Sometimes the Magic Works by Terry Brooks Read Free Book Online Page A

experience than I learned from all the other writing experiences of my life combined. It did not begin or end there. I was required to complete substantial rewrites on both
Sword
and
Wishsong
, the books that preceded and followed
Elfstones
. I rewrote a good chunk of
Magic Kingdom for Sale
, as well, which followed. But the heart and soul of what I know and who I am as a writer was formed in the crucible of that single experience.
    There are writers who will tell you how difficult Lester del Rey was to work with. Some remember him as harsh and sometimes arbitrary. Some remember him as impossible to reason with. Some grew weary of their constant struggle to protect the integrity of their material and departed for other houses. Some still just shake their heads when his name is mentioned and utter a few choice words under their breath.
    I will never be one of them.
    Lester carried a card that he handed out to everyone. I still have one. It reads:
Lester del Rey, Expert.
    You might get an argument on the validity of that claim from others, but you won’t get one from me.

 
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    Trying to explain in rational, analytical fashion how we come up with our plots and our thematic structures threatens in an odd sort of way to reveal that we are
all just humbugs hiding behind a velvet curtain.
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    W HERE D O Y OU G ET Y OUR I DEAS ?
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    IT IS THE most frequently asked question of writers, particularly writers of speculative fiction. It is asked at virtually every book signing, appearance, and interview. It is a legitimate question, one in which readers have a bona fide interest. They are curious to know how writers come up with all those wondrous, unusual, and intriguing concepts that comprise the framework for their stories.
    But writers don’t like this question. They don’t like it because they hear it all the time and after a while it becomes such a cliché that they want to run screaming into the night. They don’t like it because it is hard to answer. Ideas don’t just happen. They don’t come out of a catalogue or the phone book. They don’t arrive propitiously in our dreams. (Well, now and then maybe, but I would hate to have to rely on dreams to make my deadlines.)
    Writers don’t like this question most of all because they are a little afraid of it. Writers are not necessarily superstitious, but they do tend to be a bit wary. Particularly about themselves and their craft. They don’t quite trust it. They are leery of looking at it too closely. Examining how it works might leech away a little of its magic. Analyzing it might make the entire process too claustrophobic to bear. Most writers tend to rely heavily on intuition and gut instinct, a sort of freewheeling approach to creativity. The writer’s mind might lock up with the realization that he does things in certain ways and for certain reasons, and his intuition and gut instinct might turn to stone. For the same reason, writers do not like to talk about what they are writing or intend to write until it is actually written. I am bad enough about this that I have forbidden my editor to discuss any aspect of a work in progress even with me, let alone third parties, unless I bring the matter up first.
    Where we get our ideas is at the heart of how we work and what we do. Trying to explain in rational, analytical fashion how we come up with our plots and our thematic structures threatens in an odd sort of way to reveal that we are all just humbugs hiding behind a velvet curtain. Better to let it all remain a mystery. Better to keep what little we can explain to ourselves.
    All well and good, except that taking this tack suggests we are cowards, and the word
cowardly
might work once in a while for lions, but it is bad news for writers. If writers are afraid of something, they are supposed to work it out through their writing. They are supposed to confront the questions and the issues that disturb them. They are supposed