Writing a novel is easy; choosing the title is hard. It’s like trying to capture the essence of a soul in six words or less.
A good title can instantly propel a book into the limelight and firmly establish it as a lasting literary treasure. A bad title can get a book punched.
Below are the titles of some of the most famous novels of all time, each followed by an alleged alternative title that, fortunately, was shot down just prior to the book’s publication.
The Great Gatsby. Crazy for Daisy
Catcher in the Rye. Whiny White Kid Without a Cause
Crime and Punishment. Die, Bitch Pawnbroker, Die
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Two Rednecks Save a Slave
The Stranger. Senseless Murder in the Sand
A Farewell to Arms. War and Piece of Ass
Animal Farm. The Bacon Rebellion
Lord of the Flies. Boys Gone Wild
Atlas Shrugged. Reader Winced
Metamorphosis. Why You Buggin?
To Kill a Mockingbird. Rape, Racism and that Rascal Mr. Radley
Lolita. The Charming Pedophile
Tropic of Cancer. Sex and Drinking and Sex and Writing and Sex in Paris
The Picture of Dorian Gray. Forever Young and Homicidal
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.Tripping Balls
The Lord of the Rings. The Nerd Bible
Brave New World. Gimme ‘Soma’ Loving
The Grapes of Wrath. Eat My Dust
Finnegan’s Wake. Joyce’s Jibberish
Naked Lunch. Tripping Balls: The Next Generation
Gravity’s Rainbow. WTF: A Novel
The Shining. Living It Up at The Hotel Colorado
The Road. A Very Bad Trip to the Beach
Life of Pi. Oars and Roars Toward Distant Shores
Fight Club. What We Talk About When We Don’t Talk About Fight Club
The Hunger Games. A Future Without Child Protective Services
Gone Girl. You Go, Girl.
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. I Seriously Need to Get Over Myself
Eat, Pray, Love. Gorge, Beg, Screw
As for my own novel, The Exit Man (about a party supply store owner who leads a double life as a euthanasia specialist), several alternative titles were given serious consideration before the drugs wore off, including:
·Helium: It’s Not Just for Celebrating Anymore ·Your Friendly Neighborhood Suicide Guide ·Neunundneunzig Black Balloons
Your turn. Share some of your own alternative titles for famous novels in the comments section below. Do it!
You can’t write a darkly comic novel about euthanasia and then act surprised when you receive a letter from a reader. But I CAN act surprised after reading the letter (okay, the email) I received from one woman who recently finished reading ‘The Exit Man.’ I CAN act surprised because I WAS. I AM. The woman – who, sadly, just lost her mother – didn’t lambast me for writing a subversive and sardonic book about death and dying. She didn’t take out any of her anger or sadness over her mother’s passing on me, as I might have expected… and would have understood. No, instead she THANKED me. Not only that, the letter itself was so wonderfully written – at once touching and a tad twisted. Heartbreaking and humorous. Basically, it was one of the best things I’ve read in a while.(And not JUST because she praised my novel.)
I was so intrigued and moved by the note, I asked the woman who wrote it (her name is Simone) for permission to publish it on my blog. She responded with a prompt and enthusiastic “yes,” and I am very grateful she did. Her words are worthy of being read by more than just a sicko fiction writer like me.
Hi Greg,
I just finished The Exit Man. I really, really enjoyed it. Your ability to pull the rug out from under a reader is fantastic. Wonderful twists and turns – like the ones on Space Mountain, they were deliciously well hidden.
Okay, so I read your section about the author, now here is a little something about the reader…
I lost my mother a little over a month ago. She and I shared a passion for reading. She could read in many different languages. A clever Brit who taught until the ripe old age of 70. She died one day shy of her 71st birthday, but then I knew she wouldn't spoil her actual birthday.
Unlike the folks who needed Eli's help, my mother was 100% independent five months ago. She took a fall down some stairs and broke her neck. A Halloween-loving roller-skater and avid knitter, she became paralyzed from her accident, unable to breathe on her own or move anything but one shoulder. Then, her voice was stripped away from her by a ventilator and, after further complications, a traech tube.
Why am I telling you all of this? I loved your story because it hit home. While my mother's circumstances did not involve disease, she had to fight for the right to do what she wanted with her life. I knew on day 53 that she was unlikely to recover and that we would lose her. She was not coming home. Stuck in a broken body, with her mind still intact, she knew it too. While others played cheerleader and drill sergeant around her, willing her to live, she knew that their definition of living was vastly different from what she was willing to accept. She was not a sit-around kinda girl. Those who knew her well knew she lived life with a shout!
It took her four months to take the reins back from those who refused to accept her fate and continually overrode her wishes. I stayed clear of the battlefield, choosing to spend our time together just as we always had. I knew that eventually she would prevail. She was always a clever girl. I am a champion lip reader now. She asked me on more than one occasion to help her escape. I suppose draping a coat over her and finding a pair of wheels to scoot her out would have been the easy part. What then? Attach her to my Dyson vacuum? We laughed about that.
She was annoyed that she was going to die as a result of such an ordinary accident. I promised her to have a much more dramatic demise. Eaten by an alligator perhaps or getting run over by a bus driver who shares my first name. She liked the former idea.
As the end neared, she asked for a party instead of a funeral. She asked me to tell all in attendance about the importance of Advanced Directives. She had planned on writing hers, but each year she was distracted by some other distraction – a trip, learning Mandarin, teaching a group of welders how to speak English. Something!
A few of my friends thought I should wait to read your book – given the subject matter. I wanted you to know that it was precisely the right book at the right time. A brilliant work of fiction (unless you do own a party store with a shrinking helium inventory) that collided with an important time in my life. I loved your book and my mother would have too. I'm sure she was reading along over my shoulder!
It's funny – I thought about how when it comes to people, we refer to them in the possessive but at the end of the day, one's life has but one owner. I never once questioned my mother's decision to refuse medical treatment. She wanted out. She wanted to be free from forced life support. I will forever admire her for having the courage to go on her own terms. It was a privilege to be her daughter.
As for any other feedback on your novel, I am a giant Mr. Magoo fan and a former criminal defense attorney. You nailed both Magoo and the evidentiary components of your story. The police part at the end was a bit of a stretch, but one that did not detract from a satisfying ending to a great story.
I will look forward to reading more from you!
Best,
Simone
It’s always nice to connect with a reader – especially one who could easily have wanted to punch me in the face. Simone, your mother was an AMAZING woman. I don’t even have to have met her to know that. Your note said it all.
Just because everyone these days is a writer doesn't mean they are CUT OUT to be one. It's like how Keanu Reeves is an actor, or how Delaware is a state.
To determine if you're cut out to be a writer, read through the list below. If you identify/agree with more than a handful of the items, we're going to need you to put your hands up and step away from your keyboard or notepad.
1) You're perfectly willing to let little things like funerals, weddings and the birth of your children interfere with your writing days.
2) You wish you could write the next Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey installment.
3) You ARE writing the next Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey installment.
4) You have a panic attack every time you receive a rejection notification.
5) You DON'T have a panic attack every time you lose a great story idea or sentence before writing it down.
6) As far as your concerned, their is nothing wrong with this sentence – its perfect.
7) You not only feel it's okay to use numbers to spell words, you think it's gr8.
8) Your plan is to take the proceeds you earn from your writing and use them to buy an island, or...
9) Your plan is to take the proceeds you earn from your writing and use them to buy a house, or...
10) Your plan is to take the proceeds you earn from your writing and use them to pay your portion of the rent.
11) The title of your novel is misspelled.
12) You think your work is done on a book once you type the final word.
13) Your muse has a restraining order against you.
14) You think all fonts are created equal.
15) Everyone finds you delightful.
16) Your house is on fire and the first thing you save isn't your manuscript.
17) You've never been diagnosed with a mood disorder.
18) Whenever a friend tells you something horrible that happened to them, your first thought is to console them, not "Hey, that would make a great book!"
19) You rarely if ever hear voices in your head. When you do, it concerns you.
20) The first person you see in the morning and the last person you see at night is not your protagonist.
21) You allowed this list to make you seriously question whether or not you are cut out to be a writer.
Time for you to get in on the action. Share some of your “signs” in the comments section below. Go ahead, don’t be shy – sometimes you need to be a little pretentious and/or self-deprecating just to know you’re alive.
(NOTE: For anyone using Firefox as their web browser, if you try to leave a comment, it won't work. The tech team is trying to fix the issue now; in the meantime, if you'd like to leave a comment, you can do so using Safari or Chrome -- or some other browser besides freaky Firefox. Thanks!)
The most fascinating people I know are dead writers I’ve never met.
I often fantasize about dining and drinking with famed dead authors, poets and playwrights. I think about what we would talk about, what we would order, if they’d like my writing, and, most importantly, who’d pick up the tab.
I had a devil of a time narrowing down the list, but here are the ten dead writers with whom I’d most like to stuff my face, get drunk and have a chat:
1) William Shakespeare. Due to how much the English language has changed over the past four hundred fifty years, I’m sure Mr. Shakespeare would struggle to understand ninety percent of what I was saying, so we’d be even. I would take him to an English pub, ply him with wine, ask him if he really wrote all the plays that are attributed to him, or if the likes of Christopher Marlowe and Francis Bacon had a hand in any of them. Then I’d challenge him to a rap-off. I would also be sure to let him know he became one of the most famous and revered writers of all time following his death, though is still greatly despised by eighth- and ninth-graders across the U.S. In addition, I’d point out that the modern day Anne Hathaway is much hotter than his wife of the same name. If he argued, I’d introduce him to Google Images, Wikipedia and IMDb. Finally, I’d blog about the whole experience—in iambic pentameter—featuring a selfie of Shakes and me each knocking back a Jager Bomb. 2) Ernest Hemingway. What writer wouldn’t want to dine and drink with Papa? What an honor it would be to have this iconic literary legend personally insult me for sipping vodka instead of absinthe. What a privilege to have him punch me in the face for ordering a salad instead of a steak. And how thrilling to have him point a shotgun at me for using more than a single adjective in a paragraph. During our dinner, I’d tell Hemingway that A Farewell to Arms was the first novel I truly loved in high school, and then I’d quickly duck as he swung at me while accusing me of kissing up to him. I’d also tell him I occasionally post his quotes on Twitter and on my Facebook author page. I’d then spend the next hour showing him what Twitter and Facebook are, and the next hour in the emergency room having my iPhone surgically removed from my rectum.
3) Fyodor Dostoevsky. An existential literary pioneer with a gambling addiction who once faced a firing squad and did some serious prison time? DAMN STRAIGHT I want to hang with Fyodor! He being Russian, our meal would be infused with the finest vodka on offer, and thanks to that big beard of his we’d have no problem getting a seat and near-friendly service at any of the hot hipster establishments in town. I’d tell him how I cut my teeth on his novella Notes from Underground (112 pages) before tackling Crime and Punishment (448 pages) and The Brothers Karamazov (824 pages), and that his work had a profound impact on me as a reader and a writer. And he’d be all, “I no speak English. Shut up, drink!”
4) Anaïs Nin. Most remember Ms. Nin for the groundbreaking erotica she wrote—highly stylized, eloquent and sensual works that mesmerized men and women alike—but it's important to realize she also wrote a lot of other ... sorry, I can't stop thinking about her erotica. During my dinner with Ms. Nin (which I'd invite my wife to in order to eliminate any feelings of jealousy and to open the door for a ménage a trois that Ms. Nin might decide to immortalize beautifully in writing), I'd ask her about her bohemian days in Paris with Henry Miller. I’d also ask her if it's true she had a physical relationship with Miller's wife, June, and, if so, what they were wearing and if a pillow fight was involved. At some point in the evening I'd show Ms. Nin a copy of what's passing for erotica these days, after which I'd accompany her to London to egg E.L. James’ house.
5) Oscar Wilde. I could sit and listen to Wilde's unparalleled wit and brilliant observations all evening long, particularly if he's springing for the reckless extravagance of cucumber sandwiches he'd no doubt insist we eat. I'd let him know his is the only Irish writing I can stomach from his era, and how close I've come to getting one or more of his sardonic quotes about life and art tattooed on my daughter. In addition, I'd tell him how heartbroken I was after learning all about his trial and imprisonment, and that I even mentioned it in my first novel, which I'd have him read in front of me on a Kindle over dessert.
6) Mark Twain. Having dinner with the greatest American humorist would be a little intimidating, but I'm sure Mr. Twain would soon relax and realize I'm quite approachable. We'd feast on oysters and steamed mussels, which were his favorite foods as far as Wikipedia knows. I'd tell Mr. Twain how reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn woke me up to great literature at age eleven and even made me miss Saturday morning cartoons once. Adhering to good etiquette, I'd wait until he'd had at least three or four whiskey cocktails before I informed him that his famous quote "The report of my death is an exaggeration" no longer was an exaggeration. Being sober when finding out you've been deceased for more than a century can ruin a perfectly enjoyable evening.
7) Sylvia Plath. Most people would assume that someone as deeply depressed and as successfully suicidal as Ms. Plath would make a miserable dining companion, but most people don't think they know Sylvia the way I think I know her. After all, her ghost figured prominently in my debut novel—a fact I'd be sure to point out to her during our meal while keeping her away from any cutlery and the kitchen. I’d let her know her words—particularly all the white-hot ones she wrote in Ariel just before she spun off the planet—sparked a fire in me and compelled me to stop watching so many goddamn episodes of Friends and Everybody Loves Raymond.
8) William S. Burroughs. I being born with tongue firmly in cheek, it would be crazy cool to break bread and bottles with the man Jack Kerouac called the "greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift." (I thought about adding Swift to this list, but he, unlike Burroughs, was never addicted to heroine and didn't kill any wives William Tell style, and thus I feared he might be a bit of a bore.) While dining with Burroughs, I wouldn’t ask or say much. I’d just sit there and listen. That’s what you do when you’re with a Harvard grad who helped build the Beat Generation and the 1960s counterculture, and who inspired not only some of the greatest writers of his time and ours but also such musicians as Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Tom Waits and Kurt Cobain. Even if he ended up speaking in sentences and fragments that were totally out of sequence, like in his masterpiece Naked Lunch, I'd shut the hell up and just smile and wave.
9) Maya Angelou. During my dinner with Ms. Angelou, I’d say even less and listen even more than during my dinner with Burroughs. It seems every word—hell, every burp—that ever left this lady’s mouth was a beautiful and courageous poem. (Speaking of poems, she recited a pretty phenomenal one—“On the Pulse of Morning”—at Bill Clinton’s presidential inauguration in 1993, making her the first poet to do so since Robert Frost at JFK’s inauguration in 1961. Not too shabby for someone who once worked as a fry cook and as a prostitute.) Just to be sure I kept quiet during my dinner with the honorable Ms. Angelou, I’d order a very chewy steak and/or a huge peanut butter sandwich, and then just bask in the light and the eloquence and the power her syllables. Naturally, though, I’d live-Tweet the whole experience.
10) Theodor Seuss Geisel (a.k.a., Dr. Seuss). Upon greeting the Great Doctor for the first time, it would take all the power I could muster to not ask, "Is that a wocket in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" After overcoming that ridiculous urge, I'd spend too much of the evening fawning over the writer who taught me at a tender age to fully embrace all the beauty and wonder and absurdity of the human experience, and to be open to trying odd-colored breakfast foods on a boat or with a goat. As for the actual meal, I'd recommend we bounce around to different restaurants and sample little plates at each locale in hopes of inspiring Seuss to write a book called Oh The Places You'll Go To Dinner.
What dead writers do you think would make intriguing dining companions? Feel free to share in the comments section below.
While I like to think that most of what I dream up in my pretty little head is pure literary gold or at least a good idea for a new cocktail, I must acknowledge sometimes I miss the mark. I’m my own worst critic – I really must commend myself for that.
Following are the tentative titles and brief descriptions of five novels I came dangerously close to writing before good sense and common decency kicked in.
1) LMAO – A Novel. A dystopian tale set in the year 2080, a time when, due to decades of excessive text-based communication, only a few humans on the planet still have a functioning larynx and thus are able to speak. The story follows a disgruntled homeless speech pathologist who kidnaps teenagers and holds them captive until they’ve learned to gossip about and bully one another using only their voice.
2)There’s Some Place Like Home. This dark satire of American homogeneity tells the story of a man who mistakenly drives to a house in a suburb that looks just like his house/suburb, and who lives there for an entire weekend before he or anyone in the house (his wife who isn’t his wife, and his kids who aren’t his kids) notices something’s amiss. Everything seems like life as usual until the man, while on his way out to golf that Sunday, realizes (to his absolute horror) the golf clubs in the closet aren’t his – they belong to the wife’s actual husband, who all weekend long has been getting drunk and watching sports at a 24-hour Hooters.
3) # –A Novel.In this sequel to LMAO, spoken language has all but completely disappeared from Earth and nobody even texts in full sentences anymore – they just use a series of descriptive hashtags to communicate. The speech pathologist from the first book eventually gives up and decides to end it all, getting one of his teenage kidnap victims to write his suicide note in the style of the day: #GoodbyeCruelWorld #Whatever #YOLO
4) The Hangry Games. The tale of a sadistic television producer who creates a new reality TV show that takes America by storm. Each week on “The Hangry Games,” ten men and women who’ve been kept in holding cells without food for an entire day are released into a stadium, where they fight to the death for a single Snickers bar. A bunch of pacifist nutritionists who are dead-set on getting the show cancelled lead protests across the nation, but end up getting captured by the TV network’s henchmen and are forced to compete against one another in the show’s final episode. The episode draws five billion viewers, including a high percentage of people who usually only watch "Downton Abbey" or listen to NPR.
5) Flight Club. Fed up with the ever-increasing inconvenience and inhumanity of air travel, a group of passengers starts an underground movement – in the sky.Participants of the movement, called “Flight Club,” meet in airplane restrooms and take out all their frustrations with flying coach by pummeling one another in the cramped quarters. The first rule of Flight Club is you don’t talk about Flight Club. The second rule of Flight Club is you must stop fighting and return to your seat immediately if the captain turns on the ‘Fasten Seatbelt’ sign.
Just because these are among the worst book ideas I or anyone else has ever had doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be huge international best sellers. If you let me know which one is your favorite in the “Comments” area below, I’ll have my ghostwriter start working on the book immediately.