Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you enjoy your visit. After you read the blog entries, watch my YouTube channel, where I read excerpts from my novels, which I'll be updating frequently. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCUGP_-yQnTm389lD9yZIVzA -Daniel Lance Wright, author
My instant reaction was to become somewhat
smug, believing it a simple question; so simple, I wondered why even ask. And
then I attempted to put it into words. I couldn’t, not easily anyhow.
The question was asked of me a
couple of days ago and I’m just now to the point that I might be able to make
sense of my own thoughts on it – thoughts that meandered through my head. And
when I say ‘meandered’, I mean it; sort of like sperm with low motility bumping
into one another and never fertilizing a solitary solid answer. That said, it
should be clear enough that these tidbits came to me in no specific order.
It would be nice to be the next
John Grisham, J. K. Rowling, Stephen King, James Patterson or any of the other fiction
writers that have achieved the sharpest point of the commercial literary
pyramid. So, yes, I did think about celebrity and money; but was it the reason that I began writing fiction?
I can’t say for sure. Maybe – buried, of course, beneath layers of more noble
reasons. But, was it the nexus, the sprouting seed that began the process? It
couldn’t have been. There are many other ways to achieve fame and fortune and
possibly much easier.
There is a little Walter Mitty in
all of us. I’m sure of that, especially in our formative years. We all
fantasize of being celebrated heroes, fireman pulling people from burning
buildings, soldiers carrying wounded buddies out of harm’s way, or just the
handsome guy that has impeccable timing, casually tossing out perfect pick-up
lines during ladies night at a bar.
I’ve always had a problem with
becoming bored quite easily. Whenever I found myself unable to escape a
situation, trapped by preachers, teachers, bosses, or anyone else holding sway
on my time, I’ve opted to retreat into my imagination as a defense mechanism.
It’s probably necessary to mention, too, that, at some point I always regretted
not listening during those meetings, classes or services, because there was
always a test to follow, and all I could remember were bits and pieces. But,
here’s the good part; I could remember in vivid detail the stories I created
during those flights of fantasy.
This process always came
to me quite easily and naturally. As an example: I’m sitting in a sales meeting
and our manager is droning on and on about promotions, percentages, and
yada-yada-yada. I notice that the manager seems especially nervous about something.
From that, otherwise, inconsequential thing my head begins spinning out back
story that his nervousness is at the mid-point of a story arc that ends in his
eventual conviction for embezzling company funds that someone figured out and
is holding over his head, blackmailing him. And, maybe, at that very moment,
while conducting a sales meeting, he is also considering murder. Or, that the
company and law enforcement are aware and closing in on him.
This is a true story. I didn’t
fabricate the example. Oh, wait; the sales meeting was real, not the
embezzlement thing. That was just me letting my imagination do its thing while
enduring another God-awful meeting. The truth of that particular situation was
that the manager was about to be fired. I’d have been nervous, too.
Still, the notion of writing
narrative and dialogue to tell expanded versions of these infant scenarios did
not occur to me until I was in my mid-forties. It began when I had an
extraordinarily vivid nightmare that circled my thoughts like a vulture for
weeks. I could not put it into any context that made sense. I don’t know from
where my mind pulled together the elements of that vision that had become so indelibly
printed on my memory. So, one Saturday morning I woke early and that disturbing
dream was on my mind when I did. I sat at the computer and began typing out the
vision as I remembered it. Long story short: A hundred-twenty thousand words
later, I had a novel. Of course, by the time it was published, it had shrunk to
about eighty-five thousand words. And, that dream with some modification,
became the beginning of a paranormal (metaphysical, if you prefer) adventure
for my protagonist in “The Last Radiant Heart”.
Now, I’m back to the original question:
Why do I write?
I think it’s because it’s what I’ve
always done. I just didn’t put it into words for other people to read early on,
that’s all. Do I enjoy solitary endeavors like writing? Oh yes. Do I enjoy
creating characters and living with them for a time? Definitely. Do I want to
profit financially from writing? Of course.
To sum it up: I love writing
fiction. But, as easy as it would have been to simply say this and then shut
up, I wanted you to know the story behind the “why”.
Besides, how could I call myself a
writer if all I wrote was, “I love writing.”
Author of "Six Years' Worth"/Father's
Press/mainstream/print & ebook
Flawed"/Dream Books LLC/action-adventure/print & ebook "Where Are You, Anne
Bonny?"/Rogue Phoenix Press/ historical drama/ ebook only
story/CrossTIME Science Fiction Anthology, Vol. IX/print only
“Dancing Away”/ short story/romance/Untreed