rant is where the heart is

diaryland: sirilyan.diaryland.com: entry for 2000-12-08 (14:08:08)
In which our plucky young hero returns in the sequel.

When I was a kid, I dreamed of being a novelist. I wanted to pump out books just like the ones that were always glued to my nose: fantasies in series of three and five and eight volumes. I actually got a good start on that dream, too.

But as I grew, the dream faded. I wasn't particularly intrigued by fantasy novels anymore, and I wasn't particularly intrigued by eight-book trilogies. Most of all, I was more aware of the amount of work involved in creating even a mediocre novel, one that could never get published. A good one would be an effort beyond my abilities.

I knew in my bones that writing was a phase I'd gone through, and now I could move on with my life.

Of course, now I'm writing again, except this time, I'm writing a different sort of fiction and a different sort of non-fiction, two things I never would have thought I could write when I was growing up. Sometimes your dreams don't die. They just go into hiding, and emerge with a new hat.

Maybe I'll dig up one of my old stories, if I can find it, and show it to the world. There are worse ghosts to exhume.

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