The one talent

I recently was reading a poem by Steven Erikson (see post below) that had a simple yet provocative theme:

The painter must be mute
The sculptor deaf
Talents are passed out
Singly
As everyone knows
Oh let them dabble
We smile our indulgence
No end to our talent
For allowances
But talents are passed out
Singly
We permit you one
Worth lauding
The rest may do service
In servicable fashion
But greatness?
That is a title passed out
Singly
Don't be greedy
Over trying our indulgence
Permission
Belongs to us
Behind the makeshift wall --
The bricks of our
Reasonable scepticism.

This poem spoke to me. Each and every one of us is born with one talent that supercedes all of our other talents.

That's not to say that there aren't people out there who are multitalented. We see that all the time. Tiger Woods is multitalented. Cough.

Sorry, couldn't pass that up.

Anyway, when I really explored deeply into this concept, I found it to be fascinating. My guess is that some of us never truly uncover this superlative skill. It could be the woman who sounds so great singing in the shower could have bested Mariah Carey, had the cards fallen right for her. Or the dad who blew by all the neighbor kids in the race from the garbage can to the mailbox might have been able to blow by Usain Bolt.

For me, this is very clear. By far my best talent is writing epic fantasy. Nothing else comes close. I'm an average singer at best. I can't dance a lick (though I wish I could). There are third-graders who can outdraw me. And my best athletic endeavor ever has been bowling, though gawd knows I wish I could have been better at golf.

But I can do the epic fantasy thing. And you know what? I'd prefer to be a best-selling writer of epic fantasy than an actor, rock star, politician, sports great or anything else. Heck, I'd rather be a best-selling writer of epic fantasy than a pro golfer, and that's saying something.

I have the one talent.

But I also have enough talent left to dream.

Here comes the s-p+a*m

After a couple of years with no spam at all, I'm starting to get a lot of it in my comments. So I've had to turn on comment moderation, which I normally find annoying in other blogs.

Is there anything that can be done about blog spam besides comment moderation?

Erikson: best of the best?

I've just now begun to read Book Nine (Dust of Dreams) of Steven Erikson's magnificent Malazan Book of the Fallen series, and once again I'm transfixed.

Before starting Dust of Dreams, I recently finished reading, for the first time, Clive Barker's Imajica, and though Barker's work is grand in scope and quite excellent, it nonetheless pales in comparison to the Malazan series -- in all regards (IMO).

I have to say that I think Erikson's series has risen above all others in the epic fantasy genre. He has no peers. He has created the single greatest epic of our time.

An astounding work.

New direction for The DW Chronicles

After a long and excellent relationship, my agent (Dr. Uwe Stender) and I have amicably agreed to part ways. We remain friends. Uwe is a class act, by any standard.

I am now actively seeking agent representation.

Where does epic fantasy stand?

I often wonder what percentage of the reading population enjoys epic fantasy. When I first began my series, I felt confident that my favorite genre was quite popular among the general reading population. For the most part I still think this is true, but maybe fantasy isn't as popular as I thought. Or maybe its popularity is on a down cycle right now.

Any opinions on this?

Sweet and sour

When I first lie down at night to go to sleep, I almost always envision that I'm huddled inside a small log cabin in the middle of the wilderness. Outside, a blizzard is raging. But the door to the cabin is locked and its windows are shuttered, and though I can hear the howling wind, it can't get to me. I'm safely tucked into a small, warm bed with plenty of blankets.

Somehow this contrast is comforting to me. All the bad stuff outside, all the good stuff inside. What good is warmth without cold? Comfort without discomfort? Safety without danger? The sweetest things are contrasted with the sourest. It's the way it has to be.

Sleep comes.

Followed by dreams.

The cabin is replaced by a slew of other images as raging as a blizzard.

The wind continues to howl, but this time it's inside.

The end of an error

I don't know about you, but I'm one of those who is happy as all hell to see the end of 2009.

Here's to 2010 being everything that 2009 was not!

Cheers!!!!