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What’s the best way for an author to be remembered?

In books, writers, Writing on April 10, 2012 at 9:18 am

This past weekend, I checked the Amazon listing for Human Game and was pleased to see the sales ranking had jumped from the million-mark to the neighborhood of 200,000. Someone had obviously pre-ordered a copy. To that kind-hearted and anonymous individual, I send my sincere thanks. The book isn’t due out until October 2—indeed, the Amazon listing does not yet feature the cover image—so it’s great to know that someone is eager enough to order the book seven months before its release.

I once read somewhere that for a book to be a bestseller, heavy promotion has to begin about six months before it hits stores. Whether this is true or not, I have no idea—but, certainly, an aim of this blog is to get the word out. I realize blogging alone won’t sell books, but I’m hoping it helps. At this stage, it’s too early to tell. I do find it interesting, however, that several visitors to my blog have got here by entering the book’s title as their search-engine query.

While discussing all this with my wife over the weekend, I said, “What I’d give for just one major seller!” I feel no shame in admitting this. Yes, I want to sell out—I want to sell out an entire print run! I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a writer, musician, or any artist, for that matter, wanting to make money from their toils. Of course, I don’t write solely for cash. I enjoy the process and take great satisfaction in receiving the final product from the publisher prior to publication. I’m just saying one bestseller would be nice!

This all leads to a question: As an author, is it better to be remembered as a prolific scribe who turned out high quality books that never sold in large quantities, or remembered solely for one big-selling book in particular? Pondering this question, I drummed up a short list of authors who only ever produced one book—but, of course, they’re works have the stuff of immortality.

Margaret Mitchell – Gone with the Wind
Harper Lee – To Kill a Mockingbird
Ralph Ellison – The Invisible Man
John Kennedy Toole – A Confederacy of Dunces
Emily Brontë – Wuthering Heights

As for authors who produced numerous works but are remembered primarily for one book, I came up with the following (this, of course, is open to debate):

Hunter S. Thompson – Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Joseph Heller – Catch-22
J.D. Salinger – The Catcher in the Rye
Ken Kesey – One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
Henry Miller – Tropic of Cancer
D.H. Lawrence – Lady Chatterley’s Lover
F. Scott Fitzgerald – The Great Gatsby

Honestly, if I were to be remembered at all, I’d be happy to be remembered either way, for it means the work–whether multiple books, or just one–has touched a considerable audience.

The Guardian approached this from a different angle last year and composed a list of authors “famous for the wrong book.” Among them are Kurt Vonnegut for Slaughterhouse-Five and Evelyn Waugh for Brideshead Revisited.

Are there any authors you’d add to the above lists?

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Life is too short to stick with boring books

In books, writers on March 16, 2012 at 9:08 am

It recently dawned on me I’ll die before I get to every book on my reading list. These days, what with the day job, new daddy duties, and writing my own books, I don’t have as much reading time as I once did. Indeed, I find I hardly have the mental stamina in the evenings to get through five pages. I’ll read several paragraphs and realize none of what I’ve read has actually sunk in. All the while, the number of books on my bedside table continues to grow. If you were to take a look, you would find:

The Lost City of Z (David Grann)
Have Mercy On Us All (Fred Vargas)
Seeking Whom He May Devour (also by Vargas)
A Bridge Too Far (Cornelius Ryan)
Inferno (Max Hastings)
The Woman Lit by Fireflies (Jim Harrison)
The Farmer’s Daughter (also by Harrison)
Churchill: A Life (Martin Gilbert)
The Blue Nile (Alex Moorehead)
The Desert War (also by Moorehead)
Carte Blanche (Jeffery Deaver)

I should say not all of these are actually on my bedside table out of fear the stack might collapse and kill me while I sleep. They’re scattered throughout the house. Some people have closets filled with shoes; I’ve got shelves overflowing with books—and still I continue to purchase more, even though there are plenty I have yet to read. Is this a sickness? An addiction? I know I’m not alone. I also know it drives my wife bananas. “Why,” she asks, peering at me over a stack of hardcovers, “must you buy so many books?”

I simply love books . . . they bring me comfort. I love being surrounded by them. In my home office, I have three bookshelves stuffed to capacity with biographies, histories, and thrillers, including a couple of autographed books by Stephen King and William Peter Blatty. On one shelf, I have multiple editions of Ian Fleming’s original Bond novels, including six British first editions published by Jonathan Cape. They’re cherished possessions.

I’ve read ninety percent of the books I own—but that remaining ten percent nags at me. It’s because of this I no longer waste my time struggling to finish books I find boring. In a recent blog post, The Literary Man asked when is it okay to give up on a book. My answer is as soon as you realize you’re bored. Life is too short to stick with disappointing reads. If you’re served a crummy meal in a restaurant, you don’t continue eating it. You ask the waiter to bring you something else.

With all the books I still have to conquer—and the list continues to grow—I place high expectations on my hardcover and paperback entertainment. If I’m not hooked in the first 100 pages, chances are I’m ditching it. Our time here is limited, and I’ve got a lot of books to read.

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A few words from Stephen King

In author, writers, Writing on March 10, 2012 at 6:39 am

While cruising around Youtube last night, I stumbled across a 2009 BBC interview with Stephen King (I’ve posted the video clip below). The interview is split into several parts, during which King discusses his career and thoughts on writing. Most interesting are his views on teaching creative writing. Basically, he says creative writing classes exist so writers who can’t make a living writing can make a living teaching. He goes onto say creative writing can’t be taught. The best advice you can give an aspiring writer, he says, is to read and write a lot. Experiencing a bit of life doesn’t hurt, either.

While I’m not a snob when it comes to writing, I believe you either have the ability to write or you don’t. Just as you can’t teach someone to use paint and brush to become a good painter, you can’t teach someone to become a good writer. Also, how do you teach something for which there are no strict rules? Every writer approaches their work differently. Some writers use outlines, others prefer to let the story develop as they go along. How do you teach someone to bring their own “voice” to a page? If you already have the ability to write, perhaps a creative writing class can teach you to hone your skills—but it can hardly create skills that aren’t even there to begin with.

King goes onto say that writers who teach, or give themselves “too much air and light,” tend to produce work that is lifeless. This, I don’t agree with. I don’t know one writer who can support themselves solely on their writing. With the exception of the world’s Stephen Kings, most authors endure the daily grind of a job that pays the bills—whether it be in a classroom or cubicle. King’s record obviously speaks for itself—and he’s produced some of my favorite books—but what other alternative do the majority of authors have? One could argue that having a day job keep’s an author rooted in reality. There’s something to be said for mingling with other people on a daily basis and not spending it locked away in a room in front of a keyboard.

He also has an interesting stance on writing conferences, which he says offer creative people a chance to find someone to sleep with. Apparently, creative types are so abnormal, they have a hard time establishing relationships with others. This may be true for some . . . but I like to think I’m one of the normal ones!

Check out more of what he has to say. It’s a great interview . . .

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‘Always writing the Next Book’

In author, writers, Writing on February 24, 2012 at 7:37 am


On his entertaining blog, Abominations, fellow scribe Marc Schuster writes about a letter he once received from Fight Club author Chuck Palahniuk. “The reality of a career,” wrote Palahniuk, discussing various literary matters, “is that you’ll always be writing a Next Book.”

Very true.

Even when I’m trying to make a deadline and am up to my neck in a manuscript, I’m pondering what the next book will be. There’s always that fear the ideas will stop coming. As I write non-fiction books, it’s probably easier for me to stumble across story ideas than someone who writes fiction—but there’s always that worry in the back of my mind that I’ve drained the well dry.

Add to that the anxiety experienced by every journeyman author: Will I find a publisher who wants to release whatever I do next? I’ve had a pretty good run, thus far. Penguin published my first two books in the States and will be publishing my sixth book in October. I’ve had three mainstream publishers in the UK release my work. But none of that’s a guarantee that another publisher will take on my work in the future. I think scoring a bestseller probably seals that deal.

By the way . . . Marc’s latest book, available for pre-order, is called The Grievers.

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Can ‘genre fiction’ qualify as ‘Great Literature’? Yes.

In books, writers on February 22, 2012 at 7:22 am


In a New York Times article last week, author Dominique Browning writes that while on a recent flight, she lost herself in a good book. So rapt was her attention, she stopped worrying about whether she would make her connection—in fact, she didn’t realize they had taken off until she pried her eyes from the page and looked out the window. The book, she writes, was the perfect kind of book to distract one’s mind from the many discomforts of air travel:

My heart and mind were plunged into an epic battle between good and evil, the struggle to establish a new world order, the heartbreak of love fractured by political imperative, the tragedy of families torn apart.

Was I reading War and Peace? Hardly. I have given up flying with Great Literature.

The book was George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones. When traveling, Browning tells us, her literary tastes veer towards Martin, Patricia Cornwell, P.D. James, and other scribes who write what many would call “genre fiction.” She loves the “narrative drive” of such authors and their ability to draw you into a story. No argument there. Martin, Cornwell, and James have all written fabulous books—and Browning openly discusses the joys of reading popular genres. What bothers me about the article is that she states several times that such books aren’t “Great Literature.” At one point, she writes:

I no longer take Great Literature on the road. It belongs nestled in my arms, deep in a comfortable chair by a crackling fire, where I can tend lovingly to every detail it whispers, where I can pay close attention to the dexterous play of intelligence and the lilting nuance of verbal agility.

There are those like Harold Bloom who believe only Shakespeare or Cormac McCarthy can write great literature (McCarthy’s refusal to use quotation marks drives me nuts, by the way), but that’s an idiotic stance. I’m not saying Browning is elitist, as Bloom would never admit to liking a fantasy novel, but I would argue a book that consumed her attention the way Game of Thrones did on that flight qualifies as great literature. When you get right down to it, a book’s main purpose is to entertain. A good book is a good book. It doesn’t matter who wrote it or when. Yes, we can be impressed with a writer’s vocabulary and the “nuance” of their “verbal agility”—but if the book ultimately bores us, is it still great? The definition, of course, is purely subjective. I love Steinbeck and John O’Hara’s Appointment in Samarra, but I also think Stephen King’s The Shining and Bag of Bones are examples of great literature.

Great literature draws you in, makes you forget your everyday worries and renders you oblivious to the passing of time. Going by this definition, I’d qualify the works of the late James Crumley—one of the most underrated crime novelists out there—as meeting such criteria. Consider the beauty of this passage from his book The Wrong Case:

A car full of drunks hissed over the Ripley Avenue bridge and down the ramp above us, fleeing through the night down black and wet streets, heading home or to another gaily lighted bar rife with music and dancing and sweaty women with bright eyes and lips like faded rose petals. As the driver down-shifted, the exhaust belched, the tires snickered across the slick pavement, a girl’s shrill laughter flew out, abandoned like an empty beer can in the skid. The colored lights from the discreet Riverfront sign reflected off the dark asphalt, wavering as the wind sifted the rain, glowing distantly like the lights of a city beneath a black sea.

It’s a wonderful piece of descriptive writing, typical of Crumley—a passage you’d want to enjoy in a comfortable chair by a glowing hearth, relishing the skill of an amazing writer. There is no shame in admitting that a popular author has created something of superior quality. Any writing that is able to remove us from the realities of everyday life is great literature.

Let the English majors shudder.

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Writing advice from Ernest Hemingway

In author, writers, Writing on January 31, 2012 at 8:54 am

Last night, while reading Hemingway: A Biography by Jeffrey Meyers, I came to what I consider the best part in any literary biography: a breakdown of the subject’s writing process. Even if reading the biography of an author I don’t necessarily enjoy, I’m always fascinated by the way they work and the approach they take when hunkering down with a manuscript. Last week, I posted Ian Fleming’s advice on writing. Here, according to Meyers, is Hemingway’s strategy:

    Study the best literary models.
    Master your subject through experience and reading.
    Work in disciplined isolation.
    Begin early in the morning and concentrate for several hours each day.
    Begin by reading everything you have written from the start or, if engaged on a long book, from the last chapter.
    Write slowly and deliberately.
    Stop writing when things are going well and you know what will happen next so that you have sufficient momentum to continue the next day.
    Do not discuss the material while writing about it.
    Do not think about writing when you are finished for the day but allow your subconscious mind to ponder it.
    Work continuously on a project once you start it.
    Keep a record of your daily progress.
    Make a list of titles after you have completed the work.

An interesting list, to be sure. The one thing that struck me was his advice to stop writing when things are going well to ensure you have something to write about the next time you’re at your desk. I’ve done this from the beginning, and it serves me very well. Working in “disciplined isolation,” however, is not something I can do. With a 10-month-old baby in the house, I have to change my fair share of diapers!

As for not discussing the work in progress . . . that’s a rule I break all the time. I tend to obsess on a story once I get going on it. If I’m stuck, I complain bitterly to my wife. If things are going really well, then I’m more than happy to blather on about it. I also never read a manuscript I’m working on until I’m completely done with the first draft. I think reading what you’re putting down on paper as you go along is a terrible idea. Personally, I’m guaranteed to fall into the trap of early editing and start rewriting everything before I have the rough draft done. That, for me, is the kiss of death.

I don’t write early in the morning but late at night when the house is dark and quiet. I’ll write for several hours if I can—but if the words aren’t flowing, I won’t force it. Admittedly, I don’t write slowly or deliberately. If the idea is fully formed in my head, I frantically pound the keys to get it down on paper before it vanishes into the ether. My revisions are slow and deliberate, but my first draft is a race to get the story out.

According to Meyers, “It often took Hemingway all morning to write a single perfect paragraph.”

Wouldn’t it be nice to have that luxury of time?

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The James Patterson Syndrome

In author, books, publishing, writers, Writing on January 28, 2012 at 8:02 am

Watching TV last night, I saw a commercial for the latest book churned out by the James Patterson factory. My general rule is to chat only about authors I like and not badmouth those I don’t—but Patterson drives me crazy (my apologies to the impressive number of Patterson fans out there). I tried reading Kiss the Girls several years ago when the Morgan Freeman movie hit theaters but just couldn’t get through it. The writing was pedestrian and the one-page chapters distracting. That aside, it’s not his writing that bothers me . . . it’s his approach to writing.

Those of us who write do so because we love the act itself. It’s wonderful to see your thoughts take shape on a page, and it’s an amazing feeling to finish a story and hold in your hands a completed manuscript. While I have yet to score a bestseller and certainly can’t afford to write books fulltime, I dream of the day—if it ever arrives—when I can devote myself fully to the profession. Of course, I want to make enough money doing it to sustain myself and my family, but my passion for writing is the primary motivator.

So, what does this have to do with James Patterson?

I don’t consider him a true writer. He’s more of an idea factory who leaves the writing to others. You’ll notice on most of his recent efforts, it’s his name and that of another author’s on the cover. He’s certainly not the only guy doing this these days. Tom Clancy and Clive Cussler are two others who come to mind—but Patterson seems to have taken it to a whole other level. In 2009, the Hatchette Book Group announced it had signed a deal that would see Patterson bang out 17 books through 2012 . . . that’s 17 books in three years. According to his website, Patterson already has four books due out this year: one in March, two in May, and one in July (he already released one earlier this month). Last year, he put out nine. Some may consider Stephen King a factory (personally, I’m a fan), but at least the man writes his own books.

I can only assume at this point in his career, Patterson doesn’t care about any sort of artistic integrity or quality control. He merely wants a paycheck. My feeling is that if you want to write books, then write books—don’t contract someone else out to do it. The publisher is also to blame here, as it obviously doesn’t care what’s slapped between two covers. You can’t churn out nine books in a year from one author and expect to deliver a quality product.

Ultimately, it’s the fans who are cheated.

My rant is over. I don’t know—maybe I’m just being overly critical.

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‘The Writer’s Weirdness’

In writers, Writing on January 27, 2012 at 10:25 am

Browsing other book-related blogs this morning, I came across the following video on Wragsthinks. Always interesting to hear writers discussing their habits.

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Writing advice from Ian Fleming

In author, manuscript, writers, Writing on January 22, 2012 at 1:13 pm


I love reading biographies of my favorite authors. Among the few books I’m reading concurrently (it’s a terrible habit) is Ian Fleming: The Man Behind James Bond by Andrew Lycett, first published in 1995. If your exposure to Bond is limited to the movies, I highly suggest you check out Fleming’s novels. The only similarity between the books and the films are the titles and the names of characters. Fleming’s stories are far grittier than what you see on the silver screen. The writing is also superb.

Fleming wrote all fourteen Bond novels at his Jamaican retreat, Goldeneye. Here, as described by Lycett, is his writing routine:

Ian had finally decided to launch into the novel which had been rattling around in his head for so long. He was not a man to tackle such projects half-heartedly. Every morning after a swim on the reef, he breakfasted with Ann in the garden. When he had finished his scrambled eggs and Blue Mountain coffee, he kissed her and made his way across the small veranda into the main living-room. He shut the big doors, closed the jalousies, and opened his big roll-top desk. For three hours, he pounded the keys of his twenty-year-old Imperial portable typewriter. At noon he emerged from the cool of his retreat and stood blinking in the heat of the day. After lunch, he slept for an hour or so, and then, around five, he returned to his desk to look over what he had typed earlier in the day. When he had made his corrections, he placed his manuscript in the bottom left-hand drawer of his desk. Ian was a man of routine, and that writing regimen, now established, continued for the next dozen years, whenever he was at Goldeneye.

The book would eventually become Casino Royale. It’s interesting to note that Fleming edited the manuscript as he went along. I’ve tried doing this but find it to be the kiss of death, as I end up scrapping everything I’ve done. I generally try to get the whole thing down on paper before I take the red pen to it.

Fleming, needless to say, took his writing very seriously. Here is some advice he sent to a friend, who was struggling with a manuscript. It’s great and probably pertinent to every writer:

You will be constantly depressed by the progress of the opus and feel it is all nonsense and that nobody will be interested. Those are the moments when you must all the more obstinately stick to your schedule and do your daily stint . . . Never mind about the brilliant phrase or the golden word, once the typescript is there you can fiddle, correct and embellish as much as you please. So don’t be depressed if the first draft seems a bit raw, all first drafts do. Try and remember the weather and smells and sensations and pile in every kind of contemporary detail. Don’t let anyone see the manuscript until you are very well on with it and above all don’t let anything interfere with your routine. Don’t worry about what you put in, it can always be cut out on re-reading; it’s the total recall that matters.

Some interesting food for thought.

Happy scribbling!

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The Compulsion to Write

In books, manuscript, publishing, Uncategorized, writers, Writing on January 17, 2012 at 11:45 am

It’s been nearly two months since I shipped my latest manuscript off to my publishers in the US and UK. Today, I heard from my British editor, who gave the pages a big thumbs-up—much to my relief. Having spent three years researching and writing the book—titled Human Game (see the post dated Jan. 12, “What happens after ‘The Great Escape’)—I had lost all perspective on it by the end. After you’ve read for the sixth or seventh time something you’ve written, it becomes a challenge to determine whether it’s any good. The positive opinion of someone outside your immediate circle of friends and family goes a long way in boosting the old confidence level. Hopefully, my U.S. editor will also think kindly of what I’ve submitted!

As the book winds its way through the editing process, I find myself torn between the desire to take time off and dive right into my next project. As stated in the post below, I work a day job to pay the bills. My writing, for the most part, is done in the evenings after my wife and son are in bed. Having my evenings free to lounge about in front of the television or to catch up on my reading is always a thing—but always present in the back of my mind is that nagging urge to get cracking on the next manuscript. Human Game clocked in at almost 100,000 words—the longest thing I’ve written by far. While I definitely need time to recharge the batteries, my compulsion (and that’s what it is) to write never seems to rest.

The reason for this may have something to do with being neurotic; it definitely has something to do with how I view myself. Although my day job is in marketing, I consider myself—professionally—a writer first and foremost. My other job is what enables me to pursue my writing. If I’m not writing, then I feel I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m merely wasting time. Watching something take shape on the page is one of life’s great pleasures! I don’t possess any grand illusions about myself; I just know what I like—and want—to do. Actually, it’s what I need to do. If I put writing off for too long a period, I eventually feel like something inside of me is going to explode.

But there’s one more reason . . . and that’s the hope that whatever project I may be working on will be “The One.” Years ago when I started writing, my primary goal was simply to be published. Once I achieved that benchmark, the next goal I set was to become a full-time author. It’s a lofty ambition and one that few writers are fortunate enough to achieve—but without a dream, how dull would things be?

A final note: It turns out researchers at Harvard have diagnosed a condition in some folks called Hypergraphia. In short, this is defined as the overpowering urge to write. Here’s an article from Psychology Today I found last night while cruising about the Web.

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