When I let my eyes rove over the first sentence—whether it’s short fiction, a novel, novella, or even a poem—in the back of my mind, I’m saying a little prayer. I’m silently asking the author, “show me the magic”.
There is something enchanting about good writing. It’s something beyond grammar and diction, above spelling and syntax. It’s something more than the elements of writing that your high school English teacher gave you handouts on. And the only word I have for it is “magic”.
Magic is when a piece of writing reaches out to ensnare your senses and beguile your mind. Magic is what lets mere words form hands that wrap around your heart. Magic is the imprint of those words, the emotions that stirred in you, and the impressions left behind to haunt you.
And now that I’m writing The Queer Tales, I find myself reaching for that magic. I’m trying to tap into that legendary ingredient that will breathe life into my stories and make them live for my readers. Sometimes, I think I almost have it. Other times, I’m not so sure. But really, it’s not up to me to decide whether I’ve delivered the magic or not—it’s up to those who read what I write.
Not that that’s any less nerve-wracking . . .
I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.