I’m an aspiring fiction writer. I’ve written a fair amount of nonfiction, and published some of it, but I’d really, really, like to be a novelist. I’ve written one novel that I quite like and I even managed to get a top-tier literary agent to look at it. He told me it was pretty good, but it needed a lot of work to have any hope of marketability. Publishing is a very competitive business.
So I’m taking a fiction bath with the hope of improving my own writing skills. I’ve read very little fiction for years–the occasional Terry Pratchett or Donald Westlake here and there, but that’s about it. I’ve concentrated heavily on nonfiction.
But if I want to write it, I have to read it, and I’ve moved back to reading stories. I’m quite enjoying the experience, and I’m already seeing several ways I can improve the novel I’ve written. But I’m reading Conan Doyle and Ray Bradbury and Jane Austen and Louis L’Amour and Mark Twain and Lewis Carroll and others, and it’s fun. I’m rediscovering the joy of telling tales.
I’ll keep you posted. Hope all’s well out there, friends, and God bless.