Growing up, I read a variety of genres, but as time passed my favorite genre turned out to be fantasy. It was a natural extension of my love for old books. I’d go to the library and find the oldest hard covers I could dig up. It was a bit like looking for buried treasure and these books inevitably turned out to be stories like the Three Musketeers, the Man in the Iron Mask, The Swiss Family Robinson. I loved the sense of adventure, and the lush settings of other times.
I still read omnivorously. I still go to the library and pick random books off the shelves. I’ve made wonderful discoveries that way, but the bulk of my reading has always been fantasy. Writing it seemed natural since it was what I enjoyed reading most.
However, one day I was sitting in the car with a few ladies when someone suggested watching a movie which happened to be a bit of science fiction. The response was a sniff of disdain, and a complaint about such things being so utterly unbelievable they were not worth the time.
Now for some reason the response felt like a smack in the head. The idea of only ever valuing stories based on what was plausible by today’s standards, seemed shocking. If all people believed this, I thought, this there would never be scientific progress, we’d still think the earth was flat.
I vowed from that moment on, never to let the laws of reality constrict my imagination.
I’m interested in playing with the what if’s, the things that we don’t quite understand. Sometimes what comes out is a bit strange or odd. It might not fit a single genre, but I’m not too worried about that.
Have you made a conscious choice about the genre you choose to write in? Why do you write what you write?