Want a bestseller? Put a 'thing' in it

I think I'd rather have people find a cure for cancer, or figure out if Mars will be inhabitable one day for our species ... but some are spending considerable effort, and time, to produce books like The Bestseller Code: Anatomy of the Blockbuster Novel by Jodie Archer and Matthew L. Jockers.

This book appeared way back in the prepandemic days and I'm just getting to it (I found a remainder copy recently): I've been spending most of my free time these days on … what else? Writing (and going through some old issues of the TLS that have been piling up: for me, it’s the literary equivalent of binge-watching shows on Netflix, I guess.)

Let me save you some money on this book and offer a few conclusions about its argument:

1. Big sellers use the word "thing" (the code book applied some kind of algorithm to figure this out)

2. Intimacy sells but explicit sex doesn't

3. Create appealing, pro-active characters

4. Writing a book is hard

I’m not sure who the actual customer/audience is going to be for this book — the same group, I wonder, who are interested in getting real estate licenses? Taking a formulaic approach to writing is something that sends a chill down my spine. I can't imagine applying a formula or crunching the number of times I'm using the word "thing" in order to know if my work is good or not.

The other issue I have with books like this one—which promise a "this is how it's done" approach—is that they offer a hindsight view: the minute something new comes along that is totally different, this book’s argument will collapse.

It all comes down to a single question: Why do we write?

We write because we want to communicate with others and ourselves--and I've been lucky in this blogosphere to encounter some wonderful folks--and the creation of a bestseller shouldn't be the principle guiding you. (If you happen to create one, that’s wonderful of course.)

Following a “code” will turn the whole process of writing into a painful exercise instead of a joyful one, and you'd be better off doing something else instead.  Like curing cancer, or looking for life on Mars.

Onwards, my friends.

Haunted by Ghostwriting: Richard Flanagan

Truly, ghostwriting is a gift. An ability to inhabit another’s voice and speak as if it were your own.

The fact that the little word “ghost” is attached at the front doesn’t change one fact: This is real writing. Difficult writing. Just like any writing.

When it works best (as in Andre Agassi’s memoir written with the help of JR Moehringer), there are no signs of it. The text feels composed by the autobiographer/memoirist alone. When it doesn’t work so well, as in Richard Flanagan’s case (described in his book First Person), it sounds more like a demonic possession.

There are writers whose best gift is to edit others … there are writers whose best gift is to ghostwrite for others … there are writers whose best gift is their own writing.

Flanagan fits into this last category, obviously, but it is interesting with First Person to realize that, in his early days, the creator of Gould’s Book of Fish and The Narrow Road to the Deep North went down the road of ghostwriting because he desperately needed money.

The book isn't a memoir but, according to various media outlets, a fiction with heaping doses of Flanagan's biography in it.

I met Flanagan years ago after the publication of the novel The Unknown Terrorist, and I had no idea about this part of his life.  He came to L.A. for our big annual book event, and we sat in the corner of the author green room and drank beer smuggled in by his amazing publicist.

I wish I'd known.  I would have asked him how you work with non-writers on their books.  That requires a different muscle--something I've learned to exercise for my own manuscript editing business.  More here.

For Flanagan, based on what First Person gives us, it sounds like the experience was an absolute nightmare.  For $10,000, he was asked to help produce the memoir of a man who was a trickster and shape-shifter.  In light of Flanagan's oeuvre, which often tackles larger-than-life characters with dubious ties to the truth, that experience was obviously beneficial.  Formative, probably.

But for a guy who just wants to feed his family and get on with his own work?  I just can't imagine dealing with that.

I admire practitioners of the ghostwriting trade ... and if you're considering that route, I recommend reading one of Flanagan's other books first.  (That makes sense, doesn't it?) You will learn so much if you do.

Onward, my friends.

The Artful Writing of Trader Joe's Fearless Flyer (I'm not kidding)

I don't know who's behind Trader Joe's Fearless Flyer, the Victoriana-inspired promo newspaper at the Trader Joe's checkout counter, but I would like to thank her ... him ... them.

Whoever is behind it knows a thing or two (and more than that) about how to balance the facts with a conversational tone that, sadly, is missing in so much social media writing today.

(Hey wait, am I inadvertently including myself in that judgment? Shoot, I am ... ok, fine.)

The Fearless Flyer offers plenty of punny, alliterative phrases ("boosting our cache of mash this season is Mashed Cauliflower..." "expert de-stringers declare that you can have seamless green beans in a snap") but look even closer than that.

The Flyer also delivers lore and history with an entertaining, encyclopedic, economical style that many writers can't do:

On asparagus--

Like participants in a regional game of Telephone, rural Englanders in the early 20th century mislabeled it "sparrow grass."  We're not exactly sure how they understood the bird connection, but asparagus stalks clearly imitate grass with their slender, green shoots.  No matter what it's been called throughout its extensive history (going back to at least ancient Egypt) it's undoubtedly been loved for its clean, bright flavor...

Sure, most people can tell gripping stories about cancer diagnoses or drug addiction, but asparagus?  Or maple roasted sweet potatoes?

Or this, about egg nog--

Long ago, people sipped their nog from a noggin ("nog" being a strong ale; noggin being a small drinking cup made from a hollowed-out, knotty outgrowth of a tree trunk).

Geez!  Did you know that?  I didn't know that!  I learned so much in just 30 words!

Or how about this bit of English lore that segues into a pie mix:

In English folklore, brownies are mythical spirits -- also called pixies -- that are said to live in attics or walls, and aid with household chores in secret.  With its ease of use, and the impressive results it achieves with minimal effort, we thought it only fitting to name Trader Joe's Sweet Potato & Marshmallow Pixie Pie Mix in honor of these hidden helpers.

That is really nice.

Sometimes, when you're writing an opening like this (in the newspaper biz), it can sound like too much of a stretch -- that you're trying too hard.  (I've done that ... and then my editor reduced my intricate, precious lead sentences to a simple subject-predicate format.)

That isn't true here:  The execution is light and easy like that pie mix (wow, the Flyer's style is infectious).

I suspect there's a former journalist lurking behind these unsigned works.  It takes years to develop a voice like this.  The tone of the Fearless Flyer is so consistent throughout that I feel it must be the work of just one person.  Or else there must be a single uber-editor going through these entries and giving them a thorough buff and polish to keep things uniform.

My point, my beloveds, is that the best writing isn't to be found in the usual places.  There are lessons to be found everywhere.

One of the simplest lessons is this:  the purpose of your writing shouldn't be New York Times bestseller-dom alone -- it should give you joy and bring joy to the people who find you, too.

The person(s) behind Trader Joe's Fearless Flyer obviously understand(s) that.

Onward, friends.

Surprise!!: Your Draft is a Zero

Hold on a minute. I didn't say the draft was terrible. I just said it was a "zero."

That is totally different ... and useful to understand.

I found this idea in the pages of the late great Peter Drucker, venerable founder of modern management, in his essay "Know Your Time."

That essay is about effective management, especially when it comes to how people manage themselves. At one point Drucker says that managers spend time writing "zero drafts" as part of the writing process ... and that idea is helpful for any writer to understand.

Very often (I am speaking from total experience here) what happens during the writing process is this: You come to the end of a draft, think you're done, and realize you're dissatisfied with the whole thing ... except for a few sentences near the end where things really started to fuse together and get interesting.

Instead of being done with the process, you realize, you're actually getting started. It just took 15,000-20,000 fricken words to get there.

That, my beloved friends, is your zero draft.

It doesn't mean the material is useless or valueless. On the contrary, it has IMMENSE value. It has helped you dump all those expectations and preconceived notions so that you're ready to produce something truly in your voice. (And plenty of that draft material will probably crop up again in your finished draft somewhere anyways-- you'll just use it in a different way).

On the road to finishing my first novel Sorry For The Interruptions, I probably created three zero drafts (maybe more, it's all a blur now). It was a long, painful apprenticeship. But I learned a lot. If you aren't sure if you're working with a zero draft or not, let me know. I can help.

The most important thing, don’t get frustrated or doubt yourself. You're on the right path. The result is going to be amazing ... and worth the extra sweat.

Keep going. You can do it.

Amirite? Has the Digital Age Killed Good Writing?

It doesn't matter if you're posting something only for your friends or advertising your skills to an employer, good writing in the digital age still matters.

Amirite?

(My auto-correct is fighting me on that word.  It keeps telling me that what I really want to say is "emirate.")

BuzzFeed's Emmy Favilla published a book a few years ago that is ... no exaggeration here ... a declaration of war on old grammar rules in the glittering digital age, A World Without 'Whom': The Essential Guide to Language in the BuzzFeed Age.  (Read Tom Rachman's TLS review here.)

I like shorthand speech as much as she does, and I get where she is coming from.  (I don't even mind ending a sentence with a preposition.)  But I can't help rolling my eyes when she says:

"Today everyone is a writer - a bad, unedited, unapologetic writer. There's no hiding our collective incompetence anymore."

It's not that I disagree with her.  I just think we should do a better job of hiding that fact on our personal websites, Facebook posts, other social media platforms, etc.  The world is watching us.  Constantly.  Always.  Once we hit "publish" on a post, our thoughts will continue on -- bad, unedited, unapologetic -- in some weird, cached immortality for as long as the internet exists.

So here's a poetic thought: One day, long after I'm dead and gone, it might be nice for my middle-aged kids to discover some frazzled post I wrote while I was trapped in a midlife crisis.  Maybe it will comfort them.  But I sure don't want any potential employers, readers, and other supporters to find that stuff ... not unless I really want them to.  (Again: I don't mind a dangling preposition now and then.)

That is why we all need to struggle against the easy slide into bad writing online, even though Emmy Favilla does her level best in her book to show us how to embrace it and move on.

Onward, my beloved friends.