Fellowship & Fairydust

Luke Wildman has an unusual background. He spent most of his life through age 19 in Western Africa (primarily Nigeria) where his family worked as missionaries. Not surprisingly, his influences are diverse—his blog includes book reviews of The Confederacy of Dunces next to The Irish Assassins next to The Remains of the Day. The About section of his website describes him as “a writer of comedy, fantasy, and other weird fiction.”

After moving to the American Midwest for college, Wildman studied at Taylor University’s Professional Writing program. In 2015, he attended the Write-to-Publish Conference, where attendees submitted manuscripts to publishing houses. He won the Editor’s Choice Award from Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas for his manuscript “Days to Destruction.”

Since that time, Wildman’s career has taken some interesting turns. His seven novels are in varying stages of revision and submission. His short story “The God Hunt” appeared in Havok Magazine in 2017. In 2021, he traveled to Hollywood for the Writers of the Future Workshop, where his short story “How to Steal Plot Armor” won second place. It later appeared with other award-winning stories in Writers of the Future Volume 37.

The Writers of the Future workshop connected Wildman with writers who came together to start Calendar of Fools, a small press that will release the anthology Inner Workings. His short story “Knight’s Blood” will appear in the book, alongside contributions by writers like Kary English, Wulf Moon, M. Elizabeth Ticknor, and Eric James Stone.

Wildman was kind enough to answer a few questions.

Interview Questions

What are some fantasy authors who have particularly influenced you?

Oh man, who hasn’t? Of course, there’s Tolkien, Lewis, and Robert Jordan, my first obsessions, then Neil Gaiman and Patrick Rothfuss, who I discovered at an age when I was just realizing the full power of what a story can achieve, particularly the meta-narrative. I discovered Susanna Clarke shortly after, and I still profess her as my favorite living writer—probably the most virtuosic fantasy author of her generation. But she’s so good that I rarely even try to emulate her, it’s just an impossible task. Contemporary authors who’ve had a more direct shaping influence on my fiction include Joe Abercrombie, Scott Lynch, Pierce Brown, Connie Willis, and I suppose Brandon Sanderson. Going back in time, Ursula K. Le Guin, William Goldman, Mervyn Peake, and Baroness Orczy are all big influences (yes, I know The Scarlet Pimpernel isn’t fantasy, but I can’t not talk about Percy Blakeney).

You gravitate to witty writers—P.G. Wodehouse, Terry Pratchett—but you don’t come across as pretentious. In fact, you’ve written about the need for art to be “accessible as possible.” What are some things you do to balance that out?

Heh, I’d probably be pretentious if I could be, but I’m not especially good at it. I love reading Martin Amis and Christopher Hitchens, but to get away with that level of pomposity without alienating the reader, you have to be effortlessly stylish, which I’m not. Through trial and error, I’ve discovered that the stories of mine that people most enjoy are those that focus on workmanlike construction, and on just telling a good tale. I love stories that reveal profound truths, but I’m not sure I have anything that profound to say—so I’ll settle for entertainment. Both Wodehouse and Pratchett exemplify that spirit: they draw meaningful observations about the nature of power and privilege, but they also weren’t afraid to just tell jokes and distract readers from their troubles for a few hours.

How did you discover the Writers of the Future contest?

There was an alumnus from Taylor University’s professional writing program who I believe was a runner-up in the contest. That’s where I first heard about it, and then I realized Patrick Rothfuss was a past winner, and that several authors whose work I admire are past and present judges, including Frank Herbert, Brandon Sanderson, Oson Scott Card, Nnedi Okorafor, and Tim Powers.

How did you get involved with the Calendar of Fools team?

Because I won Writers of the Future during the plague years, the workshop I attended was bundled up with winners who got published in both volumes 36 and 37. Many of us hit it off. We wanted to keep hanging out. To be completely honest, I’m somewhat surprised the anthology is actually materializing; part of me thought we all were just using it as an excuse to meet up.

You’ve written a little bit about how growing up overseas has informed your work—for example, writing as a means to deal with culture shock. Would you be willing to share some other ways that your cross-cultural experience has informed your writing?

Seeing as Tolkien was a TCK (Third Culture Kid) and Robert Jordan spent time overseas with the military, I think some of the most influential fantasy that exists deals with themes of unbelonging, rootlessness, and characters discovering that the world is much bigger and stranger than they thought. Along with that direct examination, books provide a portable homecoming; they give readers a place to belong. During periods when I didn’t understand the culture where I was living, I could always open a book and suddenly be with people I loved in a place I understood.

One thing I’ve been struck by since we met in 2016 is your humility. For example, you’ve listed the first novel you ever wrote on your website with the description, “Everyone writes a Chosen One fantasy before they know what they’re doing. This was mine.” What are some ways you’ve maintained that humility?

I think a lot of people would disagree with you about my humility (and that first novel was truly terrible). But I’ll admit that Writers of the Future was a double-edged sword. Winning provided a confidence boost, but it also introduced me to writers who are light years beyond my level—people who I’m pretty sure are going to be big names. That’s cool, and it ought to be a growing experience, but I’m still immature enough that I’m struggling with a lot of residual insecurity. Ironically, it’s the very people who make me feel insecure who are helping me through that. That does keep me humble.

You’ve written on your blog about how you committed in 2017 to a schedule where you write and submit something every quarter, no matter what. Any advice for writers who are nervous about adding structure to what feels like an impulsive, creative process?

Just know that it’s going to suck. It sucks for everyone. It might take you a long time to consistently produce work of the quality you desire, or you might never get there (I’m not there yet, though I like to think I’m closer than I was). But, cognitive scientists think that routines and rituals can help trigger the creative mindset. So don’t be afraid of structure—embrace it. And don’t be nervous to change things up when your structure stops working for you.

You’ve mentioned one mentor we have in common—Linda Taylor, who taught us quite a lot about editing our work. What are some key lessons you learned from her classes?

When I won the contest and got to have a phone call with the late Dave Wolverton (David Farland to fantasy readers), he told me that my writing was some of the cleanest he’s received—clean in terms of self-editing. I absolutely have Linda and her proofreading classes to thank for that.¹ Reading things out loud to yourself is useful. So is the knowledge that grammar exists to keep readers in the story. Eliminate distractions ruthlessly, but don’t be afraid to break the rules.

The Kickstarter page for Inner Workings notes that it’s a creative response to something chaotic: the pandemic canceled the 2020 Writers of the Future Convention, so that year’s winners became part of the next year’s convention, making a larger community, which laid the foundation for the anthology. Do you think it’s important to build something creative out of unexpected circumstances?

It depends on the individual. If you struggle with anxiety, chaos might not be creatively helpful. That’s valid. But for many people, unexpected circumstances introduce new creative pathways, new philosophies, even new mediums, since people might not have access to the old ones. There’s a reason so many people wrote novels during lockdown (to the slight irritation of those of us who now must wait much longer for literary agents to respond). Not to be too avant-garde, but creativity is all about the balance of chaos and order. It’s the most primal thing in the universe. You’ve got to have both.

During your blog posts about Writers of the Future, you speak many times about the importance of writing community—about learning from others, about networking. What are some surprising ways that you’ve networked with other writers and editors?

As a TCK, I expect most relationships to have a shelf life. So, I’ve been surprised by how many people from Writers of the Future I remain in touch with. Andy Dibble, my roommate from the workshop, came and stayed with us during WorldCon last year. We drove into Chicago every day for the convention and had conversations that have changed the course of my life, no exaggeration. As far as actual career networking, other writers have introduced me to new books, magazines, conferences, and submission venues. I’m still fighting to break into the professional markets, but I think I might be getting close? Famous last words.

You made a very brave choice several years ago not to pursue publication for a work that someone wanted to release, but which you knew wasn’t up to your standards. How do you balance meeting your personal standards with the pragmatic need to get work finished and released?

Poorly! I’ve vacillated all over that scale. I spent four years on one novel, wrote some scenes in it that broke beta readers’ hearts (in a good way), but failed to find an agent. Then I speed-wrote three novels (only one of which I’m proud of) and those, too, have failed to hook an agent. Maybe that shouldn’t matter to me, but it does. I’m fighting for a middle ground. The manuscript I’m on now shows potential. I guess we’ll see.

One other comment: sometimes the pieces that turn out best are the ones you put aside for several years after failing to find success. When you come back to them, you have fresh eyes and more ruthlessness when it comes to cutting. You can’t do that if you don’t finish them in the first place. So ultimately, I guess completion is more important than perfection.

You described “Knight’s Blood” as a tough piece to write because it doesn’t avoid tough topics—it has a very problematic protagonist—but you believed “the risk was right.” How do you navigate the struggle to determine when the risk is right?

Yeah, I still struggle with it. I’m decent with receiving criticism, but some forms are harder to take than others, and there’s a chance some people will detest this story because of the bigoted protagonist. I’m frightened of hurting people—especially since I’m mostly out to provide entertainment—but my beta readers weren’t offended. They seemed to indicate they enjoyed seeing the narrator get his comeuppance. I think there’s value in catharsis.

Ordinary readers tend to enjoy my writing more than other writers enjoy it—which probably says something about the lack of sophistication in my style, or possibly about my chosen subjects. That’s true of this story in particular, so no blame to the anthology editor if this piece doesn’t go over well. I’ve been warned. But I’ve also noticed that people tend to feel shocked when they first read “Knight’s Blood,” then like it more as time goes by.

We both have the interesting experience of growing up overseas with missionary parents—although in different continents and contexts. My experience has been that when you grow up in missionary circles, you meet a lot of people who don’t talk about storytelling unless it involves giving people answers, telling them what to think. You have avoided that extreme and suggested that stories “should give us more questions than answers.” Did it take you a while to reach that point, or did it feel harmonious with your upbringing?

I think there was a time as an adolescent when I felt messianic about the stories I wanted to tell, convinced that the truths I would communicate could change the world. What an arrogant little pissant I was. I stole that quote about questions and answers from Brandon Sanderson, who stole it from Robert Jordan. Still, I think it’s true: arguing people to your point of view is a fool’s errand. (Or perhaps a masochist’s errand—looking at you, Christopher Hitchens.) The beauty of stories is that they’re experiential, descriptive. When we try to make them too parabolic, problems arise.

Luke Wildman’s novella “Hell’s Librarian” is available for free to people who sign up for his newsletter. More information about his work can be found in his interviews for The Crunchy Take podcast, the Writers of the Future podcast, and Blog Talk Radio. Several of his short stories are available on YouTube.

Writers of the Future Vol. 37 is available on Amazon and other major retailers. More information about the Inner Workings anthology can be found on its Kickstarter page.