Eric Mayer
Byzantine Blog

Probably the only vaguely interesting thing about me is that with my wife, Mary Reed, I co-author the John the Eunuch mystery series set in sixth century Constantinople. But that doesn't stop me from dwelling here on the boring minutiae of the rest of my life, present and past, along with the occasional word about writing.
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Poisoned Pen Press

There is no pleasure to me without communication: there is not so much as a sprightly thought comes into my mind that it does not grieve me to have produced alone, and that I have no one to tell it to.
--Michel de Montaigne

Real Art

I've never made much distinction between writing that's meant simply to entertain and Literature. I write to entertain, but to me, part of entertaining is to give readers something to think about. Intellectual stimulation's good fun.

Not everyone sees the relationship between fun and Literature. To many, Literature is Art and Art is a horse of an entirely different color. Preferably somber.

Art is serious. Entertainment is frivolous.

One day during college I got into a music discussion with a friend. He didn't think my favorites, the Kinks, were art. The music was too...commercial...too happy. Or at least not unhappy enough.

He had just finished describing to me how he'd spent a recent evening playing a Jethro Tull album. He reckoned Aqualung was art.

How did he define "art," I wondered?

He pursed his lips in thought. "If I read something, or listen to something, and it makes me feel like shit -- that's art."

I guess by that definiton Aqualung is Art. Particularly if you put on headphones, turn the volume up all the way and listen for five hours until your ears bleed



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