Every once in a while I get a note from a reader who has stumbled on one of my stories, and enjoyed it, and then gone on to read some, if not all of my other stuff. They often remark on how the style, if not the general content, is vastly differing. I responded to one reader this morning, and it occurred to me that that response might make a good blog entry, so here it is.
One of the things I'm beginning to come to grips with is the fact that, as people read one of my stories, and then like it and read others, what they are actually doing is seeing my whole life as an author spread out in front of them. My earlier stories are all short and hot and wiggly, like a puppy, all excited and piddling on the floor. Then, as I was affected by the remarks of readers, things matured a little, and grew into something a little bigger, with more muscle, and more brain. I have to thank all of you, who send both positive feedback, and yell at me, from time to time, for helping me get to where I am. I'm not saying I'm anywhere important or anything ... I've just grown a lot, and think the quality of my output has too.
All I ask is that, when you read something that seems shallow, or frivilous, check the date. It's probably some of my earlier stuff.
That's not, however, always true. Sometimes I still kick up my heels and play, though I try really hard not to piddle on the floor any more.
I like to write the more serous and involved stories a lot, but don't expect everything I put out to have a mature presence.
This is, after all, just the random thoughts of a fifteen year old kid, in a man's body. Unless I'm feeling twenty-five, of course.
If it's a real stinker, I'm probably feeling my real age.
Thanks for reading, folks. You make my day.