I started writing my books because people were telling me, over and over, that I should write something about my “fascinating life.” I tried and tried, but the truth is it wasn’t “fascinating” enough to fill up a book. So I had to create a character whose life WAS fascinating enough and tell my few little life-anecdotes as his. But he needed a real “story,” so I made one up along the way.
And then that turned into something else. Something which, from one book to the next, actually was, for me, like a call to “awaken the righteous ones.” And perhaps the not-so-righteous ones as well. And perhaps that is part of the problem, too. The “righteous ones” are “woke” and like what I have to say.
The others? Not so much, so they don’t care. They just want sex and violence, not redemption and social justice.
Why? Because reading, for them, is meant as an “escape” from life, not anything else. They have no sex except as a fantasy, and violence—as long as it isn’t real and visceral and affecting them in reality—makes their lives feel justified in some fashion. They are alive and someone else is dead; they are whole and someone else is not.
Some people say, “Just go ahead and write for that audience! Make money.” I can’t. Sometimes I wish I could. But I cannot.
Be well, Pablo.