Looking back on the first time I put pen to paper and told a story, I can safely say I owe it all to the role playing game Dungeons & Dragons. Or maybe to a suspension from school for possession of alcohol. I wrote adventures all the time for our two-man campaign in my neighbor’s garage, but I didn’t actually set out to write a book until I got sent home from school for getting drunk. Ahh, childhood.

Creating the adventure our characters would follow was always more work than what played out at the table. I’d spend all week writing to prepare for eight hours of hilarity and fun, making maps and puzzles, writing out room and character descriptions, picking out the perfect treasure as reward and monsters to face. Prior to that, a gaming session went something like this:

“What do you want to do?”
“I dunno, order a pizza?”
“I mean in the game.”
“Oh, how about I go to the tavern and see what’s up.”
“OK, roll a six-sided.”

Yeah. I suppose it was all that preparation that really set the groundwork for writing a story, though I knew absolutely nothing about writing a novel. It took years before I realized the two were not the same. There were selfish motivations as well, since I would always play a character in the campaigns I ran. I refused to make decisions that would alter the adventure, but it was fun for me to have a character grow and progress along with my friends’.

It wasn’t until college that I ran larger campaigns and didn’t need to include a character of my own to fill out the party. Oh the fun of secrecy and intrigue, passing notes between players, the clash of alignments and hidden agendas, arguing over loot. That’s where the real adventure was, not in the pseudo plot I had laid out for them to follow. Local politics, elaborate maps, details of every room leading up to the final fight, none of that was as important as the grumbling and quarrels the players had with each other. They were what made the adventure fun to oversee, their actions and reactions, the outcome they brought about.

They were the story I wanted to write.

Speaking as a self-published writer, who deals with the odd look and size of a Print on Demand book and all the stigma that goes along with it, as well as being an avid reader of fantasy, I can say with near certainty that people do judge a book by its cover. At least they do when deciding on a purchase, whether it’s online or in a brick and mortar store. A new book by an unknown can be absolutely riveting, well-written and entertaining, but if no one can get past the drab cover to the point of picking it up, it will most likely fail as a published novel. Poor sales on a first book means little chance of a second and probably a new pen name.

I should be so lucky to have that problem, of my novel in a bookstore and worrying over the sales. I do deal with the cover issue, though, as all my sales are usually in person. I get to see the reaction when I first show my book. My original cover, done in public domain clip-art, was nothing short of an absolute embarrassment. It completely detracted from the book. It was why I went out of my way to find someone with the talent to do my story justice, to give it a face that invites readers to at least glance at the blurb on the back. That and now I can actually show it to people without blushing and feeling the need to explain why it looks so horrible.

As a reader, I no longer waste time forcing myself through a book that should never have been published. I have no qualms about tossing it in the trash. With that said, I’m now picky about what I read, often sticking with authors I’ve already read and enjoyed. If I get to the point where there are no more new books from those few, I take a look at others on the shelf. I admit the best way to go about finding my next read should be to look over the blurb or first few pages of each one, but my buying time is limited. I’m usually there on a lunch break. So I look at the covers. If the publisher couldn’t be bothered to produce an attractive cover somewhat representative of the story, then why should I be bothered to read it? Shallow and stupid, but that’s what happens when I’m hungry and the clock is ticking.

Word of mouth goes a long way toward enticing me to buy, but even then a bad cover can detract. I’m one of those readers who likes to look back at the artwork now and again while reading the story, maybe to try and find where that scene takes place or to see if the characters look like how I imagine them. A good cover can make all the difference in the world, drawing the reader’s attention through a sea of other novels. Or it can cement a near purchase to a definite refusal. Ideally, it shouldn’t be this way, I agree… but neither should movies be all about special effects.

I’m just glad I have a cover I can be proud of. Thanks Henning!

I started working on chapter six yesterday, after a week of writing nothing but blog entries. Aside from a short stint with the flu and xbox-itis, the scene just wasn’t ready in my mind. Or at least that’s what I like to think. After I spend time mulling over a scene, it eventually starts to come to me as if someone else were narrating it, as if I’m not creating but dictating. That’s when I rush to my computer to get the words down. My memory is horrible, and I’d probably forget them otherwise. This is a little different from the tried and true BIC method – butt in chair. I do that also, when I have the time and motivation. I’ll just sit in front of the keyboard, no distractions or noise, doing nothing else but working out the right words.

There are days when getting those words out is like giving birth. I’d use a more colorful turn of phrase, but that one is a little more poetic. The struggle is painful and annoying, easily my least favorite aspect of writing, but without those first words I would be left with nothing but stories banging away at the inside of my head. So whether procrastinating by waiting for the scene to write itself in my mind or planting myself in a chair and forcing the words out through trial and error, I’m always writing. I can’t get away from it. This is probably why I’m a grumpy man, because when I’m not writing, all I think about is when next I’m going to write – unless I’m playing video games. Then I don’t think about it until I turn the game off and the guilt sets in.

Still, finishing a scene or a chapter is a great feeling, a temporary relief from the words and a sense of accomplishment. It’s what carries me to the end, to completing that novel and piece of myself, albeit at a snail’s pace. It’s no secret to me that I have an addictive personality, that I have no concept of moderation and only grudgingly compromise my passions. While I have no use for tobacco or alcohol, let alone anything else of substance, gaming is always a temptation.

Of all the evils I could choose, writing suits me best.