Author Spotlight: W.L. Know
Writing a novel and three years later translating it taught me that books do actually grow on trees so to speak.
Allow me to contradict myself immediately. Because I’m not talking about books being made of paper. No, this is about the writing process.
But let’s turn back the calendar to the Fall of 2020 (Meaning Autumn, not societal collapse) when I was laying the groundwork for my novel. Reading Gourmet now, you would never have guessed but at this point the yet untitled novel was supposed to be about mermaids. That summer the discourse was dominated by what mermaids should really look like. I was busy outlining a work where merfolk live in elaborate underwater cities and generally resemble Gollum with a fish tail more than Ariel.
Then began the semester and our course on detective fiction. Instead of simply learning about the subject we wrote a detective story together under the watchful eye of professionals. Naturally I jumped at the opportunity with enthusiasm and ideas galore. While some were accepted, for the most part the answer was the same: “These are great ideas, but not for this story.” This may very well have been a polite way to say “bad idea”, but the undiagnosed autistic in me interpreted it literally. And after enough of these rejected ideas accumulated, I decided to make a story where they would be welcomed.
An idea formed in my head of a thriller where the police struggle to find the serial killer because they are looking for a human and do not consider supernatural explanations. This meant that merfolk were out and vampires were in. And the question of what else was in, brings us back to the original topic.
What trees do books grow on? Their own trees actually. They each grow from a single seed. That initial spark of imagination. But the same way you can’t just grow a tree by planting a seed and waiting, your book won’t reach its full glorious potential if you just leave it alone. Trees need water, fertilisers, pesticides, all sorts of things. And if you look at the tree you can realise what those things are.
Similarly, if we look at a manuscript closely enough it will tell us that it is held back by pacing issues, or lack of subplots, or even too many subplots and need some branch trimming.
This is essentially what writing a novel is about. A seed and gardening work. In my experience the seed can’t be “I want to write a novel.” Instead it should be “I want to tell this story.” Honestly it’s no big deal if it only ends up being a novella or a short story. Some of the most iconic pieces of fiction are novellas. And that is perfectly fine, there is never enough well written novellas. But sometimes the seed grows into a big enough story that can only be fit into a novella, or even a series. And that is the other thing. You shouldn’t look at authors as omnipotent architects of fiction. Plenty of our ideas don’t make it to the final draft. And in fact ideally you have an Editor that helps with trimming. We don’t know what the tree needs, the tree does. And sometimes the tree needs blood, intrigue and a few corpses that hang from it.
Book Excerpt
They had a great time, but there was a tiny problem. He was no charlatan. Unbeknownst to them, they turned a real vampire, with an army of ghouls at his service, into a public laughingstock. He devised a peculiar method of revenge. He caught me.
Why it had to be me, I still don't know. I never felt like I was my parents' favorite. Maybe it was just because I was the one with them at that time, and I was the one familiar. Of course, it wasn't easy for him.
My parents didn't let me go anywhere alone, so he couldn't just grab me on the street. Instead, he crawled through the window on a lovely spring evening. Believe me, it's not a pleasant feeling to wake up at thirteen with a palm roughly pressed over your mouth. The fact that afterwards your attacker bites your neck only adds to the horror. I still remember how terrified I was.
You might think that I forget or deny such things, but the truth is that this is one of my sharpest memories. It has burned into my mind like an embarrassing story from childhood. I was seized by terror when I woke up. I thought he wanted to kidnap me. I wish that were true. When I saw his teeth, I screamed into his palm. I prayed for someone to hear me. I didn't want to die.
When he started sucking my blood, I already knew there was no escape. There is nothing worse than knowing you are going to die and you can't do anything to stop it.
About the Author:
I’m a linguist, translator and songwriter from Hungary and publish under the pen name W. L. Know. So far I have one novel released which is available in my native Hungarian and also in a Kindle exclusive English version.
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