Every holiday season, I get bombarded with messages from friends and fans telling me they’re dying to buy me a present but don’t know what to get such an accomplished author. Or maybe that’s just the dream I have every holiday season. It doesn’t really matter—I’m a fiction writer, thus fantasy and reality are interchangeable.
Besides, the holidays should be more about giving than receiving. That’s why I’m going to give you all something right now: An awesome list of ideas for gifts you can get me and the other writers in your life.
Some of the items on the list are just for fun, while others are extremely practical. The important thing is that all of them should be sent to my home address very soon to ensure they arrive by the last day of Hanukkah.
You’re welcome.
1) Bourbon of the Month Club membership. Alcohol has long helped writers by opening up creative channels and loosening the flow of prose. Without it, the world would likely be without such literary masterpieces as The Great Gatsby, The Sound and the Fury and The Sun Also Rises. And the world would definitely be without this blog post. Alcohol not only serves as a muse, it dulls the pain authors experience whenever their manuscript is rejected, their book doesn’t sell, or their tweet doesn’t get re-tweeted.
Some of you may be thinking, “But Greg, what if my writer friend doesn’t drink?” My response is, “I don’t understand the question.” Others might be thinking, “Why Bourbon of the Month Club?” My response to that is, “I couldn’t find a Bourbon of the Day Club.”
2) Remote cabin getaway. Whether a rustic Airbnb rental or an abandoned shack where an unsolved murder occurred decades ago, this gift will provide the peace and quiet your writer needs to clearly hear the voices in their head.
Ideally, you’ll want to find a place that doesn’t have wifi, TV, heating, air conditioning or anything else that might risk making the writer too happy and comfortable to produce anything of true literary value. Just keep in mind that, while suffering is good for a writer, dying is not (despite the boost in sales of existing books that death can provide). So be sure to stock the cabin with enough food to keep them alive during their retreat, and to remove all sharp objects and rope for the same reason.
3) Noise-canceling headphones. Not every writer has the luxury of being able to go away and suffer for days in a quiet cabin. Many have to stay home to do their telemarketing job and take care of their six cats. Fortunately, you can bring the quiet cabin directly to these scribes with a pair of noise-canceling headphones. There’s simply no better way for a domesticated writer to drown out the cacophony of laughter and love that daily disrupts their novel in progress.
For those of you on a budget or who are too cheap to spring for noise-canceling headphones, viable alternatives to help your writer friend shut out the real world include silicone earplugs, fluffy earmuffs, or slipping everyone they live with an Ambien.
4) Treadmill desk. Writers often spend days on end sitting in front of their computer, lost in their own imagination. This is great for creating new worlds; unfortunately, it’s even better for creating major heart attacks. Studies indicate that the sedentary nature of novel-writing is the third leading contributor to death among fiction authors, trailing only substance abuse and accidents resulting from setting manuscripts on fire.
Giving a writer a treadmill desk not only shows you care about them and their health, it helps to ensure they won’t die before they finish Book 3 of the trilogy they have you hooked on.
5) Hygiene app. It’s very easy to forget to bathe when totally focused on creating plot twists, getting drunk and setting fires. Now, this is not to suggest that all writers struggle to maintain personal hygiene. Surely J.K. Rowling and Stephen King have staff on hand to wipe them down at regular intervals. For the rest of the writing populace, there’s an app for that.
A hygiene app will remind hardworking authors to hop in the shower after every few chapters and to brush their teeth before passing out each morning, afternoon and night. These apps make for very affordable gifts and practically guarantee that the only foul odor coming from your writer friends will be their decaying dreams of earning a living wage.
6) Helmet. “Safety first” is something chemistry and industrial arts teachers continuously preach in class. Why English teachers don’t do the same is beyond me. If more of them took time to educate students on the dangers of writing, then emergency rooms would likely handle a million fewer self-inflicted head injuries each year.
But rather than blame the educational system, do your friends and family members who are writers a favor and gift them a helmet for the holidays. Sure, you could instead try convincing them to stop slamming their head against walls and desks and literary agents every time they get writer’s block or a rejection notice, but we all know that’s never going to change.
Please note that if you end up getting a writer the Bourbon of the Month Club membership and the treadmill desk I listed earlier, then you are legally obligated to throw in a helmet.
7) Impressive Amazon ranking. While the aforementioned gift ideas collectively will help a writer be productive, fit and inebriated, none of them will improve their Amazon ranking and make them feel better than every writer they know, which is all any writer really wants. Fortunately, this is an easy gift to provide. All you need to do is buy every book the writer has ever written and demand that all your friends and relatives and Twitter followers do the same. It's the gift that keeps on giving the seratonin boost a writer needs to keep from hurting themselves or anyone else.
The holidays aren’t just about giving; they’re also about outdoing others. So feel free to share your much better gift ideas for writers in the comments section, which is located beneath the banner aimed at helping you buy my latest novel.
Thanks, and ...
HAPPY WHATEVER THE HELL YOU CELEBRATE! May 2018 2021 be nothing even remotely like 2017 2020.
For a while now, I’ve been meaning to give a shout-out to the books that have profoundly influenced my life and writing. And with Thanksgiving just two days away, I figured it was the perfect time to do so—especially since my obsession with books and writing has alienated all my family and friends, leaving me with nothing else to do during this fine holiday week. (It's okay, I'll just pretend I'm British or Canadian. I'm getting good at it.)
Some of the books featured below shook me to the core when my core needed to be shaken. Some got me through the roughest of times. And some shattered my preconceived notions about what it is to be human, what it is to be alive, what it is to pick up the check at a restaurant once in a while.
All of them transformed me in some positive way … just not enough to get me invited to anyone’s house this Thursday.
But enough with the chit-chat. On to the books I’m most thankful for:
The Cat in the Hat(by Dr. Seuss). Those who know me know I am a bit wacky, enjoy breaking rules and love to rap. The Cat in the Hat is the reason for all that. When I was a small child, my mother read it to me at bedtime with the hope that I’d fall asleep. I’ve been awake ever since—running around embracing absurdity, laughing in the face of authority, and spontaneously spitting mad rhymes to complete strangers. (I'm beginning to see even more clearly why I'm free for Thanksgiving.)
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (by Mark Twain). This was the first big book (336 pages) I read voluntarily, and, more importantly, the book that woke me up to America’s history of slavery and racism. I found a copy of it on my parents’ bookshelf one summer day when I was ten, and was shocked by its frequent use of the “N” word. Not even a Lil Wayne album can compete.
I’ve experienced a lot of emotions in my reading life, but few compare to the intense anger I felt toward my own race while reading Huck Finn, or to how moved I was by the book’s young protagonist defying his community and religion to ensure that an escaped slave remained a free man. I wanted to be like Huck ... only with better diction.
Without Feathers (by Woody Allen). Woody Allen’s legendary status as a filmmaker, actor, comic and creepy cradle-robber has overshadowed the fact that he’s also a damn fine author. His first book, Without Feathers—a collection of short stories, essays and plays—changed my life in college. The sheer force of existential hilarity in his writing not only derailed my clinical depression, it inspired me to stop trying to impress my English professors with overly dramatic narratives and instead embrace the sardonic humor that was dying to hit the page.
Thanks to Woody, I went from being a brooding poser who elicited yawns during workshop readings to being an eager writer who caused classmates to pee their acid-washed jeans.
Oh, the Places You’ll Go! (by that Seuss guy again). On the last day of my first post-college job (in Annapolis, Maryland, circa 1991), a coworker friend had everyone in our workplace sign a copy of Oh, the Places You’ll Go! for me to bring to Colorado, where I had decided to move because why not. I didn’t know a single sole in the Rocky Mountain state, but felt it was where I needed to ski … I mean be.
There were many lonely nights in the wintery town I ended up in, causing me to seriously question my decision to leave my friends, family and comfy job on the East Coast. But Oh, the Places You’ll Go! was there to assure me I’d made the right move. Seuss’s weird words of wisdom about travel and adventure and about finding and losing yourself—coupled with the envious and encouraging words my former coworkers had etched inside the cover—kept me from packing up and taking the safe route back to familiar environs. At least until the ski season ended and the money ran out six months later.
A Confederacy of Dunces (by John Kennedy Toole). Until I read Dunces (at the insistence of an old college friend while I was living in Spain at the turn of the century), I had assumed literary writing could be hysterical only in small doses— short stories, one-act plays. I’d tried reading what I’d been told were funny novels on several occasions, only to be disappointed and exhausted in the end ... or well before reaching it.
And then came Dunces. I not only finished it with a big smile and sore abdominals, I did so in one sitting. The book managed to sustain its humor by not trying too hard to be humorous. Truth is, the protagonist—Ignatius J. Reilly—is downright off-putting and unlikeable. So naturally I loved him … so much so, I felt inspired to try my own hand at writing a comedic novel. Of course, those of you who have read my first novel may wish Ignatius and I had never met. But I’d like to think I’ve gotten better at long fiction since then. And I’d like to think you think so too.
I’ll be forever thankful for Dunces, for providing the spark I needed to follow my literary passion and earn less money than I ever dreamed possible.
Lolita (by Vladimir Nabokov). Say what you will about this book, so long as what you say is it’s astonishing. Lolita marked my introduction to—and everlasting love affair with—transgressive fiction. Transgressive novels are characterized by protagonists who feel confined by the norms and expectations of society and who break free of those confines in unusual or illicit ways. In other words, books featuring freaks and criminals you can’t help but root for.
Most of you will agree being bad can feel pretty good. Well, reading bad can feel even better ... even when the bad you’re reading is awful … provided the writing’s great. I’ve lost you. Sorry, I guess it’s just hard singing the praises of a book about a grown man falling madly in love with a twelve year-old girl. (I’ve got a daughter for goodness sake—and she’ll kick my ass if her friends’ parents end up boycotting sleepovers at our place because of this post.)
Suffice it to say Lolita is the book that inspired me to start taking more risks with my own fiction. To explore controversial topics and moral complexities in my stories, and to develop protagonists readers hate to like. Or like to hate. I don’t really care, so long as liking’s involved in some way.
You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense (by Charles Bukowski). When people tell me they hate poetry, I tell them they're mistaken. This confuses them even more than poetry. I then tell them they have to read You Get So Alone and report back immediately. This compels those who hate being bossed around to take a swing at me. They're the ones who'll love the book the most.
Charles Bukowski was an ill-tempered, miserable bastard and a drunk of mythical proportions. Fortunately, all of that comes through in his poems. As does his humanity—you just have to peer beneath the barbed wire and broken bottles of bourbon to find it.
You Get So Alone is like an old cantankerous friend who always has your back ... even in a bar fight … even a bar fight you initiated with a bunch of armed bikers who were minding their own business. Point is, the book will help you get through hell. Hell like heartbreak. Hell like depression. Hell like sibling death. And it does this not by whispering that everything will be okay or by plying you with happy platitudes; rather by punching you in the face and reminding you how lucky you are to feel it.
Fight Club (by Chuck Palahniuk). Speaking of getting punched in the face and liking it. When I read the first few chapters of Fight Club, I knew there was no going back. To old ways of thinking. To old ways of feeling. To old ways of writing. A switch I didn’t even know I had was flipped and a current like God shot through my bones.
The movie’s good, too.
Too bad the rules state I can’t talk about either. Just know I’m thankful for Fight Club the way Trump’s thankful for Twitter, or the way Saturday Night Live’s thankful for Trump.
I realize many of you are busy planning when to put the turkey in the oven and where to put your uncle after his fourth scotch, but if you have a minute, I’d love to hear what book(s) YOU’RE most thankful for. (Please share them in the comments section below.) Oh, and ...
In my novels, I have a tendency to put the main characters through emotional and physical hell. They must endure such things as rapidly metastasizing cancer, the untimely deaths of loved ones, drug addiction and gunshot wounds.
In my actual life, I have a tendency to put my family through much worse.
In my defense, I’m a mean and awful person only when busy writing a book. Or rewriting a book. Or promoting a book. Or planning the next book. So, really only about eleven-and-a-half months out of the year. The rest of the time, I’m an absolute joy to be around.
Nevertheless, I’ve been meaning to formally apologize to my family—my wife and daughter, in particular—and now seems like the ideal time. I think we can all agree there’s no better way for an author to express sincere remorse and request forgiveness than through a blog post.
So here goes ...
Dear Miranda and Leah,
I’m truly sorry for my mood swings and isolation and selfishness over the past several weeks and months and years. Please know it’s nothing personal. You’ve done nothing wrong—other than sometimes breathe too loudly or interrupt me with a sudden “Good morning” or “I love you” that totally takes me out of my writing groove. Still, as crippling as such interruptions are to the creative process, they’re no excuse for me to treat the most important people in my life with disdain.
I’m also sorry you’ve had to endure all my loud arguments with imaginary people. And my shouting at blank pages. And me repeatedly banging my head against my desk. Trust me, it’s not like I enjoy waking you up in the middle of the night with such jarring sounds. After all, once you’re awake, you make noises that make it even harder for me to concentrate and write. So, as you can see, it’s miserable for everyone involved. But I’m willing to take most of the blame.
I’m sorry for always growling and barking at you when you step anywhere near my writing office while I’m in the midst of a critical scene or plot twist or tweet. Nobody should ever have to witness their husband or father behaving like a rabid dog, no matter how warranted such behavior might be. I hope you can forgive me. I also hope you can try not to step anywhere near my writing office while I’m in the midst of a critical scene or plot twist or tweet. (You can always go out your bedroom window to get to the kitchen, you know. Just remember your house key.)
I’m sorry for not being a very good listener in recent years. For sometimes ignoring you when you tell me about your day or your problems or whatever it is you’re always talking about while I’m trying to tell you about how the book is going. I love you guys so much and I really do want to know all about your lives. It’s just sometimes it’s hard to pay attention when what’s happening in my book is so much more thrilling. Again, I’m terribly sorry. Sometimes I wish I didn’t write such thrilling novels. It’s so unfair to you.
Please believe me when I say I’m going to try to change. We all know I won’t actually change, but it would be awfully nice of you to believe I might. One thing I am considering is moving away from such dark topics in my novels. (You were probably hoping I was going to stop that last sentence after “moving away.”) Call me crazy, but I think all the time I spend researching and writing about terminal disease and death and murder and sex trafficking might in some way be contributing to my ever-increasing unpleasantness. I was hoping my ever-increasing drinking might help with that. Not sure if it’s working.
As much as I love writing dark fiction, it’s not worth it if it means destroying our family. That’s why I’m currently toying around with a novel about a puppy and a baby unicorn who live under a magic rainbow. Trouble is, whenever I sit down to work on such a happy book, I’m overcome with the urge to throw myself off a tall building. And you don’t want that, right? Right? … RIGHT?
Okay, I need to wrap this up so I can get back to focusing on nothing but my writing. But before I do, Miranda and Leah, I need you to know the two of you mean the world to me. I’m so sorry if I’ve ever screamed anything from my office to make you think otherwise. You—along with my mother, father and brother (who make up the rest of my fan base and thus had to be mentioned)—are the most important non-imaginary people in my life. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing.
Except perhaps write a book about a puppy and a unicorn.
Love,
Greg/Dad
If you’re a writer, feel free to use the comments section below to share the horrible things you regularly put YOUR family through. And if you’re the family member of a writer, now is the time to cry out for help … and to dish some dirt!
One more thing: Sorry to self-promote so soon after an apology, but today’s the last day to get the Kindle edition of In Wolves’ Clothing for just 99 CENTS. (Amazon US and UK only.) Tomorrow I’m jacking up the price like I’m a pharmaceutical exec and the book’s a life-saving drug. You candownload your ridiculously cheap copy of IWC HERE.
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.
First I posted about all that went into making the book. Then I posted about all the people who helped me make it. Then I provided a sneak peak inside. Then I revealed the cover.
Enough already!
The teasing and blatant attempts to build pre-launch buzz are finally over. In Wolves’ Clothingis NOW AVAILABLE!
You’re probably so giddy with excitement and anticipation right now, you can’t think straight and don’t know what to do. Don’t worry, I’m here to help.
Follow the bullet-points below. They are taken from the official “What to Do in the Event of a Greg Levin Book Launch” guide:
First, take a few deep breaths and try to relax. It’s just a book, for goodness sake.
Next, click HEREto purchase a Kindle or paperback edition of the book on Amazon. (Or, if you are one of those weird people who needs to know a little more about a book before purchasing it, click HEREto read the description and a couple of excerpts, as well as some advance praise from early reviewers. And THEN go to Amazon to buy a copy.)
Finally, share this post with everyone you know and don’t know on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, subway trains, commercial flights and grocery store lines.
Oh, and just one more thing: THANK YOU … for putting up with all this, and for even considering my new novel. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pour champagne all over myself and the family/friends/pets I neglected while writing the book.
