Monday, July 22, 2013

Einstein is a GREAT name for a dog...


I've never been much of a fantasy reader. In fact, if I made a list of books that I have NOT read, I'd probably lose a ton of street cred with all my booknerd friends. I don't really have an excuse for what has kept me away from the one genre where really anything goes except for that Back to the Future really, really confused me as a kid.

(Why don't Marty's mom and dad remember Calvin Klein? Aren't they the least bit curious about how their teenage son looks IDENTICAL to the boy who was ultimately responsible for them being married??? I'm not sure this is something I would forget, if I were 1950s Lorraine.)

I just kept wanting it all to make sense. To be infallible. For there to be a consistent logic that I could follow. And to be fair, there was... to an extent. But like with all good stories, there has to be a point when the audience is offered the "leap of faith" challenge where they have to decide if they like the characters enough to want to know what happens to them despite the fact that the story couldn't actually happen.

Or at least this is how I always measured the quality of a book.

When the idea for my novel began to unfold, I was nervous to begin writing it in part because I suffer from this Back to the Future syndrome. I knew a large part of my story would need to be set in a place unlike my own reality, a place that would operate within its own laws. Laws I would need (to first understand myself, and then) to explain to my audience.

But through the process of creating this world, I fell in love with fantasy.

Imagination is a beautiful thing.

And the fact that I'm not entirely sure that the plot of Back to the Future isn't a possibility (c'mon, it's 2013 and time travel has got to be just around the corner) just means that writer of that movie is awesome and speaks nothing to the fact that I didn't bother taking physics in high school.


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