In my last post I mentioned a poetry project, and also several short stories that have been published or are about to be. I focus on fiction a lot, because I love it, but here’s the thing: what I really love are stories. Stories and words. So I don’t just write one thing.
I write poems, and that particular activity feeds a part of me that nothing else can satisfy.
I write short stories, and for some reason that I don’t know, my short stories almost all fall into the category of “magic realism,” though there are a couple of science fiction tales in the bunch.
I write novels, all of which are either fantasy or science fantasy.
I write essays, many of which incorporate a true-life story and what I learned from it, because stories are such a powerful way of learning something about yourself or about your world.
Finally, I write memoirs, because I am arrogant enough to believe that I’ve lived a life worth remembering. I don’t want my memories to be lost. I want my descendants to know what kind of technology-free childhood I had, growing up in rural Africa. I don’t think I’ve mentioned lately that my Africa memoir is still available. This particular book deals just with my life at a small mission boarding school in Zambia, but it’s also ultimately about being a kid and learning (one hopes) not to be jerk. Treat yourself for Christmas!