What Makes an Author Your Favourite?

Each of us avid readers, especially beginners or aspiring writers, has our small list of Favourite Authors. What made them our favoured authors from the piles of striving others, in which our personal choices were best reflected in the years of following, reading, and absorbing their works?

And whether it was style, concept, writing skills, creative approach, word choices, lyrical phrases or private views expressed in their books that made them influential and exceptional in our quiet development as a writer—no matter what genre we preferred—it sprinkled joy and spiced our several hours of reading pleasures.

Here is my short list, but not necessarily in order of creative strength or superb writing power, together with my reasons for my choices:

Annie Proloux:
Exemplary creativity where the ordinary details in life lead to outstanding prose, powerful storytelling, and atmospheric immersions in the narrative, which helped to better understand human frailties, desires, and ambitions, enriching the reader’s pleasurable absorption, as in “The Shipping News”.

Scott Turrow:
The greedy indulgences in life narrated within the complex drama and depth of law, the frightening details of its consequences when ignored alert the reader into conscious contemplations of one’s morality—and mortality. “The Burden of Proof” is a good example.

James Patterson and John Grisham:
The thrills and spills of their narrative rides take the reader in a fast spin, whether crime or justice denied, whirling and consuming every page to get to the pleasurable climax—without doubt, a sensuous fulfilling ending each time. Grisham’s “The Client” and Patterson’s “Along Came a Spider” are excellent appetizers.

China Mieville:
Experimental explorations of the mental and material darkness of creative imagination, holding wonders not of fairy tale fantasy but of something crawling inside a pipe, terrifying yet colourful, abhorring yet benevolent, which forces the reader to accept the possibilities of it all. “Perdido Street Station” is my New Testament.

Dennis Lehane:
Personal, realistic, brutal and sympathetic in the narrative thread of his crime-laden world, the reader shares the persecution and tribulations of the characters in their darkest and trying moments, hoping to find solution while cheering for the antagonist’s demise. “Mystic River” is a perfect introduction.

Stephen King:
Exceptional creativity in the choices of untapped sources for dark frightening tales—what is common place and cheap becomes a terrifying tool for a horrific read—often imbibed with childlike humour and keen observations that makes the narrative alive. “Pet Sematary” is so disturbing in concept yet asked only what we all wondered aloud: Can the dead be brought back to life? It is my Old Testament.

Marquis De Sade:
The creative swells of his sexual tales become frightening and threatening as if a person can really exist as he described, wrote, imagined, and choreographed their behaviours to be in a subject that until now remains taboo—if not relegated to the darkest, innermost corners of our psyche. “100 Days of Sodom” numbs the reader with its untiring attempt to achieve ecstatic reading pleasures.

John Steinbeck:
Where others dwell in the mysterious, unexplained occurrences of human existence, the narratives’ rooted predicaments in human needs and frailties dug deep to uncover the fragile heart still beating alive inside—only to expose the possibilities of one’s truth and sincerity buried in the dire difficult realities. “Grapes of Wrath” and “Of Mice and Men” are explorations worthy of appreciation of the author’s simplicity of approach to mask his creative power within.

Who are your favourites? Feel free to make a list and share it here, dear readers, writers, and aspiring authors in the literary world.

Classics and Past Bestsellers: How Relevant for Today’s Aspiring Writers?

“How relevant are the Classics and past Bestsellers to the present aspiring authors/writers?

Beginners/aspiring writers were often given several good and helpful pointers on writing, including the business side of it, through articles, magazine author interviews, and some profound essays on the craft.

One of them was about the “good opening sentence that must hook the reader” in every story. Yet, as I opened for the first time the first page of War and Peace, the first sentence greeted me with a drab and dull dialogue in one long paragraph that kept me wondering after plodding through those first lines, how it became a CLASSIC.

Another was the famous “show, don’t tell”. Gorky Park, a contemporary bestseller by Martin Cruz Smith, had several long rambling “tells” disguised as dialogue—quite unusual for anybody to talk that long unless it was a lecture—although the story was good and intricate in its plot twists and recreations of life in Communist Russia.

Last observation, even though I like both authors, The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub, meandered and rambled along, becoming obvious that both writers were enjoying the lilt of their voices created on the written page. The rule was to “be brief and exact in telling a story”—do not bore the reader. In short, it was overwritten. And yet, this was such a popular bestseller that the two even wrote a sequel. (About the meandering thing, Peter Straub seemed to have a knack for it as shown as early as the prologue in Ghost Story, another bestseller.)

So, is it safe to say to leave the classics and bestsellers of an era and concentrate on one’s style? Or do we have to accept these popular literary examples of success as the yardstick to measure our own style and worth before developing our own?”

This was the whole question (edited here for better clarity) I posted on an online writers’ community forum in the United States where I’ve been a member for the past year. It was an honest question that came out from the situations mentioned above, where, after my daily dose of writing advice and suggestions gleaned from articles, essays, and blogs, I wondered why the so-called Classics and past Bestsellers would err on the contemporary standards of good writers’ rules.

There are ten accepted rules, as featured in an article of a popular writers’ magazine that also owned the online community. (I wrote an essay about these rules, and made a parody as if the publishers created their own, too. It is still posted in this blog page: “Publishers’ Rulebook: Wassup, Doc?”)

The popular accepted Writer/Authors’ Rules are:
1. Write What You Know.
2. Hook Your Readers on Page 1.
3. Show, Don’t Tell.
4. Write “Shitty” First Drafts.
5. Write Every Day.
6. Kill Your Darlings.
7. Develop a Thick Skin.
8. Silence Your Inner Critic.
9. Read What You Like.
10. If You Want to Get Rich, Do Something Else.

Indeed, I was thrown back by the opening line of the first paragraph of the first page of the highly revered and popular War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. It was the start of a dialogue in one paragraph, drab and dull to even encourage me to continue reading. Thus, I dropped the book and began to question the high literary validations made on the Classics.

Did it suffer because of the translation? How much of the original were lost? Was it caused by the standard of English used at the time, which made it looked tedious and dry if compared to our present popular style of literary works? How much of the rules did it violate yet still claimed its reputation as Classic?

I have read some Classics in school, and I must admit I didn’t understand much of them: It was a requirement I must complete, and did the report without any interest. Later on, when my desire to aspire to be an author grabbed my hands and imaginations, I started to read and devour varied titles including bestsellers that interested me most: from Dracula, Moby Dick, Grapes of Wrath, The Naked and the Dead, 100 Days of Sodom, Lady Chatterley’s Lover, The Lord of the Rings, The Alchemist, to Foucault’s Pendulum and more.

Except for a handful that veered to my favourite popular genre—horror, adventure, thriller, and crime—the rest scattered my attention I had to stop for long periods—months, sometimes, and had to re-read it from the beginning again!—before going back to finish them. Without question, authors of the Classics and past Bestsellers—Mailer, Steinbeck, Updike, Fleming, Stoker, Melville, D.H. Lawrence, King, Dick, Crichton, etc.—were meritorious in their own individual ways. From story, dialogue, plots, style, to the actual telling or narration, each of these admirable authors established the excellent worth of their works.

As a beginner/aspiring author, education led me to believe that what I struggled with in school as literary masterpieces held the keys and secrets to a successful career in writing. And yet, working now in earnest to earn my reputation as an author, the faults of the past are revealing themselves slow but unavoidable and sure—something unthinkable for me, like seeing Gandalf the White was really Ian McKellan. I guess, the innocence and honesty of childhood still in me carried more creative power of imagination in my maturity.

But many seemed to have missed what I implied in my sincere inquiry, my frank dilemma in the forum as an aspiring/beginner writer with regards the Classics and past Bestsellers:

Have we placed so high an indiscriminate regard for works done in the past that we allowed ourselves to fold and lay prostrate at the brilliance of the literary achievements—losing sight of their glaring mistakes? Admittedly, there were numerous exceptional ones with almost beyond human comprehension of staggering creativity in literary accomplishments, which made them sterling masterpieces on their own.

And yet, are we to consider ourselves always “blind and respectful”, and thus, ignore and swallow with a smile the unintentional misgivings—errors or faults discerned in the writings of these outstanding writers and authors of the past—as based on our present standards that we have to shut our mouth?

Were these unarguable works of excellence, which their “era” considered masterful, and therefore, classic literatures of our present time—exemplary works that become accepted tools and examples in the craft of today’s writing (a required reading and study in fact, in colleges and most creative courses)—of paramount necessity and importance to us, the current crops of aspiring authors, aside from enjoying the ephemeral aura of having read and understood the Classics?

Are we not permitted to examine these faults as we read, and avoid it as a choice to improve and hone our craft? So that in our age, we can be proud to say that we used and understood their “mistakes” by not making them ourselves?

Are we not supposed to react, to question our surprising findings regarding its relevance to our own aspirations, and just absorb everything, with utter respect of the persons and their achievements involved?

Are we to continue ignoring these so-called “broken rules” (can anyone argue with a Tolstoy, a Stevenson, a King, a Stoker, or a Clancy, including their Editors for that matter, at the time?) and keep our peace with a bowed, quiet acceptance?

The Forum answers were mixed, but highly favoured the indispensable worth of understanding the Classics: closing a left eye to their faults, misgivings, and styles by supporting its worth in substance, content, and the power and longevity of the story themselves to survive in our contemporary times—as they set and challenged the writing standards also, during their time.

As for the Bestsellers, they earned their rights to “break rules”—their hordes of avid, adoring readers always behind every effort to support them, no matter how trivial, miniscule, or redundant the stories were—and thus, set their own standards, too, in our present time.

How relevant are the Classics and past Bestsellers for us? The answers lie in the individuals’ present needs—whether story inspiration, plot direction, dialogue style, character development, or a jarring twist in the ending that hooked and captivated readers all over the world—sifting through the jungle of accolades that distracted and clouded parts and portions of it, using our own creative heart and mind to decide what for us remains best.

Extreme Content in Writing? When, How, and Why?

In an online writers’ community, submitting stories and other written materials fall into basic categories. The buttons below the title of each story signify the evaluation of content, and through colour, guides the readers in their choices: The blue for general audiences, while black at the end, for extreme content and not for everyone. Anyone familiar with the site knew of these set standards for each story.

But when is extreme too extreme?

Is it when extreme becomes intolerable? And how is intolerable defined here? Is it according to site standards–those created and imposed by admins, mods, and reputable members? Or as dictated by government code of ethics and morals? Or, unfortunately, is it by the obedient, overprotective response of the writing community site to comply and preserve a nurtured reputation—yet limiting exploration, experimentation, and expression of new attempts, concepts, and interpretations of genres of fiction and other forms of writing?

I write to explore, to experiment, and to express my versions or evaluations of an old idea (every concept sprung from another more established ones, hence nothing is original) in whatever genre I like and belong.

Has anyone given it a thought, or at least tried to imagine, what Literature and the Fine Arts would look like if everyone in the arts community or the creative lot, settles down safe and secure, basking in the glories and achievements of the old established materials we fondly refer to as Classics—and no longer innovate?

Every artist and art school will institutionalized painting styles that favour the Renaissance Masters (and there’s nothing wrong with that!) but we will never experience or see a Picasso, a Pollack, or a Warhol or even the drastic transformations trail-blazed by computer generated visual arts.

And in Literature, every author and writer will emulate Shakespeare, Dumas, or Dickens (again, there’s nothing exceptionally wrong with that!). But we will find every other author shedding away their literary identities, their creative credentials, and forsake their rights to pursue and follow their ideas, in whatever millennium they belong, which means goodbye to Whitman, Woolf, or Steinbeck, and there will no longer be any Updike, Capote, or Vonnegut.

Every creative soul blessed with the skills and concepts to write or paint will find her/himself shackled and working within house rules (which are quite acceptable and favourable, if only for the unruly, arrogant, and boisterous community members). Yet, in any art or writing community an artist or writer belongs and finds oneself obligated and unable to expand one’s creativity to fly and soar with paints or words above the standards will inhibit her/his growth, dropping it to full mediocrity, including the development of the disciplines themselves.

In this scenario, instead of using creativity to challenge the self, we may find ourselves going back to trace and retrace meticulously every step of the Masters. We will lose our creative individualities and become another skilled parrot—exemplifying the genre standards set by house rules. Personal and selfish rules that limit an individual’s creative expression, as dictated and outlined and only deemed acceptable by the community admins, moderators, and close friends—trumpeting, unknowingly, mutual censorship.

Rules restrict creativity. Mediocrity kills the arts.

Common rules agreed and drawn upon by an art community or a creative committee may leak more poison harmful to an artist/writer/author’s artistic growth and experiences. If set standards or strict guidelines need to be amended or expanded even if already established and practiced (as in Extreme Content—where EXTREME may include those that are extraordinary and weird, and thus, reworded to EXTREME CAUTION instead)—the reading public is given their options and rights to proceed.

Maybe, it’s time to rectify and improve the definition and terms of the rule.

For in Literature, as in Art, the artist or writer demands the freedom to choose and express creativity. Or else, wallow in painful, unforgettable obscurity, hobbled by censorship disguising itself as the righteous standards of morals and dignity–for everyone.

No Title (Lest the Secrets Be Revealed)

I am a visitor here, and not of this world.

I once had wings for those who wanted to fly, to be transported to places far richer, happier, and greater than this one, that they may see everything and everyone else they love, loathed or despised and not always from below but alas!—from above.

I once have eyes yet blinded by childish selfishness and pride, like those who cannot see the truth from their lies, the false from their make-believe realities; the certainty of defeat hanging sure and precarious above their heads, of every downfall and death crafted by their own sorry misdeeds.

I have ears just the same so I can listen clear to your pains, to unburden your heart while I hear the rise and swell of your hurt—the echoes of your sufferings, relentless!—tinged with unfulfilled and fearful dreams of sorrow each night.

I have no lips though, to speak ill of my neighbours, no mouth to curse my curious pretentious visitors, no voice to condemn my friends’ hypocrisies or praise myself and be proud once more and again.

I have a face only so you can recognize me from the crowd, to find me from afar when you need my shoulder, my attention, and time; thus, see me as I am in my most naked, beautiful dazzling self—unblemished, pure, and unreal.

Yet, I have no heart to share but can only give you whatever happiness you so desire—be it material, sexual or unnatural—whatever joy I have, which you might forsake or deny…Listen, I can provide you anything your heart covets, hungers or thirsts.

I have a body to keep you warm when you are desperate, cold, or alone; my strength is yours to hold—awake and alive when you feel weak, tired, or uninspired—to nourish your passion when you are forlorn and your fires are out.

I have arms to extend and reach out for your wants, to direct and point the right paths, the best ways, the proper directions and positions you may choose to take gleaned from the stars—if only you will believe and close your eyes.

For I have a tail now and much embarrassed of it, to keep me anchored on my feet and hold myself upright and straight, lest I soar and shoot the clouds and climb once more over and above what I already know, absorbed, and learned to be my own.

Yes, I have feet so I can come to you whenever I like, to visit you when you call and be with you if and when you so desired; I will keep you company, I promise you that—cuddle you in despair and care for you when hurt—share my friendship in your most lonely, isolated moments in life.

I have horns yet shorn to remind me of what I am and who I am once: not perfect, not blessed, not gifted or even mystical; not an angel, a saint, or an almighty god but a devil still, and only in your sad, beautiful eyes.

I am a friend, as if you need to be reminded of that—a brother, father, uncle to anyone who would care and return the favour as such—be my sister, mother, aunt when they see and understand what I am at first glance.

I am here and not really here; a guest and an observer who is most pleased and entertained by your unwavering interest, attention, and time…Your unfaltering gaze of wonderment and disbelief honours me, sweetened by your unadulterated smile.

I am love, and loving every breath of it…Only for you, and each and everyone else who offers a heartfelt lie, my friend.

For any passers-by curious enough on a clear day to get caught admiring the ancient fountain without looking directly at the imposing threat of the figure high above its pedestal with an arrow pointed straight at one’s heart, she or he can read—or perhaps, discern only by an erring eye—the ode above probably inscribed by the sculptor, or maybe, by a supernatural hand etching the warning on granite, describing with unabashed pride an all-consuming semblance of beauty undeniable in its malevolent disguise.

(Excerpt from the Epilogue of my horror-sex-fantasy novel in progress: “The Fountain of Lies”.)

PUBLISHING INDUSTRY RULEBOOK? WAZZUP, DOC?

In the “Big 10 Issue” of Writer’s Digest Magazine (September 2010), the article “10 Experts Take On The Writer’s Rulebook” as compiled by Ms Jessica Strawser and Mr Zachary Petit, discussed the idea that certain practices common to established authors and were once regarded as profound advice towards creating a successful writing life, have evolved through the years to acquire the semblance of “rules” and yet—may still be broken and contradicted (“Break It”) and likewise, accepted and supported (“Follow It”)—as shown by the learned analyses of 10 bestselling authors of the present digital age.

The Writer’s Rules, with the respective authors of the pros and cons, are the following:

Rules                                                                                  “Follow It”                                         “Break It”

1. Write What You Know.                   1. Donald Maass                                 1. Natalie Goldberg

2. Hook Your Readers on Page 1.   2. Jerry B. Jenkins                            2. Steve Almond

3. Show, Don’t Tell.                              3. Natalie Goldberg                           3. Donald Maass

4. Write “Shitty” First Drafts.          4. John Smolens                                 4. Nancy Kress

5. Write Every Day.                             5. John Dufresne                                5. James Scott Bell

6. Kill Your Darlings.                          6. N.M. Kelby      (Undecided)       6. N. M. Kelby

7. Develop a Thick Skin.                   7. Steve Almond                                  7. Sheila Bender

8. Silence Your Inner Critic.           8. James Scott Bell                              8. John Smolens

9. Read What You Like.                     9. Nancy Kress                                     9. John Dufresne

10. If You Want to Get Rich,

Do Something Else.                            10. Sheila Bender                               10. Jerry B. Jenkins

Though it was not mentioned if these rules are in order of importance, it all seemed reasonable enough for an aspiring or beginner writer to follow, understand, and subscribe in one’s personal quest to write and get published.

Yet, no matter how interesting the contradicting (and supporting) points of view, no matter how knowledgeable, sincere, and provocative the professional conclusions of the experts with the pros and cons of the rules, one thing remained constant, unbreakable, and real in the unpredictable and continuous shifts in the publishing game—and where the writer’s intangible rulebook does not apply, even with the writer’s strict adherence to it.

For publishers, editors, and literary agents—reputable groups of individuals who exercise their respective office to manage, utilize, and influence the flow and direction of productions that affect the stability and growth of the industry—follow their own set of rules, a system of principles governed primarily by commercial (i.e., business) considerations, which has more definite, immediate, and dominant effect in the chain of responsibilities engaged in book development prior to publication: From acquisition, marketing, sales, advertising, publicity, promotion, printing, publishing, to actual distribution, before the book reaches the reader, and which in due time, depending on public acceptance, trickle down some benefits too—whether popularity, book deal, reputation, or money—to the author.

As industry professional often emphasized in interviews and Q&As, authors must also realize and accept the commercial aspects and responsibilities inherent in publishing while cultivating a healthy business relationship built on trust, and not focus solely their efforts in the attainment of creative satisfaction. And since publishers, editors, and literary agents know more about the financial weight and possible circumstances surrounding a manuscript even for a promising bestseller, the author can only wait and anticipate, and later agree and follow whatever evaluations in direction, alteration, or deletion are requested(especially, when there is already a sizable book advance) in the course of preparation for the book’s eventual publication.

For to do otherwise (though there are exceptions)—to rebel and react or stand firm on what the author perceived to be the merits and strength of a creative output—is to court blindly a snag in production that would drastically alter schedules and deadlines in the book’s development, and worst, earned for the author an unpopular reputation that may endanger or derail the start of a promising, professional career—even if, with his/her undeniable contributions as an indispensable cog in the publishing industry.

Because how can the industry publish anything—or even exist!—if there are no authors, writers, storytellers, and other practitioners of the craft to contribute, support, and supply it with materials? More so, with the priceless works of famous authors and writers long gone in the history of literature with their continuous reprints? Come to think of it, each one needs the other—author to agent, agent to editor, editor to publisher, publisher to bookstore, etc., and vice versa—or nothing will be achieved.

Of course, it can always be argued that a big reputable house can have all of these and continue to survive. Then again, a house “style” will emerge that will either drown the creativity or pull the business down to ignominy.

Thus, it becomes fortuitous in a sense, at this point of preparation for the book, if not quite disheartening. For in these long and arduous processes of revisions, rewrites, and refinements saddled with the pressures of demanding deadlines, an author instinctively exerts more of his/her creative powers as he/she taps and exercises—and perhaps, appreciates, too—an awareness of the writer’s rules, probably embracing the truth of the advice as it is put to the test, in particular, Rules No. 7 and No. 10, the latter, rephrased in the throes of anxiety and frustration to read: “If you want to SURVIVE,  do something EASY.”

Hence, rendering the well-intentioned and noteworthy gleanings compiled in the article as enticing glamour shots to admire and aspire for those considering a life-long professional career in writing; an encouraging array of showcases meant to resolve innocent and eager inquiries from beginners and those still contemplating whether to pursue or not a dream, and as inspiring eye-candies that colour and sweeten the various contradictions (though brewing with unspoken arguments!) to help overcome hesitation, anxiety, or disgust among those neck-deep in the craft and yet, still without success—thus, positioning conveniently everything and everyone involved in the creative processes of a book, story, poem, essay, or article in good harmonious light—since the guardians of the publishing industry already spoke, and etched their rules in stone.

Therefore, allow me in the spirit of amicable co-existence for everyone who invested more than time in the perfection of the craft; in salute to the non-patronizing camaraderie between the client-supplier relationship prevalent in the competitive atmosphere of publishing, and in celebration of the writer’s exclusive privilege to explore, experiment, and exercise “breaking the rules” with his/her creative meanderings sprinkled with the breath of expansive imaginations—

Ladies, Gentlemen, Friends, Sisters and Brothers of the Art of Writing, together with the other devout practitioners of the craft who do not view the exercise as a ritualistic job but a pursuit of life’s fulfillment—I present for your information, guidance and perusal, the probable, unbreakable, commerce-induced, systematic principles of “The PUBLISHING INDUSTRY RULEBOOK” since the advent of paper.

The rules, as always, are:

Marketing                        1. We Know What’s Right.

Sales                                   2. Hook Your Buyers on Day 1.

Advertising                     3. Display, Don’t Dawdle.

Promotion                       4. First Come, First Serve—No Shit!

Distribution                     5. Deliver Every Day.

Author Promo Tour     6. Leave Your Darlings.

Book Advance                7. Develop a Quick Poker Face.

Networking/PR              8. Shout Your Inner Creds, Duh!

Contract Signing            9. Read Your Rights If You Like.

Income Statement      10. If You Want to Get Rich, Do What We Did.

DEDICATION:

For Ms Natalie Goldberg, brilliant advocate for breaking Writer’s Rule No. 1…“This is why we have imaginations.”

APOLOGY:

I found the back issue of Writer’s Digest Magazine (September 2010) a week ago in a used-books store’s bargain bin, and for someone hungry and thirsty for creative nourishment, it still tasted fresh, satisfying, and refreshing, cover to cover. My apologies then for absorbing and using content past the expiry date, hence this ramblings.

Popular or Famous: Which One Are You?

As an aspiring beginner writer who wants to be an author, I keep a close watch of what is happening in the book industry as I dwell and dig deeper into the concept of writing, accumulating and remembering everything as much as I can–things I learned, studied, and perceived about the craft–enjoying these nuggets of facts while I isolate, reflect, and put them into practice.

True, I find inspiration, motivation, and courage to persevere while I consider the flow and pulse of several literary and mainstream works and its authors, yet a nagging question at the back of all these education keeps its solid vigil, a reality begging for an answer:

In spite of what the published authors or writers claimed, in spite of all the critical accolades, awards, and credits their works received from popular and reputable journals, magazines, and literary award-giving organizations, in spite of the list of PhDs, MFAs, grants, achievements and titles attached to their names, why are they not best-selling authors yet?

What keeps them from becoming one? What is missing in their writings, or what have they not done yet to achieve the fame? Were the reading fans too capricious and acting like prima donnas in their choice of mainstream or literary materials that they tend to favour more one than the other?

In this regard, what makes the Romance genre’s best-selling authors different from best-selling authors of other genres, that no matter how it is compared, the Romance authors seemed below in esteem and estimation of literary gurus and awards organizations, much less other authors, and if not for their legions of fans, I think, most of them would have already abandoned the genre?

What does it take to become a best-seller? Or in part, what makes that piece of writing acceptable to readers to elevate it to the best-selling list? What separates them from the bunch of other well-written materials whose authors have earned their PhDs, MFAs, and other prestigious awards and accolades—as if every prize invented to honour and immortalized the contribution of someone in the writing and publishing community added dimension and weight to their reputations and names—and yet, they are not best-sellers?

Is it the person?

Is it all about the author’s personality (that’s why the American literati and its followers tend to adore more and emulate Hemingway, Kerouac, or Wolfe, than say, Steinbeck, Faulkner, or Vonnegut) as some marketing strategies for selling books now includes and considers as asset in their promotional schemes? Does it boil down to “image” (as in commercialization again) as projected by the author in person or on TV, like an exquisite product packaging introduced in the marketplace, so it will stand out and get noticed during its launch, in spite of content?

Or is it the genre choice of the author that makes it a best-selling book?

One readily recalls J. K. Rowling’s phenomenal success, where Fantasy loaded with magic and sorcery cast a spell on millions of fans worldwide. There is William Peter Blatty, who possessed short-term notoriety, fame, and fortune for one devilish book of Horror, or China Mieville, rising from the clutter and clang of British acclaim and recognition, with his Boschnian-punk Sci-fi novel that defied and ignored the rule for a good title. Also, we cannot forget Thomas Harris, catching the world’s attention with a cultured villain who has a deviant taste for good food and luxury, concocting his own legend of Crimes. (I think Mr. Harris never considered it to go that far, though.) Then again, there is Stephen King, raising everyone’s bristling expectations of Horror by introducing the frightening potentials of psychic powers, thus, enjoyed the premonition of an enduring career.

I believe there are other noteworthy individuals who have done the same surprises in their particular genre, and that their achievements as a best-seller have not been duplicated—cannot be duplicated—by anyone else as easily, in spite of their meritorious skills, craftsmanship, or award-winning claims.

Why?

Are the muses so fickle that they will only sprinkle their dusts of inspiration and glory to those who aroused their interests? Why, in more than 3,000 writers and authors attempting to become a best-seller, only 200 are earning their keep? And a mere handful are legitimate best-selling authors—Grisham, Clancy, and King, to name some of the consistent few doing it with relative ease—each one may have honed an honest formula, yet only best and suitable for themselves.

Thus, I notice two things that are evident.

There are two kinds of success in writing. One, the famous author: A published author, but whose name is not popular and who does not have a best-seller yet, even though multi-awarded or had received accolades, grants, and honors from both prestigious writing organizations and the publishing industry itself. An author whose name does not stir excitement, or is well-known, among mainstream readers, but honored and revered by her or his peers and normally holds a college or university teaching position; is an academic Chair, or a writing organization’s Head, an Editor of a literary magazine, and is trying to finish a memoir or start a new novel.

The other kind rakes the gold. A popular author: A published author famous for her or his best-sellers, often interviewed in magazine articles and on well-known radio and TV talk shows, has sold millions of copies and still selling, loved by publishers but snubbed and rebuked by the literati and the academe for the mainstream taste and flavours of the books, ignored by prestigious award-giving bodies for the lowbrow contents, may give lectures but does not hold an academic position, avoids Chair responsibilities of any award or writing organizations, and is busy working on the next best-seller with already an enormous advance the envy of the writing community.

All these proved one thing: That art, and its appreciation, is always subjective. And what muddles the validity of the interpretation and acceptance of each one who looks at it or reads it, as the case may be, is the conscious insistence and persistence of the learned, the experienced, and the knowledgeable based on their practices, theories, readings, and studies—in short, their esteemed reputation and integrity aggregated through constant acknowledgements of their expertise by their own peers and patrons laid on the line—as the last word, the final adjudication that must be listened to, and held credible and sacred by everyone who holds an opposing opinion or view.

Indeed it is unfortunate, because it becomes a measuring stick, an unsatisfactory gauge used to determine the value and worth of a work of art or book, based on the prevailing and reputable view of a learned few. Haven’t we all heard an editor or a publisher’s comment that memoir or non-fiction is better than fiction now? That short story is bye-bye, only food for the dogs? How many times have we heard them utter to flavour the writing with international situations, as they kept an eye on translations, thus, cuddling unknown writers in the process with exotic personalities? Bottom line: It’s the money, the media game of selling the idea of the person writing a book, and not the content of the book.

Yet how many times have we read a sentence or a passage that seemed to have been written with the simplicity and innocence of thought coming from a child? Something that grabs and pulls us, unmindful whether it has lyrical or literary merit or rhyme, making us understand the content and comprehend the meaning as clear and vivid as a mother’s pampering advice? Or a father’s admonitions, for that matter, crisp and cracking, even if the words hurt us, taught us?

The popular opinion and choice of many in mainstream readings echo these almost plain and unfettered words and sentences constructed by the heart and not by the worried conscious mind, unburdened by the thought of literary criticisms ready to be flung at it by friends, peers, and colleagues alike. For me, this unbridled simplicity, this honesty of heart in every word, is what makes a best-seller. (One of the best reason, I think, why Romance survives on its own, far better than other genres: For how literary can one say the words I love you?).

Everyone is familiar with Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, Paolo Coelho’s The Alchemist, or even Poe’s The Raven, works filled with straight and meaningful lines and sentences that are easy to understand, munch, and swallow with gusto, until it leaves us satisfied, contented in our hearts. Simple but enduring classics, poetry, and best-selling literary pieces that continue to live, entertain, and haunt us, as we go on in our everyday lives.

In an article in The Writer magazine (Two-part Harmony, by Phyllis A. Humphrey, Off the Cuff, August 2001), the author discussed the differences between writers who are word people and story people: Word people “…have a fine grasp of language and love words…adjectives and verbs that create outstanding images…inventing interesting similes and metaphors…specializing in poetry and literary fiction.” While Story people are “…marked by action and dialogue; something is always happening and characters talk a lot…they prefer commercial fiction, and mysteries.” Ms. Humphrey went on to asked how each type can learn to use the other’s uniqueness, that is, tell a better story and use language effectively. In short, “language and story must blend to create memorable fiction.”

But isn’t this the real joy of writing, the thrill of concocting fiction—the actual process of merging, mixing, and blending both story and one’s own unique language called voice? I think any author will agree that while she is in the thrall of creative composition, she uses without a conscious effort both considerations, not unless, one is so mindful of reputation that every word written is evaluated thrice, or else suffer a critical black eye.

I think it is in the revisions done with an eye for the critics’ taste that the famous authors adhere to, surrendering to the stated structures, guidelines, and styles, playing to the accepted norms instead of pursuing and standing firm on their own identity, obliterating the innocence, sincerity, and honesty of their written works. (How many writers avoid using a fragment? How many considers the adverb a dirty word?) Then again, they complain why they do not have a best-seller yet.

In another article, in Poets & Writers magazine (Obscurity, The Persistence of the Unknown Writer, by Don Skiles, July/August, 2003), the author lamented his status, that despite of having published two sets of books that were recognized by award-giving bodies and organizations, he remains unpopular and without a best-seller yet. (“I have published a good deal in my life…but mine is certainly not a familiar or even vaguely recognizable name.”) Sad, but only the author can examine his own faults, and not blame it on the unsmiling muses of his fate.

To look into this concept of “famous and popular” and “word and story” differences between writers and authors, one can pick a literary journal (those with short story or short fiction) and read and compare the authors’ styles to see my point. In my case, I had the chance to read and evaluate stories in two different magazines: Zoetrope: All-Story magazine (vol. 13: No. 4, winter, 09/10) and Oxford American: Best of the South (spring 2006, Issue 53). In Zoetrope, two stories grabbed my attention (unforgettable, that I re-read them both twice) while in Oxford American, I came across contrasting styles that best illustrate the “word and story” premise cited earlier, and made me look deeper into the idea of considering success in publishing books.

First, the stories in Zoetrope:

I am referring to “The Lost and Found Department of Greater Boston” by Ms. Elizabeth McCracken, and “Griefer” by Mr. Austin Bunn, two short fictions with exciting premises, creativity in composition, excellent command and knowledge of subject matter, but still—“Griefer” stood out for me.

Griefer ends better with a clear and satisfying resolution of the mystery and conflict, and made the reader not only a part of it, but mingling with the characters in it, nodding and smiling in the end.

But don’t get me wrong. Ms. McCracken’s words crackle with superlative harmonies that are music and excellent illuminations to Ms. Humphrey’s premise, to quote my favourites:

The children knew nothing about palmistry, little about life lines, less about

love, but they believed in lifelines and love lines the way they believed in

mercury thermometers: they meant something, but you probably needed

a grown-up to read them.

But the ages of objects excited them. When Karen Blackbird disappeared,

the graphite in her palm was thirty-three years old.

In this case, and no other, “Once upon a time” means late summer, 1982.

Ms. Elizabeth McCracken is the author of two novels, a collection of short stories, and a memoir. She holds the James A. Michener Chair in Creative Writing of the Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin. (Zoetrope: All-Story, same issue.)

“Griefer” on the other hand, explodes with the now, the mood of the present, the charm of the age, the craze of the new millennium, filling one’s mental interface with the addiction and gameplay of the story, settling in the end with the ease and simplicity that is only too real and true for each one who have experienced being in the zone of cyber alternate reality: A tap or a pat, back home.

“There’s so much world left to see.” Jocelyn let the line hang there,

between us, until I remembered it. Until I finally understood.

“How about a tour?”

Mr. Austin Bunn’s fiction and nonfiction have appeared in the anthologies The Pushcart Prize, The Best American Science and Nature Writing, and Best American Fantasy; The New York Times Magazine; and elsewhere. (Zoetrope: All-Story, same issue.)

In Oxford American, here are the two stories:

One writes with words, and the other, story. Both were outstanding, their approach to creative concept exemplary and yet, the popular style of writing wins hands down, i.e., good story with simple, clear language.

“The View From the Seventh Layer” by Kevin Brockmeier is a story so dense that even though it ran for a good nine full pages of the magazine, paragraph breaks are few and without much dialogues. Again, a perfect example of a “word” writer:

During tourist season, she worked as a map vendor at the marina, operating a stand that also carried umbrellas, candy, and prophylactics. She sold more prophylactics than she did maps, and more candy than she did prophylactics, and more umbrellas than she did either. The rain came every day, starting at 3:15. It was as though someone hovering behind the clouds had opened a spill-valve. The water fell in coin-sized drops that knocked against the masts of the boats with a sound like a bamboo wind ornament, and then, at exactly 3:45, it stopped.

Mr. Kevin Brockmeier’s new novel is The Brief History of the Dead. He lives in Little Rock. (Oxford American: Best of the South, same issue.)

“Flashes”, by James Whorton Jr., tells a simple, realistic story that can be sad and funny at the same time, while balancing the dilemma of the past as it comes to terms with the inevitable: old age.

He felt happy and fortunate. Once, Margaret had been one girl among all the girls in the world, and now five-tenths of a century later she was the only person whose absence he could not imagine.

Mr. James Whorton Jr. comes from Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He taught at Northeast State Community College in Blountville, Tennessee, for eleven years and now teaches at SUNY-Brockport. He has composed two novels, Approximately Heaven and Frankland. (Oxford American: Best of the South, same issue.)

Popular or famous, word or story, whichever is your style, let the future decide as you write.

Apologies:

Most of my sources are print magazines that were back issues, though I hold them important and still relevant and inspiring to most of my writing needs and wants. For someone living in a third world country like me, their presence is precious and rare.

Thought flow, copy flow…

She was a tease.
I knew it the moment she stepped in late for my class. Her boobs bobbing up at attention in front of her, proud and arrogant as if commanding everyone around to look at her and stoke their lust; her smile, inviting and full of malicious fire… “Hi, sir!” she said, eying me with a delicate, seductive pout.

A few girls giggled. I was in the middle of my lecture when she came in, bare of any semblance or image of a college student in her Sophomore year. No books, no paper, not even a pen either…Only her oozing sexuality brimming in the soft smoothness of her creamy skin, ripe and ready for the picking at a young age of eighteen.

This is Cheryll. One of the few hot teases fermenting with their sexual urges and ready to accept any challenges to prove to any body that they are ready; steaming cauldrons of potential troublemakers and yet–ooh sooh sexy!–proffering invitations to their fellow students, or sometimes when they are lucky, to unsuspecting professors who have gained quite a reputation–malicious, unscrupulous, or obnoxious…just like me.

I was known in the campus as the “monster” and not because I am a terror prof, but because I am ugly. Yes, it’s true…Even my mother admits to her friends that she didn’t know how I came to acquire such a lovely personality, so that my classmates in grade school christened and called me “Gorgo” after the Japanese film monster, even before Godzilla reached its make-believe popularity. Yet, as I grew up and became conscious of myself and matured, I knew they were all wrong, and had been wrong all along…I had a number of sexual relationships to boast of, and with my hot students to top it off.

I was teaching in college for a semester already, when to my surprise–no, it was a disbelief, really–I got sexually involved with Cheryll before and after she graduated from her Course in Mass Communication. I was thirty two and bored with my professional pursuit of playing around in the media, when I made a decision to teach. And it was then, after less than a year of enduring the giggling and snickering of the students in my classes, that I found out there was something more to the teasing than ordinary classroom jokes: they felt challenged by me!

My students, mostly the hot, sexy ones, were intrigued as to who among them will be able to catch my attention, or what could an ugly person like me would be like, in bed. If you’re wondering who told me all these, why, Cheryll of course, after our first sexual, intimate encounter inside a taxi cab.

These train of thought started when I woke up one morning with only a sentence buzzing in my mind: She was a tease. It wouldn’t leave my consciousness, asking me to write it down or the idea would fade without me knowing how the whole thing ended.

Before noon, I was writing the story. It may be a short story, it may be a novella, or who knows, it may turn into a hybrid of something else as long as I can sustain the flow. I don’t know where it is leading me: an erotica, a mystery, or a crime story, but whatever it is, this is how I write my stories. A flash of one word, a sentence (like this one), or an image that would not go away, even after several days; the images and situations presenting themselves in a rapid, clear fashion that if I do not commit them to paper, I know I will lose them altogether.

There are several paragraphs more following this initial draft. Yet I wanted to hold on to it, or else reveal much of the free-form plot. If there is anyone who write like this, or has already experienced this type of creative revelation, I wish you would let me know. At least, I would feel I am heading in the “write” direction towards my desire to start a career in writing.

The moment, a precious moment…

How many of us have experienced that blissful moment when everything seemed to fit perfectly in its place, when every word comes rushing down to be written, or when every brush stroke is perfect in its predetermined color and measured pressure of hand on paper? How many can say they have been inspired when they wrote it, or when they created a piece of art?

I am an artist by profession, and I know what it feels like to seize a floating inspiration, grabbing its wings gently or pulling it by the ears, and not letting go as long as you can hold on to it. For once that moment is disturbed, its fleeting existence distracted like the stillness of water broken by a gust of wind, it would fly away never to come back again…Not unless it had smiled on you, winked a seductive promise in the first instance, a lover demure and proper in the initial embrace, yet hot and willing the next time it comes around.

Feel blessed then if that happens, if it returns to you with a passion the following day, hour, or moment, for it will stay awhile and grant you a clarity of thinking unknown to you, or a vivid visualization so accurate in every detail that the masterpiece or bestseller you have been dreaming to create or write–depending only if you are an artist or a writer–looks finished already in your mind.

Your work will glide with the ease and smoothness of flowing oil in an hour glass, without the time to count, confront or measure, or the outside world taking part in the bliss and joy of that very personal situation.

In my experiences as an artist, I can say that I have been granted only a few moments–about a handful times–to create a work of art while inspired. My muse it seemed had turned its back on me, hurt by my procrastinating actions…For how many times have I delayed the completion of an artwork, savoring still very morsel of the intoxicating inspiration gestating in my being, when it truth, it came so easily and clearly to me?

Practice laziness often and the feeling of being inspired goes away for a long, long time. But nurture it, cuddle it, and it will stay and be there for you like a friend on the other line.

So how, you may ask, can inspiration be on call at all times?

I have one answer, and it may work for you or it may not: immerse in the moment without any negative thoughts or doubts that it will not be on your side when you wake up the next day. You may be surprised that it will come to rouse you from your sleep even in the middle of the night, or keep you from taking a nap, urging you to put down on paper a line or two, or if you are an artist, a quick note or a thumbnail of what you have to do to complete a masterpiece. (I remember having read that the Beatles in the early days when they were not yet a phenomenon, would write inspired lyrics of what will soon become a Billboard Top 40 song at the back of cigarette foils, so they will not forget). Continue the process then of doing what it is asking you to do and remember–without doubt or fear–and the experience will continue uninterrupted for many days, piling up thoughts, ideas, and creative concepts that you will soon doubt if you’re the one who did the artwork when it’s finished, or how it had been possible for you to ever think of such a situation, connection, or flow of wonderful harmony in your writing.

Forgive me if I speak as if I am a writer already. But what I have read about the processes of writing voiced out by many well-known authors, I have in parts and parcels experienced already. And the truth is, I enjoyed every moment of it tremendously! Writing has given me another creative outlet, and it has sustained my sanity, my confidence, my self-worth as a human being, and as always, encouraged by my intuitions to believe that everything is possible if you only put your mind and heart to it, especially, if you are inspired and immersed in the moment.

Do not count the hours, do not measure the efforts, and do not procrastinate as we often tend to do when in the middle of a creative awakening, but instead, enjoy every moment the pleasures of creation.

one word, first word

I wonder sometimes how difficult it is to write, how the great best sellers were written and given substance; how unique concepts were translated into words on paper and given meanings and accolades all at the same time. And yet, there were instances when a nicely written, well researched book would be ignored for some time, until a twist of fate brings an unsuspecting reader to admire the work and later on, raised the book into the public’s eyes. I wonder if these simple steps can be repeated by anyone; if these same unobtrusive punching of the keys or strokes of a pen or pencil on ruled paper consist of mystical formulas or skills honed and perfected in isolated rooms to write a wonderful line.

I am one of those who write on paper first, a draft, as most people interpret it. But I have a tendency to clean my drafts when I have completed about six to eight pages of a large ruled notebook. (I never find writing on legal pad harmonious to my style of writing as some best selling authors do, what with the large spaces in-between the rules.) I write in small quick strokes, almost calligraphic, and I have a habit of repeating it until I have a feel of correctness in both the writing and the content. You see, I am an artist–an advertising designer by my old profession (I teach part time now in a Fine Arts Department in college) and a painter still in hibernation–and the craft of writing intrigues me. Again, I think it was all because both disciplines–art and writing–use a great amount of imagination: one uses color and visuals to give form and substance, while the other, uses words loaded with creative imaginings to describe a form and give it meanings.

In one of my leisurely browsing in the bargain bins of most book stores, I discovered Stephen King’s On Writing, and it immediately changed my perceptions with regard to the art of writing: it was both inspirational, and at the same time, very challenging in a way. It opened new avenues for me to learn, to try my skills and tinker with my artist’s hands, it made me follow another one of my intense desires, and that is to write a novel. And as Mr. King most humbly declared: it always start “…one word at a time.” I started to write, and kept at it since 1989, with a purpose and an ambition I would like to come to fruition more soon than later: I made a challenge to myself which I cannot refuse, and I must fulfill the dream no matter what. That “challenge” has slowly turn from a short story into an epic, and I am still at it, trying to complete a series of forty nine books (or novellas) that will be one whole big epic tale. At present, I have completed in clean rewrites or drafts, twenty six of the novellas, all ready for typing. If you think I am too slow, blame it on my job, my other interests, my other artistic diversions, and other writings–essays, commentaries, and some personal random thoughts that cannot wait to be written down on paper. (Now that I have been given this chance to blog, I plan to post some of them here to sort of test the waters.)

But I am digressing…The real intention of the challenge to write was for me to prove a truth–or if it is–really a truth.

Someone told me a long time ago that those who died and became great after or during their lifetimes, still watch over us, the living. And if you truly believe that, really honestly, sincerely believe that (Oops! Mr. King would have shouted in my face to watch those adverbs!), they would lend a helping hand, literally. And I do…the twenty six books (and counting) are my proofs of that belief.

Here is how it happened. I am not telling you a lie or pulling your leg.  It was on a Christmas day, an evening in 1989 that I did the experiment.

Right now you might be thinking of some special religious significance that I have attached to the day but there is none. The simple reason was I just felt like doing it. Before the clock strikes twelve, I arranged my ballpoint pen and my loose notebook sheets. I was told that to tests or try the veracity of occult occurrences is to do it at midnight–a bit of a cliche, but I followed it (I have faith in tradition, you know). There is no ritual or incantations prepared; no prayer or pentagram drawn to protect me. It was pure concentration and the intense desire to prove (or disprove) that the hearsay is nothing but, well, true. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the person I want to invoke to help me write: none other than the great Marquis De Sade. (I have read some of his prolific writings, and though it was only suitable during the age of his lifetime, it was still a tremendous achievement to consider and for me to admire.)

When I felt it was already twelve on the hour, I opened my eyes, pen in hand and on paper, and started to write whatever word came to mind. And I continued writing, until almost two in the morning, when I finished my first draft. Needless to say, since I have already in mind the Marquis as my guide, the story I have written is pure erotica–but in my dialect! Although this was planned (I wanted to do something that would put my country in the literary map, as some great writings in French, Russian, and Italian did and were translated in English and became discoveries in themselves) and the subject matter also intrigues  me. Suffice it to say that the erotic book is now an unfinished epic, and which I myself was surprised to know that I have sustained the topic writing it: it has diversity and not redundant, or even repetitive in the stories it continues to tell. It consists of seven volumes with seven novellas each, with one letter to represent and complete the title: “E. R. O. T. I. K. A.”

Soon, all my special friends would be the first ones to lay eyes on it.