ED Writes a Book

Musing on art, with particular focus on fiction writing and finishing a novel. For the rest of my stuff, check out about.me/EdCarter.

[easydanger]

Shoehorns

A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament.

-Oscar MuthaFuckin’ Wilde

I've never been one of those guys who looks at creating a work of art as a mystical experience. I hear guys talk about things like “I don’t make my characters do anything, I just write and see where they go” or (the much more egregious) “I don’t write the story, I let the story write me.” To me, that’s all bullshit. Of course you make your characters do things. Everything they do, their very existence, is dependent upon your will. (I promise, I’m not bringing religion into this.) They don’t get anywhere near whatever end point they reach without you defining that end point, defining their start point, defining everything in between, and defining those characters in such a way as they make sense to be.

Yet, I’m sitting here, knowing what the ending of this scene is, and not knowing what to do next. I don’t want to push the characters into places where they would be uncomfortable—no, that’s dumb—I don’t want to force characters into behaving in ways that betray the them as they've been conceived. That’s just poor storytelling. 

I suppose that’s one of the differences between what I’ll arbitrarily call a Journey Art, like writing, and a Destination Art, like sculpting or painting. In the latter, it doesn't matter so much how many strikes there are of the hammer to the chisel, so long as the intended shape is there afterward. Writing may be similar in that, no, it doesn't matter how many rewrites or rounds of editing one puts the work through, the final manuscript will be what most people see. But that manuscript isn't seen all at once. 

(Generally, at least. I’m sure someone can write a complete, sound story using less than a page of text. But that’s not only beside the point, it’s also highly unlikely that someone will create a story wherein you can read the beginning and ending without noticeable time passing. If you can, and it doesn’t suck, that’s awesome. I’d love to see it.)

So, the way the reader is lead through from the opening to the ending matters a lot more, I think. There’s plenty of space to have people behave out of character, or display failings in the physics of the universe, or to accidentally say the same stupid thing more than once because we’ve forgotten that we already said that. Especially when we’ve got the one shot, or that one gag, or that one reference to a song from twelve years ago that we just know ties this scene together perfectly, if we could only work it in right. 

You know what a shoe-horn is for? It’s for easing a foot into a shoe that perfectly, just barely, fits that foot. You ever notice that’s not how we use the term ‘shoehorn’? Instead, ‘to shoehorn’ is to force something into a place where it, in fact, does not fit. And that’s usually where we run into trouble.

So, as I sit here trying to write in a new scene in the middle of Chapter 18, I don’t really have an answer to that. My solution is to just keep on writing and re-writing the scene until it corresponds properly with all the other stuff going on around it. It’ll fit, eventually. I just need to figure out how and why. But it is frustrating, you know? When you’ve got this one little bit that feels like it’s throwing off the whole thing.

How do you deal with that? Got any special remedies for fitting in that odd piece? And if you’re one of those people who can let their characters, or songs, or paintings “get away” from you or whatever, tell me how that works.

(Oh, also, I know that there are people who design visual art in such a way that the eye will naturally tend to follow certain paths and observe some things before others. And that some images imply movement or sequence. I’m not sure if it all works the same way, but that’s not the point I’m arguing. All I’m saying is that when I see an image, unless it’s moving rapidly along with several other images in such a process as what we call animation or combined with a number of other images to form what we’d call sequential art, I generally see the whole thing at once. I’m not trying to piss off any visual artists. Not on purpose, at least.)

-Easy

P.S: Coming up next week, how to write while avoiding delusions of godhood!

[easydanger]

They're Dead For A Reason

I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.

-Douglas Adams

[As of now, that Chapter is posted. You can find it at the top of the page, among the other links. Give it read and let me know what you think. Or, just click here, I suppose.]

There are a number of things at which artists are notoriously bad. Math is a big one. Another is business, probably because of the math thing. And a third is keeping up with deadlines. (Which leads to being bad at/for business.)

I’m thinking here mostly about commissioned things or publishing schedules, but at some point everyone’s going to run up against them. This is especially true if you ever actually plan on getting paid for this stuff. (I do.) The thing is, creating art is partly about skill, partly about time, partly about drive and passion, and very much about inspiration (at least, that is, if you want to do it right). And inspiration takes time. Creating isn’t a thing that can be rushed.

Of course, there are people who know how to manage their skills, talents, and desires. There are television writers who can crank out a script, reliably, week after week. Some of those scripts are even good. And that’s saying nothing of all the reporters. I heard a story of folks getting an assignment at 8:30, interviewing and having it written by 9:30, and having it printed by that afternoon.) But what I notice a lot of times is that the people who are able to do this also have the luxury of doing only that. (Some exceptions exists, of course. Everyone has family to take care of, and food to eat, and beers to drink, and so on.) I know tons of people who have their ability to create hampered by their needs of, say, earning enough money to not die.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a rant about being forced to get things done on time. I have no right to that, considering how notorious I am for being late. I’m not anti-deadlines—they have there place.I’m just saying that deadlines, and other “real world” issues, have an affect on the creative process.

On the flip side, they can be helpful. Having a goal to reach towards, even being able to quantify one’s process, can be beneficial to getting that goal actually accomplished. For instance, you may be more likely to get that paper done this week if you know it’s got to get to someone else’s eyes by Thursday. That’s why we set deadlines, after all. “I’m going to lose ten pounds in the next six months” is a lot easier than, “Gee, I sure wish I could get rid of this spare tire I’m carrying around.” 

Anyway, this post is, at least partly, a sorry, to whomever Is keeping up with these things. (That would be you, valued reader.) I won’t say that I’ll ever be good at keeping up with set deadlines. But I’ll at least give it a shot.

-No Side-

-Easy

[easydanger]

When It's Done

It always seems impossible until it’s done.

-Nelson Mandela

(Wait, that’s not quite right.)

When a thing’s done, it’s done, and if it’s not done right, do it differently next time.

-Arthur Ransome

(I like how it opens, but that’s not exactly the right message.)

When a thing is done, it’s done. Don’t look back. Look forward to your next objective.

-George C. Marshall

(Almost, but still off. Shit. I think I can get closer to the theme.)

If you presume to love something, you must love the process of it much more than you love the finished product.

-Jon Irving

(That’s it! Almost perfect. But … I don’t love it. One more try.)

Art is never finished, only abandoned.

-Leonardo da Vinci

(Meh, good enough for now. I’ll fix it later.)

It’s hard to accept when something is actually done. For starters, how would you know? How can you be sure? There always seems to be some tweak to be made, or some improvement to add, or some detail that was left out, or some flaw that just needs fixing. Look at any face long enough and you’ll start seeing pores. And it’s even harder to accept when something’s done right. 

Every time I read a thing that I’ve written, I see something done wrong. Well, not “wrong”,” exactly, but something’s not exactly right. From a typo to entire plot points being invalid, there’s always something that could be better. In my novel, there is a scene where three characters learn a secret about a fourth character. Just last week, I noticed that they wait three months to reveal this information to the fourth character. The nature of the secret is such that waiting this amount of time to reveal it was not only irresponsible, but downright malicious, which went against the characters of all involved. This necessitated a fairly large reorganization of the book. I also noticed that I spelled “restaurant” with two R’s and no U (“restarrant”).

Granted, some things, like the personal examples above, are necessary to fix. I’m not so sure about the seventeen times I’ve changed a sentence when its only narrative value is a joke about Oedipus (a rather good joke, mind you, but not necessarily essential). It could be argued that if I were more careful when writing originally, I wouldn’t have to edit so much. There’s also the idea that maybe I shouldn’t be so damn sensitive about my work. Let it go, ED, you may say, kick that bird from the nest and let it fly. 

That’s just the thing, though. I’m an artist and, like Erykah, I’m sensitive about my shit. If you care about something, if it’s important to you, you’re going to want it to be as close to perfect as possible. (No, that’s not good enough. It’s got to be better than that!) I think the trick to it is figuring out what is it that you’re trying to do with a work and sticking to that. 

For instance, I’m writing this book. All I wanted to do was write a fun story, ignoring the tropes of romance genres, that makes people laugh maybe think about how much fun young love is. If I lose out on everything else, I’ve still got that goal. Maybe it’s not going to be as subversive as I wanted. I can’t deconstruct everything, after all. I might not win any awards for the having the best narration by a drunk character. But if I tell that story I started out with, I can be happy. Once I’ve done that, I did it.

So, no, I don’t have any real, eureka-moment style revelations on how to avoid the perfection-procrastination. I do want each and every one of my words to impact my reader, and for every line and sentence to matter. I could—rather, I can edit and rewrite every one of my sentences until … well, forever. Literally. But I’d never get anything done. This is one of those issues I don’t have a direction to go in on how you resolve it.

What I do have, though, is another stick-to-what-makes-you-you Aesop. There’s a reason why “unique” starts with “you.” (Just trust me on this one, don’t look up the etymology.) But what I mean is that an artist should stick to their creative, individual guns. Make the creation that you want to make and make it as good as you can. 

And if it’s not good enough, you do it again. And it it’s not good enough, you do it again, some more. You do it until you’re satisfied. But you allow yourself to be satisfied. We do exist in an industry that (to varying degrees) glorifies angst. But it’s up to each of us, individually, to allow ourselves to finish a project, declare it finished, and make people see it. 

It may take you four … -ty-seven years, or more (or less!), but you’ll get there. We all will. Eventually. But I never said it was easy. 

-No side-

-Easy

[easydanger]

Peaking Too Soon, and Shooting Your Wad Early

You know, I don't really do that much looking inside me when I'm working on a project. Whatever I am becomes what that film is. But I change; you change.

―Steven Spielberg

I've recently been offered the chance to volunteer time at the 555 Gallery here in Detroit, Michigan. It’s a great place to be. The mission of the 555 Nonprofit Gallery is to strengthen communities through the arts (and, as a corollary, to strengthen artist communities). My work is to be directed mostly towards promotion. As a result, I’m spending an ever increasing amount of time surrounded by other artists.

One of the conversations I’ve been having is the discussion of an artist’s inspiration. One of the ideas I posited (and must take no credit for creating) is that an artist’s first serious project is often the culmination of everything he or she has been trying to do in his life up to that point. Following this, of course, an artist is expected to do it again. But this time, instead of 20 years to prepare in one way or another, the artist has 1 or two.

This is, of course, dependent on several things, including the type of art, experience, resources, and work ethic of the artist. I don’t know how long it takes to produce a sculpture, for instance. Or how many paintings a painter can paint in a pai—er, I mean, in a year. But I do know that an artist’s first work is often their most raw. This is, in my experience, because this is when the artist is the most passionate. We’re learning how to do the thing we’re doing and drawing from every experience we’ve ever had.

Comparatively, that next piece of work might not ever be as personal. It might not be as raw. The artist may be more comfortable. We may be less naive. We may have a better grasp of our skills and how to apply them to get our image produced. We may now have a completely different vision than we started with. We may not have the same drive we did before. We may not be able to draw upon those same experiences we did the first time around. Please note those “mights” and “mays” because it might be important later. Maybe.

Having this conversation, I can’t help but to think about the task I’ve undertaken, writing this first book. I, of course, have ideas for other books I plan to write. But this carries along with it the fear of “shooting my wad,” so to speak, on this first book.

For instance, every idea I’ve ever had about putting together a story I’ve tried to put into this book. Everything I’ve wanted to try, from the multiple first person narratives (Thank you, Hornby), to the scene where everyone’s seriously shooting each other (Thanks, FLCL, Community), to the part where Mike is staring down a devil (Thank you, Constantine, Devil May Cry). Every single one of those tropes I always wanted to avert or subvert (protagonist does not equal hero, for instance) is going in here. So, what am I going to have left for when it comes time to write the next book? How does one overcome becoming a peak-too-sooner?

The obvious answer, I think, is that you don’t. You put everything you’ve got into that first project. It’s the culmination of your life’s work. All those things that made you want to do what you want to do, all those things that make you, must go into it. Once that project is done (and, trust me, you’ll have to let it be done once it’s finished. Let’s talk about not letting this drive us crazy next time), it’s hopefully well received. And when it comes time to do it again, well, you do it again. Because it’s those things that you brought to that first song, or image, or story, that make your work yours. 

I think the second project should draw from the same things as the first, but also include the first. That is, you’ve grown and learned from the first, and you add that experience to what you added to the first project as well. That’s the thing about experience—it’s cumulative. You can use it more than once and, hopefully, you will. 

Then again, not everyone’s going to like where you take the next thing. An audience, often (not always) wants to limit an artist to  particular area. (I could go on about labels and boxes right now, but I won’t. I think you understand.) But this same thing held true for the first book/album/image/sculpture/building you attempted to build. So, what’s the harm?

Well, the harm is that you could alienate the entirety of the audience you’ve also been working your entire life to build. Which is legit, don’t get me wrong. And scary to boot. Especially for that second project, when the fear of losing what audience you have could spell the end of your career.

The obvious inspiration should be to stay true to oneself. Do I write because of my fascination with words or because I wanna get rich? (We’ll ignore, for the moment, the likelihood of the latter happening.) It must be the former, because we wouldn’t have this 1,000 words otherwise. For me, it’s the discovery of what can be made on the page. “What would happen if this guy met that guy?” “What would the dream I had look like in real life?” “How many times can I say fuck in a paragraph before people don’t want to read it anymore?” These are reasons I’m writing. And I believe if we hold true to why we’re creating in the first place, this will hopefully be translated to our audience. And if not, well, if we are meant to create, we’ll still create. We won’t have a choice in the matter. 

-Easy

[easydanger]

If At First You Don't Succeed, Skip to Step Two (Part Two)

Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently.

―Henry Ford

There’s a balancing act that must be done between how much plot is revealed and how much characterization is presented. This is especially true in a character driven work. The lower the concept of the story, the stronger the characters must be, doubly so for a story as low concept as mine.  (Essentially, my story can be boiled down to “Will-They-Won’t-They: The Novel,” if you’re feeling extraordinarily cynical and short-sighted.) Also, since I tend to fall on the side of characterization above all else, I can sometimes overlook plot development. While it’s great for readers to think, Wow, I really love these characters, I wouldn’t want that followed by, But they never seem to do anything.

So, still, getting chapter one to a point where I’m happy is difficult. The solution: Skip it. I’m going straight to chapter two. Chapter two’s more fun anyway, right? I mean, nothing ever happens in chapter one. Chapter two is where things start coming together. Why even have a chapter one? I’ll just start the book at chapter two! And, yes, I’ve heard it before. No, that doesn’t automatically make “chapter two” into “chapter one.” It doesn’t matter what you call it or who it’s named after, it still doesn’t change which one is on first. (It’s Who, by the way.)

Seriously, I was so focused on trying to introduce my characters, I didn’t end up actually letting them do much, besides eat, drink coffee, smoke, and try to make each other think they were cool. According to my story synopsis, non of my plot points started popping up until chapter two. Admittedly, this is kind of sloppy and I should’ve known better. But, instead, I had a synopsis for chapter one that read:

“Micheal Walker, Ortez Santiago, and Johnny Mills meet Sepia Daniels.  Sepia and Jessica Denson meet Mike and Ortez.  Johnny and Jesse are already friends, from high school.”

Granted, this was written ten years ago, before I’d seriously considered anything about what it would take to actually write a novel, let alone find someone to publish it, let alone find someone to read it. That’s not an excuse, it’s just an explanation; I didn’t know what I was doing. This chapter was, both times I’ve written it, much more boring than chapter two. The synopsis for which is:

 “New friends Johnny and Sepia go to visit their respective siblings, along the way discovering that the siblings are a romantic couple. Johnny’s brother, Jayson, wants to marry Sepia’s sister, Cyan, but the relationship is rocky at present. Johnny, along with a reluctant Sepia, talk them through this crisis, saving the relationship.”

Wow, what a difference, huh? This chapter, just judging by the synopsis, has drama and characters in a relatable scenario. My initial fear in not starting the novel with introductions was that the reader wouldn’t get the chance to learn to love the characters. This was dumb. However the reader first meets the character is their introduction. They’ll learn how Sepia reacts to situations by showing her actually react to a situation. Johnny’s sense of humor and idealism will be apparent in his interactions with his brother and potential sister-in-law. Who would’ve thought that the adage “show, don’t tell” could be applied to writing? 

My other fear when I wrote that initial synopsis all those year ago, was that the reader would need to meet everyone at once, in rapid succession, in order to connect to them. This was also to invoke the feeling the characters have of meeting in their first week of school. This was also dumb. To use F. Scott Fitzgerald again, Gatsby doesn’t even make a real appearance until chapter three, and that book is named after him! With this in mind, I don’t think readers will mind waiting to hear what’s going inside Jesse, Mike, or Ortez’s heads until chapter three, which will be the second chapter.

The funny thing is that it’s not, by my standards (of judging myself), a bad piece of writing. It exhibits my style well. It’s much less esoteric than some other things I’ve written. (I didn’t mention a single reference to a Japanese animation or a song by a band from Fueled by Ramen!) The characters act like themselves and sound different from one another. The dialog is snappy and doesn’t meander. But it wasn’t functional. Which is kind of important.

I suppose the lesson to take from this is that it’s not necessary to rush things. I also suppose that could be considered a bit ironic, since it was my impatience that led me here and my solution was to rush past a section of my original plan. Still, it was an unnecessary section. It was also one that implied that I didn’t trust my reader. It was also one that didn’t help the story. It is also one that is no longer in the book.

I will definitely be sharing the first chapter, Chapter Two, of the novel this coming week. Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m the first author to have irregular chapter numbering.

-Easy

(P.S: Say what you will about Henry Ford, I stand by that statement.)

[easydanger]

It Has To Start Somewhere ... I Guess (Part One)

In every phenomenon, the beginning remains always the most notable moment. 

― Thomas Carlyle

“In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.” That’s a pretty good start to a pretty good book by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I’ve always been trying to make one of those. Unfortunately, I’m a writer, not a mad scientist. So, my attempts at creating a functional Fitzgerald zombie have been unfruitful. 

The start of writings has always been a source of some frustration for me. Introductions to essays, chapter ones. The only thing that’s been the equal to the problem of trying to start a piece has only been equal to that of knowing when it’s finished. In fact, I planned to post this weblog entry along with chapter one of my novel. I spent an entire day watching pilots and first episodes of various television series in an attempt to divine what it takes to pull off a great opening. It hasn’t quite worked out that way.

The start of a novel has to grab a reader with enough of a draw that they want to continue to find out what happens. This is, of course, the responsibility of every chapter, paragraph, and line, as well, but the beginning has to do this without the benefit of having everything that came before it to help it along with this task.

The beginning also has to start the wheels of the plot going, which I was having no small bit of trouble with. It has to do this while also introducing the reader to who these characters are and starting to convince the reader to care about them.

I’d written chapter one before. It was, ironically enough, the first thing I’d written for this novel. It started in medias res during an action scene that tried to shoehorn in character development before jumping back to introductions. It was also silly, poorly constructed and written, and ended with a boring and weak cliffhanger.

So, I sat down to rewrite the chapter. I wanted to show off the personalities of these characters. Let them speak for themselves, so to … speak. I was going to let the reader meet these kids and start to fall in love with them, rather than try to force the whole plot down your throat right from the bat. And it’s going well. But I’m so bored!

See, the problem with beginnings for this writer is that I’m very impatient. It’s hard to care about letting people meet characters when I already know them. I want to get into the meat and potatoes of the story. I want to watch these kids banter around the plot points. I want you to see that awesome scene where Micheal has his dream with all the references in it.

But that doesn’t have any context without all the stuff that comes before it. So, I suppose I just have to trudge though the treacle of chapter one. I have to make clever characters say witty things. I have to tell jokes and build dramatic tension. I have to describe why these characters are cool and should be followed around. Woe is me.

Maybe I will put chapter one up somewhere on this world-wide, series of tubular-shaped internets.

-Easy.

[easydanger]

Covers Always Lie

Either you think, or else others have to think for you and take power from you, pervert and discipline your natural tastes, civilize and sterilize you.” 

― F. Scott Fitzgerald

I hate the blurbs on the backs of books. Not for being uninformative, nor (contrary to the title of this post) for being purposefully misleading. Rather, I hate the blurbs on the backs of books for failing, virtually every time, to inform me of whether or not I’ll actually enjoy a book.

This isn’t a phenomenon restricted to books. (Just check out the Tv Tropes page sharing a title with this post for examples.) Trailers can seem almost malicious with how far off they can lead an audience. Still, this weblog centers on authorship, so that’s what I’m talking about. So, yeah …

Anyway, what I decided to do was pull out four books from my personal library, at random, to take a look at what their blurbs say on the back. How did they get it completely wrong? How much is influenced by assumptions I might not have?

The books: not a serious one in the bunch, if you can believe it, dear reader. Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say they aren’t serious. It’s true, one is about a wizard whose world flies on the back of a turtle. What I mean is that each is a comedy in it’s own way, so this might not be the most balanced selection.

Speaking of the wizard, the back of that novel has this to say on the subject of its contents:

Terry Pratchett’s profoundly irreverent, bestselling novels, have garnered him a revered position in the halls of parody next to the likes of Mark Twain, Kurt Vonnegut, Douglas Adams, and Carl Hiassen.

The Color of Magic is Terry Pratchett’s maiden voyage through the now-legendary land of Discworld. This is where it all begins—with the tourist Twoflower and his wizard guide, Rincewind.

-The Color of Magic, 2005 Edition, Harper

Okay. Now, what have we learned? Well, a lot of people know and respect Terry Pratchett and hold him among a certain pantheon of authors. As for the story itself, forget about it. A blurb like this relies upon the fact that I’m (1) familiar with the authors mentioned and/or at least familiar with the Discworld series of books (which, considering this is the first of the series, is somewhat unlikely). How can I decide whether I’ll enjoy this book, if the only way to know what’s going on in the book, seeing it on a shelf, is to already know? The sin here is not misinformation, but rather a complete lack of information.

I’ve seen this often. It’s common among very popular books, presumably because the idea is that there’s no need to explain. This has always bothered me about films based on novels. It’s as if a publisher expects me to only be looking for the novel because of the movie. And, speaking of movies …

Young Adult fiction is a strange beast. It’s got to be accessible to the (debatably) relatively younger audience, without being condescending. And I’m still just talking about the blurb. Check out Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist’s blurb (Sit down, it’s a big’un):

Nick’s just seen the girl who dumped him walk in … with a new guy. What else can he o but ask the strange girl next to him to be his new girlfriend?

Norah would do anything to avoid conversation with the not not-friend girl who dumped Nick … and to get over the Evil Ex whom Norah never really totally dumped. What else can she do but answer Nick’s question by making out with him?

With one electric, unexpected kiss, the five-minutee couple of Nick and Norah set off on an uncharted adventure called the “first date” that will turn into an infinite night of falling in and out (and in and out, and maybe in and maybe out) of love. Theirs is a first date of music, laughter, heartache, confusion, passion, taxi driver wisdom, and a jacket named Salvatore. And of course a killer soundtrack.

As Nick and Norah wander through the middle-of-the-night mystic maze of Manhattan, they share the kind of night you want to never end, where every minute counts and every moment flickers between love and disaster.

-Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist, 2006, Knopf

Whew! Okay. So, what have we learned? Well, we’ve met both of our protagonists. We know they’re in a love story of sorts. We know that they’re young and don’t make the best decisions. We know how they “meet cute.” And, based on this treatment, we know a little of what kind of story Rachel Cohn and David Levithan are going to spin for us. Also, they might be in a band. Aside from being a little on the long side, I know when I pick up the book whether I want to read a story like this or not (the “Major Motion Picture Coming Fall 2008!” tag on the front of my copy notwithstanding).

The fear, I think, in running a blurb this long is that a publisher doesn’t want to give too much away to the reader. You don’t want your reader feeling like the plot has been spoiled for them or to give them something that might turn them off from the book without even reading it. However, I believe, if your blurb can give that much away, you’ve probably got an issue with the content, rather than an issue with the blurb. I do tend to the longwinded side myself, but I hold this as an excellent example of how to tell a reader what they’re picking up and why they shouldn’t put it down.

Speaking of segue ways, this next one is a graphic novel. For itself, The Alcoholic says:

IN THE PROUD TRADITION OF DRUNKEN WRITERS EVERYWHERE … comes the tale of Jonathan A., a boozed-up, coked-out, sexually confused, hopelessly romantic and, of course, entirely fictional novelist – who bears only a coincidental resemblance to real life writer Jonathan Ames, critically acclaimed author of Wake Up, Sir!, The Extra Man and What’s Not to Love.

-The Alcoholic, 2008, Vertigo

To the point. As a graphic novel of less than 150 pages, The Alcoholic has less prose space to work with in getting it’s point across. From this blurb, I have pretty much no idea what’s going to happen in this story, aside from, perhaps, some vague ideas about Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas shout-outs. I can’t help but feel like this is aimed fairly directly. I understand exactly why I picked up the book, at least. I’m a writer. We’re stereotypically alcoholics or substance abusers (also, penniless). For me, it’s a no brainer. It’s also kind of a different ballpark from the other books. The visual aspect makes it a lot quicker to flip through and see how I feel about a book. I can say this blurb skips out completely on some of the themes of the book which you might not automatically assume if you've never been in similar situations as the author. 

Which brings me to About a Boy. This is a little unfair, because Nick Hornby is my favorite author. Here’s what they decided to put on the back of this version:

“How cool is Will Freeman? Sub-zero! Dry ice! Will Freeman may have discovered the key to dating success: If the simple act that they were single mothers meant that gorgeous women—women who would not ordinarily look twice at Will—might not only be willing, but enthusiastic about dating him, then he was really onto something. Single mothers—bright, attractive, available women—thousands of them, were all over London. He just had to find them.

SPAT: Single Parents—Alone Together. It was a brilliant plan. And Will wasn’t going to let the fact that he didn’t have a child himself hold him back. A fictional two-year-old named Ned wouldn’t be the first thing he’d invented. And it seems to go quit well at first, until he meets an actual twelve year old named Marcus, who is more than Will bargained for …

-About a Boy, 2002 Edition, Riverhead Books

From that description, would I think that Marcus, the kid who gets little more than a passing reference in the last sentence, is another viewpoint character whose development is arguably as big a part of the story as Will’s? Well, no, I wouldn’t. It’s a brilliant introduction to Will, but I don’t know about half of the book on my way in. Otherwise, it’s great.

Full disclosure, I know about The Color of Magic because of constantly hearing about it on a website I frequent. Nick & Norah was introduced to me by the film, starring Michael Cera and Kat Dennings. I just happened upon The Alcoholic in the comic book store. And About a Boy, well, I’ll read anything Nick Hornby puts out after High Fidelity. All of these books also have quotes on the back talking up the authors that I left out for the purposes of this examination.

It’s one of those funny things about marketing. You’re got to try to get the audience invested before every step of the way. From the first look of the cover, you’ve got to get them hooked. And not just the blurb, the publisher’s worried about the color and images wrapped all around the book. The height, length, and width. The number of pages. That “A New York Times Notable Book” stamp printed on cover. All of these things and more come into play, just to get us to pick that dead tree up from the shelf. Or, since It’s 2013, download that .pdf.

Obviously, this isn’t exhaustive. I just wanted to go through and examine a few titles, to see what their blurbs have to say about them. It’s remarkable how much stuff needs to be taken care of outside of ever getting the manuscript finished. And we’ve said nothing of editing, yet. Self-publishing is looking a little harder everyday. But this is an entertainment industry. And, as we know, that’s never easy.

Thank you’s to Brainy Quote for the quotes I’m putting at the tops of these posts.

-Easy

[easydanger]

How (Not) To Sell A Book

“Never start with a clear idea of storyline. Instead, commence blindly, with a vague notion of trying to include a reference to your favourite band, gift shop, or chocolate bar.” 

― Alan Martin

If I wanted to sell you a broom, I could describe to you how the bristles were designed with just the right stiffness, in the proper number, to ensure that you’ll get every piece of dirt and dust from your hardwood living room floor into your dustpan. If I wanted to sell you a car, I’d tell you about how quickly it can accelerate from zero to sixty miles per hour and drive itself along your most frequented routes, perhaps coupling this description with videos of its the sleek body design. If I wanted to tell you a story I could … tell the story to you?

I’m always interested in the way people ask and answer the question of what something is “about." In Moulin Rouge, Christian initially describes his story as one about "love." Of course, he later has to actually sell this idea to an investor, which leads to hijinks and eventually a full meta-plot synopsis. The initial explanation is akin to saying Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is about “candy.” (Though, to be fair, if you’re using Moulin Rouge as a model of how to pitch a production, you’ve got other problems.)

In my case, writing a novel (Praying for the End of Time), I get asked this question often. I used to respond with an unnecessarily detailed synopsis of my book’s plot or something equally as unhelpful. This was awful for several reasons.

1) I wasn’t actually finished with the plot.

2) This synopsis was invariably too long.

3) Most people asking were just making polite conversation.

4) I’d started the novel without constructing it around “themes” or “hooks.” It was decidedly “low-concept.”

5) “Five kids start college, have fun, cuss, and have relationship angst,” sounds dumb.

6) “It’s like FLCL meets (500) Days of Summer, if they’d been written by David Mamet, with the occasional musical number. Also, kind of a mystery!” is convoluted. Also, most people will miss a third of the references. At least.

This was, of course, entirely my fault. For starters, I’ve no excuse for saying I’m writing a book with no real idea what direction it’s pointed in. But even after fleshing out the storyline, coming to terms with what these characters represent (rather than them just being extensions of my psyche designed to make nerd jokes), and finally sitting down to start getting pages finished, it’s still a tough riddle to crack.

When I started off with the idea to write this book, I sailed off with a vague notion of paying homage my favorite stories and tropes from my various favorite fictions. I filled pages with shout-outs to scenes I remembered liking, rehashed jokes that make me giggle, and took every opportunity to point out the comedic rule of three. Indeed, I still want nothing more to invoke the same feelings I got when I first read High Fidelity or saw Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. I didn’t really know what or how to write, but I knew I wanted to. So, I just started doing it, for the art, not even realizing that I’d, at some point, have to sell this thing.

Even now, falling back on hackneyed ideas for descriptions still feels, well, hackneyed. Yes, it is a coming of age story, in a manner of speaking. Yes, it is a love story, though, it’s not really romantic. Yes, it’s funny. (I hope.) Yes, if you enjoyed the Scott Pilgrim series, I think you’ll like it. But that doesn’t actually explain what it’s about.

I could tell you the plot. I could tell you it’s written in the first person, present tense. I could tell you tons of things about Sepia Daniels (The Girl in “Boy meets Girl”), John Mills (The Best Friend), Jessica Denson (Team Mom), Ortez Santiago (The Big Guy), and Micheal Walker (His name is spelled correctly). You still wouldn’t get it. I mean, I hope you get it, but you wouldn’t quite grasp what makes them special. Yet.

I’m still learning how to classify a piece of literature. Maybe it is because I’m overreaching, trying to put too much in one go. Maybe I’m too philosophical about these things. But I do know that art is important and that’s what we’re doing here. Making the stuff that makes the world beautiful. If I can manage, somehow, to inspire a goal, a story, or a smile out of any one of you, I’ll be happy.

That’s what it’s about.

-Easy.

(Additionally, it’s about the folly of youth, selfish characters learning that there’s more to life than what they can see, immature characters figuring out that confidence is important (but not all there is to life), and a group of people deriving what it means to grow up and be adults.

In a few days, I plan to expand a bit on the idea I started up there, this paradox of describing enough to catch interest, but not too much. The blurb, the trailer, the book cover. By the way, those things always lie.)