I almost skipped my annual Thanksgiving-related blog post this year, for a number of reasons. Firstly, I’m exhausted—still recovering from/adjusting to my gargantuan move to Australia six months ago, as well as the temporary (hopefully) loss of my creative spirit, which apparently got held up in Customs upon my May arrival in Sydney. Secondly, Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated in Australia, so I figured I could get off on a technicality.
But then it hit me: Thanksgiving isn’t about geography, and it certainly isn’t about loopholes or doing the bare minimum or self-pity. It’s about gratitude. It’s about appreciating just how fortunate you are to be walking around and breathing above ground even if there are days when you feel you’re drowning.
And here’s the beautiful thing about gratitude—it floats in anything. All you need to do is grab onto it to keep your head above water.
So, sure, there may be some waves knocking me around, some baby sharks circling, but they don’t distract from the fact I have a helluva lot to be grateful for.
Below are the five things topping that list:
My Family.I don’t know where I’d be or what I’d do without the love and support of my wife, Miranda. And my daughter, Leah. And my parents, Lynne and Stu. And my older brother, Todd. (Not to mention my wonderful in-laws!) Living in the same household or even just having regular phones calls with a moody, anxious, somewhat delusional writer like me is challenging, to say the least. “Would you people three rooms over please stop breathing so much—I’m trying to write a novel in here!” Or “I know we haven’t spoken in weeks, but can you call back later—I’m very busy disposing of an imaginary body.”
The hell that I put my characters through is a picnic compared to the hell I put my loved ones through. Because the hell I put my loved ones through is real, despite the fact that I do it in the name of fiction—fiction that in most cases relatively few people will ever read. Fiction that rarely pays the bills—or even a bill. Fiction that … is fiction. So the fact that my family still loves me and accepts me for the freak I am is a highly thankable offense.
My Dog. I was going to include my dog, Wallaby, in the “Family” section above, but he’s so damn beautiful and such a daily source of joy and unconditional love, I just had to give him his own subhead—even though doing so puts me at real risk of having my face eaten by my cat, Dingo.
My tremendous gratitude for Wallaby was made all the stronger very recently, when he had a frightening brush with death—courtesy of the Australian paralysis tick Miranda found embedded in his neck. (I’ll spare you the details; however, if you’re curious, you can google the name of the venomous parasite in question, you sick bastard.) Thanks to Miranda’s discovery and our vet’s skillful administration of the antiserum, Wallaby has made a full recovery and will live to see many more days of us spoiling the shit out of him.
My Friends. While most of my friends are imaginary, I do have a handful of real-life cronies I’m very close with even though they live thousands of miles away. Unlike my imaginary ones, most of the real-life ones aren’t criminals. But I don’t hold that against them. They’re still good people, and I’m lucky to have them in my life. (I’d list their names here, but I don’t want them to undergo the scrutiny of the FBI or any other law enforcement agency just for being acquainted with the likes of me. See, I’m a good friend.)
My Readers.Despite me not having put out a new novel in some time, I’m extremely fortunate to have a wonderful, loyal group of readers who can’t wait till I DO. And honestly, them buying my books isn’t even the best part of our relationship. The best part is knowing that each time I start a blog post or a newsletter intro or a short story, there’s people out there who give at least a little bit of a damn, folks who’ll “listen” to the words bleeding from my fingertips. Many writers claim, “I write for myself.” Well, they’re lying. For they, just like me, live for having others peruse their personal thoughts and ideas and creative outbursts, their shameless self-promotion, their wild rants, their cries for help.
There are so many other things people could be doing or have to do that don’t involve reading a single word I write. So whenever someone lets me in—even if it’s through the tiniest sliver and for only a few moments here and there, I don’t take it for granted. And if you’re reading this, I can only assume you’re one of those someones. So, seriously, THANK YOU.
My Scenery.Sydney and the surrounding area—and, really, Australia in general—is ridiculously, stunningly, almost obscenely beautiful. I’ve been here a full six months, and rarely does a day go by that my jaw doesn’t drop at the sight of some seaside cliff or coastal sunrise/sunset or impossibly colorful bird or flowering tree.
You have two primary choices in the treatment of anxiety and depression around these parts: 1) take medication; or 2) just step outside and open your eyes.
Whether or not you celebrate Thanksgiving, here’s hoping the things you have to be grateful for far, far outweigh whatever you may be struggling with.
Most people are familiar with “the five stages of grief” introduced by renowned Swiss-American psychiatrist Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her groundbreaking 1969 book, On Death and Dying. As a writer, I often think about death, dying and grief—to, you know, cheer myself up. And it recently dawned on me that the way Kübler-Ross described how humans deal with the loss of a loved one is quite similar to how writers deal with rejection. The thing is, though, loved ones die only once, where a manuscript can go on to die several dozen deaths.
So, yeah, being a writer is more tragic than being a human.
Now, I’m definitely not saying I would cry less over the death of a loved one than I would over my fiction getting rejected. And the reason I’m not saying that is some of my loved ones read this blog.
I’ve made my point. It’s time now to lighten the mood by taking a closer look at writerly death and pain. Below I apply the famed Kübler-Ross model to manuscript rejection and describe how the totally unbearable devastation a writer experiences upon being rejected eventually gets processed to become only mostly unbearable devastation.
STAGE 1: Denial. Upon learning their work has been rejected, the first thing a writer experiences is a strong sense of “there’s no way that actually happened.” This usually entails convincing themselves the agent or publisher they submitted their work to suffered a stroke in the midst of reading it, resulting in moderate to severe brain damage and rendering said agent/publisher susceptible to wildly irrational decisions. Denial may also take the form of the writer pretending they never even submitted their work to the person or entity in question, chalking up the whole rejection to the fact that the publishing world is undoubtedly conspiring against them.
STAGE 2: Anger. Once the denial starts to subside—which generally happens within a day or two of receiving the rejection but can last until the end of time—feelings of anger, resentment and even blind rage will move in and spoil the writer’s drinking binge. Most of this ire will be aimed at the person or publishing house that issued the rejection, but it’s not at all uncommon for the writer to (mis)direct a lot of anger at family, friends, neighbors, former English teachers, pets, traffic, anyone ahead of them in line at the supermarket, and, last but certainly not least, the universe.
Fortunately, such anger rarely if ever escalates into violence—unless the writer remains conscious during this stage.
STAGE 3: Bargaining. The anger following a rejection usually lasts only a day or so before the writer realizes all is not lost, so long as they remain desperate for validation and willing to blatantly lie to regain a sense of control. A typical scenario might feature a recently rejected writer promising God or the universe or their favorite stuffed animal that, if the manuscript in question is accepted soon, she or he will be a better person going forward—one who doesn’t alienate friends and family to write; one who doesn’t drink or do drugs or watch The Bachelor to escape their writing failures; one who does start to bathe regularly and occasionally wear pants. However, as with all psychological bargaining, such promises are innately impossible to keep.
STAGE 4: Depression. This stage can be difficult for friends and family of the writer to spot, as 97.3% of writers are depressed regardless of whether or not they’ve recently been rejected. Still, the depression that descends upon a writer following the bargaining stage is generally a big one—the kind that makes most writers consider giving up writing for good and taking a job at a sewage treatment facility as an unpaid intern, which, oddly enough, pays triple what fiction writing does. Additional telltale signs of rejection-based depression include:
sleeping in the same pajamas for weeks … in a public park;
folding each page of the manuscript into pill-size and using them to replace previously prescribed antidepressants;
pretending to have friends, then refusing to answer their calls.
STAGE 5: Acceptance. Rejection grief finally comes to an end during the acceptance stage—that is unless the writer gets confused and thinks the acceptance stage refers to their manuscript finally being accepted. Those writers—following several hours of intense joy and elation before learning the truth—are usually dead within a week. Fortunately though, such confusion occurs with only about 48% of writers, thus the majority of scribes survive the agony of rejection and go on to live long and unsuccessful lives.
I look forward to receiving your comments and thoughts about this piece, and to rejecting any that don’t perfectly align with my views.
The title of this post may seem a tad self-serving, a bit heavy on the ME, but hey, when you’re an author during a pandemic and you haven’t had a novel out in nearly four years, you desperately look for ways to celebrate your work.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to be tooting my horn too loudly or pressuring any of you to buy my existing books. I’m merely going to be presenting myself with numerous arbitrary, self-created awards to show you what you’re missing out on if you’ve never read any of my novels. This is totally normal behavior for an author … named Greg Levin.
My goal is really just to have a little fun and elicit a little laughter during these turbulent times. In other words, please buy my books.
So, without further ado or any more poorly veiled attempts at marketing, let’s get started with the First Annual Greg Levin Writing Awards (Recognizing Outstanding Achievements in Fiction by an Author Named Greg Levin).
Best Line in a Scene Featuring Voluntary Euthanasia:
“The trick to looking excited when children are presented to you for sex is to remember you are saving their lives. If you don’t look excited, the pimps will get suspicious. Show your anger and disgust, and you ruin everything. For help getting into character, think about the biggest douchebag frat guy you’ve ever met, imagine him with several million dollars, multiply his money and demeanor by ten, and then act like that guy. Right up until the cops remove your handcuffs and thank you for your service.”
Best Conversation Among a Group of Terminally Ill Vigilante Serial Killers:
Ellison’s eyes opened almost as wide as his mouth. “Wait, you mean you guys are behind the two cyanide incidents that were just in the news?”
“Yes, that would be us,” Jenna replied.
“Jesus Christ. I thought maybe you had gotten the idea from the news, I didn’t realize you were the news.”
“Neither does anyone else,” said Jenna.
“How long do you think THAT will last?” Ellison asked.
“We don’t know, but considering our health, it doesn’t have to last too long.”
“Yeah, fear of getting caught isn’t much of an inhibitor with us,” said Gage, who’d been sitting at the table waiting for an opening. “We aim to keep this up as long as we’re still standing.”
Ellison glared at Gage. “Jenna mentioned you ‘succeeded’ in your lone attempt, so I suppose that means I’m talking to a murderer right now?”
"Can you please stop behaving like we're going to be alive in two years, Ellison?” Jenna asked, rolling her eyes. “You have to put these poisonings into context. You're not seeing the big picture."
“Yeah, you're making it sound like we're the bad guys,” said Gage. "We're in a unique position. I mean, think about it, we have an extraordinary opportunity here. Becoming killers could have a real positive impact in the community.”
Best Scene Featuring a Buddhist Getting Trained for an Undercover Sex Trafficking Sting Operation:
And the winner is…
In Wolves’ Clothing—for the following scene:
Three minutes into the video, I glance at Caleb. He’s fully engrossed in what he’s watching. And what he’s watching is a nine-year-old from Myanmar lying in a hospital cot a day after having her dislocated jaw wired shut.
Five minutes in, Caleb is quietly jotting down notes as a pimp caught on a hidden phone camera is bragging about how many virgins he’s able to bring to the next night’s party.
At the ten-minute mark, as the video is ending, Caleb closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths.
I’ve seen this before with trainees.
“It’s okay, man,” I say as I pat him on the back. “Should I grab the trash bin?”
With his eyes still shut, Caleb says, “I’m good” and continues breathing deeply.
“It’s okay, man. No shame. What you just watched is too much for most people.”
Caleb says nothing. Just long inhales followed by longer exhales. Hands in his lap. He looks too serene to vomit, but I get up and grab the bin from the corner anyway and place it by his chair.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask, wondering how I’m going to break it to Fynn that her golden boy isn’t cut out for the job.
Caleb takes a couple more deep breaths, and opens his eyes. He says, “My apologies, I was just—”
“No need to apologize,” I say. “We can take a break if you want.”
He shakes his head and goes, “That won’t be necessary. I just needed to get that little meditation out of the way. You know, send my intention out into the universe.”
Now it’s me who might need the trash bin.
Caleb points at my laptop screen and says, “Those traffickers are in pain, and they haven’t learned how to respond to that pain with mercy and empathy.”
He says, “The intention I sent out was for them to recognize this. To help them ease their suffering, and that of the girls.”
Oh shit.
It’s more serious than I suspected.
Caleb isn’t an alcoholic or a drug addict or suffering from PTSD. He isn’t depressed or bipolar or a masochist.
He’s a Buddhist.
I can overlook a lot of shit in a Jump Team member, but total enlightenment may be where I have to draw the line.
Best Author of a Novel by Greg Levin:
And the winner is…
No way—ME?! I’m shocked and honored. I’m humbled and grateful. Most importantly, I’m calling to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.
Best Protagonist of a Novel by Greg Levin:
And the winner is…
It’s a three-way tie! Eli Edelmann from The Exit Man; Gage Adder from Sick to Death; Zero Slade from In Wolves’ Clothing.
Best Novel by Greg Levin:
And the winner is…
Get outa town—another three-way tie! The Exit Man, Sick to Death, and In Wolves’ Clothing.
Wow! I’ve never been so honored or so proud or so concerned about my mental health. These awards truly are an embarrassment of riches—or as my father is probably thinking, just an embarrassment.
People often talk about their favorite authors. People also often talk about their favorite books. Well, today I’d like to talk about my favorite people who talk about their favorite authors and favorite books.
In other words, I’d like to talk about my favorite readers.
But first, I’d like to give a big shout-out to all readers. I don’t just mean everyone who can read; rather everyone who does read. You always hear about how much it takes to write a book; well, in a way, it takes even more to read one. [Pause here while all the writers of the world scowl, puff out their chest, mumble curse words, question my sanity.)
Allow me to elaborate with an analogy: Writing is to talking as reading is to listening. Talking is easy; listening is hard. It’s why most of us wish most of us would just shut the hell up. It’s why many of you are wishing I would right now.
When a person sits down to read a novel, it’s the equivalent of them saying to someone (the author), “Okay, I’ll let you do all the talking” or “The floor is all yours for as long as you need.”
If that’s not noble and generous, then I don’t know what is.
Now, before I receive a bunch of death threats and hate mail from other writers, allow me to point out I don’t think ALL writing is easy. Good writing certainly isn’t, and warrants much respect. Still, I do feel writing of any kind is a self-absorbed endeavor. It’s the writer basically saying, “I’ve got a bunch of important and entertaining stuff to tell you, so pipe down and listen to me for a few days or weeks.”
But I didn’t come here to trash my fellow scribes or make them question their value as human beings. Every writer does that just fine on their own. No, I’m here today to celebrate some of the best readers I know—those I respect not only for the sheer volume of books they consume, but also for their efforts in helping the writers of said books improve their craft and find more readers.
Angie McMann. Every writer would kill to have a reader like Angie in their life—and no writer deserves her. Especially me. Angie is that rare, wonderful creature: a talented writer who would rather read and promote other writers than herself. Whenever an author she likes comes out with a new book, Angie purchases multiple copies and gifts them to friends she feels will love the book (and the author) as much as she does. If it weren’t for Angie, my book sales would drop by about a third.
But what really makes Angie stand out is the behind-the-scenes support she offers her writer friends. She’s a marvelous proofreader and beta-reader—often catching typos, incongruencies and awkward sentences often overlooked by professional editors. What’s more, she provides many of her peers such invaluable services for free. (The only argument I’ve ever had with Angie was when I insisted on sending her money after she’d proofed an entire novel of mine—TWICE.) And as if all that weren’t enough to earn Angie a special place in reader heaven, she’s great at giving writers the kick in the pants or the words of encouragement they need whenever they start to get down on themselves. I once grumbled to her that I wasn’t sure if all the writing and work I was doing was worth it … and she threatened to kill me if I quit. Because Angie knows quitting would be a far more painful death for any writer.
Chris Rhatigan. If I had room in this article for everyone who runs a small press/publishing house, I’d include each of them. But due to limited space, I’m including only Chris, who busts his hump harder than just about any reader I know. Whether he’s perusing submissions from writers hoping to get published by All Due Respect Books, or digging deeper into and editing a book he’s already accepted for publication, or doing the same for one of the clients of his freelance editing biz, Chris never wavers in his passion for crime fiction or his respect for both established and aspiring authors.
I reached out to Chris a couple of years ago after receiving rave testimonials for his freelance services from several author colleagues. Fortunately he was able to fit me into his crazy busy schedule. Better yet, he not only “got” exactly what I was hoping to achieve with my upcoming novel, Into a Corner, his suggested changes made the book much sharper and leaner—which helped me land my dream agent last year.
So HELL YES Chris Rhatigan earned a spot on this list.
Mark Pelletier. If you follow the crime fiction scene on Twitter, no doubt you’ve stumbled across at least one of the many videos Mark has posted of him reading excerpts from his favorite books. If not, go to Twitter now and search on the “#BookTalk” hashtag. On second thought, do it after you finish reading this blog post—I don’t want you getting lost in the sea of Mark’s highly entertaining and captivating videos until you’re done here. Call me selfish.
Whom you’d never call selfish is Mark. While he’s quite a talented crime fiction writer in his own right, he spends much more time paying tribute to other authors of the genre than he does tooting his own literary horn. This is quite refreshing in a world where you can’t spit without hitting a writer touting their book. Which reminds me, here’s the #Booktalk clip Mark did of MY book Sick to Death.
Janet Reid. I’d have to be some kind of idiot not to include my own literary agent on this list. And while I am, indeed, some kind of idiot, I’m not THAT kind of idiot.
To be clear, Janet isn’t listed here merely because she was bold and kind enough to take a chance on a little-known writer like me last year. She’s on the list because I know how much and how hard she reads—and how much she roots for every writer who sends their book baby her way. Janet may offer representation to only a very small percentage of authors who query her, but she’s in each writer’s corner—quietly hoping they captivate her, astound her, even shock her with their writing. In addition to giving a fair shake to each manuscript she receives (and she receives a LOT), Janet maintains a very active blogin which she offers advice, tips and insight to help any writer looking to land a reputable agent or get a book deal or simply improve their craft.
She’s the best kind of reader—the kind who has dedicated their entire life to helping writers achieve their dreams.
Chuck Palahniuk. The first rule of Fight Club is don’t talk about Fight Club. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk about workshopping your novel with the author of Fight Club. Some may accuse me of namedropping here, but when you get the chance to not only meet Chuck Palahniuk but also share your manuscript with him and receive his coaching, you bring it up on occasion.
But this isn’t about me. This is about Chuck (have I mentioned I know him) and how generous he is with his time and tutelage. Not many authors of his stature would create and lead a four-month-long, ten-session workshop for promising writers—and donate 100 percent of the proceeds from said workshop to an animal rescue organization. That’s exactly what Chuck did with his amazing “Writing Wrong” workshop, which he started in 2017. I was lucky enough to be among the fifteen writers selected for the inaugural workshop, and was blown away not only by how deep Chuck dove into every page presented by each participant, but also by how quickly and effortlessly he was able to spot what was holding some of the stories back, and how concise, creative and respectful he was with his feedback.
Having Chuck read my pages (from my since-published novel In Wolves’ Clothing) and offer suggestions created a monumental shift in how I think about writing and how I tell stories to this day. And he’s had the same powerful, lasting impact on pretty much every other writer who's had the great fortune of receiving his coaching.
My mother. My mother would read me at least one bedtime story every night when I was a child, which sparked my lifetime love of books. As for her love of books, it extended far beyond those by Dr. Seuss, Maurice Sendak, A.A. Milne and Beatrix Potter. She and my father would take my brothers and me on a beach vacation a couple of times every summer, and every trip my mother would bring whatever encyclopedia-thick novel she had bought for the week. My brothers and I would go off with Dad to bodysurf, toss the frisbee, play wiffle-ball, and invariably we would return to find my mother already 300-400 pages into her book. The only thing scarier than all the Stephen King novels my mother read in the 1980s was how quickly she devoured them.
To make sure my mother actually read each page of all the giant novels she breezed through, I would open a book she had just finished to a random page in the middle or toward the end, read a few sentences, then ask her to explain what was going on at that point in the novel. Not once did she fail to impress—providing details about the story I bet Stephen King himself would have forgotten.
Mom, who’s now nearly 82 years old, continues to devour fiction like it’s going out of style. And considering all the books she has consumed in her life, I can’t help but feel honored when I walk into my parents’ living room and see a copy of each of my novels prominently displayed on their end table. Of course, I realize one or two of those books are ones only a mother could love.
Some of you may be thinking I, being a writer, am merely pandering to readers with this post today—hoping to win them over with my “I love readers” theme, hoping to expand my platform, increase book sales.
In my defense, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.
Nothing says “I love literature” like cheering a fight to the death.
Every reader at one point or another has found themselves enthralled by some epic melee between a favorite protagonist and that character’s sworn enemy—or some other human obstacle standing in the protagonist’s way. As much as I love such scenes of intense conflict and tension, I often find myself wishing for even more. Like, wishing I could lift different characters out of their respective books to see how they’d fare in a fight with one another.
Yes, I am seeking professional help for this condition. But in the meantime, I’ve come up with a few literary death-matches for the ages—ones any devout fan of fiction would die for. Or at least finish reading this blog post for.
Enjoy!
Tyler Durden from Fight Club vs. Alex from A Clockwork Orange
A no-holds-barred bout between these two anarchy A-listers would be as hilariously entertaining as it would be deadly. I can already hear the cacophonous laughter from both characters as they suffer and deliver bone-shattering blows coupled with witty, derisive barbs. Their mutual love of destruction and mayhem would further inspire each to keep bringing and receiving the pain. In the end though, it’s hard to imagine Alex still standing. As hard as it is to defeat a highly disturbed fictional individual, it’s even harder to defeat a highly disturbed figment of the imagination of an a even more disturbed fictional individual. Which is why the first unspoken rule of Fight Club is you don’t get into a death-match with the founder of Fight Club.
Lisbeth Salander from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo vs. Patrick Bateman from American Psycho
I’d pay good money to see one of the most badass vigilante feminists in literature square off against one of the most psychotic misogynistic serial killers in literature—and I’d place more good money on the former taking down the latter. Sure, Patrick Bateman knows how to time the dropping of an active chainsaw down a spiral stairwell so that it perfectly eviscerates a fleeing victim, but such gruesome stunts wouldn’t fly with Ms. Salander, who’s smart enough to wear her kickass black motorcycle helmet whenever she senses the slightest chance she’ll encounter trouble. That, plus Patrick’s insatiable ego and lust would put him at a distinct disadvantage. Where he’d be focused on having sex with Lisbeth and adding her to his list of amorous conquests before murdering and dismembering her, Lisbeth would be focused solely on going for the kill. She has zero interest in external validation from men, and is the last person a man like Patrick would ever want catching him with his pants down.
“Richard Parker” the tiger from Life of Pi vs. the cat from The Cat in the Hat
Who doesn’t love a good catfight, am I right? Now, I realize a 450-pound Royal Bengal tiger versus a fast-talking street cat might seem like a total mismatch on paper, but the truth is … nah, I’m not gonna lie—The Cat in the Hat would be a goner. But that’s okay; I never really liked that damn cat or his hat. True, he did teach millions of bored children how tons of fun can be had even on a dreary, rainy day; however, in the process he nearly destroyed a perfectly nice home, forced two innocent children into a high-stakes game of deception with their mother, and made his two kooky friends live inside a box. What a dick. So, him getting completely devoured by a giant ferocious feline—who by the way, showed tremendous restraint with that boy on that boat—well, that’s just karma.
Katniss Everdeen from Hunger Games vs. Robin Hood from The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
I’ve got nothing against either one of these characters and wish neither of them any harm; it’s just, archery is totally badass and I can’t help but wonder which of these two legends would be the truer shot when the stakes couldn't be higher. No doubt both heroes are highly skilled and very brave, but I’d have to give Katniss the slight upper hand—not only because she has more modern equipment, but also because Robin Hood’s skimpy tights would offer little in the way of protection. One shot anywhere near the femoral artery and the dude would bleed out. One shot a little bit higher and the dude would wish he'd bleed out.
Hannibal Lecter from Red Dragon vs. Sweeney Todd from Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
As with the Katniss/Robin Hood matchup, I think both of these characters are fine, upstanding individuals whom I’d be honored to call friends. It’s hard not to respect how they each use the whole human whenever they kill one. That’s very green of them, very ecological. Still, it would be an absolute morbid thrill to watch them battle to the death and, depending on the outcome, witness the winner either eating the loser with a nice Chianti or having their friend make sausage out of him.
What literary character death matches would YOU love to see? Or do you find the very notion of even fictional violence and murder appalling? If so, why are you reading my blog? You must be lost.