A Novelist's Take... Politics, Trump and the Presidential Race (Part I)

My apologies for not posting these past three weeks. CITY OF SLAVES is about to be released (April 6th) and I've been working diligently to ensure that everything goes smoothly. The writing side is one thing, but I'm a rookie when it comes to publishing. So thank you for your patience.

Over the next two weeks, I'll be posting a few blogs regarding current headlines. The easiest way to do this is the form of an interview with questions people have asked me on social media or questions that I would ask some of my favourite novelists. (My next blog will deal with current events in the sports world)

Q) Before I ask you about your view of the current political climate in the United States, you insisted on suggesting that you're answering these questions as a novelist. Why?

A) Because I've come to realize that my work influences my view, enough that it needs to be understood, if not clearly stated. Artists, as a rule, view the world through a different lens. They are humanity's great observers, if only because their work only matters when they're commenting on what they see. As a novelist, which is a very long art form, my view tends towards depth. And what it means in greater context. That doesn't mean I don't react when a presidential candidate like Trump makes a penis joke -- everyone reacts to that -- but it doesn't narrow the distance between what I see and how I perceive the election.

Q) You've stated your political tendencies, or at least suggested them, in the past. You have described yourself as a progressive. Does this hinder your ability to comment on what's happening in the Republican Party right now?

A) Well, I'm a Canadian first, so my commentary means little in the way of voting. As to a progressive commenting on the GOP, which have become a party of extremists, with perhaps the exceptions of people like (gulp) Jeb Bush and John Kasich, it is not only viable, but necessary.

Look, I understand the appeal of Donald Trump. He's outrageous, funny, and completely unpredictable. There's a reason he was a reality TV star. But he's also a misogynist, racist xenophobe. The comments he's made regarding Muslims and illegal immigrants are completely unacceptable and downright coarse. He has lowered the level of discourse. Worse, there are examples of schools and children, perhaps after listening to their parents glowingly talk about him, using him as a reason to bully other students with minority backgrounds.

If anything, this IS a progressive issue. Suggesting that a female reporter was "on her period" as a reason for his reactions during a debate are unconscionable. Ten years ago, such a comment would have been decried by both parties. It feels like we are taking a step backwards. And so yes, commentary by progressives is necessary.

Q) We have heard that from other progressives. But how does being a novelist alter your opinion? Or does it?

A) I write fantasy, which is basically like writing historical fiction on steroids. Most fantasists, myself included, use alternative worlds to comment on what is wrong in our society what we can do to change it. (While entertaining the reader, of course)

Everyone has seen the memes comparing Trump to Hitler, which sound outlandish until you start to dig. But as a novelist, the wide view goes much deeper. History is not linear. Progression of equality and civil rights do not move up a ladder. There are plenty of examples in history of countries and civilizations moving backwards.

Two thousand years ago it was acceptable for Egyptian women to initiate a divorce with their husband. They were also allowed to own land. During that same time, the Romans allowed no woman to speak with any influence outside the household. As we know, the Romans conquered Egypt. Their patriarchal view of society was the staple of European life for more than seventeen hundred years. And it was only until the last century that once again women were allowed to vote and hold land and not be subject to their husband or father.

Q) That seems like quite a stretch for this year's election. No one is advocating that women lose their ability to vote.

A) Again, a novelist takes a long view. Simply to have a presidential candidate suggest a woman's period as a reason for her supposed incompetence is significant. Rights are only rights because people fought for them, but they can be lost just as easily.

Look at Egypt now. With the movement towards Islamic fundamentalism in the early part of the 20th Century, those same people, who two thousand years ago offered a society that valued equality, was forced to undergo riots and recorded insults from Egyptian men telling them to "get back into the kitchen."

One step down the ladder is a big step, because it's harder to go up then down.

Q) Why are American politics so important to a Canadian novelist?

A) In Canada, like every other G-8 country, we offer free health care. This would seem to be a basic right. In the US, it isn't. And whether we like it or not, Americans dominate the media due to their size and influence. The US also happens to be our biggest trading partner and our best friend. About 70% of Canada's population lives with five hundred miles of the American border, and their economy drastically impacts our own.

More than that, however, is the possibility that such a culture presents. Let's say Bernie Sanders miraculously won the presidency. Republicans like to suggest he's a "radical," but his message is essentially a proposition to run the country the way Canada and other G-8 countries like Sweden and Norway operate. Countries that focus on equality and lowering income disparity. That would be important for any progressive! And what a platform he'd have to spread that to the rest of the world!

Now consider if someone like Trump, or Cruz, are elected. Their extreme conservatism would set the docket for equality back light years. Both believe in the Military Industrial Complex that has trapped the American economy for years and neither would be interested in setting equality, whether its between classes or gender or race or sexuality, as a top priority.

Q) I would ask you about Canadian politics, but you seem more invested in the presidential election. Is that true?

A) Yes. For now. I like to take a wait-and-see approach to our current governing party. Conservatives love to slam Prime Minister Trudeau, but lets check back in a year and see what he's done or what he's failed to do.

Q) Do you have a prediction for who wins the presidential election?

A) I think Clinton will win. Sanders is going to damage her, but he'll also push her left, which is a good thing. Trump is going to win the Republican nod, and I just think there are too many Americans who are too scared to elect him. His unpredictability is amusing, but it wouldn't be amusing as a leader. I do think the race will be closer than people think, however. Clinton is a polarizing figure. I would love to see Sanders win, but I don't see that happening.

Kind Words Make a Good Day

I'll be honest. I'm a bit sick of promoting my book. I know it's important, and I'm thrilled with the reviews so far, but sometimes it becomes a bit much and I start to think I'm becoming narcissistic, if not an egomaniac. Even looking at my Facebook feed makes me grimace. Yet another post about The Last Angel? Really?

Unfortunately, that's part of the deal for anyone who owns their own business. Forget that I'm an artist. If you don't promote your work, who will? The notion that you can "stand on your own" and "just let people find you" is nonsense. The truth is, you have to push. You can do it with class and humility, but you still have to push. Fortunately, most people seem to understand this, and if your work is good enough, they'll even applaud you for bringing it to their attention.

It's still uncomfortable though. 

That said, the reviews for The Last Angel have been very encouraging, and today was one of those days when an author is very encouraged. First, I found this new review on Goodreads:
"Full disclosure: Stephen is a best friend. Also: I'm a discriminating reader and read widely across genres: from Sanderson to Atwood to non-fiction to theological tomes. The Last Angel was quite unlike anything I've ever read - and I loved it. 

Frankly, I'm not used to reading "page-turners;" that's what The Last Angel is. I'm not used to encountering deep, contemporary theological questions about the nature of God in a novel; that's what The Last Angel does. I'm not used to loving a world so much that I wished the book weren't over and can't wait for the next one; again: The Last Angel. 

The writing style is fast-paced, but doesn't sacrifice on richness: you get the sense that this is a deep world and the characters have a thick backstory. Something happened decades ago that shaped the setting and moulded the people, and you just want to find out everything you can about it. Steve does not disappoint: he slowly time-releases this information exactly when it suits the plot and gives the reader a jolt of surprise.

From Tommy and Kallie, to the Nephilim and even (unexpectedly) the Ganath and supporting characters, everyone is important and unique - no character feels "tropey," but rather imbued with their own emotions and motivations. This serves the action well, as we're never quite sure what to expect - but when the characters act, it's because they're being true to the selves that we're discovering as readers methodically throughout the story. 

'Loved the author's iconoclastic questions about God. You get a sense of his wrestling with traditional pat answers about God - and it's fun that he puts those struggles in the mouths of authoritative "angelic" characters such as the Nephilim and the Ganath. These are not trivial pop-neo-athiest or evangelical stereotypes. The creatures in this book have the same questions we do about God in a world like ours, but they know just a little more about "Father" by proximity. And what they say about him makes sense.

In short: I ripped through this book, reading it whenever I had spare time - even just a few pages at a time if the minutes allowed. I didn't want to leave the world - and can't wait to get back to it in Book II. This is a fast-moving, action-packed, theology-filled thrill. I haven't had so much fun reading a novel in years. "

Yesterday, a friend of mine posted a picture of the book with this message: 
"Look what came in the mail today!! A friend of mine has published his very first novel, and let me tell you it's goooooood. SO excited to have a copy! If you enjoy reading, pop over to Amazon and grab a copy for yourself, you won't be disappointed!! Available in print or e-novel, just specify which you prefer once you click the link below 😉"

Two more people posted pictures of the book as well, and it was all, well, it was very humbling. And it made my day. 

As I go through this process for the first time, it's amazing that I've never realized how important it was to share my love for a particular piece of art and what a difference it made for the artist.

Amazon and Goodreads make a work more accessible by the number of reviews that a work receives. That's it. It doesn't even matter if those reviews are negative. When a book causes people to comment, the algorithm finds the work more easily. 

That, of course, mirrors our society. When a Kardashian, with the intellectual vigor of an astute five-year-old,  can pull down great ratings, we begin to see what drives modern commerce. 

I'm not dismissing my society or snubbing my nose at it, but what I am saying is that if you do find an artist you like, take a couple of minutes to promote them. Write a review. Rate their work. Send them an email. All of this sounds, in some ways, quite ridiculous, because for all that we can comment on the internet about things we like and don't like, the disconnect between artists and those who enjoy their work have never been higher.

But today a few people took the time to tell me, and their peers, how much they enjoyed my book. It not only made my day, but inspired me. So if you find an artist whose work you like, let them know. Let your friends and family know. And for goodness sake, if you're looking for reading material, pick up a copy of The Last Angel. You won't regret it. 

Hitler Liked Dogs; Creating Nuanced Characters

If you've been following the American presidential election at all, you might have noticed a pattern in the political process, a pattern that has always been there, but has sharpened in the last twenty years. Politicians -- and their campaigns -- no longer debate issues, they demonize their opposition. And this isn't simply between parties, it happens within the party itself.

Look at the Democratic battle. If you like Bernie Sanders, Hillary is a lying scumbag and the worst possible option for president. If you're a Republican, your competitors are "losers." And this is not the fault of the politicians. I repeat, it is not their fault. If they don't do this, if they do not go "full negative," it is very difficult to win. (Everyone would suggest that Obama is the exception, but in 2008 during the primaries, his camp vilified Clinton.)

It is unfortunate that the electorate finds this negativity so compelling, but it does. Here in Canada, our new PM, Justin Trudeau, had only been in office for a few days before the Conservatives started taking shots at him. Days. Not years or even months. Days.

The Importance of Nuanced Characters

This is also true in fiction. There are still many writers, particularly those who write genre fiction as I do, who insist on having "evil" characters and "good" characters. It's one thing to find this extremism in politics, it's another to find it in a novel. It suggests that the writer either doesn't understand human nature or has a very narrow view of the world, neither of which is helpful for producing stories that not only make us think, but give us a better understanding of human nature.

The purpose of any story is to help us understand ourselves and our world and our place in it. It isn't simply to provide entertainment. If the only goal is entertainment, then the story will be simple, and not in a good way. (Think about all those empty blockbusters that we see during the summer, the ones with great special effects and laced with a story we forget as soon as we walk out of the theater.)

That's not to say that every character needs to be an anti-hero, either. Generally, you want your protagonist to be likable, but you also want to be able to identify with that character. That means flaws.

The flip side to that means your antagonist must have moments of likability. Or in the very least, you must provide some understanding of why said character is acting in such a manner. Most novelists do well enough presenting flawed heroes. The same is not true for their "villains."

I cannot tell you how many books I've edited where my first message to the authour is to create more nuance in their characters. At first, this sounds like a daunting task, but it's really not. All that's needed is more thought about what the character is like. Some authours use a sheet listing characteristics, some create a bio or resume, others do an entire family background. Whatever works. In my case, I try to emphasize at least one point of honour for every villain (I don't love that term, but you know what I mean) in at least two scenes in each novel.

Hitler Liked Dogs

For example, if I was writing about Hitler, who was indeed a vile human, I would have a scene with him caring for his dogs. The reason we do this isn't to make Hitler look good, but to emphasize his humanity. What we're looking for is the contrast, not between good characters and evil characters, but the contrast of good and evil within the character.

This develops nuance. It also makes your story more unpredictable. If I know that character A always acts a certain way, the story becomes predictable. And boring.

Ultimately  the reader is looking for is someone they can identify with, someone who reminds them of themselves. When a critic says that the characters "leap off the page," this is what they're referring to.

I don't think our politics are going to change any time soon. But it is possible for the electorate, for us, to do a better job communicating with those who see the world differently. We writers need to do a better job of this as well. Not only to create better stories, but to help our readers see the depth in the world and in people that the twenty-four hours news cycle will never show us.

Listen, we live in an age of memes and six second vines and 140 character opinion pieces. As writers, we need to do a better job pulling people out of the cycle of false dichotomies. It's true that some people are more helpful than others and others are are more selfish. But we're all human.

And there is nothing simple about being human.

The End is the Beginning

“How’d the writing go today, love?” Bethany asked as I bustled inside.

“I don’t know. Good, I think.” I’d spent the past six hours at a local café after work. I managed a hug and kiss for my wife as I slumped into a chair. “I don’t know, babe. I don’t think I’m getting anywhere.”

“You will,” she smiled. “The book is good. Hear anything from the agents?”

“Two more rejections.”

I bit my lip and glanced at our apartment. Our two cats were laid out comfortably on the floor. They didn’t care if I became a successful writer. They were at peace. I knelt down to scratch Nelson, our fat one, between the ears.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been failing at this for a long time. What’s a few more rejections?” She kissed me again and moved away. I didn’t bother telling her how much these rejections hurt, because they all hurt. I’d been writing for eighteen years. I’d spent the past five working on an epic fantasy novel that had gone through many shifts. I'd been certain that it would break the glass ceiling for me. 

It hadn’t happened.

Hell, not even a sniff from the agents. Nothing but form rejections. And this after completely re-writing it (and sending it out) three times. I don't mean simply editing it, either. I'd probably written about two million words to get to the ninety thousand word novel that it was right now. 

It hadn't mattered.

I had no idea what to do. I’d been writing for so long, and had encountered so little in the way of success, that I wondered if it was time to give up. Oh, I’d keep writing, of course.. (It was impossible to imagine a life without writing stories.) But maybe I had to accept the fact that I wasn’t good enough. It wasn't like I wasn’t a prodigy. I hadn’t studied writing or English Lit. My degree was in theology, and I’d spent most of my life working with students with special needs.

I’d just turned forty-one. Nearly two decades after I’d penned my first novel, I was going nowhere.

My wife walked back into the room. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah. I just… I don’t know how to be good. I’ve done this every day, babe, and I’m still… They don’t like it.”

She wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “It’s good. You’ll make it. Just be patient.”

I was lucky. I knew that. Bethany understood who I was and that the man she’d married was an artist, successful or not. She didn’t care that I hadn’t broken through, didn’t care that the agents had rejected my work. Instead, she found time to edit my drafts and encourage me. It might’ve been a great story if a publisher or agent had sent me something other than a form rejection.

But they hadn’t.

Two weeks later, still revising my manuscript,  I stumbled upon a website called National Novel Writing Month. (NaNoWriMo) Their challenge was to write fifty thousand words in thirty days. I’d written between two and three million words the past five years, but when I looked at my manuscript, I decided it was time for a change. Something new. Maybe the agents were wrong. Maybe my book was good. It didn’t matter. Unfortunately, I had no idea what to write about. That it would be fantasy was a given. It was my favorite genre, the one I felt most comfortable in. But fifty thousand words in thirty days?

But I had nothing to lose (the website was free) so I signed up. 

That first day, I barely crawled past the necessary word count (1,667 words). Unlike my past attempts, however, I knew that my obsessive self-editing was no longer possible. Not if I was going to meet my goal. Not at this pace. 

So I stopped. I stopped worrying about who I might offend with language or religion. I stopped caring about what my friends and family might think. I stopped editing myself as I tried to unveil the story. In this, I’d reached the end. The end of trying to please people. The end of trying to make others happy. The end of trying to write so that everyone felt better.

I reached the end, and it was a new beginning.

With only a couple of vague pictures in my mind, The Last Angel formulated into something solid. I finished the challenge and completed the first draft ten days later. I still had no idea what I’d done until I showed it to my wife.

“It’s a winner, love,” she said.

But she’d said that before. I began the usual practice of sending it t agents, only this time, it garnered interest. Real interest.

Bolstered by what I’d written, I used the same thirty-day tactic to write the sequel. No editing. No censoring. Write from the heart.

The result, CITY OF SLAVES, was another book I was immediately proud of.

And while the interest from the agents waned, I was no longer deterred.

I had something. I could feel it.

I contacted my old editor, Erin Healy, who’d become a best-selling author in the years since we’d last spoke. I was on the verge, she said. And self-publishing was probably my most viable option.

The publishing world had changed greatly in the past four years. No longer did the gatekeepers hold all the power. The digital revolution had changed everything. And with my esteemed editor’s words ringing in my ears, I published The Last Angel.

THE LAST ANGEL

Four weeks have passed since I made the decision. The reviews for the book have been overwhelming. Every day, I am astounded by the love and encouragement from those who have picked up the book and cannot wait for its sequel.

One might think this to be an easy adjustment for an artist. It is not. I wrote for nearly two decades in the caverns of underwhelming. To have so many people leap to my work and love it is exciting, but oddly disconcerting as well.

The Last Angel wasn’t the beginning for me. It was the end. It was a desperate attempt to change things. And to do it, I had to ignore all the well-intentioned voices in my head, the ones about my friends and family and everything I’d ever read about best-selling books. Instead, I wrote the book that I wanted to read. I emphasized the scenes that I liked. I didn’t have time to consider the “public.” It was just me, my characters and a story that somehow made me feel better about myself and the world. That’s it.

It is so difficult today for artists. I suspect that has always been true, but in a world of fifteen second “takes” and “memes,” it has become increasingly difficult for story tellers to find a home. Hollywood seems more interested in sequels than new stories, and people are reading less than they did twenty years ago.

It’s easy to get lost in the mayhem. Easy to say that it’s not worth it.

But it is.

Even if it’s only your friends and family who read your work or listen to your songs or look at your paintings, it matters.  We have to end this notion that art is just for others. Yes, we hope people admire and buy our work, but art is ultimately for the artist, first.

 It isn’t the end of their dreams that creates life, it’s ours. It isn’t their pain that draws us to the page, it’s ours. And it isn’t their critique that matters.

It’s ours.

Until we stop trying to please people, we will never create the art we want, we will never be the person we want to be, and we will never live the life we long for.

So you’ve reached the end. And you are absolutely certain that no one wants to hear what you have to say?

Perfect.

You've reached the end. It's time to begin. 

           

Beta Readers: Why, Where, and How

If you've been writing for a while, you probably know what beta readers are, unless you're like me and you came to the party a bit late. Though I'd heard  the term in the past, it wasn't until about two years ago that I finally started using them. It changed my work dramatically, and this past month I published my first novel, THE LAST ANGEL, to positive reviews. 

That would not have been possible without my beta readers. They helped me take a good concept and turn it into a polished work of fiction. If you're new to the writing game, (I've been doing it for over twenty years) don't wait like I did. In this post I'll outline exactly what beta readers are, why you need them, and where to find them.

WHAT DO BETA READERS DO?

In short, a beta reader looks at your piece of fiction (or memoir) in advance of publication and offers feedback on why the story works or doesn't work. Now, if that's all they did (and some beta readers do only that, but we'll talk about that in a minute) they wouldn't be terribly valuable. 'Yes' or 'no' is only mildly helpful, unless, as a writer, you really can't judge your own work. (And this DOES happen to writers who don't show their work to others.) 

The good beta readers, however, do far more than give you a simple answer. They offer feedback on characters, on scenes that work and don't work, and tell the author when they were pulled out of the story. Many of them can tell you "why" as well, which is incredibly helpful. I bounce story ideas off my beta readers when they tell me a scene doesn't work, or if a character seems inconsistent. I'll re-write it and hand it back to them. The process becomes incredibly collaborative. 

But not all beta-readers are the same, and they shouldn't be treated that way. Some will offer you ideas about story, but won't be able to pinpoint why something went wrong. (It just didn't "feel" right.) That's okay! That's still good information to have. Some, especially if you have a fellow writer as one of your readers, will offer editing at a prose level and red mark your work because of awkward sentences and phrasings. Every beta reader is different, which is why you need more than one. I use five. Two of them, Shelley and Caitlin, offer the deepest amount of information. 

Caitlin is a literary writer (she's brilliant) so she focuses on two things, my prose and grammar, and, because she's a feminist (like me), zeroes in on my female characters, making sure they are strong and well-rounded. Shelley is not a writer, but a prolific reader who really understands story. When she reads my work, she'll offer comments throughout the manuscript describing her experience as a reader, as well as a full report at the end as to what she liked and didn't like. She is particularly good at helping me to maximize the impact of every scene. Without her, my work would not be as good. The same is true of Caitlin and the rest of my readers.

WHERE DO YOU FIND THEM?

That sounds great, right? But where do we find these amazing people? Especially since so many of us writers tend to work alone. 

The easiest way to find them is to ask people you know that like to read. Pretty simple. Most readers, especially those that don't write, enjoy being part of the process. What I did was put out a call on my Facebook page. (If you're a writer, you need to be active on social media, and while I do use twitter, I prefer Facebook for connecting.) And with 1100 friends, it was relatively easy to find a few people who were willing to read THE LAST ANGEL. Now, I got lucky with Shelley, who is the prototypical beta reader. And with Caitlin, for whom I serve as a beta reader as well, I've also been lucky.

There will be some who want to help you, but they won't know what to do. That's an easy fix. Give them four or five questions (not too many, you still want them to be enjoying the book, not doing homework) to answer when they're finished.

Example: How do you feel about my main protagonist(Name)? Are they likable enough?

                Was the story too slow, or were there parts that it slowed down too much?

                Can you just make a mark every time something takes you out of the story?
                Was the dialogue between (Name) and (Name) believable?

There are many questions you can ask, but the key is to a) limit the questions, no more than four or five (b) Don't ask for essay answers. Something that can be answered in two or three sentences or less (c) know your beta reader; understand what they're capable of, and keep it simple.

SOME FINAL TIPS

1) If you're a writer, even if you also work as an editor or are moving in that direction, as I am, you should be functioning as a beta reader, FOR FREE, for a fellow writer. Or, as I do with Caitlin and another writer, I read for them and they read for me. Even then, it shouldn't be about "give to get." Artists need to support one another. Beyond that, editing and reading someone else's work will improve your skills and give you a better eye when you're editing your own work.

2) BE HUMBLE. I can't stress this enough. If you've asked someone for their opinion, don't be a diva when they tell you they don't like something. They are doing you a favor, a HUGE favor. That doesn't mean you have to agree with them, but thank them profusely for taking time from their busy schedule to help you and tell them you will consider deeply what they said. When a beta reader knows you take them seriously, and even better, when you can point to how you changed something because of their suggestion, they'll want to help you in the future. Any time I help someone with their work, and they are grateful and humble and involve me, I'll move heaven and earth to help them again.

3) Make sure that your manuscript is ready. This seems counter-intuitive, because I said earlier that beta readers help get your manuscript ready. This is true, but I hear horror stories all the time about people sending a first draft to a beta reader. Ugh. Your first draft is going to be unreadable and filled with mistakes. I wait until at least the fourth draft, sometimes the fifth, before sending it. You want the manuscript as polished as possible. You only get the "first impression" from your beta reader once. Don't blow it by sending them a shabby copy. It also reveals a lack of professionalism. Most people want to help professionals who take their work seriously. Very few want to help someone who sends them something half-assed and unedited.

Beta-readers are the difference between a good story or a great story, between publishing something professional and publishing something that won't sell. It's that simple. And the first step to finding a beta reader is to be one. 

If you're new to this game, and don't know anyone that will help you, feel free to send me your first chapter and I'll look at it for free. Use my CONTACT page to reach me, however you like. 

Artists helping artists. That's how it should be.

Stephen R. Burns is the author of THE LAST ANGEL, now available on Amazon, the first volume of the Desolate Kingdom series. Three more in the series are due out in 2016. 

Frequently Asked Questions

Ever since I published The Last Angel, I've had a number of friends and colleagues ask me questions about the process. It's all been thrilling, and I was touched by the questions. So tonight I created a new page that answers those questions, everything from my decision to self-publish to where I got my ideas for the book.

You can find the new page HERE.

What a ride it has been. I'm thrilled that so many have enjoyed the book.

A Ghost From Christmas Future

            I stared at the walls of my apartment and checked my email again. Nothing. How had it gone bad so quickly? Just six months ago, I’d received the phone call I’d been waiting for the past decade. An agent had called – a highly successful agent who had worked with best-selling authors – to tell me he was interested in representing my work. But it had been two months now, and I hadn’t heard from him. I’d tried calling and emailing him, but he hadn’t responded. I glanced up at the calendar above my desk. 2005. I was thirty-two years old. Young by a writer’s standards, but after ten years of hard work, and with the hope of the expected breakthrough, this felt different than the earlier rejections.

            I wandered out onto the balcony. I was a writer, but only by night. During the day I worked at a local high school helping kids with special needs. I loved the kids, but the school life wore me down. I didn’t know if it was the florescent lights or the tediousness of the routine or what it was, but every day I went to school  it felt like my soul was dying. I loved the kids, but my hope of getting off the merry-go-round seemed lost.

            The door to the balcony creaked open, and a man stepped onto it. He looked vaguely familiar. He had a shaved head, and tucked his hands into his pockets as he looked at me.

            “I remember this place,” he said, smiling softly. “Are you still at Florida Fitness?”

            “I, um, yeah.” I probably should have reacted more strongly to a stranger, but as I studied the older man, he looked, well, he looked like me.

            “Who are you?” I said.

            “I’m the ghost from Christmas future, dummy.”

            “You’re me!”

            “Good to see that I was so bright at thirty-two.”

            “I’m thirty-three.”

            “Well, the extra year hasn’t made a difference.”

            “If I’m you…” I paused. It felt like a dream, and I was having a hard time getting my tongue to work properly. “So, I stopped working out, then?”

            “I work out. Just not as often,” he said with a sniff. “I’m busy.”

            “Doing what?”

            He smiled for the first time. “Living the dream. Writing. Happily married. Just published my first book. Three more next year.”

            I slumped down on one of the chairs on my porch. Happily married? I’d married when I was twenty-five, but it had barely lasted a year, though we’d tried to make it last. We’d ended up as friends, but marriage seemed as remote as getting a book deal.

            “So is this a dream?”

            He smiled. It was unnerving to watch your future self smile the same way you did. “Yes. Something like that. Tell me, how are you doing?”

            I didn’t know what to say. “Well, my agent has apparently dropped me. I’m stuck in a job that is mostly soul-sucking. I’m single. I have a few great friends, but…”

            “How are you doing with the depression?” he said.

            “It comes and goes. Some days are harder than others. I thought that this agent might be a way to something better, you know? But…” I shrugged.

            “What are you going to do?” he asked.

            “I-I don’t know. Keep writing, I guess. I don't have much else.”

            He smiled, and I longed for the peace of that smile. My life wasn’t horrible. I had a steady job. I was able to coach. I had a few terrific friends. But I couldn’t replicate that smile. It suggested that more was possible.

            “Keep writing,” he said. “It gets better.”

            “So you’re me?” I asked. “In the future?”

            “Yes.”

            “How old are you? Err, how old am I?”

            “Forty three.”

            I whistled softly.

            “I’m not old, pal,” he said.

            “Yeah, well.” I stopped, not wanting to offend the older version of myself. “Do we have kids?”

            “No.”

            “Why not? Doesn’t everyone your age, well, my age, have kids.”

            “Maybe soon.”

            “But we’re married.” I bit my lip. My ex-wife was a wonderful person, but we’d been bad together. It was not a good memory. “And… and it’s good?”

            He laughed. “Yes. We met the girl of our dreams. We’ve been married for seven years. She’s kind and smart and beautiful.”

            “All right!” I felt a jolt of exhilaration rush through me, only to crash as I thought about my current prospects. “You’re here to tease me, aren’t you?”

            He scrubbed his shaved head. “No. My purpose is to encourage you. Ask me your questions.”

            “I, well, okay. I’m still writing, right?”

            “Yes! You just published your first book. People love it. You have three more due for release this year.”

            “Do I have an agent?”

            He shook his head. “No. Erin recommended that we publish it on our own. The industry has changed, Steve.”

            “Erin Healy?”

            “Yes. We got back in touch with her this year. She still works as an editor, but she’s also a best-selling author now. She read our work and that was her suggestion.”

            “I don’t get it. So we have boxes of books downstairs—”

            “No!” He chortled. “The world has changed. Everything is done digitally now. We publish them ourselves.”

            I struggled to grasp this new idea. Everyone knew that if you published books on your own you were a phony. A charlatan. “So now—”

            “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is that you have talent. And that people like your work.”

            I still didn’t understand what he was saying, not exactly, but I couldn’t ignore the peace that emanated from him in fresh waves.

From me, I reminded myself.

            “Why are you here?” I asked.

            “For a bit of wisdom. You’re hurting right now. You think that life will always be this difficult. That you will always be alone. That your writing will never be good enough.” He moved forward and rested a hand on my shoulder. “We cannot see the future, and no one knows why certain things happen to us. It will be a while before you find success as a writer, but you must not stop. Everything you learn will one day pay off. The same is true of your quest for love. Stay humble. Be aware of your failings. Never believe you have it all figured out, and love will you. Find us.”

            “What about my job? I love the kids—”

            “We have worked many jobs, but you were born to write. Do what you must to pay the bills, but remember your calling. Things are never as they seem. In two years, you will move and find yourself surrounded by people from all over the world. You will experience a re-birth, and within a short time, you will meet the woman of your dreams. Your career will change. Your life will change. And through it all, you will write. And when you are ready, you will do the one thing that has called to you since you were a small boy.”

            I swallowed. “It’s just… it’s just so hard to accept.”

            He rubbed my shoulder. “I know. Our future is always shrouded. If it were not, we would not stay humble. But don’t worry, things are going to get better. Better than you ever imagined.”

            I sighed and shook my head. “My wife, she’s—”

            “The best thing that ever happened to us.” He closed his eyes briefly before opening them. “Whatever you imagine about being with someone, she is the treasure. And no, we did not earn it, just like we have not earned the praise from people who like our writing. Yes, we have mended the soil, but God has managed the till.”

            I frowned, confused. “So if it isn’t us, then—”

            “It is us!” he said, placing his hands on the wooden balcony. “But it is us and so many other things, things we can’t identify, things that will one day infuse the series that allows you to write in your own voice for the first time.”

            “I… I do not know what to do.”

            My older self smiled. “Just keep writing. Continue to pursue kindness. Do not let those around you dictate who you are or what you will be. Accept criticism. Do not be afraid to look in the mirror. None of these things will give you money, but they will guide you. One day soon, you will be asked about these choices and they will inspire people, much like your work will inspire them.

            “Writing is not about the books you sell, but the vision you give to people. The vision you have for humanity. A vision that reminds us we can be better. That we can be loving and kind and empathetic. Never forget that.”

            “But, my depression—”

            “Will always be there. It will never leave. God gives us all burdens, and this one is ours. Be honest about it. Tell others about your struggles. Weakness is strength, and vulnerability is everything. Let it shine through your work.” He paused. “Most importantly, do not write in fear. Fear of what others will think. Fear of what they may say. Fear that you may expose yourself too much. Conquering fear is the pathway to your voice. And it is your voice that will affect others in ways you cannot comprehend.”

            The vision of my older self slowly began to fade.

            “Wait! I have so many questions! Don’t go!”

            The image flickered. “Remember what I said. Stay true to yourself. Things get better.”

            “What book should I write next? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

            The image faded away and I leaned on the balcony, unsure what I’d just seen. Had it been a dream? A daydream to help me take my mind off my troubles? I wasn’t sure. I stood and headed inside. Whatever it was, my resolve was clear.

            I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop. That the agent had dropped me didn’t matter, neither did anything else. It was time to write.

The Last Angel Is Here!

At last!

After twenty years, my first novel officially hit the shelves this past week. It has been a whirlwind these past two months, and I can't decide if I'm excited or exhausted or both. Phew! And the work has just begun. I've spent most of the day working on the latest newsletter, which should be done by tonight. (If you're interested in signing up for it, just shoot me your email in the top right part of this page. I only send one out every two months or so, so I won't spam your email.) I have three more novels, already completed (all in the Desolate Kingdom Series) due out this coming year. (April 6th, September 2nd, and December 4th) And I'm currently at work on the first draft of WINTER, which is due for release in the Spring of 2017.

Click this cover for Kindle e-book.

                             Click this cover for the Trade Paperback.






I mentioned this in my newsletter, but the lifeblood of any authour is a book review. The more you collect, the more prominent your book becomes for the search engines. If you've read one of my ARC's (Advanced Reader Copies) or if you are interested in reading it in the future (Goodreads, mark as "to-Read") please take five minutes and write a couple sentences for me at Goodreads and Amazon. I cannot overstate the importance of reviews. Thank you SO MUCH for doing that!

The next step will be three book signings in the next two months. I'll be honest, I'm a bit nervous about that, having heard some horror stories from my fellow writers. But hey, it's an adventure, right? And even if no one stops to talk to me, I'll be in a bookstore for a few hours, and that's NEVER a bad thing.

There will be more news to come, and I'll keep everyone posted as it happens. Eventually there will be a new website as well. (Though you'll still be able to access it through www.stephenburns.ca) Thanks again for all your support this past year. It's been a wild ride, and the journey has just begun!

-Stephen

An Unlikely Road to a Dream

           

I read the viability report three times before I showed it to my wife. I’d worked with Erin Healy, my editor and now best-selling author, in the past. But that had been more than a decade ago. Back when becoming an accomplished writer had seemed so much more attainable. The years had passed, and I was no closer to accomplishing my dream. I’d written three books and spent five years working on a failed fantasy novel, believing I needed to spend years working on a single project for it to be worthwhile.

The three books I’d sent to Erin to review, however, had been written over the course of a single year. I’d accepted a writing challenge, and the result was a new fantasy series, one I was very excited about. I’d hired Erin to look at the prospects for the series, a birthday gift from my wife. Erin had gone miles beyond in her review of my books, and I struggled with her final suggestion.

“I don’t think she likes my stuff,” I said, involuntarily wincing as I grabbed my stomach.

“Is it bad today?” My wife asked.

I smiled and sighed. “Like every day. I’m okay.”

I’d experienced chronic stomach pain the past year. Most days I ate only once. I’d finally gone to see the doctor a month earlier. She was convinced my ailments were a product of anxiety. As were most of the other symptoms, all of which had worsened after I’d lost my job back in May. My stomach hurt constantly, but there were also days when my hands refused to stop shaking. And for nearly three months after I was fired, I’d been battered by hives.  

            Bethany took her time reading Erin’s notes. When she was finished, she shook her head. “She likes them. You just have to make some adjustments.”

            “It feels like a lot of work.”

            My wife laughed. “It’s not. You can do it.”

            As she moved to walk away, I cleared my throat. “Erin also thinks I should self-publish. She says that the publishing world has changed.”

            Bethany smiled. “Yes. And she also says that you produce a high volume of quality work. That you’re ideal for it.”

            “It’s not the dream.”

            She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. “Times change. Dreams change, too.”

            I grunted as she walked away. I’d dreamed my entire life of “the call.” Of the agent phoning me to tell me that they’d sold my book to a publisher. A great part of this, obviously, was about acceptance. About becoming part of an exclusive club. If I published the books myself, was I not simply saying that I wasn’t good enough to be part of the club? Or was that simply my pride talking? I understood that the publishing industry was at a crossroads. Self-publishing was smashing old barriers. Technology had splintered everything from TV shows to movies to music. Nothing was at it once was.

            With some reluctance, I decided to take my editor’s advice. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was doing. I was suddenly being asked to start my own publishing company and figure out not only how to publish my novel, but do everything else that came with it.

            It was, in a word, overwhelming. So I started in the place I knew best; my manuscripts. I attacked the holes and questions that Erin had addressed. And before I could change my mind, asked some friends if they’d be willing to critique my work. To my surprise, people jumped in, willing to help. Within a short time, my manuscript changed. It became more polished. The holes filled. And still, I was nervous.

            Even those published traditionally were required to do their own promotions, but what did I know about that? And what about the cover? I was artistic, but visually, I had the skills of a first grader. It wasn’t going to work.

Old Ways Made New

            THE LAST ANGEL had arisen from a challenge. I’d been writing for twenty years, but when I’d discovered the NaNoWriMo (National Novelist Writing Month) challenge to write fifty thousand words in thirty days, I decided to give it a try. For the first time in years, I didn’t worry about censors or what people would think. I didn’t have time for that. All I had time for was to complete the challenge. And so I did. THE LAST ANGEL was unlike anything I’d ever written, but even though I recognized its need for serious editing, I felt the beat of something special in it, something different.

            I’d written two sequels by the time I sent it to Erin, and when she told me what I needed to do, I was ready. Even now, I find it staggering how many people volunteered to help. Emily Thiessen volunteered to design the cover, something that was beyond me, and created a work that captured the world perfectly. Others read advanced copies of the book, and their response and suggestions made it even better. At some point, THE LAST ANGEL ceased being a solo effort and began to feel collaborative.

            That was the moment I realized that Erin was right.

A Very Merry Christmas 

            “How’s your stomach?” Bethany said.

            It was a week before Christmas. Two months had passed, and I was waiting for the first physical copies of my novel. I’d managed to sort through the maze with the help of friends like best-selling author Steena Holmes, who had forged an ultra-successful career in self-publishing. She was, in every way, a star, and yet she took time to walk me through the path, again and again, even when my questions must have surely become irritating.

            “Good. Well, better,” I said. “Just anxious about the book. What if it looks amateurish? What if people don’t like it?”

            My wife kissed me. She’d read the first two books in the series. “They’re good. Erin likes them. So do your other readers. Trust the process.”

            I nodded, grateful for the reassurance, but still unsure. The person you love is supposed to support you. It was true that my beta-readers had nothing but high praise for it, but even that felt slippery. I’d been writing for more than two decades, and this was the first time I’d exposed my work to the public. It was difficult to accept that perhaps I’d accomplished something. That people might enjoy my work.

            On Christmas Eve, shortly before my wife and I left to do some last minute shopping, a UPS truck stopped outside our house. The man handed me two small boxes. I hustled inside and tore them open.

            As much as I’d always waited for that phone call from an agent, I choked up as I flipped through the pages. It was everything I’d ever imagined and more. By the time we left to do our shopping, I could hardly speak.

            Things hadn’t happened the way I’d imagined them so many years ago. And yet, the force of what I‘d gone through, and what was happening now, was still overwhelming. The dream had become a reality.

            “Are you okay?” Bethany said.

            “I’m good.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “I just… I just never imagined it would be like this. I know there’s a lot to do, but…”

            My wife smiled and kissed me when we pulled into the mall. “You did it, love. You did it.”

            I shook my head, felt tears crowd my eyes. Felt the weight of twenty years of writing in solitude. Felt the weight of my depression and anxiety and pain and everything else I’d fought through to write the story I’d always wanted to write. I thought about all of my friends who’d supported me, encouraged me. And I thought about all those who had volunteered to help me do the things that needed to be done. The people who had not only helped me with my writing, but helped me continue when the dream seemed so far.

            “Yeah,” I said, smiling, thinking about my friends and the people who had invested, without hesitation, in changing my life. It wasn’t a solo effort, and I guessed it never would be, “Yeah,” I said again. “We did it.”

             

Artists Are Neither Politicians or Propagandists

I probably shouldn't be writing this post. Not with my debut novel about to break and three more in the series due out next year. I shouldn't be writing this because there's a very good chance I'm going to upset some people, people who might be potential readers. It might hurt my sales and someone who might have enjoyed my work will never give it a chance.

What I should do is shut my mouth and post something that won't offend anyone, something that will get eyeballs and clicks and possibly entice someone to check out my other work.

Except, I'm not going to do that. I'm an artist, not a politician. And when artists decide that sales are more important than what they're trying to say, they aren't artists any more. That's not to say that everything an artist writes or paints or creates needs to deal with serious political or societal issues. Hey, that's the same kind of bourgeois attitude I ripped the other day in my post about Star Wars. Writing coaches suggest that every writer will explore two or three themes in their life, and that all of their work will revolve around those themes, whatever they are. Sure, they could be things like class issues or equality or religious bigotry, but they could also be themes like the importance of family, certain political issues, or sibling relationships. It could be any number of things that an artist feels passionately about, whatever it is that draws them back to the empty canvas.

The choice of theme is not important. What's important that we never censor our opinion on that which gives our work life. As soon as we do that, we might as well print ads for a car company, because we aren't acting as artists anymore. As soon we allow our concern about our sales figures to edit our work even a little, we've taken our first step to becoming a politician. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a politician or believing that you could make a difference in you ran for city council, but you can't be both.

ROBERT B. PARKER

I grew up in a small, white town circa. the 1980's, and the only thing I knew about the gay community was that they were sinners, perverts and gross. That's what I'd been taught. Don't get me wrong, my parents are extraordinarily kind, so were the people in my church, but as I didn't know anyone who was gay, and as there were no positive representations in the media (Ellen "Degenerate" Degeneres, remember that, ugh!) was still years away from getting her first sitcom on ABC), so I believed them. My stance tempered into my twenties, though I still believed it was sin. Still a perversion. Until I met Mr. Parker.

Well, I didn't meet him in person (That would have been great!), but I met him through his Spenser detective series, still my favourite all these years later. In his series, there was a minor recurring character, Lee Farrell, who was gay. He was tough and kind, a good cop. I'd never even fathomed that someone gay could be a tough cop. (Gay people were "fairies.") That didn't make sense. But it was my favourite series, and so the more I read, the more I started to question what I'd been taught.

That's right, my first positive gay role model was a fictional character.

I learned, years later, that Parker had two sons and that both were gay. Farrell was a secondary character, but for a diehard conservative like me, he was the first to crack open the door to my worldview and offer me a different look at the world. That single character would lead to further reading, and as I got older, I rejected my earlier notions about homosexuality. In fact, equality (a rejection of my misunderstanding of feminism as well) with regards to sexuality and gender and race is one of the prominent themes in my books.

THEMES ARE NOT STORIES
But a theme is not a story. As strongly as I feel about equality and class and serving the less fortunate (I'm pretty much a weight-lifting hippy), I write action-packed dystopian fantasy novels with a lot of violence and weapons. The themes originate organically from my story. Sure, idiots like Trump drive me crazy, and the Republican party in the US, as it stands now, makes me gasp in disbelief. That said, but I have a number of conservative friends who've read THE LAST ANGEL (Advanced Reader Copies) and loved it. I know a number of conservatives who loved Parker's books, too.

When theme dominates your story, you've sold out in the other direction. Instead of becoming a politician, you become a propagandist. Ken Follett has become guilty of this the past decade. After writing the brilliant PILLARS OF THE EARTH (1989), he wrote the sequel 18 years later, WORLD WITHOUT END (2007). It was completely unreadable. Essentially it was an essay on why he was right, and anyone who disagreed with him was an idiot. There was nothing organic about it. Understand, Follett is a leftist Atheist. Aside from not being an Atheist, I generally agree with his worldview and I was still massively offended. I've been known to say a time or two on Facebook that "you're an idiot if you think this way"(Trump, yup), but never in my stories.

Art needs to be prismatic, and the only way that happens if we explore our deep seated passions, the ones that will become our themes, and allow the story to bloom from them. As soon as we allow the other voices into our heads ("this will hurt your sales," or "people should believe this!") we lose the very thing that not only gives our work power, but the thing that defines us as artists.

It probably wasn't smart for me to tell you that I'm a hippy. Or that I dislike xenophobes like the popular Trump. Or that I'm a feminist who features minority characters in their stories. It probably wasn't the smart thing to do, and I imagine it can only hurt my sales this year. That's okay. The only reason I was able to write this series (four written in the past eighteen months) is that after many years I finally stopped worrying about what others might say. As soon as I stopped listening to those voices, my work took shape in a way I hadn't expected.

Why?

Because I'm an artist, not a politician.

-Steve

Why Fantasy?

As the momentum builds towards the latest Stars Wars movie (and sucks all the air out of every other film this month), I thought I'd address the question as to why certain people, including writers like myself, are drawn to fantasy. By any measurable standard, especially when you consider the way Marvel has dominated the box-office this past decade, along with Hunger Games, Divergent and Game of Thrones, it is clear that there has been a shift in our culture. Fantasy, once something of a fringe genre reserved for geeks has gone mainstream. Star Wars, which is more space opera than science fiction, is a great example of this. Anyone doubt the new film will break $1 billion at the box office?

But why? Why has fantasy become such a popular genre, and why are writers like myself drawn to it?

Fantasy, more than any other type of fiction, is based on theology and philosophy. Tolkien was the first to explore philosophical ideas like "the ring of invisibility," within a removed society that echoed humanity. Unlike historical fiction, fantasy provides a translucent barrier for the reader. This barrier (another world, different creatures) allows us to approach these ideas with a measure of safety. Fantasy has its base in fables of centuries past, and the best of it provides great storytelling with strong themes about the nature of humanity. All fiction does this to some extent, but because of its versatility, those who write fantasy can comment on a variety of sensitive subjects in a way that a thriller writer would find difficult, if not impossible, to do so.

So why the popularity? Why is it that, as our technological capabilities have grown at an astounding rate the past twenty or thirty years, the rise in comics and fantasy and "the geek life" have risen with it. Twenty five years ago, no one on my high school football team would have been interested in a show like Game of Thrones. Now? It's must-see-TV. Part of that is the terrific storytelling of the books/ series, but the other part is pretty simple: it's cool to like fantasy. It isn't merely something for "nerds," but something for everyone to enjoy. This has been echoed by the sales of graphic novels, which are essentially hardcover comic books, as an accepted literary form

Again, however, the question is why. Why did fantasy become such a force in the marketplace? What happened within culture to create such a different dynamic? 

The answer is simple: the digital revolution.

As we have become more reliant on technology, as our world has become faster and faster, a world of soundbites and memes and short attention spans, there has developed a deep thirst for an older kind of storytelling. One that recalls different ages. One that asks us questions about who we are and why we are, the questions that you won't find answered on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter. We are becoming an increasingly illiterate society, but the same questions that have nagged humanity since our inception remain. And those questions are best answered by the artists producing fantasy and science fiction.

I'm not suggesting that all fantasy and comic book stuff is particularly deep (hello, Ant Man), but a book like The Hunger Games, which addresses class issues  in stark terms, is a perfect example of current blockbuster storytelling. Game of Thrones does the same thing. They are all echoes of authours like Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, who understood they were writing fables.


I have a degree in theology, but well before I went to university, I was drawn to fantasy. I played Dungeons & Dragons as a kid. I loved comics. For me, there was something beneath the world I lived in, something beyond my senses that I could not explain. As much as I appreciated my faith, most of the older Christians in my circle were more intent on providing (unknowable) answers than asking questions. But why? I wanted the questions! I hungered for them to at least be acknowledged. A priest or a pastor could reassure me all they wanted that there was a very specific way to define the supernatural world, but they could never provide proof. Worse, many of them took offense to the questions I had, as if I was supposed to simply accept what they said because of their title or because of tradition or whatever other lame reason they offered, none of which could be proven.

Even as a kid, I was okay with questions without answers. I was okay with not understanding everything and knowing that, as a human, I would never understand anything. But I still wanted the questions to be asked. It was, I thought, the only way to unite humanity. Everyone had their own ideas, religious or otherwise, as to our nature. Instead of allowing those questions to unite us, most people used them as a construct to divide us.

That has not changed. Anti-Muslim. Anti-gay. Anti-Christian. Anti-black. Anti- whatever. We still use division to unite ourselves within our tiny circles so we don't have to face the most difficult truth of them all: we don't have the answers. We're all just making it up as we go along.

Oh, sure, we can believe things. I'm a Christian. I believe Jesus is the Son of God. It's not rational, but the story rings true for me. The same way Moses rings true for Jews and Mohammed rings true for my Muslim friends. But that doesn't (and shouldn't) eliminate the questions. If anything, it creates more.

And it's here, right here, where I like to dig. Where I like to write and read and watch. As a society, we are blitzed with commercials and advertising and faux-needs, all thirty seconds or less. Because of that, when I sit down to write or read or watch a movie, I want to explore the limits of our imagination. I want to ask the big questions and do it in a way that holds no limitations. (And is terribly entertaining.)

I'm not interested in another serial killer novel. I'm not interested in another true-crime piece. I want to go to a world that makes me catch my breath, one that makes me smile and think. Every day, we have the hum-drum beat into us. Our lives are routinized, even when we don't want them to be. For a few hours, I want that to change. I want to be taken away from the digital clock and see what it's like to live in another place. Another world. I want someone to ask questions that matter to me while I'm living this dream, and see what happens when I wake up.

Not all fantasy is good, we know that. But the core of it seeks to do something that isn't being done elsewhere in our world. Most religion is still intent on providing answers. But what most people want is questions. Counter-intuitive? Perhaps. But if it was all about answers, people wouldn't bother with Lord of the Rings. As it is, they are. And in record numbers.

Maybe it's time for our religious leaders to learn a lesson from their secular, storytelling counterparts. Fewer answers. More questions. More imagination.

To embrace the mystery of humanity is to understand it. And when we understand it, people will be drawn it to it. If only because we had the guts to ask the question.

-Steve