How to Become a Bestseller

The Atlantic currently has one of the best articles about the business of writing, and the difference between the world of genre fiction and the world of literary fiction. The essay, written from the perspective of a literary fiction writer Eric Konigsberg, examines the hugely successful career of Harlan Coben.

It's a fascinating piece for a number of reasons. Coben's understanding of the minutia of the industry of publishing is rather amazing, epitomized by his knowledge of even Sam's Club's book stocking methodology. In Coben we see how a writer becomes a mutli-million dollar bestseller, and what he gains and losses in the process. The profile, written by Eric Konigsberg, is fair and honest, and the same can be said of Coben himself. Take this excellent analysis, which points out something I don't think I've ever heard someone say aloud before:

The average detective story is probably no worse than the average novel, but you never see the average novel. It doesn’t get published. The average—or only slightly above average—detective story does … And the strange thing is that this average, more than middling dull, pooped-out piece of utterly unreal and mechanical fiction is really not very different from what are called the masterpieces of the art. It drags on a little more slowly, the dialogue is a shade grayer, the cardboard out of which the characters are cut is a shade thinner, and the cheating is a little more obvious. But it is the same kind of book. Whereas the good novel is not at all the same kind of book as the bad novel. It is about entirely different things. But the good detective story and the bad detective story are about exactly the same things, and they are about them in very much the same way.

This is particularly fascinating considering our debates in African American lit about what is genre writing and what is literature. In Coben we find an author who is completely conscious of what his position in the publishing universe is, and embraces it. Instead of seeing his massive commercial success as proof of his work's artistic genius, he maintains a realistic grounded understanding of his career. His job is to write gripping thrillers that play on our fears for ourselves and our families in a way that is both engaging, gripping, and comfortably repetitive. His job is not to give a social message, or waist time with character beyond the archetypes. It's to create books that are fun and familiar, just like his last book his audience loved but just new enough that they can buy it and repeat the thrill.

“It’s not like I’m an artist,” he said. “If this book doesn’t do well, and I say to my publisher, ‘I want the freedom to do what I want,’ well, they might say, ‘We want the freedom to take back some of this money.’”

Coben understands that his career is built on creating a very specific product for a specific audience; this realization is one of the key's to his success. Unlike some Black commercial fiction authors of late who have cried racism in response to the refusal of their publishers to accept manuscripts outside the author's existing genre and audience, Coben does not confuse corporate reality for anything other than what it is. If you sell oranges, and you have regular clients who come just for your oranges, you can't just start selling beets and think that won't effect business.

It is this understanding of his audience, and his belief that creatively his work showed conform to his readers rather than his readers make the effort to interpret his work, that also separates Coben from the majority of literary writers:

At another bookstore talk, Coben made fun of “the kind of writer who says”—here, he adopted a mopey zombie’s voice—“‘I only write for myself; I don’t care who reads it.’ That’s like saying, ‘I only talk to myself; I don’t care who’s listening.’”

(Biggups to Submariner for the link)

How to Write the Gordon Ramsay Way

One wonders about the nasty nasty Brits. They have become ubiquitous in American Pop culture. Whether you're talking about the cruel criticisms of American Idol's Simone Cowell, the acerbic snicker of Dancing with the Star's Len Goodman, or the caustic cackles of the fascist fashionistas of What Not to Wear, the British have turned being sadistically blunt into a national export. It’s not just popcorn culture either, this phenomena is just as present in more refined circles as well, where Martin Amis brings a distinctly English form of bitter decay to the world through his novels, and Christopher Hitchens makes an entire intellectual career out of being a contrarian asshole. (Forgive me, I meant arsehole.)

Maybe they are the inevitable by-products of a culture in decay, maggots on the corpse of the fallen empire. Maybe their success in the States is more of a reflection of modern America than Britian, that they fulfill the role of truthsayers in a culture enveloped in fake smiles and convenient lies.

To be honest, I don’t understand. How can you be so sad, dear Englishmen, when you have Amy Winehouse to sing for you?

Regardless, there is one nasty Brit I really enjoy (perhaps because he’s a Scot, and they are considering dropping out of the Kingdom). I’m speaking of Gordon Ramsay, particularly the version of the man presented in Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares, which can be seen in the USA on BBC America. I have been addicted to the show for quite a while: I love haute cuisine, I love seeing the workings of careers other than my own, and the Calvinist in me loves seeing people learn to improve their lives through hard work. Ramsay may be a hard bastard at times, but what makes him brilliant is that he is so passionate about his craft. And even more important, he seems to genuinely care about the people he's trying to help. As a teacher, it's a hell of a lot easier to smile in someone's face and tell them that everything is just fine than to tell them the truth when it isn't.

But several viewing hours in, I realized that there was another, even more central reason I love watching Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares. Surprise: it reminds me of the struggle to become a writer as well. It's just one more bit of evidence that the quest to become a successful craftsman, to elevate one's art and self, is universal. As proof of this theory, here are some lesson’s from Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares that apply to the aspiring writer just as well as the aspiring chef:

Just Because You Think You’re a Superstar, Doesn’t Mean You Are
It's amazing how many of the restaurants that Ramsay goes to are failing because the cooks think they are talented chefs, when in fact they are completely incompetent in the kitchen. It reminds me of all the would-be Shakespeares I've met over the years who talk a great game about their writing skills, then I pick up their books and see that they are barely capable of constructing a grammatically cohesive sentence. Any one can call themselves a master, but to become one takes years of development, education and dedication. The act of self-crowning does not make one a king, but believing that it will does make one a fool.

Listen to Criticism
One of the reoccurring scenes on Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares is the one where the chef (whoever it is that week) resists the criticism of Gordon Ramsay, insisting that they know how to cook properly despite the fact that they are invariable failing at that task. If you get the chance for expert, seasoned advice, listen to it. Don't just listen: be open to changing accordingly. Talent isn't enough, and even the best can be sidelined by their own ego, rigidity, or fear of change. I teach would-be writers who are resistant to criticism all the time, people who decide that they know better than everyone who reads their work. Some give in eventually and learn to change for the better, and some don't. Of those that don't, I have never seen one go on to success as a writer.

Build Your Palette
It's amazing how many of these inept chefs Ramsay encounters, so-called professionals who have no concept of how to prepare fine cuisine, don't even eat the type of food they're trying to create, instead ingesting only fast food. Actually, it's not amazing; it's obvious. In art, you really are what you eat. In order to build and maintain a palette, you have to ingest the type of product that you seek to produce. If you're not interested in consuming sophisticated work, you shouldn't bother trying to create it. If you don't want to read literary fiction, don't try and write literary fiction. You won't have the aesthetic understanding necessary to pull it off.

Don’t Make Things Unnecessarily Complicated
Even those chefs that do know what they are doing get tempted to overdo their food in an attempt to seem unique or prove their sophistication. But the best haute cuisine is at its essence simple: fresh ingredients cooked expertly to highlight their flavor. Likewise, a good story told expertly has no peer, and no amount of over-reaching language or pretentious narrative structuring can beat a story consisting of fresh observations on humanity presented in a way that they can resonate fully.

Keep the Kitchen and the Dining Room Separate
One of my favorite episodes of Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmare is the one where he visits a soul food restaurant in Brighton run by an African American expat (coincidentally Ray Shell's ex-wife), Momma Cherri's. This episode is one of the only ones where the food is actually really good. The problem is, the maître d' is always in the kitchen barking orders at the chef, and the dining room is going to hell. For the chef to be successful, he or she has to focus on the food; everything else comes a distant second. For the dining room to be successful, the maître d' needs to leave the food preparation alone and worry about the people, specifically selling them the product. Likewise, writers should worry about their writing. Don't let commercial concerns into your kitchen. Let the agents and publishers worry about running the business, you just worry about the product itself.

Creation is an Act of Love
Love what you do. Love what you create. Love the act of creation. Love those you create for. Because when you love, you will respect. When you love, you will prepare yourself fully and love that too. When you love, you don't cut corners or produce work that is just good enough and nothing more. When you love, you aim for perfection, and do the work necessary to get as close to that goal as possible. When you love, you don't become cynical or despondent or bitter. And the people who consume what you create will be able to taste that love and in turn they will return their love back to you.

Role of the Writer

If you look in the comment section of the London post you'll see a fascinating (I think) discussion about the role of the writer in relation to his or her audience. The conversation starts off kind of bumpy, but it quickly evolves into an exchange of ideas.

Part of the discussion is around my refusal to explain different parts of my writing. I'm happy to talk about my work in general (my intentions, influences), I'm happy to talk about reading and literary criticism, but I don't feel I should explain metaphors, plot points, and other specifics.

But another part of the dialogue is about the role of an artist as a salesman. The artists responsibility to charm.

To be honest, I don't know what to think. If you have some ideas, please take them to the discussion board so we can do this right.

GOT TO THE DISCUSSION BOARD

Anatomy of a Book Tour

I hate going to readings. Usually they are boring, lifeless and rather pointless. Unless the author is famous, nobody shows up, and often that's just embarrassing. All those damn empty seats. And I’ve had work ruined for me because I can no longer read an author without hearing his or her voice in my head. The things that make many authors good- their anti-social nature and introverted characters that lend themselves to the long silent hours of writing and reading- are the same things that make them horrible entertainers. If a writer is also a good performer, this is largely a coincidence. A pleasant surprise. But usually it’s just me staring at the pages, wondering which one will be the last one, wondering when are they going to merciful end it. My own readings, I hate less. Not because I’m any better than any other reader, but because since I’m the one reading I’m at least pre-occupied. And I have something to read.

The first time I went out on tour, with Drop, I was filled with romantic notions about the long wished for book tour and eager to give life to my work by pushing it to the world. I felt like a boy with a kite, running with it to get it off the ground. Every fruit and vegetable stand that would have me, did. What I found on the road though was the same as what almost every writer does: empty chairs. Invariable, every reading started with the store apologizing for the largely non-existent turnout: it was raining, it was finals time, there’s lot going on in town tonight. At a B&N in Atlanta, my relief at having a crowd of eight was quickly squashed when, during my introduction, six got up to read their newspapers elsewhere. At a well known black bookstore in LA, I read to a somewhat sour faced handful of elderly women. At the end of my reading, I asked if there were any questions. The first one was not to me, but to the bookstore owner. “Are you going unlock the door so we can leave now?” And I’m one of the lucky ones.

Why do we still have book tours, if hardly anyone shows up for them? So that we can tempt the local media into offering free coverage of the book since the author is in town, so we can get onto the email list for the store in question and hopefully reach hundreds, so we can get that big poster ad in the store for a month. All the things that don't have anything to do with the actually reading, which makes the whole thing appear rather inefficient and indirect.

The rise of commercial fiction, with its legion of savvy self-promoters, led many of the newer small bookstores to look at visiting writers like freelance employees. Gone was the respect for the accomplishment, the appreciation for the time taken for the visit. At several bookstores I was greeted with a blank nod from the clerk on duty, and simply instructed to park myself at whatever bare fold out table I was expected to be stationed at for up to three hours. One time, at a now closed book store, I was instructed on where the fold-out table was in the back, and where I should set it up. It's not that I'm too good to slug furniture, it's just common courtesy. It took me two hours to get to the airport, two hours to wait for my plane, three hours on the plane, an hour finding my hotel and another hour finding the store, where I've come to hawk full priced books that will go directly into the bookstore's pocket. If I do all that, you can take 45 seconds to set up your own table.

In the cities that are hard to navigate, the publisher hires a "literary escort," who drives you around from store to press event. Usually they are white, and not used to Negroes, and this creates an awkwardness that I'm forced to negotiate. Last time I was in Atlanta, I was assigned a black escort who was unused to literary fiction writers, and in the face of a nearly vacant reading said to me, "You know, maybe on the next book you could write something people want to read." She meant this in a good way, and that is why I did not attempt to strangle her.

Still, there are great things about being on the road. I love the hotels, their anonymous silence, and their hours away from my normal responsibilities that allow me to nap and abuse the room service and pay-per-view (covered!). Most of all, though, I like seeing the people. The bookstore operators and librarians who fight to keep lit alive. The old lost friends who just reappear in your life out of nowhere because they saw an ad in the paper. The fellow writers who are in the area, who take the time to stop through and say hi, support. And of course, and by far most of all, the actual readers. The fact that they exist at all, and that they take time to come out on a random night to say hi, is a miracle. Even when it is just one or two at a reading, they make all of it worthwhile, the whole traveling circus mess that can overshadow the point of why you're even there. The readers, each one, let you know you are not just throwing pages into the void, that there is someone out there catching them, and responding.

Thank you, all you people who came out on this last little mini-mini tour. Thanks also to those who sent notes that you wish they could have. It was absolutely great to see everybody. It was absolutely amazing to have an audience to see.

Sincerely,

Mat Johnson

PS- The Great Negro Plot thing went well. Here is a rave review that ran in the Chicago Sun-Times. By contrast, here's a nasty, bile filled review in the Toronto Star by a critic who bizarrely seemed to think this was supposed to be a history book and not an historical, which is an established genre that mixes fictional storytelling elements with historical facts. Together, these articles show the ups and downs of the writer's life. And here is my interview on New York & Company (The Leonard Lopate Show), which I've always aspired to appear on.

There, I am officially tired of tooting my own horn.

How to Pitch a Graphic Novel: The Incognegro Story

Vertigo Comics, the mature audience house at DC Comics, will be publishing my creator-owned original graphic novel in February 2008. In response to those who have asked how the hell something like that happens, I offer the following.

Growing up as mulatto pups, my cousin Ben and I used to joke about those other mixed breeds who would pretend to be white or, as we named it, went incognegro. Apparently (I just found this out), Ludacris had an album of the same title, but for the record I was using this word long before that, and budding etymologists may search for an article on “passing” I did for Time Out-New York that I’m pretty sure pre-dates the rapper’s usage. And I doubt I was the first to use the word (nor my cousin Ben).

Anyway, as an appropriately poor selling mid-list author, I often joke that all I would have to do to have a bestseller would be to write a commercial suspense book called Incognegro. Given the press’s desire to make the personal history of the artist and art the same thing, it was sure to be a hit. But it would have been a shitty, cynical book, so I wasn’t interested.

Fast forward. I started doing work with Vertigo, specifically on a Hellblazer mini-series that was a bit of fun. After that, I started looking at the idea of doing more. The graphic novels gave me the opportunity to write exciting, plot-driven pieces while not betraying the type of poetic, character-driven prose I enjoy. Many literary writers have written scripts for movies (really, really shitty movies too), the only difference here was that my script would be drawn instead of shot.

Sure, there would be those who’s pretensions would lead them to condemn me for doing any form of commercial work, but I wanted to do it anyway. If anything, doing genre-influenced scripts on the graphic side has inspired me to push the creative boundaries of prose further to the edge. Today, I have no expectation of money or readership for my novels at this point. Believe it or not, that’s a good thing. It means I get tell the truth, and not have to worry if anybody wants to hear it. (I say this now, but if I don’t get a million dollars and readers for my next novel, Pym, somebody’s getting shot.)

So I gave Vertigo this pitch. It’s short, but based on just these words, I sold them the idea and movie rights. I wrote the whole thing while living in Philly for the summer, and now it’s being drawn by Warren Pleece. I’m looking forward to seeing it, and I hope to put some sample images here over the next few months.

The Incognegro Pitch

Black Writer Complains of Being Ignored

No, it’s not me. It’s this guy. Langston Hughes knows rivers, and Alvin Aubert knows that the Norton Anthology of African American Literature screwed him over:

Your new compendium was touted as the big one and this is definitely not about sour grapes—its [sic] too far gone for that anyhow seeing as how the damned thing's already out; all the same, why in hell didn't any of you see fit to include anything of mine in your landmark new canon-making omnibus; could it be you just don't know how damned good I can be or that I even exist?

I have never read a word cuz has written before today, but if his poetry is anything like this letter, he officially has a new No.1 fan.

I don’t know what I love more: that he is openly indignant about his failure to appear in the Norton Anthology, or that he can’t believe that they’ve never heard of him or didn’t consider him important enough.

I understand. When you work your whole life on a body of work, you want that work appreciated, saved for future generations. Not getting into the Norton is like not making it onto Noah’s ark.

Of course, the typos that infest this thing are an argument against his inclusion in itself. A winning argument. That said, dude has a real voice. I mean, every time I read this I can’t help but I read it out loud, while doing an impression of Redd Foxx.

Alvin Aubert, you are a Lord of the Niggerati!