I love writing. And reading. I love writing and reading fantasy. So what do I do about it? I do nothing. I keep on writing. I keep on writing these little short stories and flash fiction. Working for Rising Stars ( a short supplementary weekly paper for The Daily Star, this other bigshot newspaper) has bred a really bad habit in me.
Article word limits on that supplementary paper are from 600 to a maximum of 1000 words. This has made me be really short. And I can’t seem to shake this really bad habit. But, this has also taught me how to be precise with my stories – as in, not mention more bullshit than is necessary to make a story work.
But that’s beside the point. Years of writing within a limit has made me unable to do proper dialogues, and proper descriptions.
So, suppose the impossible happens. I stumble upon this agent, who has inexplicably found a great publisher. Where’s my book?
Oh, crap. Bits and pieces are still festering inside my head, gnarling at me every so often to make me write them down. I could turn this post into a analysis of the depths of my mind, but that would just be silly. So, here I am, feeling dejected thanks to my own lethargy, procrastination, etc. and in general not really taking writing ALL that seriously.
And what happens?
I’ve recently read “Name of the Wind” – a FREAKING wonderful read about a man, or rather a myth of a man – kind of like a behind the scenes of a life of a hero, and so many more things. It’s about stories, and people telling stories, and stories telling stories, about magic, love, betrayal, loyalty, what have you not. What is it, though? One word – awesome.
So, I’m skimming through his thoroughly-entertaining blog, and I wonder if he would be willing to impart advice on little ol’ me. I laugh at my wistful thinking and say, “I’m gonna write him an e-mail. Why the fuck not?”
So, I do. Very lame, fanboy-ish e-mail.
Half an hour or less, and I’m bitching about my forlorn state of mind, and my potentially non-existent writing career. A quick gmail check (which I do periodically, almost instinctively) shows a mail from “PAT, to me”. I raise my eyebrow and dismiss it as an automated mail saying how Patrick has received my email, and will try to reply to me as soon as possible.
Is it, though? No, it’s not. It’s not an automated mail… It’s a REAL e-mail. By a REAL Patrick Rothfuss (or so I hope.)
Shahriar,
I’m sorry if this e-mail is brief, I’m in a bit of a hurry today…
From what I understand, you can get published anywhere, no matter where you live. So as long as you’re writing in English, I think it’s a good idea to try to get published in the US or the UK first.
Since you write short stories, you might want to consider the Writers of the Future contest. It’s specifically for new writers, and if you win they pay well and fly you out for a cool workshop in LA.
Best of luck,
pat
Boy, o boy. Glee of ALL glees. That was awesome on so many levels. And so I leave the post on this. I’ve gotta wake up early-ish tomorrow, and sleep now.
Oh, and I watched the Firefly episode, “Out of Gas” today. It was as brilliant as ever.
