My First (and only) Completed Novel

Confession: I'm terrifically ashamed of anything I wrote before 1998. I wonder if there's a ten year window of non-embarrassment going on?

Reading:

• "L. DeBard and Aliette: A Love Story," by Lauren Groff
  
• The House of Mirth, by Edith Wharton
  

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Catches a Cold" - Outline 80%
  

Revising:

• "The Revenant"
• "Cora and the Sea" - Third draft 50%

It will never see the light of day.

Oh, you can read about it, if you like. In fact, I'll post a link to a description I wrote of it. But you will never read the actually thing.

I'm talking about The Happy Wars Saga, which stands as my first, and as of now only, completed novel. It's about 88,000 words long, which isn't bad for a high schooler. It took more than three years to complete, features a cast of hundreds of characters, and plagiarizes from nearly every book I had read and television show I had seen up to that moment.

Looking back on it, I can see my progression as a writer during that time. It's composed of fifteen parts, termed "episodes" (plagiarized from Star Wars, of course). The first episode (heavily plagiarized from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) is nonsensical in the extreme. The next two aren't much better. The next three plagiarize more from Star Trek. Only in the last four or five do I manage any real creativity, with the threat of deadly aliens from outside the galaxy uniting warring factions. (It's only fair to mention that many years later, the same concept was used in Star Wars novels in the form of the Vuuzhan Vong. It's only fair that they plagiarize me back.)

This is not my only attempted novel, just the only one that I ever completed a draft on. Before it was a book I wrote in middle school called Space and Beyond, which I came within a few pages of finishing. Next is Floorcraft, which started out as a short story and kind of blossomed from there. Out of eight parts, I've written five and a half. And let's not forget Dairhenien's Library, often begun but never written further than Chapter One.

And now, I've decided that Ferian Fetlock is a book, not a short story. So join the club, Ferian. I won't say wait in line, but be warned--I'm fickle when it comes to finishing novels. You may not fare better than the others.

Publication Status:

• Submitted: 5
  
• Accepted: 1
• Rejected: 1
• Pending: 3

Sci-fi versus Fantasy

Confession: I have to be very careful not to read special significance into coincidences. I think I'm just predisposed to find meaning in randomness.

Reading:

• The Van, by Roddy Doyle

Writing:

• "Ferian Fetlock Cures a Horse"

Revising

• "Dolly Hobbles"

I've never been a big fan of utter realism in fiction. What's the point of reading about reality? There's enough of that in real life to go around. But my tastes have shifted from a love for science fiction to a love for fantasy.

I wouldn't say there was ever a point that I disliked fantasy. The Hobbit was one of my early favorites, although I started The Lord of the Rings too early to really get into it properly until much later. But there wasn't a great deal of good fantasy stories for my age range available in the 80s and early 90s. The age of Harry Potter had not yet begun.

No, this was the age of Star Trek. Thanks to Reading Rainbow, I found out that LeVar Burton was in another show too, and that looked pretty cool. So from 1987 until my sophomore year in college, I was a dedicated Trekkie. At one point, I had over 200 of the Star Trek novels, as well as every single episode on tape, recorded off of television. My greatest literary achievement of high school, the fifteen part epic entitled The Happy Wars Saga was heavily based on the Starfleet system outline in Star Trek. Essentially, it was a universe in which I and a few of my friends were happy to play.

By the time I got to college, that fervor started to wane. I can still remember when I stopped reading Star Trek fiction. It was in Wal-Mart when I saw a certain paperback--a Star Trek/X-Men crossover. My illusions were shattered.

Ten years later, I read that book. It sucked, but not as bad as I was afraid of. It still read like Mary Jane fan fiction.

I had an immediate outlet, though. This was 1998, and Star Wars fervor had begun, first with the release of the Special Editions, and soon with the advent of the first prequel. I'm going to go on record right now to say that The Phantom Menace is my favorite Star Wars movie. (That's right, fuckers. That's not even a confession, because I don't feel guilty about it.)

But Star Wars is often held up as somewhere between sci-fi and fantasy, and I always related more to the Jedi than to droids or bounty hunters or X-wing pilots. And there was more.

Without the monthly influx of two or three Star Trek novels, my reading output went elsewhere. It found Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time, Martin's Song of Ice and Fire, and revisited old favorites like Anne McCaffrey's Pern series and the venerable Lord of the Rings. Then I discovered Terry Pratchett, and he displaced Douglas Adams in my mind as the king of humorous speculative fiction.

Wherefore this change? I think it's because science fiction is all about dehumanization, and fantasy is all about being human. And between the two, I know which I'd rather fantasize about. I never really read much sci-fi outside of the Star Trek universe, and when you think about it, that show was never really about the technology either, only where it could take you.

I love stories about honor, and by the time you get to the post-apocalyptic worlds of science fiction, honor no longer exists... or if it does, it's in a story like Dune that is as much fantasy as Star Wars.