run over while walking home in fifth grade, reading the collected Dragonlance Chronicles.
Time passed, and I realized these books did more than help me escape. They taught me the basics of learning (Imagine having to explain to your eight year old that he needed to look for context clues to figure out what “disemboweled” meant). They taught me to face my fears. They taught me to question.
I write to bring my fears into the open. I write to adventure into the unknown. I write to raise questions. I write because I can’t not write.
There are undiscovered worlds out there, waiting for us to find them. Technology and society are growing in changing in ways we can never predict. We need new tales, new interpretations, new voices.
I write because I’m sitting with the world around a campfire, telling tales to keep the shadows at bay.
Your excuses are not interesting. Your fear is not valuable. Your doubt is killing you. Hold your nose and dive the fuck in.
– Chuck Wendig
I came across this quote on twitter, and retweeted it like a good tweep, but twitter is a fleeting moment, a moving stream. Twitter is impermanence. There’s a good chance this will be at the top of my blog for a week or more, and I can do fun things like tag it, and give it a category.
Not only that, but it gives me a chance to ask you a question, mostly-empty-echo-chamber. What motivates you? What’s the best quote about creativity that you’ve heard? Sound off in the comments.