Walking Dead goes on sale today in North America. It starts in the Republic of Georgia and ends in British Columbia. It moves from Turkey to Dubai to Amsterdam to Las Vegas. Alena Cizkova and Bridgett Logan are major players. Lots of guns get pointed at lots of different people, and more than a few of the latter end up very unhappy.
It’s not an easy sensation to describe, actually, putting a novel out into the world. The parenting metaphor has been abused to death, and with good reason — there is very much a sense of letting go of something very precious, releasing it into the Big Wide World with all of its wonder and gnashing teeth, and hoping that it will survive, and, perhaps, even thrive.
I’ve been pondering why I write a lot lately, and I tend to come back to the same default: I write because I tell stories, and writing is the medium by which I can most readily accomplish that goal. Or, to rephrase, I am a storyteller, and thus I write.
Which is half an answer, certainly honest enough, but not complete. The fact is, I write because I have to, I don’t know how to not. Either you suffer from the compulsion or you don’t, but it is a compulsion, an addiction, as terrible and terrifying as nicotine or caffeine or any other substance that can get the blood racing and the adrenaline flowing. There is a thrill to writing. I’m something of a junkie.
Walking Dead was a very difficult novel to tell, but not a difficult novel to write, if that distinction means anything. The subject matter, as I found myself researching it, was horrifying at the outset, and only became more so. There’s nothing pretty to be found in the reality of slavery, and while I am always aware that I write fiction, it matters to me that my fictions retain some sense of groundedness in the Real World (patent pending).
A bookseller I know recently opined that I’d written this novel not so much because of the characters but because of that subject matter. He was mistaken. I always have, and always will, write character stories, because, to me, that’s the only story that matters. But the character is a window to the world, and the view out that window, in my opinion, must be on something worth viewing, no matter how sordid, awful, and painful that may be. If I raise the level of awareness, no matter how slightly, so much the better, but my goal is always, first and foremost, to entertain in the telling. I leave it to my betters to relate the facts; I am content to wrestle with Art in an attempt to tell a truth.
For fans of the series, Walking Dead marks the end of a journey that began in Critical Space, which, according to my website, I apparently wrote back in 2001. That’s a long trip to take, but, in retrospect, it makes sense. For Atticus, this is the novel of his reckoning, the story in which he is forced to reconcile the man he has become with the man he once was. His success in this endeavor I will leave to the reader to decide, but I am content with the way his journey has ended.
At least for the time being.
Once again, I urge people to take a look at the Appearances page at my website if you’re interested in attending a signing and hearing me speak. And, as stated before in the blog, if you’re after a signed and/or personalized copy of the novel and cannot attend any of the signings, you should certainly consider contacting one of the booksellers listed to request a copy.
