Summary:
I like writing fantasy, but the hardest part I have with writing it is that most of my fantasy stories closely resemble what I've read: childish tales.
Granted, we will always have Tolkien, and I have a good appreciation for Stephen Donaldson's Covenant trilogies.
But there isn't much more, from a reader's perspective.
I have a hard time writing fantasy because every plot always winds up sounding really silly, and the character bios sound as though they were lifted straight from a D-and-D character worksheet.
Buff, leather thonged barbarian babe saves world from malicious dragon-equipped wizard who has stolen the mystical crystal orb from the pious mountain villagers.
I had my fill of Dragonlance, Piers Anthony's Xanth, et al, when I was in my teens.
For the last six years, I have not written more than a few notes on a fantasy story.
Last Spring (2001), that all changed.
I had this crazy image in my head of fairies outfitted for combat, firing lasers, and hiding behind a big green leaf.
But, at the same time, it seemed so ludicrous that a fairy would be armed and armored, while using a leaf for cover.
It was crazy, it was silly, and it was so painfully funny to consider because it summarized what I disliked about contemporary fantasies:
though a character may be sound and the plot well thought out, the situations are so absurd!