If I had to explain what influences my writing, I would say that I read whatever I think best informs my writing. If I were to write a story about, say, Tang Dynasty China, I would likely start with Sima Yi’s 资治通鉴 (Zizhi Tongjian). Put simply, if a book is relevant to my writing, I will read it.
However, I broadly have three layers that I apply in varying degrees across my writing. First, regarding sentence structure, I aim for Orwellian active-voice sentence construction and simplicity in most instances, except for where I want to intentionally not be simple. Second, I apply a lawyerly precision in word choice and paragraph and document construction; the text needs to be persuasive and easy to understand. Third, the basis, the core thought, of my writing, stems from my circuitous, scattered, referential thoughts. To build a pyramid, therefore, I start with a base of neurodivergent weirdness, layer on lawyerly structure, and refine each sentence with Orwellian precision. Think of a mille-feuille of refined thought.
How does this all work together? Say I wanted to write a specific piece of anti-fascist fiction: I would find examples thereof, such as Ernst Jünger’s On the Marble Cliffs, Katharine Burdekin’s Swastika Night, and Sinclair Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here. If I needed further context, I would seek it out. If I needed a structure, I would find one, whether from the dialectical architecture of Karl Marx, the fascist state theory of Carl Schmitt, or the strategic logic of Carl von Clausewitz.
I do not try to emulate any specific authorial voice or to sound like someone. I learned in law school trial team that trying to adopt a voice typically eliminates your own. This issue continues into the literary world; for instance, in his younger days, while still a patron of Erasmus Zahl, Knut Hamsun wrote to Zahl to say that he was being rejected because Hamsun sounded too much like Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson. However, if I had to identify specific sources for my writing voice, I would point to Orwell’s essays:
Like anyone, I have blind spots in my understanding. First, I am currently working through the writings of Karl Marx to deepen my grasp of capital, power systems, and the mechanics of bourgeois preservation. Second, though I am a queer man, I do not claim fluency in contemporary feminist and gender theory, which is a gap I intend to remedy. Third, as I prepare for emigration to Scotland, I am familiarizing myself with the Scottish literary tradition, particularly Robert Burns, whose work I find both politically attuned and delightfully droll.