In the future, when asked how I met Rue Sparks, it will go something like this:

“My footsteps echoed across the cobblestone streets as the mists arrived uninvited from the docks. I usually delighted in my walks but on this dreary moment, I was mostly in my head arguing with my own self-deprecating thoughts. I knew where these thoughts came from: years of trauma as a child. I knew the thoughts were wrong but gawd damn, these thoughts were just smooth talkers despite the vile hatred it spewed at me. I was about to give up and storm back home and trash my novel. The world didn’t seem to be supporting what I was doing. I kept hearing from the main publishing world how much of a mistake I had made in becoming a self-publisher. It was hard. And as my thoughts spiralled and I felt as if I were being walled up brick by brick as if I were in a Poe Short Story, there they were. They were standing beneath a spotlight holding a book, my book, He Was A Boy Who Smiled. I walked up to them and they recognised me immediately and began telling me their thoughts on the book. The voice inside my head went quiet. Its vile stench softened as they continued to give me their review. I smiled for the first time in weeks.”

Sure, it didn’t happen quite like that but it felt like it. Half way around the world there was a serendipity that changed my outlook about my current novel. Rue has this way of understanding me, seeing me right to my core at times. They is insightful and patient. They has the confidence to explain their perspective that differs from my own view of myself. So when they invited me to their book premiere, despite the fact it was 4:30am for me, I jumped on the chance. Not only because I wanted to support them because they supported me but also because they was telling the stories I wanted to hear. Though our paths are different, we have similarities in our approach to how we view ourselves but also how we overcome it and challenge it so that in the end, we write for ourselves and for those, like me, who need to see themselves on the pages of inclusive books.

With great pleasure, I introduce you to Rue Sparks.

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My greatest enemy to my publishing career is me.

It probably doesn’t surprise anyone who knows me—I’m a serial self-deprecator who waffles on the simplest of decisions. I have low self-esteem and self-confidence when it comes to my skill in writing, and often second-guess myself. I can’t maintain consistency on my social media presence because of debilitating physical and mental illness, and if you tried to write a definition of imposter syndrome I’d be staring up from the page.

But damn, I can’t walk away from it.

I’ve all but given up on the idea that I will make back my publishing costs, but I continue to write, and publish, and persevere even when the writing on the wall says ‘this may not be in your best interest.’ Don’t get me wrong—I have a lot of bad days where I wonder if I should quit. And yet, I haven’t. Why?

This is something I’ve wondered about myself, and often. Despite there being days where all I want to do is disappear, and I curl into bed in pain—physical or mental—there always comes a time where I roll from beneath the covers, put on new clothes, grab a coffee, and get back to it.

It’s the same way I asked myself after the sudden passing of my wife how I was able to keep going. After losing the love of my life, my career, my health, my creative outlet, how could I keep on going knowing that there would be nothing that would make things equitable and fair in the long run compared to what I lost? I was told by others that I was strong—that they couldn’t go through what I had and still keep moving forward. But what choice did I have?

The best I can tell is that I want to write the books I needed to read in my darkest moments—and I want them to be there for those who need them too.

This isn’t a particularly sound marketing strategy, I admit. It’s a fairly niche demographic that can’t be easily quantified or tracked, and finding said people is a labyrinth unto its own. As someone with over a decade experience in advertising, I know this equates to low returns on investment to say the least.

But let’s consider for a moment: whenever you’re looking at pursuing an endeavor, you should consider first your purpose and then measurable results.

My purpose is not to make money. It’s to create authentic fiction that touches people in profound ways. My measurable results? Multiple people have approached me to tell me that one of my books was exactly what they needed to read when they read it—serendipity.

I want to be clear—I don’t begrudge authors who write to make money. It’s the necessary evil that allows the industry to continue, and authors to thrive. I’m at a point in my life where I’m privileged to not have to rely on writing for my cost of living—a privilege I don’t take for granted, as I wouldn’t physically or mentally be able to do so with my current health. I do whatever I can for fledgling authors to help them on their way, and even for seasoned authors to help them tackle problems beyond their experience. No one in the community is an island unto themselves, and I try to be a part of that as much as I can.

But part of being a diverse community that serves all walks of life means that we can’t all focus on creating fiction that fits market trends. Sometimes it’s okay for fiction to be messy, and introspective, and intimate in ways that aren’t marketable and fit for general consumption. It’s okay to create fiction that feeds the soul in ways that can’t be shaved to a 5×8 paperback and placed on big chain bookstore shelves and sold alongside Reese’s book club contenders. We need books that fill in every crevice of the human soul if we are to be complete as a community, and yes, sometimes one of these books breaks out and becomes a part of the canon of publishing history, but very often, they only ever become the canon of individual lives. There is still beauty and power in that.

All this to say, yes, my greatest enemy to my publishing career really is me; but I write for those who need stories shaped like stars that don’t fit in square holes, and I am my greatest asset in becoming a creator of galaxies. My beginning was given to me, but I write my own middle and end, and I write them for more than myself.

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BIO:

A widow, disabled, and a member of the queer community, Rue Sparks traverses the equally harsh and cathartic landscape where trauma and healing align to create stories that burrow into the hearts and minds of their readers. In addition to The Stars Will Guide Us Back, Sparks has authored the novella Daylight Chasers, writes the web serial The Dragon Warden, and recently released the contemporary mystery novel The Fable of Wren. They live in Noblesville, Indiana in the USA with their sweet senior support dog and still draw and paint when they’re physically able.

LINKS:

Website: https://www.ruesparks.com/books/the-fable-of-wren

The Fable of Wren: https://books2read.com/thefableofwren

Autographed Copies: https://www.ruesparks.com/shop/p/the-fable-of-wren-autographed-paperback-preorder

Art Prints: https://www.ruesparks.com/shop/art

THE FABLE OF WREN SUMMARY:

“There are wonders and terrors out there you can’t yet imagine, and people out there you don’t yet know are family.”

I don’t mix well with people; I prefer the birds. I spend my time trying to find the Trickster—a finch treasured by the locals. My smart mouth, brash behavior, and being non-binary in this secluded southern town keep me on the periphery of Spastoke’s society. Fine by me. All I need are the birds and my uncle Jeremy.

Until he dies, and I can’t do anything to stop it. I want to withdraw from the town into the comfort of birdwatching and forget everything. Instead, Adrian Turney, my uncle’s friend and mentor, is found dead in the woods. My only hope of unravelling the truth is Jethro; a chatty newcomer that appears earnest, but can I trust him?

When my uncle appears to me in my dreams, I quickly learn what started as a search for answers is so much more: a journey into the town’s shady past to uncover a danger in the woods lost to time. Along the way, I might discover I’m not alone as I thought.