I’ll write for the rest of my life… because humanity is an endless ocean to explore.
As a reader, I give myself over to the writer, trusting them to guide me through the experience of the book. As a writer, I know readers have placed this trust in me.
For some authors, writing is a purely mental exercise, a flexing of the pre-frontal cortex to explore an idea (or three). For some, writing is pure emotional crack, veering wildly over the waves, tossed through an emotional landscape. For a few, it’s a drive-by tour of the lurid side of humanity (more often violence than sex).
A story can succeed on emotion alone, but pure intellect will leave readers cold and pure leering makes them want to shower. It’s the witch’s brew of all three that pushes a work to indelibly imprint on a reader’s soul.
When I’m the writer, I never forget I’m all the reader has to get through this. As the reader, I have high expectations for my guide. The dark side of reaching the journeywoman phase of my writing career is demanding more from the books I allow into my head. I want you to challenge my mind, move my heart, teach me something new–something I didn’t know about the ocean of humanity.
That won’t be easy–I’ve been traveling these seas a while–but if you succeed, you’ll have me as a fan for life.