Thank you, Anne McCaffrey.
The value of short fiction isn’t something a reader can decide, nor is it something the authors and industry can, either. It’s a system of checks and balances that has been out of whack for a very long time.
No, I’m not asking you to teach my illiterate self how to find meaning in the written word, rather I want to know how you find yourself gobbling up the wordy goodness you love.
Like every other woman who went through school with frizzy hair and the label “the smart girl,” I identify strongly with Hermione Granger. I have no illusions about how clichéd this is. It’s about as original as every non-Republican professional woman with glasses believing herself to be the real-life Liz Lemon.
I don’t remember how I first ran across In Her Name: Empire, but I remember why I downloaded it: Hicks was giving it away free on his blog for nothing more than signing up to his newsletter. I figured “why not?” and bought into his marketing. I’m glad I did.
Some writers can write anything. They’ll decide one day to sit down and bang out a Western — because they’ve never written a Western before — and POW! They’ve done it. Okay, I don’t know too many people like that — any, really — but I know lots of writers who think of themselves that way. But it’s not so easy to just pick a genre and immediately start writing.