Look and Listen

Biography

The nice thing about self-publishing is that all the rules go out the window. The usual bio goes like this - born such and such a place, worked at this and that, now lives wherever under whatever circumstances - and really isn't very interesting; just a few dry facts that tell nothing worth knowing and so are as quickly forgotten as read, so let's try something different. One road runs through the village, buildings are well spaced and very few of them are terraced. There is a strip of wasteland smothered in bushes and small trees, and behind it a playing field (goal posts and such) and beyond that fields. Then a town hall raised above the road to the right, the wall is about shoulder high and then grass grows. There is a road out of the village to the left. Round a curve where another road leaves the village, and down hill; there is a spooky church on the left. I went to sunday-school there, once or twice. Further down on the right there is a school, which I attended more frequently. We built dams in the brook, built mud forts and threw dried mud at each-other when the fields had been ploughed. I learned to ride a bike here and managed to get hit by a car. It's no big deal but that is only because I am lucky. When I am five my parents divorce and my family moves to another village. There was a girl who asked me to stay. I can only assume she didn't fully understand the situation. Down a hill, a main route east to west, another church, left into the village proper, two more roads lead out of the village, on one is a school, on another a playing field, the whole surrounded by farmland. The village is big enough to develop two distinct societies of children. I drift between camps depending on my mood. I still ride recklessly but my luck holds - having been narrowly missed by one car the driver changes his route home and kills a girl in another village. One man shoots another after drunken night out. A friend moves away and dies shortly thereafter. I rarely go to school, the pace and quality of teaching is too slow and too low to hold my attention. I read a great deal. When it is time to leave school I decide I will write. The first book sent is rejected with the words "Interesting as this looks blah blah blah" and a pattern is set. It's a long time before I sell anything. There was never any chance that I would give up. That was never going to happen. I move from town to town, looking for something. I drink too much. Jobs come and go and so do flats and such. Living in towns and cities is much better than living in a village. I find that my peer group is "smart under-achievers." I marry a girl who also drinks too much. We move from town to town. Jobs come a go and so do flats and such. It's a blast. A couple of years in the same job leave me thinking I have achieved stability; I drink less because the job demands it. The relationship can't survive one of us being sober, though it has survived everything else. When she is gone I clean the flat to get rid of the scent of her and find torn up bills everywhere. It's a while before I clear the the debts. I marry again. A woman who is smarter than I am. After a couple of years we decide that holidays out of the country aren't enough time away from the place. We live out of the country for a good few years. A lot of stuff happens; most of it good. After the relationship comes to a natural end I head to the UK where I am offered work all over the world with breaks in-between times. Perfect. It doesn't happen. And here I am. There are not many things that I am sure of, but here are a couple: Free-will is an illusion (take a look at the evolution of the brain and you will see what I mean) but as “the illusion of light is light (Ged said this, I think)” so the illusion of free-will is free-will. Just a thought, but if you feel trapped by your context it is one worth thinking. Reality is much more malleable than you probably think it is but there is no way I can prove it to your satisfaction if you don’t think it is as fluid as I do. The one lesson of history is that we never learn. I don’t remember where I heard this first but it is depressingly true. The evidence is everywhere so I don’t have to prove it. Now, time for a drink.

Inspiration

I am not consciously aware of being influenced by anything so far as my writing is concerned, apart from in a purely technical sense where I seek out and attempt to absorb those few insights given into the craft of writing by the few writers whose insights I agree with. This begs the question, if I already agree... why do I need to hear it? Good point. No idea. There are also technical issues to be dealt with, knowledge to be acquired. A good paragraph is one were a subject is dealt with; end it when the subject is done. It is usually best to have more than one sentence in a paragraph. Like that; but that tells you nothing. As I seem unable to tell you what influences me as a writer, I guess I will have to tell you something about what influences me as a human, a conscious entity; some of these things, the first to leap to mind as it happens, will be other writers. This is probably inevitable as I have read an awful lot. So, the first influence to come to mind is: The humanist writings of Spider Robinson and his late, lamented wife, Jeanne. Telempath, Stardancer, Callahan's Crosstime Saloon. I will not try and tell you how good these works are; trust me; go read them. The influence? I didn't know I was a humanist, at least in part, until I read these. I would hope to write something half so good. The rational and realist writings of Robert A Heinlein. Stranger In A Strange Land and Time Enough For Love. Or anything, in fact. He wrote the defining time travel story; the defining every SF story, arguably. The influence? I empathised with the protagonist in Stranger In A Strange Land. So, I am a humanist who believes we are more than we seem. The plot thickens. Then there is Dune by Frank Herbert. I was young. I had no idea how critical politics was to the structure of society. I had no idea that we could be so manipulated by those with their hands on the reins. Good stories, also. Again I saw some truth in them. So, I am a political humanist who believes... you get the idea. I'm guessing this has an affect on my writing. I'm going to skip a good few until I get to Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. The reason? Exactly. The reason. Reason is a good thing. This book also has truth in it, I think. It is true that the legend of Robin Hood must end if we are to thrive. Stealing from the wealthy to give to the poor is unwise; wealth gathered is still in circulation, and growing, flowing through our pockets all the time. People with a knack for making great wealth employ many others who also make money with the obvious positive consequences. I am glad that there are super-rich people, they lift us all up a little higher. I do not grudge them their wealth (nor envy them, either, truth be known). Again, I won't argue it, but would prefer that you choose to plough through this tomb; difficult though I found it I found it worth it. However, I think it is also wise to remember that all understanding is flawed and can be used to justify dubious actions. A rational, political, humanist, etc. So far, no fantasy... and yet I write fantasy. Well, now I have to think... Niven, Niven and Pournelle, James P. Hogan (people who do science, like accountants, need not be dull - though accountants would imho do well to break out and apply their skills in other areas to the benefit of all). Still no fantasy. Think some more. There are so many. Cerebus the Aardvark by Dave Sim (and Gerhard). I am not and have never been a feminist. Equality of opportunity; all for it, no problem. The influence? You can be funny and still have an axe to grind or a point to make, and make it well and thoroughly. Good work; many laughs. As I said, there are so many writers who have influenced my understanding of... whatever it is that I understand that I could not begin to name them all or pick out the sometimes tiny mass that tugs the orbit of my active consciousness. Orson Scott Card, Speaker For The Dead. Another; no life is truly worthless once you understand the motives that caused the actions, no matter how poor the results. A true and fascinating insight into human nature. And a good book. Bonus. I think I will stop there. Hopefully those few will give you some clues.