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Mark David Gerson
a book bubble about
The MoonQuest
Science Fiction & Fantasy
Author Insight
When “Once Upon a Time” Transcends All Time
From the moment The MoonQuest’s first edition was published back in 2007, US readers have been asking me whether I wrote it as a metaphor for the times. I didn’t, at least not consciously. In fact, the book not only had its genesis in 1994, I wrote most of its first two drafts in rural Nova Scotia, at a time when I was paying no attention to current events…not in Canada, not anywhere. So not only did I have no political agenda, I had no agenda whatsoever. I wasn’t masking some dystopian present in fantasy. I was writing the fable that was urging itself through me. As I share in another book bubble, the story hijacked me in a writing workshop I was facilitating. From that moment until ten months later when I dropped the final period on that initial draft, all I knew of the story was what emerged onto the page from one day’s writing to the next. I had no concept, no outline, no synopsis. I didn't even have a title. Yet what I discovered with The MoonQuest, as I have discovered with all my books, is that if I get out of the way and let the story tell itself through me, the result is always far wiser, far more engaging, far more compelling and, as it turns out, far more timeless and visionary than anything my conscious mind could have conceived. That's how "once upon a time" becomes a story that transcends all time.
Book Excerpt
The MoonQuest
“Once,” I began, stopped, then began again.
“Once upon a time,” I said defiantly, “M’nor rose every night, full and bright and luminous. She journeyed through the heavens, from north to south, deriving strength and sustenance from the words and songs of the bards...of the people. For all people were bards once upon a time.
“From dusk to dawn, the light of her joy illuminated Q’ntana and neighboring realms, even unto unknown lands far distant. Such was the power of the story.
“Then one day a new king conquered Q’ntana. Swayed by Bo’Rá K’n, the Lord of Darkness, this king silenced the stories and slaughtered those who spoke them.
“Instead of voices raised in song, M’nor heard the keening of mourners. Instead of bearing the gentle notes of the harp, the wind sent her the crack of shattered bones. Instead of harmonies wafting up into the heavens, M’nor tasted anguish, felt silence, smelled fear.
“So saddened was she that her tears doused the fires that had lit up the night sky — first from time to time, then many nights, then most nights. Now her tears flow without cease and her light is visible only in dreams...to those who still know they dream.
“Only when songs and stories return will M’nor dry her tears and return with them, sharing her gentle light of the night with all.”
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