Who are your book grandparents?

So, fellow authors. My publisher, business partner, friend, and fellow author Lou Aronica and I have been talking about a theory I have. See, we all carry our ancestors with us in the attics of our brains as surely as we do in the spiraling chains of knowledge that make up all the cells in our bodies. We do that whether we like or not, whether we know it or not, and they reveal themselves unexpectedly in a laugh, a gesture, or the color of our eyes.

For those of us who are born to write, I think the same thing is true of our work.

Our books have grandparents. Four of them. I don’t mean biological grandparents, although that’s almost certainly true as well. Obviously, we are shaped by all the writers we’ve read and loved. But some more than others. I’m talking about the ones that have gotten to us so deeply they’ve become part of our DNA. This not something I think we’re aware of consciously, not unless we really examine and think about it. I’m talking about the first four writers that got to us at a young age and shaped who we became as people and, of course, as creators. These may or may not be favorites. In my case, they absolutely are, but I have (many) other favorites, too.

For me, those writers are J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Ray Bradbury, and John Myers Myers.

Professors Tolkien and Lewis taught be about mythopoeia long before I knew they were teaching me anything at all, and the idea that something beyond the stories shines through them. John Myers Myers (all y’all really need to read Silverlock) taught me character and dialogue, and how the events of a story shape and change a character. He also taught me a lot about writing friendship.

The last is Ray Bradbury, the only one of the four I got to know, to thank, and to tell how much I loved him. He was a dear friend, and he taught me voice and the utter exuberance of language. Lou Aronica was Ray’s last editor, and also his friend.

When I was listening to the audio version of my book The Star in the East: A Winter Tale of Ancient Mystery, I sat up with a shock when I heard a Ray Bradbury word in my story. It was just one word, but it changed the color of the whole sentence, and thus the whole scene. It’s like when you heard your grandad’s laugh coming out of your mouth. I called Lou at once, and, when I read the sentence aloud to him, he knew exactly what I meant.

It’s not that I was consciously trying to imitate Ray. I am wise enough to know better than to even try. But my early love for Ray, and the others, shaped and changed me, and made me the writer I am.

So, my fellow writers. How about y’all? Who are your book grandparents?