Or “Why I Do What I Do”.
(Heh, this post’s title sounds like an indie band name.)
Warning: Tangents Are Inevitable.
Today, I blabbed on Twitter in regards to a writer’s tweet that agents look for a professional photo of oneself and other things since they need to market you. That’s believable, of course.
However … I’m hesitant on displaying my image. I’m not shy or hate my appearance. It all boils down to the idea of creative freedom, my dear.
To get the gist of where I’m coming from, I guess I owe the reader a background sketch of myself.
First of all, I’m a self-professed Christian (I say “self-professed” because I made the decision–it has nothing to do with blood-relation). If you’ve been keeping up with me, I lean to the Liberal-Left. I’m Afro-Caribbean American. My immediate family is Lefty and Christian, too. (To some, that seems like a Unicornocopia, but trust me, there are Religious-Left. I know tons. But of course, we judge by the people who make the most noise.)
A good portion of my “outside” Afro-Caribbean family, however, is not Lefty. I learned this during a family visit. Yeah.
So. I think I have a correction to make to my About Me section: I started writing at the age of nine, encouraged by an Un-Uncle (not my uncle, but my aunt’s ex-boyfriend) who told Anansi stories. I was dually inspired to write fantasy by J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy and J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series.
*Laughs* Yes, you know where I’m going.
***
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Girl who Secretly Read About Him
Once upon a time, there was a girl who fell in love with Harry Potter in the 5th grade, thanks to her teacher (this being 2000 A.D., when HP was just budding into an explosion.) A “Book War” event was happening at her elementary school–Harry Potter vs. Scary Stories, and her class was pro-Harry.
At home, the girl decided to design a promo poster for Harry. Her parents saw what she was drawing (a HP Disco Party EL-OH-EL!) and were curious about the subject of her art. When she mentioned Harry James Potter, everything went hay-wire. Her parents went into a dialect-frenzy, spilling ideas fueled by some AM Christian-Radio Guy of whom I will not mention. The girl was banned from reading about Harry, along with a few other girls (for some reason, only girls) in her class.
Somehow, her teacher talked to her mother about it–even offered some books for her mother to read and judge for herself–and the girl was allowed to read it again. BUT–the girl’s parents fell to Mr. AM Christian-Radio guy again. This time, the girl’s mother made her donate HP and the Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber of Secrets to the library (Strangely. Why give a “witchcraft-book” to the library for other kids to digest?).
The girl, however bummed, was defiant this time around. She hid copies of HP and other books she thought her mom would think suspicious under her bed and in her bookbag. She read them late at night when the house was fast asleep. Her younger sister followed suit. Instead of passing drugs around, the girl and her friends passed around “frowned-upon” books.
Books were her drug. Other worlds and different ideas made her high.
Needless to say, the girl and her sister did not become witches or sorcerers or wizards. HP had a rather bad example of it, anyway.
Did, me (the girl) and my sister change our religion? No. Eventually our parents became more opened and understanding of these books, after a few arguments, pleas, and discussions. (I believe they snooped and read through them. Perhaps they knew and were monitoring us all along?)
I didn’t want to disrespect or disobey my parents (I love them very much), but I wanted the freedom to think for myself, too.
***
The Girl Rhys and the Now
I’ve read through all sorts of weird, head-scratching, or not-PG books.
Have you ever tried to read Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series with a head cold? Have mercy. (I think that it helped with my Creative Writing class–reading Sandman, that is, not the head cold. Helped me ease more into creative freedom, hehe. It’s a ride–sometimes through a drugged-out wonderland, sometimes through a sketchy countryside a la some horror movie. I have to admit I was a tad bit uncomfortable with the Hell arc, but I admired the little speech battle between Morpheus and that demon guy What’s-His-Face. I had to throw down an “Ohhhh!”)
There’s GRRM’s A Song of Ice and Fire series which isn’t your mother’s Lord of the Rings. No, no.
What hooked me to these books was their portrayal of human nature. It’s easy to be turned off by surface level, but there’s something that makes these characters believable and relatable and keeps you going back for more.
That inkling of believability and relatability is something I want to include in my work, along with a blend of the escapism of Tolkien and Lewis (well, an altered, diverse recipe), and the mythologies and creatures of other cultures and civilizations.
***
Me and Creative Freedom
When I first started delving in fantasy writing, I thought I was chained to the Christian Allegory. You know, the “Aslan-is-really-Jesus” allegory. I noticed this mindset among a few other Christian-writer friends I had. It felt like Guilt-Fest if I didn’t orient my tales explicitly around Christianity.
And then there’s the issue of magic. Ooh, sticky-sticky.
A few years ago, some blogger on a Christian blog somewhere lit fire to Tolkien and Lewis’s work due to their inclusion of magic and fantasy (if you don’t know already, Tolkien and Lewis were Christian). I cringed. My fantasy worlds tend to have high levels of magic–elaborate magic systems that nearly resemble scientific laws. They’re different worlds with different sets of rules. Some in the blood, some in the air, some in flourishing letters.
Some of my worlds tend to be polytheistic, also, and contain various forms and tastes of religions. I mean, does everyone worship the same god(s) on this Earth? Is everyone religious?
And then there’s the issue of violence and the backgrounds, speech, behaviors and occupations of my characters. Nope, not squeaky clean at all.
But what I yearn to write about is The Person. Not-so-perfect people overcoming (or not overcoming) obstacles. None of us are saints, so why should our characters be?
***
My E-Mask
So, my professional writer photo.
Right now, I treasure my identity. It’s a curtain that I can write behind without Sarah, Mary or Sue poking me in the back because a character through a fireball or said something rude or because I killed a character rather sadistically.
FREEDOM!
Of course, readers will confront me on these things. That’s ok. But when it’s family members, friends, or family-friends, that can get irksome.
*Imagines eating some really good potato-salad at a family reunion and not being able to enjoy it because an aunt is scolding me about a character in one of my works. Shudders.*
Someone I know is going to identify me sooner or later, haha. Perhaps if I ever attend a convention or have a book-signing. How awkward would that be? (For future reference–if you do see me and know who I am, please keep my secret. Thanks!)
By the way, my parents are rather supportive of my writing. I don’t know if they’ve read through any of my notebooks at home (somehow, I think my mom has, since she mailed me a folder of Sentinel notes upon my request. I know she couldn’t resist to check what’s inside. Mothers, hehe). I guess they trust that I won’t go off the deep end or something.
And I won’t. I’m not like that.
But, anywhoo. Hm. Maybe I’ll relent later and take a professional photo. Preferably not the “grade-school” type. Something … mysterious or meditative.
lalala of rowan nhaima rhys 