Since I don't know what specifically prompted your query, I have no context for a reply. (As you intended. <grin>) But in general I'm on your side. Only the text matters. The way the author happens to view his/her work cannot and should not take precedence over the actual text--if for no other reason than because the unconscious mind (the author's as well as the reader's) works in mysterious ways, its wonders to perform. Virtually everything I've ever published means both more and less than I intended it to mean: a fact which delights me (although the "less" part can be disappointing <rueful smile>); and which explains, at least in part, why I try (with incomplete success) to avoid polemics. Sure, I have opinions about what I've written. And my opinions are uniquely well-informed, since I'm the only one who has access to my own sources of inspiration. But those opinions are still...just opinions. They don't reveal the story (except, perhaps, occasionally and obliquely): they only reveal how *I* think about the story. As long as you "play fair" with the text, what *you* think about the story is surely valid. The fact that different readers can read the same text and extract different meanings is one of the true glories of storytelling. (07/07/2009)

You raise a valid point. In retrospect, I wish that I had paid more attention to the matter (ideally in "The Illearth War"). That scene deserves (requires?) more narrative respect than I gave it. Unfortunately I'm stuck with the text as it stands; so I can only shrug--and try to forgive myself for being human enough to screw up occasionally. (07/07/2009)

As always, I don't post such things until a manuscript has achieved D&A ("delivery and acceptance"), which is still a long way off for "Against All Things Ending". (Once my editors give me their feedback, I'll have at least one more rewrite to do.) In addition, I don't usually post trailers until my publishers have told me when they plan to release the book (a decision which no sane publisher would make prior to D&A). (07/07/2009)

I would have guessed, "Don't touch me!" (07/08/2009)

As I think I mentioned, the "gimmick" for my anthology, "Strange Dreams," was that it contained stories I couldn't forget after I read them. I chose all the stories in the book myself on that basis. So as it happens, I read the Card story long before I even met him, much less heard him preach in favor of censorship. And it satisfied my criterion for the anthology: I couldn't forget it. So in retrospect I shrug and move on. Life is too short to spend it second-guessing such things. (07/08/2009)

For the information of interested readers.... (07/08/2009)

More information for readers who may be interested.... (07/08/2009)

At the moment, it seems to me that the significant difference between Lord Foul's powers and, say, Mhoram's oracular abilities, or the Ranyhyn's prescient relationship with time, is that LF is not a natural, organic occupant of this reality: he isn't born of the magic and Law that define life in the Land. Precisely because he is a transcendent being, he is *bound* in ways that don't suit him. That's why it's possible for some of the Earth's natural inhabitants (e.g. the Elohim) to have specific abilities he can't match. The Elohim *belong* there: he doesn't. In that respect, at least, he perceives "the time-bound world" in pretty much the same way that most of his opponents do. In particular, he can't "look" at the future--much less go there. He has to live and think and plan (and suffer) according to the laws of causality and sequence, just like (almost) everyone else. That said, his ability to imagine and plan for the possible outcomes of various ploys is obviously very strong--and getting stronger. However, he isn't hampered only by his unnatural (for him) imprisonment. He's also hindered by his own nature; by Despite. His ability to imagine and plan for the possible outcomes of various ploys is flawed by his inability to understand people who are *not* despisers. (07/10/2009)

I think it's pretty obvious that there's some kind of inherent and even necessary relationship between the ideas that choose me and--for lack of a better description--who I am. (How could it be otherwise, since this "choosing" process clearly takes place within my own unconscious mind?) So far, at any rate, "child friendly stories" aren't *me*. Just ask my children. Every time they wanted me to make up a story for them, I (rather cleverly, I thought) lured them into making up the story they wanted to hear for themselves. I never once spun a story for them out of my own imagination: I couldn't. (07/10/2009)

Hoo boy. I doubt that I can do this justice. But first I need to be clear about one thing. When I wrote my essay on "Epic Fantasy," I wasn't trying to lay down "rules". I was trying to shed some light on fantasy in general, and on epic fantasy in particular: specifically I was trying to account for the fact that "magic" and "monsters" have had so much narrative power throughout the history of human storytelling. If my way of looking at the subject works for you, fine. If not, no problem. There are plenty of other ways to consider the issues involved. And since I wasn't trying to lay down rules, I also wasn't trying to describe the standards or parameters which guide my own storytelling. I really do try to evolve each of my stories (and characters) organically; to help each of them grow up to be themselves, without authorial prejudgments or agendas. IN RETROSPECT, I sometimes observe patterns, both in my own work and in the works of others. And I make an effort to understand those patterns. But I don't write *according* to those patterns. Instead I just do everything in my power to help each story become itself. Later I look back because I want to educate myself, not because I want to pre-determine the shape of whatever I write next. In other words, my observations in "Epic Fantasy" are not a *template*. They are an attempt to understand patterns which obviously exist, but which (equally obviously) are open to a variety of interpretations. So with all of that in mind.... There is material here for hours of discussion: hours I don't have. For example, it might be illuminating to consider the mental state of the characters who first introduce our protatonist(s) to the Land in each story (Lena, Nassic, Anele). Or for another example, there are various manifestations of both madness and possession in these stories, and each one pretty much has to have a different valence or significance, or else they would just be redundant. However, you've focused on Joan. And where she is concerned, my response is actually quite simple: in her case, "madness" is emphatically *not* "a form of external Evil". In symbolic terms, she represents Covenant's self-loathing; specifically his loathing of leprosy, and of himself as a leper. In psychological terms, of course, she represents herself; and she has externalized or projected her own self-loathing as a loathing for Covenant-the-leper. (This fact in no way alters her symbolic meaning in Covenant's internal drama.) For herself, she became vulnerable to being used (possessed) by external Evil because her loathing had already torn her apart (madness). For Covenant, she is, and perhaps has always been, the question he must answer: Is that me? Is it a part of me? And if it is, what do I do about it? How can I live with it? Does any of this help? Probably not. But if I've managed to make the interpretive waters murkier for even *one* reader of the GI, I've done a good day's work. <grin> (07/10/2009)

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In my 10 minutes of free time every week, I do occasionally consider "registering" for Wikipedia so that I can correct statements like this one. But then I think, Nah. It's more fun to leave such comments alone. (07/16/2009)

It turns out that the U. of St. Andrews gave me an honorary degree for the best possible reason: many people there believe in the value of my work. Certainly I have (or had) no personal connection of any kind to the school. Or to Scotland, as far as I know. More information about the occasion is available elsewhere on this site. Look for a link to a blog posted by Professor James Davila, Dean of the School of Divinity, and located for me by Robyn Butler. (07/16/2009)

Well, Angus is certainly the protagonist of the story--or one of them, anyway. In that sense, he is the character (or one of them, anyway) to whom I want to reader to pay the most attention. But my reasons for starting the story the way I did had a somewhat different purpose than you suppose. I knew going in that Angus would be the most *difficult* character: most difficult to write about; most difficult for the reader to sympathize or identify with. Hence my uncharacteristically "objective" onion-peeling rhetorical stance in "The Real Story". I was trying (in a manner of speaking) to *sneak up* on Angus--and on the moral conundrum of his dealings with Morn. I was hoping that an oblique approach to my subject would be more, well, palatable to the reader. I feared that if I just threw Angus in the reader's face, the reader would turn away without ever learning why I considered this story worth telling. And I disagree with you when you say that "There's no obvious match for Brunhilde in the Gap...." I consider Morn a Brunhilde figure: the "daughter" who subverts her "father's" (apparent) will, and who thereby brings about the destruction of the "gods". After all, from her perspective in "Chaos and Order," Warden Dios *wants* her to take control of Angus. When she refuses to do so, she both betrays and redeems Dios' machinations. What could be more "Brunhilde" than that? (07/16/2009)

Speaking in the broadest terms--and recognizing that there are real exceptions--I agree with you. Artists of any kind who don't push themselves to go in new directions and require themselves to face new challenges don't *grow*. In effect, they cripple their own creativity. Which is sad for them; sad for their readers; sad for literature/music/art/whatever. But there are strange pressures on writers (I can't speak for other fields of creative endeavor) to produce *repeatable" successes. One, of course, is ego: having (perhaps inadvertently) written a bestseller, who wouldn't want to produce another? A second--as you've mentioned--is the unpredictability of readers. I know from personal experience that "Covenant" fans outnumber "Donaldson" fans at least five to one; probably ten to one. And I naturally wonder how readers can be so sure that they won't like my other books. On the other hand, this may not be as "fickle" as it seems. Isn't it simple human nature to prefer books that you already know you're going to like? Sure, it's sad when readers--like writers--don't grow. But when we have a really good experience (with a book, for example), don't we all want to have that same experience again? And aren't we all secretly suspicious when we're offered a very different experience? However, a third (and uniquely powerful) pressure comes from the way publishing itself has changed. Thanks to the conglomeratization of modern publishing, publishers themselves are under intense pressure. Their mega-corporate owners demand high profits, and publishers have no actual idea how to generate those profits. The "fickleness" of readers as well as the uncertainty of the zeitgeist prevent even the most discerning editors from being able to predict which books will sell well and which won't. (And we won't even talk about how the concentration of publishing in New York tends to produce reflexive, self-referential decision-making.) Meanwhile *books* as a whole are selling less and less every year as fewer and fewer people choose to read--which makes the demand for profit both more relentless and more unattainable. So publishers do what any of us might do in their circumstances: they look at what sold well last year, and they do their best to publish exactly the same book(s) again this year. Therefore they pressure writers--hard--to write the same book(s) over again. They're human; and if they don't generate enough profit, they'll lose their jobs. Naturally I wish that more writers accepted the challenge to become better. But I can sure understand why they don't. (07/17/2009)

If you had left an email address, I would have spared you public exposure. As you've observed yourself in a subsequent message, I've already spent 8 books describing Covenant. Under the circumstances, I don't think there's anything I can say here that might improve on what I've already written. It's safe to include your email address with your GI message. When I post a public reply, your address is automatically suppressed. (07/17/2009)

Ah, well. "Unconscious influences" again. Until you pointed them out, I never even noticed those similarities. <sigh> I was much more conscious of using "The Chronicles of Narnia" as, well, as a guide. In and out of the "fantasy" world; time discrepancies; that sort of thing. Of course, I had read LOTR more than once before I began on my own "Chronicles," so I can't very well pretend that I wasn't affected by Tolkien's work. But <smacks forehead vehemently> I really didn't "see" the similarities which suddenly seem so obvious. Maybe they explain why Lester del Rey was willing to take a chance on me. (After all, he loved "The Sword of Shannara".) Or maybe there's something archetypal about the underlying template that both Tolkien and I relied upon. Or maybe I actually was (in those days) more of a Tolkien imitator than I've ever realized. (07/21/2009)

So far, I haven't met anyone who actually *understands* "the proposed Google settlement". As far as I can figure out, the whole thing is a copyright issue. Legally, the author's copyright endures for a long time, whether or not a given work is still in print. Google proposes to make (freely?) available whole texts which are not in the public domain (because the texts are still under copyright). Google's opponents call this copyright infringement. For its part, Google claims "fair use," which involves free (but fully credited) quotation of small amounts of copyrighted text for the purposes of research, scholarship, criticism, reviews, etc.. Google's opponents counter that nothing prevents individuals (or indeed institutions) from downloading free entire texts for personal or even public use (which would be a clear copyright infringement). And after that (assuming that anything I've said so far is accurate) the situation gets even murkier. So Google has apparently come up with a method for paying authors whenever their texts are downloaded (even in cases of "fair use"?). In addition, Google apparently offers authors the opportunity to "opt out" of the agreement, in which case those authors' texts will *not* be made available (even texts which are long out of print, as long as those texts are still covered by copyright). Doubtless I don't grasp the true complexities (or even the facts) of all this. But my agent and I have agreed that the whole situation involves "chewing more than we can bite off," so we've decided not to worry about it. (07/21/2009)

As I've mentioned elsewhere, I've signed over the e-rights (text) for the GAP books to Bantam/Spectra; but I have no control over whether or not they actually use those rights. So far, no one has expressed the slightest interest in the GAP audio rights. At this stage, I can safely say that no audio books are planned. That's a mistake on the part of my publishers, I think. But once again, I have no say in the matter. (07/21/2009)

Yes, I do sometimes feel that people are looking over my shoulder as I write--and preemptively criticizing it before they even know what it is. <rueful smile> This, no doubt, is an effect of how *many* faults have been noted in my earlier work. Makes me self-conscious about my mistakes before I actually commit them; and self-conscious about writing at all, which is certainly not a constructive way for me feel. But the benefits continue to outweigh the difficulties. The GI does make me feel appreciated--and that ain't easy to do. In addition, it requires me to *think*, even when I don't want to; so it can be a useful antidote to inertia and even laziness (I mean mental or imaginative laziness). And it *is* writing, so I can think of it as a way of "staying in shape". (07/24/2009)

This whole point of providing "What Has Gone Before" for each book (after LFB) is to spare readers the necessity of "getting back up to speed" when a new "Chronicle" is published. Naturally I'm flattered when readers *want* to re-read the whole sequence in order to fully experience the next book. But life is short; and I don't think anyone should *have* to do that. Naturally I knew *of* David Eddings. But I never met him, or had any kind of personal contact with him. (07/24/2009)

As I've said in various situations, my reactions change constantly. Mood, context, weather, general frustration (with life more than with writing or the GI), the phrasing of the question: all tend to produce different responses (some of which I have the good sense to keep to myself <grin>). But it's probably axiomatic that my personal favorite whatevers that I've written wouldn't (can't?) be the same as my readers'. Transmitting a signal requires different equipment than receiving a signal. At the moment, the only "favorite" that leaps to mind is the scene in "This Day All Gods Die" when Angus confronts and releases Norna Fasner. For me, that scene is a crowning achievement--doubtless of an entirely idiosyncratic sort. (btw, I'm virtually never able to remember individual sentences. Once they're out of my head....) (07/27/2009)

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Of course I'm saddened by it--even (or perhaps especially) when I find it in myself. Leaving all other issues aside, that lack is inherently self-destructive. If/when the American Dream--or even Western Civilization--collapses, it will be because our societies chose apathy (or fanaticism: they come to the same thing in the end) over curiosity, engagement, and courage. Naturally the underlying problems have many facets, and are influenced by many things. For example, sensory overload always tends to induce numbness. (Too many books, too many choices, too many sources of stimulation, all too readily available: who can cope with it all?) Or for another example, grinding poverty fosters anger--and helpless anger turns easily to hate--especially when the poor know that their poverty is not an inevitable condition, but is rather a burden imposed on them by the rich. (Intellectual curiosity is a luxury made possible by a certain minimum level of material well-being.) But no matter where we look for causes, their effects are everywhere around us. Reading is only one of many casualties. (07/31/2009)

I'm sorry. I don't have a better answer than, "I didn't need it after that." Sometimes things get left behind just because there's no room for them in the suitcase. (07/31/2009)

Of course, "The Seven Samurai" is a classic. And there's another classic that has suddenly evaporated from my memory. <sigh> But in general I'm not really a fan of "samurai" movies. To an extent, the problem is one of "acting style": Japanese acting sometimes doesn't convey much to me. I get more out of Chinese acting. Really, however, I just prefer empty-hand martial arts, both personally and in movies. My absolute favorite martial arts movie of all time is "Fist of Legend" with Jet Li. Other than that, I've enjoyed (in no particular order): "Mr Vampire," "Encounters of the Spooky Kind 2", "The Swordsman 2" (Jet Li again), "Drunken Master 2" (Jackie Chan), and "Once Upon a Time in China" (Jet Li yet again). (07/31/2009)

Is "evil" *ever* aware of itself *as* evil? Some think yes: some no. Both sides can find examples in literature. Examples in life are a bit more difficult to determine. For myself, I'll say this: when the whole of "The Last Chronicles" exists in print, I'll defy any reader to find *better* places where I could have subdivided the story into publishable segments. (07/31/2009)