A writer oughta write. Just write.

I heard a very sagely piece of advice from a total random stranger who started talking to me when class was cancelled.

We got to talking over Alain De Botton, as random stranger was reading Status Anxiety and happily I have read that book and thought it was awesome. He asked me why, as a future-teacher-to-be, I would want to read about about the decline of quality of life, exemplified by our endless urge to possess things; not just material things but fucking THINGS, like status, friends, tables, experiences, more and more things upon things. We've become consumption machines, screams De Botton, because we've become hollow as chocolate bunnies. Nothing means anything to us anymore and no one can figure out why. De Botton doesn't pretend to either, he doesn't have the answers; he merely suggests that we find joy in simple, classic things that make people happy. Good book, all in all, very thought provoking. Not important to the rest of this entry though but please read on...

Anyway, random stranger somehow asked me what I wanted to BE in life. I always cheekily think to myself (but never say) I want to be ME, but cooler. What kind of a five-year old answer is that? I informed random stranger that I wanted to be a writer and he said two wonderful words in response:

"So write!"

This floored me for a full 30 seconds because it was utterly simplistic. Maybe random stranger had misunderstood. I wanted to be a WRITER. One who writes. Y'know? We weren't conversing across parallel dimensions, random stranger was a metre away from me and yet somehow I completely misunderstood him. Which is why I wittily answered, when I recovered my ability to speak.. "What should I write?" To which he replied:

"A writer oughta write. Just write."

Wow.

Just write huh? Random left me feeling pretty stupid. I hadn't WRITTEN in like, ages, and here I was happily telling randoms like himself that I want to be a writer, damnit, I don't want to be a teacher, which is why we were both in an empty classroom waiting for class to start.

Maye I was wrong. Maybe my life's dream of writing is actually a giant lie I've told myself. At that horrible moment I was utterly unsure and wanted to hide in the nearest bathroom. Just squeeze myself in between the toilet and the wall and watch the feet approach me from that ominous gap between the cubicle door and the floor. They could knock all they wanted, they would NOT pry me out of the toilet!

I doubted myself in a big way for those devastating ten minutes after random had left when we were cordially informed by another student that class was indeed cancelled. I sat at the bus stop later on wondering what had just happened. Was I closeted writer or NOT? Was I already all that I could be, a semi-reluctant teacher? What about my dreams? Were they even dreams or just something I told myself to excuse my apathy towards teaching?

And then I decided to take randoms advice, which is what brought me here. I can't call myself an aspiring writer if I don't write, so I'm going to, for the simple, selfish reason that I want to keep calling myself an aspiring writer cause it sounds/feels awesome.

I hope this entry proves to be the first of many on the subject of writing. Thank you random, I will honour your simple advice for as long as I can. Already I feel a bit better so we'll see where this goes.

Evie meets a wanker at World Con 68

Hiya folks, Evie here, playing the role of SF/Horror/Fantasy insider:

I waited so long for my innuagural post because I had very little to rant about. The things that tax most people basically dont worry me all that much, check it:

• Paid Employment? (CHECK, love my job)
• Prospects? (CHECK, loads!)
• Friends? (CHECK, love them!)
• Health? (CHECK, thank you God)
• Love life? (CHECK, simmering nicely)

So in this semi-good existence of mine there was very little for me to actually talk about. Dilemna! Want to write and be interesting and share, but have nothing to write about. What to do, what to do?

And then the forces of nature sent a collosal wanker my way, which is brilliant because it gives me an opportunity to throw on my whingy-bitch hat, which has an awesomely cool scarlet feather.

So I'm at World Con 68th, otherwise known as Aussiecon 4, running from the 2nd to the 6th of September at the Melbourne Convenvtion Centre, minding my own business. I was having a whale of a time until I overheard this dope and I started to hear Kill Bill music at the dumb shit he's saying.

Wanker dude basically had a lot to say about the limited life of paranormal romance and mentioned Charlaine Harris has stopped writing since Tru Blood was axed.

REALLY? Shit, I'll get my people to ask her when they have dinner in two weeks. I'll bet she'll be shocked to hear she's stopped writing! Even more shocking is that this wanker of no consequence knows of the axing of HBO's highest rating shows before it has happened. Probably because it hasn't happened, he's wrong. Fail!

I admit I don't know how long paranormal romance will be around the way it is now... but I do talk to readers of this genre a lot more than this douche does. And from talking to these ladies I know three things:

• We readers are forgiving. We can overlook a few issues with plot or with character and continue to read a paranormal series quite happily, provided tjhe initial charm hasn't worn off.
• In a perverted, relationship-esque twist, we can see series through even if we don't like them that much anymore, because we need some sort of closure.
• You sir, don't know shit.

Wanker also went on to wax lyrical about the fickle publishers who both pressure and coerce authors into writing what they want. Sorry dude but this is the biggest as if you've said. Sure publishers seem to be in the know about what readers want but for the most part, they are not the book mafia you are making them out to be. They can recognise a good book and even promote it but ultimately sales come down the readers and buzz. You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink, the same way you can promote and position books any way you want but you can't bully readers into parting with their money in exchange for it.

Which explains why some titles, even though they're intended to be the first in a series, are in fact epic publishing fails with no follow up.

Of course, I had neither the urge nor the reason to take wanker down. I didn't even attempt it because it wasn't worth it. But I do feel sorry for all the other sperm that this wanker somehow out-swam.

More at some point in the future. Love to all!