Guest Post: The Cake is a Truth by Clara Ward

When I first buckled down to seriously try writing after graduating from college, I dreamed of crafting epic fantasy similar to books by George R.R. Martin and Joe Abercrombie. Their works were breaths of fresh air. Unlike the novels of Tolkien or Robert Jordan, these authors eschewed the black-and-white worldview of good versus evil for shades of gray. I wanted to write just like them.

Of course, I eventually discovered that there’s a reason Martin and Abercrombie are best-selling authors, and Martin takes many years between books. What they do is really, really hard.

Switching to Young Adult

Discovering that writing epic fantasy is a monumental task was the first step in finding my authorial voice. My critique group told me that my writing was more suited to a young adult audience. At first, I was dismissive of this observation, but I came around when I started reading more young adult fantasy and science fiction. I soon appreciated these books possess an intoxicating sense of adventure and discovery.

Eventually, I abandoned my quest to craft an epic fantasy for adults to attempt a young adult fantasy. A theme that fascinated me was the sense of estrangement and otherness that young people often feel at one time or another. At least, I recall feeling that way as an adolescent. My interest in this topic was enhanced by my experience traveling solo to Japan while a young man.

I have been fascinated with Asia, especially Japan, from a young age. My initial interest in Japan stems from the original Shogun miniseries and my father’s fascination with the country. Even now, close to twenty years later, I vividly recall visiting Japan’s ancient capitals, Kyoto and Nara, and traveling to Himeji to tour the majestic castle there. It was a fantastic trip that enhanced my interest in Asia and taught me a lesson about how people who find themselves in the minority for whatever reason feel.

Growing up in the Pacific Northwest in the 1980s and 1990s, I always found myself in the majority. Most of my classmates and friends looked like me and had similar upbringings. The struggles of minorities, either in race, gender identity, ideology, or social standing, always seemed distant. These people and their challenges were something I only experienced on the nightly news, never firsthand.

I can’t claim to know precisely what it’s like to be a minority because I’m not one. But in Japan, I came about as close as I probably ever will. Kyoto is a touristy city, but most tourists are Japanese. While meandering the grounds of ancient temples, I was often the only foreigner, a gaijin. I attracted attention wherever I went, especially from school children with assignments to speak English to a foreigner. None of these interactions were negative, but I was very aware that in this environment, I was in the minority, that I was the other. For someone who had never experienced that before and was naturally introverted, it was uncomfortable at the time. I look back at it now as a wonderful experience. It gave me an inkling of what it is like to be a minority and taught me firsthand that the Western view of the world is only one perspective among many.

Later, I would draw upon my experiences in Japan and Southeast Asia in my writing for young adults.

Weaving in Themes

Feeling like the other and being caught between two worlds are themes that come up time and again in my young adult fantasy series, The Allison Lee Chronicles. Being a fantasy series, in some ways, the themes are apparent. Allison discovers she is a shape-shifting monster. Eventually, everyone knows she’s different; some people are fans, and others are not. However, I wanted to express these ideas more subtly, too, and that proved a difficult task.

While working on Dragons Walk Among Us, the first novel in the series, I was fortunate enough to read Seraphina by Rachel Hartman and EXO by Fonda Lee. These authors explored themes similar to those I wanted to investigate. Their protagonists were caught between worlds with divided loyalties and experienced feeling like the other due to their heritage and outlooks, and the novels’ antagonists weren’t evil villains. In many ways, the books were as morally gray as George R.R. Martin’s and Joe Abercrombie’s works without being relentlessly grim.

Reading the novels of Hartman and Lee helped me express Allison’s internal struggles of feeling like the other and being trapped between two worlds more subtly than I would have otherwise. I owe these authors and their books a debt of gratitude. They helped open my eyes to how wonderfully imaginative and thoughtful the young adult genre can be.

Conclusion

If I’ve learned anything on my writing journey it’s that your authorial voice can differ from what you expect or want it to be. When I first started writing, I never anticipated ending up as a young adult author. I also didn’t think my travels as a young man to Japan would have a thematic impact on my writing. But it did.

As a writer, I have benefited from being open to new experiences and perspectives and willing to reinterpret old ones. It helped me craft my authorial voice and find success.

Author Bio

Dan Rice pens the young adult urban fantasy series The Allison Lee Chronicles in the wee hours of the morning. The Wrath of Monsters, the third installment in the series, will be out on June 19, 2024.

To discover more about Dan’s writing and keep tabs on his upcoming releases, check out his blog and join his newsletter.

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!

Writing games. I avoided them for years because I was short on time, not ideas. Once I lifted my head from my page, I realized my focus was all wrong. This one-hour-a-week “game” held incredible lessons I couldn’t get anywhere else.

So why the reluctance? That’s the easy part. Take a first-born, type-A personality with a novel in its final draft, multiple short stories out on rejection””oops, I mean submission, numerous other half-written stories, and a second novel that’s itching for a conclusion, then disrupt that work with “games” full of nonsensical sentence prompts, and odd pictures, and you’ll find a non-believer who prefers to focus on “real” work.

I’d occasionally pop into the session, but more often than not, I’d log out as soon as I heard it was a writing game and not the story discussion or feral writing time I’d expected. If I had a deadline to meet, anything with the word “play” was dismissed automatically. Who had time for play? For five and a half years, fun writing seemed like an oxymoron.

I remember getting a rush of rejections, one after another, on stories I’d poured my soul into. I wasn’t hitting the right notes somewhere, and it was time to figure out where. Yet I joined writing games with a casual attitude, logging less than a hundred words per challenge. I had good ideas, but I’d edit my sentences as I went, placing structure and grammar above word count. Others did four or five times my number of words in the ten to fifteen minutes per prompt, and even though I knew the writing gems appeared in unfettered prose, I couldn’t stop fixing things. It wasn’t satisfying, and soon I was back to one or two sessions a month.

For the next few years, I’d join a session if I was bored or had spare time. I still considered writing games an extra, as if writing for fun was a waste of time. Professional writers repeatedly told me, “Don’t correct your work. Let it flow.” Sure, I told them, but I didn’t mean it. I hadn’t found that crucial key that added value to prompt writing. Then one session, a brave reader shared an emotionally beautiful piece of prose inspired by a prompt I’d done little with. Hearing someone else achieve so much using the same prompt in the same length of time was inspiring. I wanted that and realized I’d handicapped myself by focusing on my own writing when I should have been listening to others.

Once my focus shifted, writing games became more than “fun.” The following week I dug in and wrote 193 words, still correcting as I wrote, but less than before. I read to the group, and people waved in appreciation. Then a more seasoned writer read her work. Her character came alive in the first sentence, and she’d given her listeners a strong sense of place, so when the plot kicked in, and things got dark, I pictured the surroundings as if I were there. I instantly saw where my work fell short. I’d drafted a plot outline””a summation. I wanted those primordial elements of life on the page, and her example showed me the way. Her skills, added to all the other things I’d done to improve my craft, lit a spark of understanding, and my writing changed at that moment.

With my resistance gone, I attended each writing-games session with a “challenge accepted” attitude, and my interest leaped from a three-four to an eight-nine. The key wasn’t in the task or the prompt but in hearing what others did with it””how they started their piece, the word choices, phrasing, character description (an area where I truly suck), and other elements handled in a way I envied. I was playing, but in a way that made sense to me.

One of the regulars at writing games is so good at drilling down on a sentence. She doesn’t just write of things normally associated with the contents in the sentence; she lists the things it’s not, then builds support for what it is. For example, the prompt: “Desire is no light thing.” She wrote that a dead body is heavier than a living one, but it should be lighter since the dead no longer have desires, and desires keep people alive””grounded with a gravity that can’t be ignored. I mean, wow! Then there’s another regular who creates the best descriptions and another who launches into crazy, off-kilter prose that shoves my logical mind aside. Taking the creative leap with him is exhilarating.

The range and variety of works are fun, and not in a candy-crush time-sucking way, but fun the way reading is fun. Everyone constructs their stories differently, and whether they focus on setting, character, plot, or a beautiful meld of all three, the creativity and flex of craft are always impressive. There are still prompts that don’t tickle my muse. Take “what are we but ten minds? this is sent with love. this paper has gone far.” I was blank on this one with a capital “B,” but others in the group produced some great pieces, and listening to the “what and how” of their prose was as important to my growth as a writer as plying my own skills to the task.

Looking back, I realized I needed those first years to understand that I was creative and could pull a story from the air using a prompt. But when I wanted more, writing games offered that too.

Beauty lies in the impulsive writing, the understanding and skill brought by the other players, and the option to listen while others read their work. Of course, reading is always optional, but it’s a supportive, safe place to share when your muse strikes. No one gives critiques here, and getting those double-hand waves for a piece that delights you feels pretty nice after writing in isolation these last few years. It’s also a great place to try new techniques, viewpoints, or styles, like poetry or second person.

After six months, I can honestly say my writing has improved. It has miles to go, but that’s the fun of it. I don’t want a skill-level ceiling. Last week, I wrote 247 words in twelve minutes””my new record. I had a character with a personality twist, a plot arc, a strong antagonist, and a good ending. I drafted a story. In twelve minutes. It needs fleshing out, and there’s no setting, but I saw people gasp when the story took an unexpected turn, so I know the bones are there.

The coolest part? I didn’t get there on my own.

Join Cat Rambo and friends on Wednesdays at 11:00 a.m. Pacific Time for Writing Games.

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!