The Outlandish Companion - Diana Gabaldon [219]
The answer is that I make small pieces of my work available electronically for one reason, and one reason only—I like people to read them.
All art is an act of communication, and while an artist had better have some appreciation of his or her own work, no work of art is complete until someone else shares it. Some ephemeral forms, such as dance and stage-acting, don’t even exist independently of the observer. Writing at least has the advantage of semipermanence; bar disk crashes, viruses, and house fires, the words aren’t going anywhere once you’ve captured them on paper—and the creation not only can be done in solitude, but often demands it.
Still, communication requires two parties. Having written something, I feel that some small cosmic circle remains unclosed until that something is read. Given the snaillike speed with which I work, books emerge into the light of day at fairly wide intervals; two or three years is a long time to wait for gratification. At the same time, because I write episodically, small pieces of the work are in fact “finished” (i.e., done as well as I can do them, given my capabilities at the time) a long time before the work as a whole is complete.
I never post more than a fraction of any book—only a few pieces are really appropriate for such independent reading—but being able to share my work periodically gives me great satisfaction, and encourages me to go on working. I’m not looking for critique or suggestion when I post something—the work is “finished,” as I say—but I do enjoy hearing comments, either on posted excerpts, or on published books, both because that closes the circle for me, and because it’s very interesting to see how readers respond to specific incidents and characters.
However, among the enormous quantities of mail I receive (both regular mail and E-mail), is an occasional communication that makes me think that some small cosmic circle has perhaps closed with a Moebius twist.
Unless one is writing the sort of book that focuses on major political events—and giving very unusual interpretations of same—historical fiction isn’t often a strongly controversial subject. Still, I have noticed a few subjects of controversy in the Outlander books; subjects that have formed the basis of heated discussions among groups of readers in online venues, or are the subject of (rare, luckily) complaint by letter writers.
The thing about communications, as I noted above, is that it takes two to tango. This means that while I intended something specific in the writing, the persons reading it will be interpreting it in the light of their own experiences and preconceptions, and may well come to different conclusions than the one I intended. I now and then read a letter with one eye shut (out of disbelief at what I’m seeing), meanwhile thinking, I’m not sure which book you read, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the one I wrote.
Still, I do make an effort to address any sincerely expressed concern, explaining how and why I have taken a particular step in the writing that has caused concern to my correspondent. In most such cases, the correspondence draws to a mutually cordial and respectful close, as did most of the conversations below.
I don’t really like controversy and certainly don’t seek to create it—but if one is going to have strong opinions (and I’m afraid one is), one had better be willing to explain or defend them when necessary.
SEX
Every now and then—roughly once every two years—I get a letter from someone objecting to the sexual content of the novels. These letters are invariably polite; their objection is usually based on the theory that Great Literature does not include sex scenes. Since they are kind enough to consider my books as otherwise qualifying for this classification, they feel that the inclusion of sexual encounters lowers the tone of the work, and is thus to my artistic detriment.
While I do appreciate the care for my literary reputation reflected by