I Don’t Love Fantasy Anymore, Even Though I Write It
Why the fantasy genre sucks & how to fix it: a heart-to-heart rant with dark fantasy trilogy author, Michelle Piper
“How in the fantasy-loving world can that be?”
If my title did its job, your interest was piqued and you asked, “How in the fantasy-loving world can that be?” I certainly hope so. Another hope is others of you agree with me. There have to be more of us wayward souls out there.
I was one of those kids who went straight to the Fantasy section when they were loosed in the book store with their Christmas gift cards. My store of choice was Borders. The Fantasy section for Young Adults was on the second floor. You best believe I marched straight up those stairs, around the massive staircase, to the fantasy section, where my head disappeared over the shelves while I scoured the titles. I’ll even do you one image better in this memory. Per the yooj, I had no idea what I wanted, so I sought Firebird books. If nothing else stood out, no worries! With the Firebird by Penguin on the spine, if the synopsis was intriguing, you bet my $25 gift cards went towards it. I rarely left empty-handed with this practice.
Do not fear. I read many other genres as well. The cute little romances of a summer break trip with one very long night. Some very heavy reads on mental health or survivors of sexual abuse. I made a few of my friends’ parents angry by suggesting those.
At the end of the day, though, I was a child of fantasy. From the anime to video games to the art I drew in my free time. Give me those winged creatures, magic casters, and throw me a few vampires and werewolves to boot! That was my attitude as a child.
Until it wasn’t.
When It Got Complicated
I can’t precisely place when it got more complicated for me to find books I loved. Between my gift card sprees, I’d reread my favorites. For my re-readers, you know that despondent feeling. You search and search for the next read to satisfy your mood, but you can’t find it, so you go back to the ones that whisked you away the first time. You know what’s coming, but that’s alright, you’ve forgotten enough. There are always nuggets to enjoy. Those moments always existed.
Perhaps it was when I felt ready to graduate to adult fantasy? Most likely, that’s it. I got BURNED a few times by picking up some novels that were PURE spice. My teenage self was filled with enough hormones it wasn’t a bad thing. Couldn’t tell you the title or the author, but I can tell you that find came from a store named Media Play and was about vampires. I think that’s when I stopped loving vampire stories.
I became more cautious. I spent longer and longer in fantasy sections, reading synopsis after synopsis. I’m also a big cover girl. Few of the covers spoke to me. I would read books that came highly recommended and be disappointed they weren’t quite right. I think the last one I really loved was Song of Ice and Fire. …You may be living under a rock if you don’t know how that is going. Another epic burn. Everything else was just the same or not done as well as another book I loved more. I actually became a dreaded DNFer. I stopped finishing books or series. I went to other genres entirely.
DNFer: a Does Not Finish-er, one who does not finish books or series”
The Weight of Notebooks
Enter in my love of writing. In all of this book devouring, I always loved writing, especially as a child and teenager. If you read me often, you’ll get used to me mentioning I carried giant spiral notebooks. I had a blue one and a black one. Both Five Star, both five subjects. The black one got my favorite holographic sticker of a dragon slapped on the front. Yeah, that’s how big of a deal it was. I used my favorite sticker, which was too special to use, on my black spiral-bound notebook. We were going places, that notebook and I.
So, from the time I was in third grade until high school, I carried the extra weight of these notebooks. Not at the same time. They had to share space with my textbooks. But at least one of them came along always. I’d write in class, get in trouble, then transfer everything to the computer later. I’d stay up until my hand hurt from writing. I worked on an animal fantasy that was actually just fanfiction and totally plagiarized. That’s in the blue one. There was a fantastical, comic book-like story about what could easily be called furries similar to anime. Who doesn’t love a good old cutie with ears, right? Even one not in the vein of fantasy that I let my guidance counselor read in middle school. Man, he was great. I hope he’s doing well. That one he said was a lot like The Outsiders, which he recommended. I did and enjoyed it.
But, the vast majority of what I wrote, both in these honking notebooks and in RPG message boards online, was fantasy.
There was one story that I was beyond determined to finish. This was the one in the black spiral. I started it roughly when Christopher Paolini began putting out Eragon and the Inheritance Cycle went mainstream. He was just slightly older than me when he got published. I could do it, right? I had no idea where to start as far as actually getting published, but I knew I needed to write. It’s hard to say if Eragon inspired me directly or if it was just a force that kept the gears turning. But even then, at roughly fifteen (that’s just a good number for us aspiring authors), I was craving something different in the genre that I loved so much.
But even then, at roughly fifteen … I was craving something different in the genre that I loved so much.
Who was Galbatorix? How did villains, across all these stories, inspire so much evil that needed to be stopped by our hero? Surely if you’re a raging douche bag, more than just one hero would come along to stop you. I wanted to know the villains. But, of course, they have to be stopped. C’mon, this is fantasy after all! But I craved that evil, dark stuff. So, I started writing a story about a knight raised by the evil queen, who was evil himself yet was the answer to saving the world.
Fast forward to now. It was crap. There was kissing and romance off the bat, with so much detail I never wanted anyone who knew me to read it. Caress was probably my favorite word. My sister actually did find the file on the computer once and took it upon herself to correct spelling. Her pure intentions didn’t stop me from being mortified. However, that wasn’t what made me stop writing.
I actually stopped because I wanted to go into engineering, so I needed to get my act together to get into a good college. That, and I honestly really loved my two English teachers, who will someday get a thank you in my books for shaping me into a good writer. However, when you’re writing for school, a considerable part of the creative writing dies. Those of you who say it doesn’t are just lying to yourself. There is a period of unlearning before beautiful, liberated prose can flow from your fingertips again. Notice I said I was made a good writer still. I’m not afraid to scrap entire chapters (or academic essays) because they’re not saying what they’re supposed to be saying.
Ten Years Away Gave Perspective on Fantasy
As a domestic violence survivor, I really don’t want to read unhealthy relationships anymore. Nor did I want to read weak women characters who only existed as an ego stroke for our hero.
I stopped writing for fun because I was too busy cranking out the most genius, academic bullshit essays. I’m totally kidding, Angelica. I really enjoyed your class and feel honored you gave me a 97 on that final paper. I’m just blending in with the engineers right now who hated liberal arts classes. My other professors were also very lovely for still giving me good grades, even though I twisted their assignments to benefit my passions.
Thus, there were roughly ten years I didn’t read fantasy much, and I wasn’t writing. The whole strapping young man hero who never loses just was not fun to read. Dragons were either evil or done somewhat poorly. Vampires remained off-limits. Your girl enjoys some spice. However, I felt like in fantasy, every other scene was either a fight scene or a love scene, and half of the relationships were shit. Am I allowed to say that word on Medium?
Anyway, as a domestic violence survivor, I really don’t want to read unhealthy relationships anymore. Nor did I want to read weak women characters who only existed as an ego stroke for our hero. Or another seven-page description of some dude cutting down enemies saved just in time. I literally skip over them.
I’ll skim the page, pick a spot, and if they’re still fighting, I keep on skipping ahead.
If any significant fantasy writer reads this and feels burned by that, good! I literally don’t care how gorgeously this really special sword arcs through the air and gets parried and how whoever-this-handsome-dude-is regains himself to swing with his shield. Or whatever. Don’t have me edit because I’ll draw the fattest red line through it.
I know, I know, there is hope in the genre. Odds are I’ve read some of them. Kate Elliot had a lovely series I read. I’ve discovered Samantha Shannon and N.K. Jemisin. Notice these are all women, yes? I’ve actively tried to read more female authors to help. Now, them being female doesn’t fix my qualms with the genre, but I feel like that’s certainly a start.
I also was dramatic; I didn’t give up entirely. When I decided a couple of years back to actually write my evil knight fantasy, I started by reading Stephen King’s book on writing. You know the one, right? It’s called On Writing. Anyway, he said to read the bad, but to read above all else. I was briefly in the military; I know how to follow orders.
I started picking up books like I used to. To read what is considered good in the industry and books that I never heard of. They were almost all bad to me. I revisited ones I thought were great… Eragon was not as magical as an adult. This is the period I became a DNFer. It was rough.
The Death of a DNFer?
But something magical happened. I did discover really amazing books. The one that made me cry was the Star Trilogy by Donald Samson. I nearly stopped writing my book because that was the magic I wanted to feel. I’ve kept on, though, because it wasn’t quite right. There weren’t anti-heroes, only reluctant ones.
There are also fantastic indie authors I’ve discovered on the journey of building my following. Believe it or not, I am open to vampires again because of this! If you want to know who won me over, check out indie author Charles Allen who wrote Blood and Biscuits. Book two is coming out, and I’m so thrilled. Good time to hop on the train if you’re looking for beautiful prose. (He also passes the cover test).
Another lovely read was H.M Long’s Hall of Smoke, book two coming. Also, Savanna Rain Uland’s short story Monster in Her Garden. That last one absolutely has the vibes I was looking for, albeit contained in only a handful of pages.
So, here I am, nearly finished writing my first book of a trilogy about anti-heroes trying to survive under an oppressive queen’s rule. Unfortunately, the magic needs shoring and the queen needs fleshing out along, with the vast world I’ve built. But man, if it isn’t what I’ve craved: Fantasy, if you ask me, needs more darkness.
“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” — Toni Morrison
So, if you’ve stuck along for this rant about the genre, let me bring it all together.
Fantasy needs less perfect. It needs more scars earned because of really dumb failures. It requires fewer men painted in the male eye and instead gain the women’s trust around them because they’re genuinely respectful. It needs more women dealing with women’s issues. I say that because they certainly care about more than whether the man returns, or whether they’ll get married, or whatever.
What do female characters care about in their worlds? Give me a woman who maintains the home while homeboy is off slaying monsters and really doesn’t need no man. Or make her just as strong and capable while she does her own part to stop evil. Give me a hero who really doesn’t want to save the world or genuinely doesn’t know how to, and there’s no one can tell them. In those shoes, would you not be mad?
Have you ever had someone look you in the eye and say ‘I’m sorry you had to learn how to be strong’? Save the world, my dude, but kick and scream the whole way if you want.
Or, honestly, just give me some accurate medieval details. I won’t be greedy with my research here. Did you know banners were linen and not silk? That means they waft in the wind. Most knights actually did not use swords? Last resort, baby. Sword fights go really fast, too. The only time they take a while is in duels. The list goes on. Even in the before times, I remember I did lots of research for this book.
Above everything, though, fantasy needs:
- A little more human.
- More genuine love, with whatever face you want to put on it. Platonic and romantic.
- Shades of skin.
- Regional influences (Medieval Europe traded with the world).
- True to reality influences… we have enough beautiful elves, now reconnect me with my heritage.
Give me addiction. Give me a win that isn’t entirely happy. Give me real life, where you have to sometimes search for that silver lining, and life is unfair, and that’s a good thing. Give me empathy. Make me feel something.
Argue with me in the comments. Synthesize this information and give it to me differently. Show me if you disagree and think I’m wrong. Give me books to read. Discuss some of the titles I’ve mentioned above. Come join me if you’re a wayward soul, too! I haven’t given up on fantasy entirely. Like a toxic book relationship, I keep coming back to it. I’m writing a High Dark Fantasy trilogy, for goodness sake. I cannot deny what makes my heart sing.
