Guest Post: RecipeArium by Costi Gurgu

I knew I needed to become a writer after reading Frank Herbert’s Dune. I must’ve been about eleven years old at the time. I didn’t have an inkling about writing a rough draft, let alone the laborious editing process required to craft a decent manuscript. But I was captivated by how Mr. Herbert spun such a fascinating and realistic world of sci-fi splendor and swashbuckling adventure in such a slender volume. If you discount the appendices, Dune is well under 500 pages. To this day, I’m hard-pressed to think of another author who created such an enthralling and believable world with so few words.

Frank Herbert isn’t the only author I owe a debt of gratitude. My novel Dragons Walk Among Us is a young adult urban fantasy written in first person present tense. I never would have considered such an undertaking when I first found the stick-to-it-iveness to sit down and crank out words. That was before I read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. I admit I found the style a bit off-putting initially, but I quickly warmed up to the immediacy the technique gives Katniss Everdeen’s adventure. When I first started writing in first person present tense, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I feared I’d find the first person narrative limiting and the present tense aspect hokey. Not the case at all. Turns out, it’s a heck of a lot of fun.  If it wasn’t for Suzanne Collins’ example, I never would have even considered experimenting with the technique.

Two themes that play essential roles in Dragons Walk Among Us are being an outsider and questioning one’s perception. The works of Fonda Lee and Rachel Hartman helped me solidify my thoughts on these themes. In Hartman’s Seraphina series and Lee’s EXO series, the protagonists are pariahs who end up questioning the social order of their respective worlds. In Dragons Walk Among Us, Allison Lee, the protagonist, is a member of a minority. She often feels she is an outsider and, after being blinded, questions reality, even her sanity. The protagonists’ character arcs in Seraphina and EXO gave me insight into how to elucidate these themes in a manner that I think resonates with readers. Of course, Rachel Hartman’s books include dragons, and just about any book containing dragons is inspirational.

Lastly, I drew inspiration from observing my son’s experiences, who is biracial. Not being a minority myself, I can’t claim to have ever experienced racism. My son, however, has experienced it. He was upset and pensive over the incident but has since moved on. His experience had a profound impact on me. I was already aware of the racial tension permeating the United States, but having my child brush up against the ugly beast of racism brought the issue to my doorstep. I fear the fault lines of bigotry and bias run deeper and wider than many people care to admit. One example is the anti-Asian sentiment emerging in the wake of the pandemic. All this is to say, some of Allison Lee’s experiences are loosely based on my observations of my son’s experiences. I can honestly say, I don’t think Allison’s story would be authentic without my son providing some inspiration.

BIO: Dan Rice has wanted to write novels since first reading Frank Herbert’s Dune at the age of eleven. A native of the Pacific Northwest, he often goes hiking with his family through mist-shrouded forests and along alpine trails with expansive views.

If you’re an author or other fantasy and science fiction creative, and want to do a guest blog post, please check out the guest blog post guidelines. Or if you’re looking for community from other F&SF writers, sign up for the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers Critclub!

Whenever I ask the question “How shall I live?” I always look to literature for the answer. But this time the answer came in a dream.

The dream took place in an auditorium, an old one, like the Century movie theaters in San José: a huge domed room, with plush maroon carpet that matched the seats. Some of the seats held members of my writing group. We were there because our fellow member Anthony Francis was going to read an excerpt from his novel, and I was supposed to introduce him.

I was standing on a wooden stage, behind a podium. This was a writing conference, titled The Real Life of Fiction.

I had notes, but they didn’t help. I babbled. I forgot the title of the novel. I forgot the name of the conference. At one point, through the haze of my stammering incompetence, I saw clearly for a moment: in the front row, a woman with the curly hair and Coke-bottle glasses that could only belong to one of my favorite authors: Oh no, I thought, not only am I messing up, but Connie Willis is seeing it.

The microphone was from the 1930s. Its metallic workings distorted my voice. The audience stared at me. Connie Willis’s glasses stared at me. I kept talking, even though I had forgotten the name of the conference and the title of the novel. Then I remembered to say that Anthony writes like the cinema.

I tried to explain what that meant, and my words made no sense. But I realized that since Anthony was about to read from his novel, I didn’t have to explain. I said, “You’ll see in a minute anyway. I don’t have to tell you.” I stepped down as Anthony stood up. I walked toward the seats as he made his way to the podium, a twin copy of the novel in his hand. He smiled and thanked me as we passed.

I’d done a terrible job, but I was happy, because it was the best I could do.

I’d babbled and stammered, but I’d said what mattered: that the conference was important, and that Anthony writes like the cinema. And that we work together in our writing group. After I sat down, I remembered I was supposed to have said more about the writing group, that someone had told me I should use this opportunity to advertise it. Oh well, I thought, next time.

What is “the real life of fiction”? Here is my answer: I am not content to read fiction or even to write it. I will not be satisfied unless I live it. I want my life to be a story, which means I have to transcend myself and do what matters in the critical moment.

But there is no shortcut, and sometimes you can’t do what maybe you should do, or what you see other people can do. At my writing group, I see Betsy just do things she thinks might work, like run a crowdfunding campaign; I see David just write novel after novel as though he has every right to do it. I even see myself posting videos that I hope no one will watch, but that a year ago I wouldn’t have even dared to record. Sometimes your skills aren’t where you wish they were, sometimes you don’t know the story you’re living, but that is not an excuse to avoid action.

You have to do what you can, because that is the only way ever to be able to do something that matters. The videos I make next year will be better, but only if I make these videos now.

There is a connection here to literature, to mythology, to Orpheus and Odysseus and Leopold Bloom, because we are all just trying to do something that matters, and we can’t do it most of the time. But still, sometimes we can, and that’s the part that all the other times are for. That’s the part that makes our life a story.

What is the real life of fiction? It’s the real life of the times when we can. It’s the times when we can’t, all condensed into a single scene; it’s the maroon carpet seats in the dome theater and the echo of an old microphone. It’s everything you do so that you can do the one thing that matters; it’s the one thing shining and then passing away.

Do what you can, and do it now. The real life of fiction is the real life of real life.

“”An essay from Your Writing Matters: 34 Quick Essays to Get Unstuck and Stay Inspired by Keiko O’Leary

If you’re an author or other fantasy and science fiction creative, and want to do a guest blog post, please check out the guest blog post guidelines. Or if you’re looking for community from other F&SF writers, sign up for the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers Critclub!