My dad took a great deal of pride in his career in the public service, and I attempted to do the same for a while, but sometimes all I can feel is this nameless drive, this unquenchable desire pulling me to get out and do what I want to do, regardless of the consequences.
A great deal of this anxiety can be found in Ross Tillman, the main character of The Lesser Evil. In the final weeks of scholarship, he finds himself dreaming of a life he knows he can never have. Because he can’t stand up to his parents; because he can’t even get through to them; because he worries about disappointing them; because he hasn’t got the personal strength to find this life on his own, he is about to follow his father into a local administrative role that he dreads.
Yes, it’s the third entry in my blog’s first miniseries: Dreams and the folks who dream them.
As far back as I can remember, the only career I have ever wanted to pursue was one in the creative industries. (For most of my life, this ambition has been limited to becoming a novelist; however, while studying Creative Writing at university, I took great pleasure in all the creative endeavours I was encouraged to experiment with.)
Even when I was young, I always knew that if I hadn’t made it by the time I entered full-time employment, I probably never would. What that meant is that I would be trapped in the rat race, locked in a fluorescent tomb (I think I’ve used that phrase before, but it sticks with me) that I could never escape while my dreams flittered away outside. The frightening inevitability of it all kept me writing, working as hard as I could in my free time to produce something saleable.
With such a strong drive to break free and make a new life for myself, is it possible that I could do the unthinkable: compromise, sell out?
Of course it is.
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Years ago, in a blog long-confined to the dusty eternity of the endless and empty cattle trails of oblivion, I wrote a poetic little piece that likened me, as a struggling aspiring novelist, to a donkey chasing after a carrot that seemed permanently out of reach.
It was a very evocative and lovely little piece that I remember being quite proud of; unfortunately for you, it is gone forever, and cannot be recreated. So you have to read this instead.
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A recent article regarding spoilers in comic books has reawakened my interest in the role of plot in a story. This article cited research which produced the surprising finding that people enjoyed suspenseful stories more if the crucial plot twists were spoiled for them in advance.
This counterintuitive relevation has made me consider the way I produce my stories, and has helped me to articulate my long-held beliefs into a coherent form. I have come to realise that the true mission statement of The Lesser Evil and its sequels is fundamentally tied to the idea that plot events are secondary, even incidental, to the enjoyment of a story.
Said articulation follows.
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In my daily lunchtime-wasting internet crawl today, I stumbled across an interview with Robin Hobb, bestselling author of (among other series) the Assassin’s Apprentice Trilogy, which I own, signed by her, and of which I have read the first volume.
Although interviews asking writers how they find the time to write are a-dime-a-dozen, I haven’t really read one since it became a real issue for me. Since starting full-time work, and getting married and starting a family, basically. And it really hit home this time. With my life destined only to get even more full of non-writing activity, I’ve begun to realise that it would be all too easy to just stop writing, and never pick it back up again.
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