Magical Realities, Perspectives, and the Human Condition: What Does Fantasy Do?

As a person and writer, I've never been able to look at a rock and see just a rock. The rock might grow a pair of legs and walk about the world, wondering why he's been given such a hard exterior in a land full of soft things, or that same rock might sprout a pair of wings and desire a home in the nest of an eagle. Perhaps I'm prone to disregarding the rules and laws of our world because I never quite meshed with my Organic Chemistry and Physics textbooks; or, perhaps, I gravitate toward this magical way of thinking because it is how I come to interact with and wrap my head around the confusing experiences of life.

For me, it's important to embrace this idea of other within literature because it encourages us to stand on our heads and view the world from a different perspective: a fantastical way for us to understand the human condition and experience.

I tell fantastical stories because I don't believe in saying to a character, You have to stop now--you can't go any farther because reality tells you no. I tell fantastical stories because I live for that moment when a character stumbles over that word no and does something special with it. There are many heavy things in this world, and it is my greatest pleasure as a writer to see how a character will interact with that weight: How might he lift it? How might she movie it? How will their directions change once that weight rests in their hands? [These questions might easily be applied to all genres of literature, including realistic--how might they take on different meanings?]

I tell fantastical stories because what if always has and always will intrigue me.

For me, a successful piece of fantastical literature conveys the notion that we don't always have to participate in the traditionally accepted versions of reality in order to understand ourselves and the inherent qualities that make us human. In my eyes, the goal of fantastical literature is to break apart the world we've come to know and, using all those pieces, a combination of recognizable things and never-before-seen things, slowly and carefully snap the universe back together again.

Sparkly, Shiny, Fresh-Smelling New Ideas!

The fantastic thing about writing stories--about stumbling into new worlds--is that you never know when they might pop up. You could be sitting in a classroom listening to your professor ramble on and on, you could be at work pounding away on that computer, or you could even be pleading to the Celeb Gods that they fix crazypants Lindsay Lohan.

But whenever that sparkly, shiny new idea creeps up on you, it's basically mandatory that you show the world how happy you are.

That happiness will ensue for many days, many weeks, perhaps even many months, until suddenly . . . your shiny new world begins to present problems and conflicts and struggles. And then you get sad, because conflict sort of stresses you out:

And you know what you want your characters to say, you know what you want them to achieve and where you want them to go on their journey, but sometimes you just can't reach the carrot:

But then, as you explore this world more and love this world more and meet new faces within this world and hear all the stories this world has to share, then that joy comes back again:

And then you have to edit the sucker . . . . and we all know how that feels:

Keeping it Real in YA Lit

I'm so lucky that I'm a Pacific Northwesterner and had the opportunity to check out Wordstock 2012! Authors, young writers, local publishers, readers, and word-lovers of all types showed up at the Oregon Convention Center this past weekend for an incredible literary celebration. 

I attended several YA panels and discussions, which quickly turned out to be the highlight of the convention. I find it so interesting to hear how other YA writers approach their work, especially when having to deal with subject matter that is tough, honest, and, for lack of a better term, real. 

Young Adults read this category to find themselves within the stories--to get to know a character that may or may not be dealing with similar issues. On the opposite side of the spectrum, adults read in this category to recapture the magic and experience of their earlier years, and for this reason I agree with author Steve Brezenoff, who said something to the extent of . . . . 

YA should be viewed as a perspective, not necessarily a genre and/or demographic. 

This discussion was called The "Adult" in "Young Adult" and featured authors Joelle Anthony, Steve Brezenoff, Kristen-Paige Madonia, and moderator Erica Lorraine Scheidt. The looming question that drifted throughout the room was what exactly is "adult" subject matter? How do we treat these issues that many adults and institutions have deemed "dangerous" or "too adult" for teenagers to explore?

While many had varying opinions, a couple of the authors raised the idea that it seems ridiculous to even classify the things people take issues with in YA fiction (such as sex, drugs, language, sexuality/identity, etc.) as being "adult" at all . . . because "adult" issues are quite different from "teen" issues, and both demographics perceive issues and interact with issues in very different ways. 

Many teens use literature to explore these sensitive issues and, as suggested by David Levithan at the end of the Keeping it Real discussion, "It's not dangerous to write about tough issues; it's dangerous not to write about them." The danger exists in holding back and not writing about something solely out of fear that the issue explored will garner negative criticism; it's important to remember that young readers need to read about issues that affect them and are pertinent to their lives. 

They need to know that their journeys aren't the only ones. So let's keep it real. Always. Aaragorn demands it.

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