I’ve done some dumb things in my writing career. Even dumber than choosing writing as a career. I'm not proud of my mistakes, but they say admitting to them is a sign of integrity and humility. Or in my case, a sign that I’ve been drinking.
So, before I go pour my third bourbon of the morning and continue working on my next novel, here are five of the dumbest things I’ve done as an author:
5) I wrote my first novel for myself rather than for the reader. A teacher once told me writing is about self-expression and creativity, not about having lots of people read what you’ve written. And I was stupid enough to believe him.
This helps to explain why I opted to write my first novel (Notes on an Orange Burial) about an unpublished poet. It’s also why 99.99 percent of you have never heard of it. (Still, it was a big hit with some people—namely my parents, and three librarians in England.) It’s quirky and literary and has some funny scenes derived from experiences I had in my twenties, so I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a bad book.
But you would.
4) I didn’t focus on the marketing-side of publishing until my third novel. This may seem the same as #5 above, but it’s not. It’s worse. After all, when you write a bad book and fail to market it properly, you’re doing yourself and the world a favor. But when you write a good book and fail to market it properly, you miss big opportunities to attract readers and meet Oprah.
Today, many consider my second novel—The Exit Man—my best (or at least my most enjoyable) book to date. However, it didn’t make much of a splash when it first came out because I hadn’t taken the time to learn the ins and outs of publicity, promotion and platform-building. It wasn’t until a TV producer tripped over a copy (while looking at bigger and better-promoted books) months later that The Exit Man started to pick up a little steam, and even then I failed to do a lot of what I should have done from a marketing standpoint.
Which leads directly to my next big mistake. …
3) I assumed getting optioned by HBO meant I’d hit the big-time. See that guy over there, the one strutting around like he owns the place? That’s me at the 2015 Writers’ League of Texas conference in Austin. The Exit Man had recently been optioned by HBO for development into a TV series, but I went to the conference anyway despite having nothing left to prove or to learn as an author. [Feel free to pause here and gag. I just did.] I skipped most of the sessions at the conference but spent plenty of time at the cocktail reception, where I mentioned my option deal to all the other attendees and held my hand out for them to kiss. (I'm exaggerating of course—both of my hands had drinks in them and thus weren't available to be kissed.)
And see that guy over there, the one lounging poolside at the trendy Mondrian hotel on Sunset Boulevard reading a copy of his own novel? That’s me the day after flying out to LA to take the producer (who got me the HBO option) out for dinner to show my appreciation—but really just to show off.
Oh, and see this guy over here, the one muttering curse words while cancelling his HBO Now subscription out of spite? That’s me in 2016 after hearing HBO decided not to renew its option of The Exit Man.
2) I waited too long to start forming alliances with other authors. No man is an island, but I used to think good authors were. I had it that, to be successful, I needed to spend as much time as possible holed up in a small, quiet room and just let my imagination and words run wild. I stayed away from writing workshops and critique groups. (“I had enough of that in college,” I’d tell myself.) I wasn’t active in writing organizations or communities. And, worst of all, I viewed other authors in my genre as the competition rather than as brothers and sisters with whom I shared a rare and wondrous disease.
It wasn’t until relatively recently that I realized isolation, while good for writing, is awful for a writing career. For the latter, you need to connect with and share ideas with like-minded—and even unlike-minded—authors. Doing so not only keeps you almost sane in a maddening field, but also provides you with invaluable feedback and advice to better your craft. And, if you join forces with “the competition,” it can open the door to a whole new world of readers who might have otherwise never heard of you or your disease. (NOTE: I recently teamed up with author RD Ronald to create a unique new website for readers and fellow writers of transgressive fiction. If you like novels and short stories about good people doing bad things—or bad people doing good things—you’re going to LOVE the site. I’ll be announcing its official launch via my blog soon. Stay tuned!)
And now, for the absolute dumbest thing I've done as an author ...
1) I put my characters ahead of my family and friends. I’ve touched on this in previous posts, mostly in a joking manner to downplay my fiction addiction and lessen my shame. But the truth is, I have put my characters ahead of my family and friends in the past.
Actually, the real truth is … I still do.
That “disease” I hinted at in #2 above, it’s not always fun. For anyone. And particularly not for my wife Miranda and my daughter Leah, whom I’ve shooed away from my writing space countless times in order to give all my care and attention to imaginary people instead. In fact, I’ve gotten so good at shooing, I rarely even have to anymore. Miranda and Leah have learned to keep their distance whenever my office door’s closed. Come to think of it, they’ve started doing so even when the door’s open and the writing day’s done. Go figure.
I’ve apologized multiple times to them, as well as to my parents and brother and the small handful of friends I somehow still have. I’ve promised each that I’d make more time for them and be more attentive and present whenever we’re together. They can tell by the look in my eyes and the sound of my voice that these apologies and promises are sincere. And they all want to believe me, but deep down they suspect something.
If you witness fiction writers interacting with one another on a panel or at a reading or in a bar, you might think the writing life is all fun and games and drinking booze. But ask the fly on the wall what these authors talk about when you and other potential fans aren’t around, and you’ll quickly learn that the writing life is mostly pain and frustration and futility. And drinking booze.
Now, I could continue this post with a list of funny hyperbolic examples of what fiction writers chat about when nobody who might buy their books is listening in, but it’s hard to be funny and hyperbolic when everything is so painful and frustrating and futile. And blurry. So instead, I’m going to share actual excerpts from an ongoing email exchange I’ve been having with a fellow novelist I met a while back. After all, it's always better to show than tell. Plus copying and pasting text from Gmail is a lot easier than coming up with brand new content.
NOTE: I’ve removed/replaced certain words or phrases that could possibly reveal the aforementioned novelist's identity. And no, it’s NOT Chuck Palahniuk. While I had the honor of meeting and “workshopping” with Chuck recently, he is one of those rare writers who’s immune to pain and frustration and futility, and thus is impossible to commiserate with.)
Without further ado, here are the email excerpts. (Warning: Some of the language could be considered offensive. I'm hoping that will keep you reading.)
[From an exchange in Fall 2016]
Me: This whole writing thing must be what being addicted to heroin is like. Short, incredible highs followed by misery and hopelessness—and the inability to stop going after the short, incredible highs. Realizing it's killing you yet needing to do it all the time. And Amazon is like an evil drug dealer that keeps sucking you back in. He knows all it takes is a small score here and there to own you for life. So, how’s YOUR Monday going?
Author friend: I hear you. My week has sucked infected goat balls so far. On top of [title of the new manuscript] hitting the skids, the film [based on the previous book] opened not to a bang but a whimper. I didn't expect a lot of fanfare, but I'm pissed that the distributor isn't doing any more than the producers could have done themselves, and for that they changed the title, came up with a shitty poster and tagline. They've asked for my input. I'm trying to gather my thoughts and wait until I can provide them with something more polite than, “How 'bout at least putting the trailer on Apple's movie trailer site, geniuses?!” Okay, enough bitching from me. How’s Sick to Death doing?
Me: I'm sorry about your infected goat balls week. That a writer with your resume still has to deal with such letdowns speaks to the absolute absurdity and fickleness of the publishing world and Hollywood. As for Sick to Death, it shot out of the gate with great sales and rave reviews for the first two weeks, then, just as I was out shopping for what I was fantasizing I'd wear to the National Book Awards ceremony, sales plateaued ... and then dipped precipitously. The good news is I have some promising promo stuff happening over the next few weeks. The bad news is I'm spending much more time tracking sales of the new book than I am writing the next book. And it’s a shame because I’m pretty sure the next book is the best damn thing I’ve ever written. Of course, the next book always is. Anyway, I’m not proud of letting external validation boss me around. I should know better.
[From an exchange a couple of weeks later]
Author friend: The writing is flowing, with some starts and stops. Whenever I get jammed up, I look at each situation and brainstorm the next possible series of events according to established character behavior and previous plot details. Then I look at that list of possibilities and ask, “Which of these is the worst possible thing that could happen to my protagonist?” And that's the one I go with. As soon as I do that (and it ain't easy... I really like this character and feel like a total asshole for putting her in such ever-frothier waters of shit creek), I seem to always have some lightning bolt of insight that sustains me until I'm standing at the edge of the next “What the fuck now?" cliff.
Me: I hear ya on causing so much pain and distress for your protagonist. Here’s something I said about my current main character during a recent interview: “I've been very busy putting my new protagonist through hell, and he's been very busy doing the same to me.”
[From an exchange about a month after that]
Me: News. Now Showtime wants to option The Exit Man. I’ve been assured the deal will be finalized right after Thanksgiving. Of course, I was also assured Hillary was going to trounce Trump, so I’ve learned to be weary of what I’ve been assured. [Name of another cable network] may counter with a "screw the option—let's go straight to series" offer], but I’ve been advised to stick with Showtime regardless due to the huge potential. So yeah, I'm feeling almost not worthless right now. This feeling will soon pass, I'm sure, and I’ll be back to feeling completely worthless.
Author friend: That’s fantastic news. Options are awesome. Still, it’s annoying when people ask, "So when's there gonna be a movie?" As though that legitimizes a book. Few people realize just what a godsend option money is for a working writer. In some ways, it's an appealing idea to never have the movie/TV show made, and just have that annual infusion of cash keep coming in perpetuity. James Ellroy called the film/TV options "cosmic welfare checks." Sadly, my old (and corrupt) publisher took a goodly chunk of my option money (I had no agent at the time), but still, I did really well on film options for a long time.
Me: “Cosmic welfare checks.” Nice. I'm going to steal that. Or at least cite Ellroy.
Author friend: I guess that makes us cosmic white trash. : ) By the way, I’ll be fasting from social media and email for the home stretch of the latest manuscript. Next weekend, I'm loading up the truck with firewood and whiskey and will be spending the bulk of December in the desert doing the rewrite. Yee-ha.
Me: Awesome to hear you've finished the first draft of your latest manuscript, which is probably better than the seventh draft of most writers' latest manuscript. Firewood and whiskey? Make that the title. If you don’t, do I have permission to use it on my tombstone?
[From an exchange a couple of months ago]
Author friend: Things aren't looking good for [title of the new manuscript]. The editor's had it since April, but I've not heard anything. I sent an email to my agent and got an auto-reply that he's out until the 15th, so I'm gonna have to deal with the knot in my stomach and just wait. Honestly? I'm on the verge of giving up. I'm wrestling with manuscript #5, but even if I finish it tomorrow, I don't see how it stands a snowman's chance in hell of publication if my previous one had no takers. Congrats on wrapping up your latest. And bigger congrats on having it hit the shelves soon. I'll shout it from the rooftops when that happens.
Me: Hearing that someone with your talent, credentials and fan following is thinking of giving up writing leads me to assume that aliens have invaded your brain. At least I’m hoping that’s the case. If not, it means the literary world is crumbling, falling into ruin … and that I might as well stop writing novels and find a more promising job like tollbooth attendant or coal miner. Hang in there. Things are going to turn back around for you in a big way soon. Usually such optimism makes me retch, but in your case I can feel it in my bones. Now, before I go, let me just remind you of something you may have forgotten. YOU WROTE [TITLE OF NOVEL THAT HAS SUSTAINED CULT-LIKE STATUS FOR OVER A DECADE AND HAS INSPIRED COUNTLESS WRITERS OF DARK FICTION, INCLUDING ME]. Now go find someone to extract those pesky aliens from your frontal lobe and get back to work. Sir.
NOTE: I’m thrilled to report that my almost legendary author friend has NOT given up writing, and that he continues to produce astonishing prose that continues to make him miserable. Thank goodness.
Here’s hoping he regains the literary fame and commercial success he so deserves, but that he never loses his passion for bitching and ranting with me from a thousand miles away in the middle of the night.
Ever since my novel The Exit Man got optioned for development into a TV series back in 2015, my family and eleven fans have continued to ask me about the status of the project. This may sound like I’m complaining. Trust me, I’m not. Being prompted to talk about the biggest honor of my writing life is hardly a nuisance. In fact, you don’t even have to prompt me. Take this blog post, for instance.
Following is a quick recap and update on my book’s journey to (hopefully) the small screen, followed by the blogging equivalent of a nervous breakdown.
It all started when HBO optioned The Exit Man in 2015 and I fainted. However, HBO elected not to renew the option in 2016. (Thanks a lot, Westworld.) No biggie. It happens. As people like Shia LaBeouf and Lindsay Lohan can attest, things in Hollywood don’t always work out as planned.
Fortunately, the story didn’t end there. A few other networks expressed interest in The Exit Man earlier this year. And then in April I signed an option agreement with Showtime – and fainted again.
The Showtime option could not have happened without the work of three important people: 1) Ilene Staple, the feisty, whip-smart Hollywood producer who sold The Exit Man to Showtime and who has never stopped believing in the story; 2) Adam Berkowitz, my badass agent and Co-Head of Television at Creative Artists Agency (CAA), who sealed the option deal; and 3) the brilliant scriptwriter Brian Buckner, who wrote a killer show outline and has since put the finishing touches on the pilot script. Thanks to Brian’s great work, I’m told the TV series – if made -- will be better than the book. I’m both delighted and insulted.
Now, I realize there’s no guarantee The Exit Man will end up on the small screen; nevertheless, it’s hard to temper my enthusiasm. I mean, let’s face it – most folks don’t read like they used to, and most folks don’t read me, PERIOD. So getting a book adapted for TV is really the best a relatively unknown author like me can hope for. And the fact that the network aiming to make it happen is the same network that has brought us such delicious dark comedy-dramas as Dexter, Californication, Weeds and Nurse Jackie makes all of this that much more enthralling.
And terrifying.
Yes, terrifying. What am I so afraid of? Success, mainly.
I’ve grown quite accustomed to the middle of the road and near misses throughout my fiction-writing career. I almost reached the number-one spot in the Dark Comedy category on Amazon with each of my last two novels. HBO almost put The Exit Man on TV. This blog post is almost staying on track. My point is, I’m great at “okay.” I excel at “almost.” I do “nearly successful” very well. Major achievement? I’m not built for that. Big break? I can’t think of anything worse. So, if Showtime goes all the way with The Exit Man and turns it into a hit series, I may be screwed.
For one, it will likely lead to tons more sales of my novel – and subsequent tweets/reviews/letters/email/graffiti from readers expressing how the book strays from the TV show. Secondly, all the attention and Hollywood parties will turn me into more of an insufferable a-hole than I already am. Rather than begging people to buy my books like I do now, I’ll be punching people when they corner me in public with a copy they’d like signed. And don’t get me started on all the drugs and alcohol that such success will get me started on.
I’m beginning to see things from Shia LaBeouf’s and Lindsay Lohan’s perspective. Maybe the three of us will hang out one day.
Yeah, I’d better go tell my agent to call the whole Showtime deal off. The more I think about it, an option agreement is really just a gateway drug for someone like me. The beginning of the end.
Nothing good ever comes from an opportunity of a lifetime. So if you need me, I’ll be busy writing… in the middle of the road. Where it’s safe.
Okay, that’s enough about me and my possible TV deal. What about YOU? What do YOU think about me and my possible TV deal?