Terry Fallis - A Novel Journey

I realize that my last four posts have arguably been more directed towards writers rather than to the broader audience of readers. I also realized that it’s been a while since I reported from the road as an itinerant writer. With this in mind, here’s a snapshot of a two week stretch in my happy writerly life earlier in June. I’ll start with the most recent event my wife Nancy and I attended.

It’s complicated. And as a member in good standing of what I’ve always called the “write what you know” school of writing, let me try to tackle this age-old, very cyclical, debate—it just keeps coming around again and again. Of course “write what you know” has long been among the aspiring writer’s foundational axioms. But for at least the last ten years or so, it’s become increasingly fashionable for some in the literary establishment to question and undermine this writerly convention.

Writing life: 110 Recently, my good friend and fellow writer, Stewart Goodings—check out his great novel—who divides his time between Comox and Denman Island in BC, emailed me with a suggestion: “You might want to write sometime about the importance of venue/location in fiction writing and the new online opportunities for doing the research, instead of, or as a supplement to being there 'in person'.” “Great idea!” I replied. And voilà, a new post written. Thank you, Stewart.

We’re all familiar with actors, painters, musicians, and yes, writers, who have established themselves in one particular form or style, but then found themselves feeling a little cramped in the box they created for themselves. So, somewhere along the road, they take a slight or sharp turn. They do something that seems like a departure—hence the title of this post.

I found it when writing my first novel. And I’ve stuck with it in nearly every one of my novels since. Back in 2007, I’m quite sure my friends and family figured out the secret as soon as they started listening to the podcast edition of my debut novel, The Best Laid Plans, or reading it when it became a book later that year. But readers who don’t know me personally probably don’t know—hence this post. “Narrative voice” is a writerly term that members of the scribe tribe toss around quite often.

For several years now, audiobooks have been the fastest growing segment in publishing. In fact, in Canada, the number of readers who prefer audiobooks has risen from 8% in 2019 to 13% in 2023. Over the same period, the number of readers who prefer print books declined from 65% to 59%. That alone makes this topic important to writers, readers, and publishers. Audiobooks often provide lapsed readers with a more convenient—and arguably less demanding—return to books.

This is a question I and other writers often get at festivals, readings, and workshops. The easy answer would be for me simply to say something like: “Yes I often think about my readers and their tastes. It’s in my own best interest to consider my audience when I write.” Yes, that sounds like a reasonable answer, a safe and respectful response, except, in my case—and I think for at least some of my fellow writers—it would be a big fat lie. Okay, there’s my provocative opening.

I know I’ve been threatening to update my loyal Substackers on the state of my eleventh novel. Well, it’s time to make good on my threat. I first mentioned my eleventh novel in this space way back in October of 2024, nearly 18 months ago. You can read that post here. I wrote a second Substack post about it in May of last year that you can read here. But much has happened since, so I figured I’d bring you up to date.

I wrote a post back in January entitled The artist, the art, and the audience. I won’t rehash it here given how recently it was published, but it did set me to thinking about how and whether various art forms incite audiences to use their imaginations. To me, it seems reasonable to posit—or imagine (see what I did there?)—that one’s imagination works like a muscle. The more we exercise it, the stronger it gets. It also stands to reason that our creativity is driven by, or through, our imagination.

This post was sparked by a back and forth email exchange with my friend Rik Emmett, singer/songwriter and lead guitarist for the legendary Canadian rock bank Triumph—and don’t forget Triumph is heading back out on a North American tour in the spring. As I’ve written in the space before, Rik has thought long and deeply about the creative process and has written about it in his books, particularly his most recent, Ten Telecaster Tales.