Recently, I completed the first draft of a slasher novella I’ve titled CUTTHROAT that I began in early September.
The premise is stupifyingly simple, though, like many of my works, it’s riddled with satiric malice and dark humor:
A group of job applicants arrive at a sleek highrise for a coveted position, but find themselves trapped and fighting for their lives against a psychopathic assessor known as Cutthroat, who wields a briefcase full of nasty weapons and is out to kill all of them.
This first draft clocked in at around 31,000 words, and it proved to be both exhausting and grossly liberating at the same time. This was one of those “cutting loose” sort of writing experiments, where I didn’t feel bound by the ordinary constraints of storytelling. Though there are two character arcs, a strong mid-point shift, a late reveal, and a twisty plot with some inventive kills. Thematically, it’s centered around the tortuous difficulties attendant with job hunting, with the whole ugly process personified in the form of a psychopathic killer known as Cutthroat, who poses as a job recruiter performing interviews, only to hack his unawares applicants apart. I really tried to go for the economic malaise zeitgeist’s jugular here that mainly desperate jobseeking Millennials and Gen-Zers are suffering through or at least might relate to. Armed with briefcases filled with all kinds of nasty weapons, Cutthroat sadisticallly plays his own twisted “assessment” games with the group of twenty-somethings, and it’s up to the protagonist to figure out a way to stop him, or at least escape with his life.
Writing a slasher is brutish work, to say the least. I’ve written my share of horrors, such as The Devil’s Throne, released a few years ago, but a slasher is another beast altogether. Slashers, obviously, are less known for their elegant exploration of human themes through a lens of supernatural or psychological chills like traditional horrors, and more about delivering a certain graphic and visceral effect on the reader/viewer.
Cutthroat is sort of “Terrifier in a business suit,” as I’ve come to refer to it as a means to sum up its ethos in a pithy “elevator pitch” manner. The slasher franchise set around Art the Clown is a real phenomenon for its cult following. Walk by any Hot Topic store in a mall and you’re bound to see Art T-shirts and other merch. He’s as big as Freddy Krueger or Jason Voorhees were in their day. I’ve only seen the second film and the first half of the first one. That’s literally all I could stomach. From a writer’s perspective, I found them shockingly bereft of any “story,” even for a slasher series. The Terrifier films are more a bunch of gory vignettes strung together. A bloody highlight reel of makeup and special effects. Even Friday the 13th, with all its clumsy and meandering “plots” had a semblance of mythology what with Jason and his mommy issues. Not so for Terrifier, which seems content to just freak out audiences with new methods of bodily mutilation. Hellraiser seems tame by comparison, which seems not possible.
Honestly, I found writing my first slasher disappointingly mundane. How many ways can you really butcher human beings on paper? I found myself straining to somehow “make it more interesting.” I did this by interjecting a backstory for the villain in order to make him believable, and by adding humor wherever possible. At one point I gave up for a few days, put off by the whole thing. Only to return days later determined to finish the task.
Now that it’s done, like often happens when I’ve finished a writing project, I find myself wracked with a post-partum malaise. Though there is always the long and tedious editing process.
I remember reading about how John Carpenter, while struggling to write Halloween II (1981) hit some bad writer’s block. I wondered how in the hell could that happen. We’re talking Michael Myers here. Pehaps the most simplistic masked killer there ever was. Just set him loose in a school so he can stalk another group of dumb horny teenagers. How hard could it be, right? But after writing my first slasher, I can see where he was likely coming from, and how unfulfilled he probably felt trying his hand at the sequel. It’s no wonder he wound up throwing in the bogus development about Laurie Strode being Michael’s sister as a way to liven things up and add motivation. Something he later regretted adding to Michael’s “mythology” due to its inherent silliness. The whole point of Michael Myers is that he doesn’t need a “motivation.” That’s what makes him scary. But I can see how sheer boredom probably drove Carpenter to want to throw in anything, no matter how nonsensical, to make the writing process more palatable for him. At least The Thing had the intricate puzzlebox mysteries of “Who’s the Thing and who’s not?” “Who can you trust?” With Halloween, it’s more just about coming up with new ways Michael can kill people.
On the surface, writing a slasher is “stupidly easy,” sure. Kind of. We’re not writing a dense Cormac McCarthian Western here, even if Anton Chigurh is like a Mexican Michael Myers with a shotgun. But it takes a piece of your soul. There are also the tricky mechanics of coming up with a bigger than life villain. Something iconic. A Nightmare on Elm Street, to me, is the gold standard when it comes to slashers. It’s probably the most intelligent of them. Certainly it’s the best high-concept horror idea. A killer that stalks you in your dreams. The kind of idea that makes you go, “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Overall, I enjoyed attempting the slasher genre, though it’s not one I’d quickly want to return to. Technically, it’s not actually my first stab at it. I handwrote a short story about a group of masked killers stalking a school way back when I was a teenager in high school. It was a story obviously ripped off of Halloween as I’d just seen that film on cable, though I added a “clever” twist by not having one, or two, but three killers. Genius, obviously. With this latest attempt decades later, I like to think I’ve grown and matured. I feel I made Cutthroat suitably gory and satisfied the demands of the genre with all the requisite tropes, while putting my own touch on things and bringing something new. If anything, it was a fun writing exercise that felt perfectly appropriate with Halloween right around the corner. 🙂
I’ll often see people post on book review sites or forums marveling over an author who churns out multiple novels every year. Popular authors like Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Danielle Steel, and others who are well known for spinning doorstops with apparent ease.
How do these writers do it? It seems impossible.
Some cast doubt that the authors actually wrote their novels on their own. Often they accuse them of using ghostwriters. For sure, some brand name authors, like James Patterson infamously, employ an army of co-writers for their many projects. But many actually do it all by themselves, braving the blank white screen every morning. As David Baldacci says on his X account:
I live to write and write to live.
I recently finished my 11th novel. A book I started on March 23rd of this year — after almost 18 months of false starts — finally completing the first draft on August 27th. That’s a little over five months, or 157 days. The first draft is about 90,700 words.
That comes out to only 577 words a day. Some days I only managed a few hundred. Those were usually the days I worked. Toward the end of the novel, I picked up the pace (as I usually do nearing the exciting conclusion of a book). I probably wrote about 5,000 words in just the last three days before finishing.
Still, my average daily output comes out to a mere 577 words. A simple email might be 500 words. The average person probably texts their friends more than 500 words a day. It’s about the length of a two minute Medium article. A few tweets. Five hundred words is not a lot. Yet 500 words a day comes out to two 90,000 word novels a year. One thousand words a day equals four adult novels. Writing a “little” can really add up fast.
Of course, there’s the editing process. It’s not like once you finish typing that 90,000th word you’re all done. Editing is sometimes a lengthy, complicated process with its own messy timeline.
Then there’s outlining and idea generation. This last novel of mine was a struggle, unlike others in the past. But I found that by sticking to my daily writing regimen, I was able to push through a lot of supposed blockages. It’s usually best just to keep ploughing ahead anyway, even if you think you’re “stuck.”
If you are a prolific writer, sometimes it’s not enough for fans. Baldacci recently had this exchange with a reader:
Baldacci publishes multiple books a year, some of which are well over 400 pages. He certainly writes thousands of words a day. But you don’t have to write that much to write a lot. Even “just” 250 words a day is 90,000 words. That’s an adult novel a year. Or two novellas a year. Which is not bad at all.
On August 26th I completed my 100th article on Medium. It’s not the biggest writing milestone ever. There are accounts on there with hundreds, even thousands.
I had a goal of reaching the century mark by the end of this year, only to end up blowing right past it. This one is №118. A pleasant surprise, especially given how I was consumed with another writing project of mine for most of the past year and a half.
My experience with Medium has been decent. I’ve found some success with a handful of articles that got thousands of claps, and earned me some money. I’ve survived not one, but two account suspensions. One just recently, and another back in 2022. Both occurring without any real reason other than somehow my account became caught in the “spam filter.” Okay, whatever. Never had that issue with Blogspot back in the day or WordPress now.
On the positive side, I have over 900 followers. The majority of whom I’d say subscribed due to my finance-related articles. My highest earning month so far was this past July with $291. I’ve had multiple $100+ months over the last few years. I don’t know that Medium will ever be, or even could be, a full-time gig. Not without insane commitment and a willingness to plunge into primarily the most lucrative subjects (personal development and finance). I have too many other writing projects going on and other interests to go that far with Medium. As I’ve stated previously, I have no desire to try to build a “brand” there. I sure as hell don’t do coaching. I don’t do freelance work. I will never sell a stupid course or membership of some kind. I realize that’s how a lot of top writers on here make their full-time income, but it’s just not me. There are enough “gurus” out there peddling their snake oil. I just write novels and on occasion scribble out a usually sarcastic editorial. And a finance article here and there.
Writing on Medium for money is not a primary concern for me. My earnings have paid for the Friend of Medium badge for a few years though. Which is nice. At the least, the site is a net positive.
Overall, I see Medium as a good place to practice daily writing and gradually build a platform.
The other milestone happened to take place the following day on August 27th. That is the completion of my 11th novel. A horror story with a dark and twisted romance at its core. This was a tough one to get through. I struggled with it for years. A sharp contrast to previous novels I’ve written, which largely flowed. The inception of the idea actually came way back in 1999, which makes it the oldest concept I’ve ever maintained and seen through to a completed work. It was just a tiny undeveloped spark of a thing. I didn’t know what to do with it then, so I wound up putting it on the backburner for a few decades.
It wasn’t until 2020 that the idea ignited further. Then in 2022 it started to really kindle. At times it felt like trying to hammer cooling iron into shape. I went down two blind alleys, and almost 50,000 words, before having to start over twice. Daunting and dismaying, for sure. But when I have an idea I’m passionate about, I like to stick with it.
This past March, after revising the outline, I began the third attempt. Six months later the first draft is finally finished, and stands at over 90,000 words. My first drafts tend to be strong. I don’t believe in doing “vomit drafts.” I try to get most of what is needed down on the page in a structured and coherent (more or less) fashion in the first go. Even still, it’s perhaps only 65% where it needs to be. As I typically do when finishing a novel, I let the first draft rest for a bit before returning for revisions.
Even though I’ve written 11 novels so far, I’ve only self-published three of them. This is largely because, while I love writing, I have no effing idea how to market or sell my work. Simultaneously, I have little faith in or concern to play the lottery with the traditional publishing side. I’ve read a lot of articles on here about publishing, and let’s just say it’s a sad state of affairs. Even if you land an agent or a publishing deal, the problem of selling your work remains the same. You have to do all of that yourself.
Few, if any, publishing houses, big or small, will put any money into some no-name like myself. I don’t begrudge the industry. It’s the way it is. Most publishing companies make money on their back catalogue of hits, or on “bread and butter” sales like the dictionary or something. Most authors only sell a few hundred copies of their work at best. Publishing in general is a boutique-style business driven by hits. Hits are random. Even celebrity books have totally bombed. So, until I can solve the marketing side of things and learn how to sell myself, I don’t see much of a purpose in putting my eight finished books out there. Perhaps that’s extreme and self-defeating, but I think it’s important to have a plan of execution and not just go out on a wing and a prayer. My books are like my children. I want to treat them right.
I do love my latest book a lot. I think if there’s one that will finally get me to solve the riddle of the Sphinx of Marketing, it’ll be this one. It’s tough to be a writer these days. You can’t just scribble away in a room and submit to publishing shops. You have to learn to do everything yourself. You have to build your own platform. I suppose that‘s part of why I stick around here on Medium. I probably should make YouTube more of a thing, too. That’s a fantastic digital ecosystem, and potentially, a money-making one.
I’ve also thought about posting some of my fiction on here, though I do like keeping the worlds apart. It’s strange. Even though I enjoy writing articles on Medium, non-fiction never makes me feel like I’m really “writing.” Only when I’m writing my novels do I feel like I’m actually really producing something. Fiction enables me to get into a flow state the best, which is my favorite head space. Nothing else comes close.
Anyway, since I don’t like to spend too much time navel-gazing about writing “successes,” I’ll just leave it at that for now. Two good milestones in the rear view mirror. Onto the next.
Are you daunted by door stop tomes like Larry McMurty’s Lonesome Dove? Intimidated by popular thick bricks like Stephen King’s It or The Stand? Just not ready to plunge into David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest (more like Infinite Pages)?
Sometimes a big epic story like War and Peace is what you need. I’m in the thick of The Caine Mutiny on a reread myself right now. But If you’d prefer your next read be more in line with Shakespeare’s ol’ “Brevity is the soul of wit” chestnut, then think about picking up one of these next seven titles.
1897 was a banner year for sci-fi/horror classics, with both H.G. Wells’ brief but surprisingly brutal book being published, as well as Bram Stoker’s groundbreaking Dracula.
The Invisible Man tells the story of a mad scientist named Griffin who runs amok when his experiment in optics gets out of control. He turns himself invisible, as you might have guessed from the title. While being unseen is nice for awhile, when he can’t reverse the process despite his obsessive research, Griffin becomes homicidal. He terrororizes an inn, then threatens a town. After gaining a confidant named Kemp, he concocts a scheme to wreak havoc on the entire nation. But when Kemp betrays him to the police, a deadly vengeance-fueled cat and mouse game ensues.
The Invisible Man is definitely worch checking out, as is the 1933 Claude Raines-starring film adaptation. The 2020 film written and direct by Leigh Whannell is also pretty good.
2.) I Know What You Did Last Summer by Lois Duncan
Source: Midjourney
As someone who had to endure that hip teen slasher wave of the late 90s-early 2000s that started with Scream and ended somewhere around Wrong Turn, I never knew the micro franchise I Know What You Did Last Summer was actually based on a bestselling YA book from the early ’70s. A book that predates the original teen slasher wave that saw Halloween, Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and all the clones that followed. I always thought of I Know as just “that movie poster that shows off Jennifer Love Hewitt’s breasts.”
While the movie shares the major conceit of the book, it diverges significantly by adding in a fish-hook using crazed killer into the mix. The book is actually more of a slow burn in the style of an Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, or something like the 1988 Dutch film The Vanishing, as opposed to the film’s sexier, slashier counterpart. For some bizarre reason, author Lois Duncan decided to rerelease the book to update the characters with modern tech and center them in the present. The effect was jarring as I started reading a book I knew was written in the 70s when suddenly a character mentions texting their friend. Note to authors: Don’t ever try to update your classics for modern audiences. George Lucas is your cautionary tale there. And besides, everyone loves retro stuff these days. Barnes and Noble sells records now. Half the new shows out there are set in the ’80s anymore. Stories should be like time capsules.
I Know works okay as a YA thriller, except I think it would have served the story better, not to mention a sense of justice, had the teens been hunted down one by one and actually killed. It’s too soft as it is. Only one of the kids is ever actually endangered — the frat douche, who gets shot, but not enough to paralyze him permanently. The darling main character is exalted so much that her BF actually says that his punishment from the killer would have been to have to live in a world without her in it. Get the hell out of here with that. These four kids ran over a little boy while they were out partying, and then left him there to die without getting help. They formed a pact to keep the secret, and then went on about with their lives. Even after the would-be killer is revealed and stopped, we don’t even get to see the kids face justice for what they did.
3.) Who Goes There? by John W. Campbell, Jr.
Source: Midjourney
As a writer of novellas, and a sci-fi horror fan, I had to check this one out at some point. It comes with a pretty nice pedigree, being considered one of the most influential and important science fiction stories of all time. Who Goes There? certainly extends gravity in the pulp lit of sci-fi, having been adapted not once, not twice, but thrice to the big screen (or twice if you don’t count the latest 2011 adaptation, which I don’t).
Does Who Goes There? live up to expectations? It’s an unusual book in the sense that it relies mainly on lengthy dialogue exposition between the Antarctic researchers, only occasionally cutting to glimpses of the monster shape-shifting and running amok around the station. Nowadays you’d probably see a lot more graphical description, blood and guts, that sort of thing. So it came across more as a cerebral read. Like a clinical description of heart bypass surgery in a medical school lab.
Still, what makes this novella famous is the monster itself. I think Campbell does a great job of depicting the horror of what would happen were such a creature to reach the mainland, where it would have a whole population of flesh and blood to replicate. There’s one heart-stopping scene where an albatross, which Campbell uses in reference to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, lands near the camp. The men are forced to shoot it to keep it away, preventing the monster from copying it and potentially flying away. I’ve seen the original Thing from Another World, and Carpenter’s masterful ’82 version, and neither takes advantage of such a threat, which makes it unique to the book.
It’s kind of funny though how Campbell constantly refers to the monster as the Thing, and yet he titles the novella something else. Really, the Thing is such a perfect and obvious title, you’d figure it would have HAD to have occurred to the writer to call his story that. He was a legendary sci-fi editor, in addition to being a writer. Perhaps this is case of writer myopia. Who Goes There? comes across more as a murder mystery than a sci-fi horror.
4.) A Boy and His Dog by Harlan Ellison
Source: Midjourney
You could place a colon at the end of the title and add: “A true love story.”
Reading this novella is like handling a Hattori Hanzo sword. Ellison’s genuine love story is less a string of prose than a glinting weapon you equally admire and fear for its supernatural sharpness. Ignoring the outrageous arguments against this short, beastly narrative for its misogyny and big wet dick slap in feminism’s face (it’s Ellison, for Christ’s sake, did you expect a PC automaton?), and you can admire Mr. Always In Hot Water’s cinematic prose, subtlety, and black humor that would certainly warm the cockles of Vonnegut or Burgess’ hearts.
I made the mistake of watching the film version before reading the story, but let’s just say I’m glad it was made in the mid-70s instead of, well, pretty much anytime afterward. This is a young adult dystopian story with big, hairy balls, where the monolithic evil, teenage-exploitative system doesn’t get overthrown by plucky coeds in latex. Nope, our hero simply escapes to live another day, and then makes the ultimate “bros before hos” decision ever made. Which really isn’t a decision. I mean really, who in their right mind would turn their back on their loyal, sarcastic, telepathic doggo for some downunder wacko?
5.) The Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker
Source: Midjourney
This is a nice companion piece to Fifty Shades of Grey.
This was such a dark, twisted modern fairy tale about a couple nasty people ultimately getting what they deserve. You wouldn’t think a novella about BDSM demons from another dimension would be an insatiable read, yet this is one you can’t put down once you start. Barker’s writing is spooky campfire story tone, with sentences that pulse with blood and desire. Is this one of those rare books where the movie exceeds the source material? Probably not. Hellraiser is a decent horror flick, but Barker’s true talent lies in his writing.
I like to revisit this book every year around Halloween, but it also makes for a good stocking stuffer.
6.) Altered States by Paddy Chayefsky
Source: Midjourney
Ever wanted to experience the psychedelic/swinging 60s/70s in book form? Now you can! Well, it’s not quite same as dropping a tab of acid, or swallowing a handful of mushrooms, but Chayefsky’s novel, which he adapted into the movie starring William Hurt, is like an adult version of Alice in Wonderland crossed with Frankenstein with a dash of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Or imagine if Michael Crichton had become a theoretical physicist with a wake and bake routine.
I mainly read this book just to check out how Chayefsky, already a legendary screenwriter, handled a novel. I’d say this represents a culmination of nearly all his writing efforts. His work generally contained existential themes like the meaning of life, humanity in the face of industry, and such heady topics. But Altered States explores the very nature of consciousness itself. At times it’s a little too jargon heavy. Chayefsky’s two years of intense research amongst the Boston-area medical intelligentsia certainly shows. This is not a book that attempts in any way to be relatable, reflecting the monastic traits of its main character. Nor is it a book that will necessarily put you off due to its way out there premise. I think Chayefsky actually left a lot on the table, and could have explored the transformative effects Jessup experiences in the isolation tank more thoroughly. Instead, plot is dispensed with in favor of scientific soliloquies. Not bad, overall, it just feels truncated.
This is one of those books that you will likely revisit several times in your life, drawing different meaning from it depending on which era you’re currently in. The movie is decent, but don’t expect it to offer any more answers than the novel.
7.) The Luck of Barry Lyndon by William Makepeace Thackery
Source: Midjourney
You’ve heard of the D.E.N.N.I.S. System from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Allow me to introduce you to:
The B.A.R.R.Y. L.Y.N.D.O.N. System
Be of noble birth. Always be seducing wealthy and vulnerable heiresses. Rogues are cool. Really, rogues are super cool (especially Irish ones). Yes, my great-grandaddy was an Irish king.
Lying? Me? Never. Yes, I’ll have a fine brandy. All of them, in fact. Nora, that bitch. Destroy scheming step-sons at all costs. Only bang sluts, never marry them (unless they’re rich). Never surrender a chance to duel.
William Makepeace Thackeray’s Barry Lyndon is many things. It’s a picaresque confessional novel, a sort of 18th century American Psycho. It’s a satirical look at class and the aristocracy of England during a transformative time when the American colonists were overthrowing the rule of the monarch.
I found its greatest strength to be its cruelly honest depiction of an unhealthy and toxic marriage, in the form of the relationship between Redmond Barry, who becomes Barry Lyndon upon his marriage to Lady Lyndon (the wealthiest heiress in England, apparently). Despite being of low birth, through mostly violence and psychological warfare, Barry gains control over Lyndon’s entire estate, and promptly plunges it into near bankruptcy. He isolates his wife from society, abuses her in drunken black out rages, makes a mortal enemy of her son Lord Bullington; yet still produces a son with her to serve as his heir. As with everything Barry touches, it turns briefly to gold, only to crumble to dust. His son dies in a tragic horse accident, and he is ultimately undone through trickery just as he is ousted from his first love Nora at the beginning of the story.
Subtley, Thackeray seems to hint at the failure of English society, despite all its pomp and importance. All it takes is a mere “Irish rogue” with enough cunning to spearhead his way to the top of the heap (however briefly), to be undone only by the same vices that lead him initially to success. But perhaps Barry isn’t completely to blame. If one wanted to rise above his station in those days, in that part of the world, one had to be a force of nature. You had to be willing to do whatever it took. Only the few were born into the nobility, and so had the leisure of acting as “gentlemen.” For the rest, it was either through military service (risky, considering you had a high chance of death, disease, or dismemberment), or schemes. America had not yet been invented. There was yet very little means for one to climb upward.
Barry gambles compulsively, a habit that serves him mainly in youth, when with his uncle, he tours Western Europe separating fools from their money. Barry’s only chief skill is in fact “play,” (cards) a perfect metaphor for the arbitrary fate that falls on those who choose the criminal life of deception and violence. Though nowadays Barry’s means of creating wealth might be related to the casino dealings on Wall Street. A modern day Barry Lyndon would probably be a Silicon Valley fraud, a la Theranos’ Elizabeth Holmes. Someone psychopathically fixated on achieving status not so much because it’s fulfilling or it even satisfies some inner need, but simply because their brain seems wired in such a way. The world is filled with Barry Lyndons, just as the world is filled with horrible, shitty marriages that nevertheless go on.
The Luck of Barry Lyndon is worth a read, as is Stanley Kubrick’s film adaptation, it goes without saying. It’s a bit dry in spots, but the parts with Lord Bullington are worth waiting for.
Or will his ghost writer cartel keep his name on the bestsellers lists until the sun explodes?
“James Patterson.” Made by the author with MidJourney.
If you’ve somehow never heard of prolific best-selling author James Patterson, head on down to your local library and just look for the Patterson Section. It’ll usually be its own wing, maybe a garage, or even a seperate building altogether.
My local library used to be a video store, and they actually keep all of Patterson’s books back in what was once the adult video section. Complete with privacy curtain and sticky carpet. I always forget when I visit in my trench coat and sunglasses that this is no longer the place where I can rent my well-used copy of Spirit of Seventy Sex, but instead a respectable section offering cheap and sometimes titillating disposable literary entertainment. Certainly not porn.
In the Patterson Section you’ll find sophisticated, thought-provoking titles. Titles like Cat & Mouse, Jack & Jill, Pop Goes the Weasel, Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, Four Blind Mice, Mary Mary, and Rock-A-Bye Baby. OkayI made the last one up, but basically think of any nursery rhyme you can and it’s likely Patterson’s written a door-stop-sized thriller with it as the title. And that’s just in the Alex Cross series. That is Alex Cross, the cool black detective who bangs hot white women, written by Patterson, a white dude born during the Truman administration. They say to write what you know, but I guess there are exceptions.
The Alex Cross series also has numerous and very clever “cross”-themed titles. Such as Double Cross, Cross Country, I, Alex Cross, Cross Fire, Cross My Heart, Deadly Cross, and Triple Cross. Man that detective has some bad luck. He’s getting double-crossed AND triple-crossed. At least he has all those hot white women to compensate.
Patterson has a veritable smorgasbord of literature beyond the Alex Cross series. So much that it’s practically impossible to keep track of it all. He’s got The Women’s Murder Club, Maximum Ride, The Shadow Thrillers, NYPD Red, and a mess of standalone thrillers. His most famous work is Along Came a Spider, the 1993 bestseller made into the 2001 film starring Morgan Freeman and some lady who looks like Sharon Stone if you squint hard enough.
Along Came a Spider is actually a decent book, though it pales in comparison to what was obviously its inspiration — The Silence of the Lambs, the classic 1988 thriller by Thomas Harris. That and probably Basic Instinct (1992). I read Spider years ago when I suddenly became vexed by the question of when exactly James Patterson threw in the towel on being a real author and decided instead to become the book factory equivalent of Sysco, pumping out infantile titles with fill-in-the-blank plots and characters plucked out of ’80s soap operas. I gave up trying to find out, but I think it was somewhere between Kiss the Girls (2000) and Double Cross (2007).
James Patterson is, of course, known for more than just his obsession with killing the Amazon rainforest to print his books. He’s famous for, or perhaps infamous for, his massive cartel of co-authors and ghostwriters. Not to mention his diverse breadth of literature. The man will literally write about anything. He’s got a book he just released in March, 2023 titled Elephant Goes Potty, which “captures the struggle — and delight! — of potty training.”
Elephant Goes Potty aside, nowadays it’s rare you ever see a title on the shelves with only his name on the cover. He’s teamed up with former president Bill Clinton to write not one, but two political thrillers. The President’s Daughter and The President is Missing. Also look for The Blue Dress Caper coming this fall, though I hear the plot for that one blows.
He’s written a book called Run, Rose, Run with Dolly Parton. Not to be confused with Rose Madder, by Stephen King, or Rabbit, Run, by John Updike. or Run Lola Run, the 1998 German film about some chick with red hair.
This June Patterson’s got a book coming out called Eruption, which he co-wrote with Michael Crichton. Which is amazing considering the Jurassic Park author died in 2008. But why stop there? Why doesn’t Patterson team up with H.P. Lovecraft next? Maybe write a title like Cthulu Joins Black Lives Matter. Or maybe a self-help motivational book with Ernest Hemingway, Life is Worth Living. Or maybe a fun family adventure about siblings with George Orwell. Big Brother and I, or something. The possibilities for collabs are endless.
There’s no question James Patterson knows how to pump out content. I don’t begrudge the man for having the same fevered enthusiasm for writing as a pervert lurking outside a sorority house and whacking it in the bushes. I don’t care that the guy writes like A.I. before A.I. writing was a thing. Good for him.
I do wonder, though, that for all his output, if he’ll be remembered in 50 years in the same manner as Charles Dickens, Ernest Hemingway, or F. Scott Fitzgerald. You may chuckle at such comparisons, but Dickens was dismissed in his day for churning out simplistic melodramas. Most commerically successful authors are looked at askew by the literary etablishment. And what about contemporaries of Patterson’s like Stephen King or J.K. Rowling? Both locks, I’d say, for standing the test of time. Patterson may have built an empire out of the literary equivalent of hot air, but will anything that he’s done be worth revisiting in half a century? Will his mountain of books add up to a molehill of memory?
Patterson’s prolificacy also brings up the age old struggle many artists have over quality versus quantity. Thomas Harris has only written six novels, but he’ll always be remembered for introducing the world to Dr. Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lecter. Ira Levin wrote only a handful of books mainly before middle-age, but he introduced the term “The Stepford Wife,” and Rosemary’s Baby will probably always be a timeless classic. Patterson has done nothing close to that. Will anyone be thinking about Alex Cross in even ten years?
Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Patterson is reviving Crichton himself, who died over 15 years ago. Perhaps someone else will come along and “co-write” a book with Patterson in 50 years, reintroducing him to future masses. Maybe the New York Times Bestseller’s List of 2074 will bear the illustrious title of Elephant Goes Potty, Again. One can only wish.
One thing I’ve found recently is that it’s getting harder to find fiction that appeals to me as a middle-aged man. This seems to apply to most mediums, though it’s most prominant in film. Rarely are films geared toward those male and older than 35. If it isn’t a superhero fantasy four-quadrant epic, it’s the latest mopey romance, or it’s a movie about a toy of some kind. I think this is why films like Top Gun: Maverick, Avatar: The Way of Water, and Oppenheimer did so well. They were actually able to pull in guys like me, who normally just bypass the theater because we know there’s rarely anything there for us.
The same holds true for the book publishing industry. During a stroll down my library aisles recently hardly anything caught my eye. The romance section is so massive it needs its own wing. Filled with iconic names like Danielle Steel and Nora Roberts. I’ve read Roberts in the past, and while she’s great, romance just isn’t my thing. What, you don’t expect me to read something like Fifty Shades, do you?
There’s your brand name male authors like David Baldacci, Dean Koontz, good ol’ King, John Grisham, James Patterson, and your high-concept thriller guys from the past — Michael Crichton and Tom Clancy. I’ve read most of Crichton’s stuff already, and hit a lot of Clancy’s highlights. And if I’m being honest, a lot of the murder mystery thriller stuff starts to sound repetitive. How many detectives investigating a conspiracy “bigger than they imagined” does one really need in life?
It’s understandable why studios and book publishers don’t care about us. Afterall, your typical 35+ dude is working all the time and/or married with kids, dealing with family stuff. Hey, we’re too busy trying to run the world here. We don’t have time to be wasting in fantasyland.
This is alarming as a novelist myself. Even though ironically many novelists don’t read themselves. Koontz can’t. There’s no way at the rate he pumps out his books. I’m pretty sure he wrote another Odd Thomas during the time I took to write this overly long intro.
Anyway, it sure wasn’t easy, but with some hard work I actually found a few books that appealed to me in 2023.
The Penal Colonyby Richard Herley
Book cover for ‘The Penal Colony’ by Richard Herley
This book is sort of dystopian future adjacent. In the near future, criminals are sentenced to an island penal colony near the British Isles called Sert that is divided between two warring factions. One side lives in relative peace and order, while the other has reverted to primitive barbarism. A wrongfully convicted man sentenced to Sert tries to survive and earn his place within the peaceful side under a wise ruling Father. But first he must try and survive in the wilderness to prove himself. If he can succeed, he may just find a promise of escape.
This was an interesting concept. Sort of like an adult Lord of the Flies. Stylistically it was rather dry. Very gray and British, if that makes sense. The Penal Colony was made into the 1994 film No Escape starring Ray Liotta. An adaptation which is currently on Amazon Prime, and one which I was able to endure watching for all of five minutes or so. So just stick with the book, which is ultimately well worth the time.
Unwindby Neal Shusterman
Book cover for ‘Unwind’ by Neal Shusterman
YA dystopian. Dark YA dystopian, mind you. I heard about this one on Reddit, and it has the most bonkers concept ever. In the future, adults can have their delinquent teenaged children “Unwound,” which involves harvesting not just their organs but every fiber of their body. One kid must try to escape government agents trying to capture him before his 18th birthday, the final deadline before he becomes an adult and is independent from his parent’s whims. Bizarrely, the whole unwind deal is done as a tradeoff to making abortion illegal.
The premise of this series felt both odd and familiar, sounding like a concept from the ’80s. Like something David Cronenberg or Paul Verhoeven would have dreamt up in their heyday. Say what you will about YA novels being superficial or silly, but that genre has some of the most creative, if not outlandish plots you’ll find in all of popular literature. No ditzy navel-gazing box wine sipping bored housewives here whatsoever.
Unwind is part of a series. While I found the first book satisfying enough, I don’t know that I’ll return to finish the saga. So many of these YA writers need to just wrap things up in a single book. Not everything is meant to become a Netflix series or become another Hunger Games. I mean, David and Goliath is arguably the first “YA novel,” and it was all of half a page in the Bible.
Farhenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
Book cover for ‘Fahrenheit 451’ by Ray Bradbury
The classic novel about book burning, screen and media addiction, and censorship. Relevant, refined, though unsatisfyingly truncated. The endpoint feels more like a midpoint.
451 was unsurprisingly inspired by George Orwell’s 1984. It started off as a shorter story simply called The Fireman. Another point of trivia: the beginning originally featured Guy Montag having a dream where he’s captured for being in possession of books. Bradbury wisely scrapped this opening to instead start right in the middle of the action, with Guy burning a set of books, letting us see him in his element up close. It starkly marks his arc, which will ultimately take him into exile, where he will learn to become a “living book” in the woods.
If you were never assigned to read 451 in school like many are, you should absolutely add this one to your literary bucket list. I love reading books that have made a powerful cultural impact. Bradbury’s classic is referenced practically every day.
This was simply a pure delight. Every once in a while, it’s nice to go back and read an author who pioneered a genre, which Wells did in science fiction. In a pleasant surprise, there was ample dark humor to be found in this classic work of a mad scientist run amok. As was there also in the 1933 adaptation starring Claude Rains.
First Bloodby David Morrell
Book cover for ‘First Blood’ by David Morrell
First Blood is basically The Godfather of action novels/films. The DNA of Die Hard, The Terminator, Jack Reacher, and Predator are rooted in Rambo’s inaugural adventure. The book also contains a moving and meaningful theme concerning our nation’s Vietnam War veterans. My dad served two tours in Vietnam doing recon in the Army, so this book felt personal to me, even as someone who was never in the military.
First Blood is about how sometimes conflicts don’t end on the battlefield, and what can happen when they’re taken home. A great read you won’t want to miss.
Hopefully 2024 will provide more great reading opportunities. Finding something that appeals to me sometimes feels like performing alchemy. But I have faith.
Fiction Affliction #5: Son of Rosemary, by Ira Levin
“Son of Rosemary.” Made with Midjourney
A novelist’s career is a strange thing. You can have “it” for a number of years/books, and then suddenly lose “it.” Maybe sometime later you get “it” back. Or maybe you never get “it” again.
What is “it” exactly? The good stuff. The spark. Creative synergy. Your finger on the pulse of the zeitgeist. The muse’s lips whsipering in your ear. Austin Power’s mojo.
You know, “it.”
Whatever “it” is, Ira Levin had it in abundance for the first half of his career. Starting with his global best-sellerA Kiss Before Dying. A book he wrote when he was all of 24. Then his play Deathtrap, which became the longest running thriller in Broadway history. His book Rosemary’s Baby became a smash sensation. He followed that up with classics The Boys from Brazil and The Stepford Wives. And cemented his legacy with This Perfect Day, a dystopian novel which I’ve written about previously.
The man had “it” in abundance. Everything he wrote turned to gold, or became household vernacular. To be a “Stepford Wife” meant to be a compliant Barbie doll, a terrifying prospect for any self-respecting feminist.
Ira Levin did it all before age 45. Simply astounding. Basically a reverse Cormac McCarthy, whose best novels came after he was old enough to collect social security.
But at some point, for whatever reason, Levin lost “it.” His second-half catalogue of material is decisively lackluster compared to his first. It’s also sadly deriviative. Son of Rosemary is, of course, a sequel written 30 years after the classic Rosemary’s Baby. Stephen King would eclipse that with his 2013 book Doctor Sleep, written 36 years after The Shining. Another unnecessary sequel seemingly written more for the fans than the need for the story to continue. Also a title that earns the distiction as worst sequel book I’ve ever read. Though Son gave it a run for its money.
His 1991 novel Sliver feels like something that would have come from the feverish fingertips of Dean Koontz, with its themes of obsession, control, and abuse of technology. Levin’s gift was always injecting the macabre into the mundane. Making the outlandish seem not only quite possible, but ordinary.
Levin wasn’t exactly a prolific writer. There was a 14-year gap between A Kiss Before Dying and Rosemary’s Baby. During which he wrote a handful of plays. He wrote only a total of seven novels. One of which, The Stepford Wives, is really more of a novella, at all of about 120 pages.
Son of Rosemary is Levin’s final novel. And it’s a disappointing sour note to a very long and distinguished career. Levin is one of my favorite writers. He’s like Hemingway, with sparse, minimalistic prose, but with the adrenalin of a Frederick Forysth. A literary Stanley Kubrick, with a cold, intellectual style powered by unforgettable high concepts that examine human evil within the confines of a tightly structured thriller format. His words eating across the page like the tapping of a snare drum, building to a crescendo.
“The Devil Downtown.” Made with Midjourney.
Son of Rosemary picks up about 25 years after the events of the original novel. Rosemary has been in a coma for almost three decades. During this time, her son Andy has risen to global prominance as a popular leader of a charitable organization. Apparently due to his infectious charisma, Andy appears on the cusp of political ascendency. He’s admired by world leaders, constantly recognized on the street. He even resembles Jesus Christ (or, at least the Western image of him) with his blonde locks and blue eyes. His mother’s remarkable return from the dead only raises his (and hers) status even more. Now, with the new millenium fast approaching, his organization wants to unite the world in peace with a special candle lighting ceremony. But does this agenda contain a sinister purpose? All signs point to yes.
This was a book that took me way longer to read than it should have. I actually took it out from the library twice, having had to return it early the first time due to a move. It shouldn’t be difficult to read an Ira Levin book. But I think the reason I did with this one is because Levin’s formula was pretty obvious. It almost follows the same beats as the original, staying with Rosemary’s POV, while throwing a few wrinkles along the way to spice things up, before the final big twist.
Levin makes a half-hearted attempt to show Andy’s struggle as a “half-breed,” being both human and the son of Satan, and therefore imbued with certain demonic capabilities. But it’s all minor, superficial stuff. He can grow horns, and his blue eyes turn tiger-striped when the devil in him comes out. He has insatiable lust, even going so far as to make out with his mother at one point, in a bizarre moment early on in the story. But despite his genetic predisposition to eeevil, Andy’s still a “good guy” overall, or tries to be.
It would have been more interesting to be in Andy’s POV than Rosemary’s, and explore more of that inner struggle. How does someone reconcile a human heritage with the Prince of Darkness? It would have been more compelling narratively speaking also. Rosemary is largely passive and reactive throughout the story, observing Andy and his quasi-political apparatus from afar. All the while Andy works behind the scenes.
But sadly, Levin seems more comfortable sticking with boring old Rosemary, despite the fact that her story has largely been told. We follow her around as she acclimates to all the cultural and technological changes of the ’90s. Watch her elevated into a celebrity as the mother of Andy. Get wooed by an older gentleman. Interesting stuff, sure. But it’s like sticking with an Oldsmobile when you’ve got a Porsche collecting dust in your garage. That POV made sense in the original, as the entire plot spun around her being the unwitting victim of a demonic rape so she could give birth to the devil’s spawn. In Son, she’s less involved. The evil conspiracy isn’t happening against her, but (apparently) against the whole world.
Regarding that, it’s never really made clear what the devil’s scheme is against earth. There’s something about the candles being poisoned with a virus. On New Year’s Eve, durng the countdown to midnight, in a coordinated televised event, everyone is supposed to light them. In effect wiping out millions in one go. A plot that reminds me a lot of the one from Halloween III, where an evil company plans to use a TV signal to activate Halloween masks on children, that will turn the kiddies’ heads into bugs.
But why wipe out humanity, especially in a plot that will certainly place the blame squarely on Andy’s nonprofit organization (and Andy himself), for promoting the candles? Would make it hard to set up an antichrist or rule the world when you’ve just blatantly killed millions.
Another issue I had was Andy’s inexplicable popularity. Everyone goes around wearing “I Love Andy” buttons. Everyone on earth is conveniently sucked into his cult of personality, with but a few anti-Andy stragglers. But it’s never really made clear what makes Andy so popular, or what he did to earn such a distinction. Especially at so young an age (33). Even Prince William doesn’t have that kind of clout, and he’s been a royal celebrity in the public eye for four decades.
Then there are the two twists at the end. One pretty good. The other nonsensical.
:::Spoilers:::
Turns out, the gentleman who’s been seducing Rosemary the whole time is the devil himself, in disguise. And not only does he still want a relationship with her, he’s an abusive father. Not surprising, he is Satan, afterall. When Andy tries to defy his father’s scheme to destroy the world, the Devil nails him to the wall in a crucifixion, and then drags Rosemary to hell (I think).
The second twist is a ludicrous cop-out, and bears similarity to the ending to the The Devil’s Advocate, which also came out in 1997. On the verge of the apocalypse, Rosemary suddenly finds herself back in 1965, married to Guy Woodhouse, the actor who sold her out. It was all a dream. Or perhaps this is purgatory. Almost like the ending to Advocate, where Keanu Reeves’ lawyer character finds himself unknowingly back in the courthouse where he was at the begining of the movie. Destined to repeat the same steps toward meeting devilish Al Pacino in Manhattan.
Deus ex machina is when God suddenly intervenes. What is it when the Devil pushes the big reset button? Diaboli ex machina? That sounds like an Italian dish.
It’s hard to tell what Ira Levin was trying to accomplish by writing an update to his 1967 classic domestic thriller. It’s not like the world was clamoring for a sequel. Rosemary’s Baby’s power lay in its dark implications, and subtle themes of marital deception and feminine vulnerability, not in explicit spectacle or world-building.
It’s not scary, and it’s far too tame and timid to be thrilling. This Is the End, the 2013 apocalypse-comedy starring Seth Rogen, has more frightening moments, not to mention a far more satisfying ending.
In the end, the only horrifying thing about Son of Rosemary is that it constitutes a portrait of a novelist who lost his magic touch. Even the best can lose their fastball. I’ve never quite agreed that every author really only has one story inside them, and merely writes variations of that one story again and again. But I do think that every writer has a certain fixed number of stories they were “meant” to write. Then afterwards, it’s all going through the motions, coasting on momentum as it were.
If you’re desperate to see what happened to Rosemary after the events of the first novel, or you like ’90s pop literature, or anything devil-related, then give Son of Rosemary a shot. Otherwise, you’re better off sticking with Netflix.
Like a lot of people, I had no idea that the film Planet of the Apes was actually based on a book. And that really goes to show the power of a big name in Hollywood. I always knew Rod Serling had a hand in it. I mean, that’s obvious. The movie is like a big budget Twilight Zone episode, complete with a classic twist ending. I actually thought he wrote the whole thing. I didn’t know it all came from a best-selling novel written by a French guy named Pierre Boulle, who also wrote another popular work that got the big screen treatment, The Bridge Over the River Kwai.
So, when I saw an actual book with the title Planet of the Apes on its cover sitting in the library, I almost didn’t believe my eyes. This is the curse of living in an age where literally everything is adapted from some stupid comic book or graphic novel, or a remake of a show or movie. You tend to forget that for most of Hollywood’s existence, it was books (classic ones, even) upon which everything was largely based. That’s not say that best-selling popular fiction doesn’t tickle H’wood’s G-Spot nowadays still, but it seems like most of the books pipelined into features are calculated for that exact purpose. Blame that on Michael Crichton. The guy who could sell movie rights to his books in a matter of seconds.
While we’re on the subject of movies, Boulle’s apes book makes a strong case for inspiring the largest amount of cinematic content from a singular literary source. There are currently nine Apes movies, with the tenth on the way in 2024. The franchise started with the Charlton Heston-starring original in 1968, continued with four more sequels through the early ’70s. Then there was that Tim Burton remake in 2001. Followed by the rebooted franchise films that began in 2011 with Rise of the Planet of the Apes, starring pre-sex scandal ruined James Franco and the stellar CGI services of Andy Serkis. The Apes franchise has certainly reached over a billion dollars in box office revenue, plus whatever merchandise might have been sold. I mean, you know EVERYONE is clambering for a Dr. Zaius action figure.
Hey, that’s not bad for a relatively short novel published way back in 1963.
But we’re not here to talk the Apes movies. We’re here to talk the Apes book. Which is a clever, high-concept story with some humorous sci-fi anachronisms (it was written before Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon), a likable if rather bland lead character, an odd and arguably pointless narative framing device, and not one, but two twist endings.
Suck on that Rod Serling and M. Night.
This was a good, breezy book that felt like a fun science lecture delivered by your favorite professor. Not too long. Not too short. It only clocks in at a short 250 pages or so. And that’s with a LOT of white space, mind you.
The book employs a weird framing device. We meet a rich couple “sailing” through space using some form of solar power or wind as a propulsion system. Space travel is now so commonplace that the leisure class now does it for going on vacation and honeymooning. This couple, Jinn and Phyllis, somehow, inexplicably happen across a message in a bottle floating in the endless void of space.
Yes, a literal message in a glass bottle hurling through space. No matter the trillion to one odds of such an event occurring. And in this bottle is a hand-written document containing a crazy story about human astronauts who lands on a faraway planet from earth that is populated by intelligent apes. The story is written by a journalist named Ulysse (no doubt inspired from Odysseus) who was invited by a professor and a physician on an interstellar journey in a rocket ship capable of reaching near-light speed. Due to a complicated time dilation function, as the rocket reaches the speed of light, time inside the ship behaves normally, while outside centuries pass. This allows the trio of men to reach the star Betelguese. Once they arrive on a habitable planet, the astronauts find some water. They throw off their clothes for a swim. But it isn’t long before they’re accosted by a tribe of humans, who ruin their clothing and their rocket ship.
Making matters worse, a gang of gorillas come along and capture two of the astronauts (one is killed in the attack), where they are taken to a lab for study. Ulysse makes friends with Zira, a chimpanzee researcher, and her fiance, Cornelius. But the journalist’s biggest challenge will be convincing the ape world he is actually intelligent and deserving of equal rights as the apes. A tall task considering the high-ranking orangutans, led by the hard-headed Dr. Zaius, are convinced the human is just mimicking them, and really could just use a good ol’ fashioned lobotomy instead.
Ulysse eventually escapes the monkey planet with a hot (human) native girl he names Nova, whom he’s gotten pregnant during his long period of incarceration. He jumps forward in time again, and eventually arrives back on earth. Only to discover that his home world has ALSO somehow become overrun by smart apes.
We then jump back to the rich vacationing couple to reveal that they are actually apes themselves, who find the story they just read so unbelievable, that they just laugh it off and keep heading into space.
Planet of the Apes is packed with a lot cool ideas. The ebb and flow of civilization. Special relativity. Science versus superstition. The staunch bureacracy of the scientific establishment. The ethics of animal experimentation, in this case using humans to help advance medicine for apes. Genetic memory. But the idea I find the most interesting concerns mimicry behavior. As Ulysse and his ape allies discover through the process of research and discovery, the apes didn’t so much become intelligent as became sophisticated copy cats of human behavior. Or copy apes.
The book proposes the troubling existential idea that true creative consicousness, and genuine originality — that unique candle flicker that defines humanity — is itself a rare and somewhat unquantifiable thing. The apes, for all their societal advancement, are almost no better than flesh and blood ChatGPT automatons covered in hair. Though most humans are essentially the same thing. Hence the common online put-down “NPC” (non-playable character) used against simpletons who float along with the crowd, uncritically mimicking the majority. As though plugged into some kind of hive mind. Ulysee uses the example of how once a century a true work of genuis is written, and then everyone else copies it, which begets more copies.
Naturally, this eerie and disquieting realization perturbs the ape intelligentsia. And it’s understandable. No one wants to know they’re essentially a puppet. But when you take a good look around, you can’t help but realize that this kind of explains why everything tends to be so screwed up. Because real thought and developing a true individual identity are hard to do. It’s much easier to copy and go along with the current status quo. Don’t agree? Okay, what language do you speak? Do you use money? Do you wear modern clothes? If you’re working, are you saving for retirement? Are you aware of the laws in your community? If you’re attending school, why are you attending school? For a job? Because it’s what you’re supposed to do to “make something of yourself?” Okay, now stop and think about who put all those ideas in your head about those things in the first place, and whether you really ever had a choice as to whether or not you were going to follow that societal programming.
Made with Midjourney
The concept of mimicry is actually kind of scary the more you think about it. It makes you doubt whether you even have a free will. Or your own mind. I’m not saying it’s all bad, or that it’s all some evil conspiracy. Most of our copied behavior is essential training that keeps us safe and alive. But it is alarming to realize how little we really think about what we’re doing as much as we’re coasting on a set of predetermined coding.
Not far behind the mimicry idea is genetic memory, also known as racial memory. Ulysee encounters a human subject who somehow is able to recount the entire history of the human/ape conflict that ultimately lead to the simian takeover by accessing traumatic memories hidden in their genetic code. It’s a rather bizarre scene altogether, and scientifically questionable. It may as well as be a psychic seance. But it’s a clever way for Boulle to provide some needed exposition to explain how the apes came to be.
I’d strongly recommend checking out Planet of the Apes. Not only is it intellectually stimulating, original, while also being enjoyable, but it’s also a classic. And I don’t know about you, but I’m always fascinated by cultural watershed works that inspire a franchise or a major milestone within its genre. Apes has that in spades.
Source: Book cover for ‘Quick Change’ by Jay Cronley
So, I was doing some preliminary research on my next film review for the ‘90s-era “cromedy” (crime-comedy) Quick Change, when I stumbled across one of the most hilarious book introductions I’ve ever read.
Firstly, since you may not know, Jay Cronley was an author and newspaper columnist who wrote for Tulsa World, who achieved some notoriety in the late 1980s/early ‘90s for a string of comedy films made from his books. These adaptations include Good Vibes, made into the 1989 comedy Let It Ride, starring Richard Dreyfuss. Funny Farm, made in 1988, starring Chevy Chase. And Quick Change, which was adapted twice into film. First in France in 1985, then in America in 1990, starring and directed by Bill Murray, and co-starring Geena Davis and Randy Quaid.
Cronley had quite an under-the-radar run. For awhile, he was like the comedy version of Ira Levin. Everything he wrote got filmed. However, we’re not here to talk about his films, but about his writing. More specifically, his introduction to his 1981 novel Quick Change, rereleased in 2006 (not an affiliate link) with his reflections on the impact of his book.
Quick Change is “about a bank robbery,” as Cronley writes in the opening line of his introduction. It’s a comedy about three thieves who mastermind a clever heist in New York City, only to run into every problem imaginable trying to escape Gotham.
Cronley’s book introduction for Quick Change contains a lot of interesting, useful, and funny writing tips that I felt would be good to share. As an author of dark comedies and satires myself, I certainly appreciated happening across this gem. And I’m someone who almost always skips author intros.
So, here are four writing secrets from Jay Cronley’s Quick Change intro:
1. Dig Deep to Find an Original Idea
Writes Cronley:
Before I began to write this novel, I sat down with a pencil and a notepad and I thought of every way I had ever seen anything stolen…Name it, I noted it. Then I began making notes of all the angles and methods ever used to take what isn’t yours.
It’s fair to say that the crime genre is a fairly well-mined one. Especially with famous authors like Donald E. Westlake (more on him later), Agatha Christie, and classic writers like Edgar Allen Poe and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, among many others, having hatched almost every conceivable crime story over the last 150 years of publishing history. It’s true now. It was also true back in the early ’80s, when Cronley wrote his book.
This sounds like an easy thing to do. Just research a bunch of plots and then write something that hasn’t been done before. What’s so hard about that, right? Except few writers do that. Instead, they grab hold of whatever new idea they have, refusing to let go. But if you’re trying to break through, you have to do something that hasn’t been done before, that will get you noticed ahead of the many other writers working in your genre.
Speaking of genre, this little tip also means you have to know your genre through and through. And that means reading the hell out of it. Or at least knowing some of the common tropes and twists, so that you can surprise with some of your own.
2. Don’t Give Your Good Ideas Away to Other Authors!
Apparently, all of Cronley’s research for the “last great bank robbery idea on earth” attracted the attention of Donald E. Westlake, whom Cronley considered, “arguably the greatest living American writer.” Westlake actually wanted to use Cronley’s idea for Quick Change in one of his own books. But, as Cronley writes:
“No,” I said to Don on the phone that night. “You can’t have my idea. It took me a year to think of it and a year to write it.”
It’s actually rather hilarious to me the idea of Westlake, the legendary crime author with almost 100 titles to his credit, coming to a lesser known author like Cronley hoping to procure a good story idea. It makes me wonder if this is a common thing amongst best-selling authors. It just seems wrong and impolite. Popular musicians borrow, steal, and pay homage to one another all the time, though, so I suppose published authors would do the same. I know I’ve provided good feedback, and even suggested story plots and ideas to other writers on forums and comment threads. But I’ve never given away, or even discussed an idea of mine that I felt had merit for a good book or screenplay.
3. Hollywood Sucks Because Nobody Reads
This is right in line with Stephen King’s famous On Writing maxim: “Read a lot, write a lot.” Cronley, who was criticising the creative shortcomings that were plaguing Hollywood even back in the early 2000s, goes on to say:
The simple reason behind the creative crisis is that nobody reads good stuff, which is the old stuff. The only way to learn how to write well is to read. If nobody reads, you get that Adam Sandler baby-talk thing.
This is especially true nowadays. It is so so easy to get wrapped up in the mindless bits and pieces of Twitter and other short-form-style social media. I find myself getting caught in this no-reading trap all the time. But sadly, so many today are smartphone slaves, addicted to the dopamine-giving hits from divisive news headlines, celebrity gossip, or vapid Buzzfeed-style articles that convey little to no useful information. To say nothing of the infinite scroll of YouTube videos, TikTok shorts, streaming shows and movies, Twitch broadcasts, and immersive video games. Who has time for classic literature?
This problem extends even beyond the general population, to English majors, writers, and novelists like myself, as well. When I was in college, I rarely encountered classmates who’d read much of anything beyond the Harry Potter series, or other modern books published prior to the 1980s. And that’s honestly a crime, because classics are classics for a reason.
4. Movie Deals Don’t Always Lead to a Pot of Gold — In Fact, They Might Even Get You Sued For $10 Million
Source: Warner Bros. ‘Quick Change’ (1990)
Quick Change quickly landed a movie option, which is a contract during which someone has a given amont of time to make a piece of intellectual property into a film. Sometimes options may only last for a year, and an author might be paid a few thousand dollars. The company that first landed the option to Quick Change wound up in bankruptcy. Right before the option expired, Cronley’s agent offered the book to a producer in France. However, this caused the first option holder to sue Cronley for almost $10 million.
Fortunately, the lawsuit was eventually tossed. The French producer went on to make Quick Change into the film Hold-Up in 1985, starring Jean-Paul Belmondo. The Bill Murray version would, of course, come later. But it goes to show that sometimes Hollywood deals can actually be spring-loaded boxing gloves ready to punch you in the face.
If you haven’t checked out some of Jay Cronley’s books, now’s a good time. If you can find them, of course. Many of them are out of print. But evidently, judging by the Amazon link above, Quick Change is still readily available.
Editing a novel, or screenplay, or even short story, hypothetically, should be easy.
I mean, most of the hard work is already done. You’ve created the world of the story. The main characters. The central conflict. The secondary threads. The theme. And likely had a hell of a time writing out some of the best scenes in the story.
But why is it that editing a story, trying to get it to the “next level,” can sometimes be so hard?
This is something I noticed when editing my “first” novel Nemesis.
Nemesis was not my first novel. Way back in 2007 I wrote a lengthy door stop of a novel. A thriller, of sorts. A kind of Chuck Pahlniuk-inspired messy tome about an office worker fed up with his bosses, who discovers he’s a part of a secretive organization that runs the world. Kind of like a half-assed Matrix. Or like a less sexy, less exciting version of the graphic novel Wanted.
It was a disaster, this first novel of mine. And not just because of a problematic narrative and witheringly boring characters. But because after I’d finished writing it, I sat back, and realized all I had on my hands was a giant compost heap of words with little connective tissue binding the Frankenstein thing together.
It demoralized me. So, I stuffed this embryonic mess into a plastic Kroger’s bag, all 500+ double-spaced pages of it, threw it into a big plastic bin, where it remains to this day. Sometimes I pull it out. Blow off the dust and cobwebs. Glance through the hastily typed sentences, only to stuff it back into its sarcophagus once my eyes begin to glaze over.
If your writing bores even yourself, you’re really in trouble. I mean, how the hell are you ever going to convince a random stranger to buy your book if you can’t even motivate yourself to read it?
My first novel was a failed experiment. But not a wasteful one. It taught me a lot about writing. About the importance of having a good outline (either written down or kept in your head). About staying focused. About keeping a steady pace, rather than trying to smash everything out in frenzied all-nighters. It was strange how obsessed I became writing it out. Imposing a completely unnecessary deadline for myself, as if believing I had to finish it before dropping dead.
I’m proud that I finished it. I suppose that was the real goal all along. Just write out something long and detailed. Like straining to lift a heavy weight at the gym to impress no one in particular. Maybe you throw your back out lifting it. But so what? You lifted a giant weight you never thought you could. That’s got to count for something, right?
Years later, having self-published my first “real” novel. At least, my first fully completed one. And now editing my “second,” I’ve found the rewriting/redrafting process slightly easier. At the least, I’ve gotten over the self-doubt and emotional immaturity that plagued me in my first attempt. I’m convinced all the struggles associated with writing are psychological, and can be mitigated by discipline and form. It’s a craft, after all. Not alchemy. Not magic. Though it feels like it is sometimes.
I think editing a novel can be a struggle for several reasons.
The first has to do with the quality of the manuscript you’re working on. How much precision and clarity you’ve built into it from the beginning. The more knots you leave behind in the first draft, the harder it is to untangle them in subsequent drafts. It’s easy to be clipping along, and think, “I’ll deal with that incongruity later.” But what happens when the potholes become gaping sinkholes? Have you ever seen a construction crew just randomly throwing bricks together into a pile, with the intention to fix it later once the structure is complete? Ridiculous. They operate based on a blueprint. A set of plans. Even a committed Anti-Outliner has at least some kind of vision for his story.
This is where discipline comes in. It’s better to spend time getting 500 words mostly right then banging out 1,500 words of utter gibberish. Dean Koontz writes this way. He doesn’t move on until he gets a passage right, rewriting as he goes. Considering that he puts out about three to four (or more) books a year, that strategy must work pretty well. He’s a machine. Danielle Steele likely has a similar method, as she pumps out 7-8 books a year these days. You write until it’s right, then move onto the next passage.
Secondly, rewriting, or editing, is more a passive experience than the actual writing is itself. When I write, I feel like I’m in the driver’s seat. I’m in control. I’m the ringleader directing the various acts in the circus. But when I edit, it almost feels like I’m just watching TV. Even though I’m reading, because it’s my writing, it’s like a switch gets turned in my head. Sit back. Take it easy. Go with the flow. It’s a conscious effort to break this urge, and tweak stuff on the page. Making matters worse, ironically, is spell check and grammar check. It can make the whole editing process feel rote and mechanical. Just click “fix” on each error. Then onto the next.
Thirdly, the work feels “written in stone.” It’s not always easy to determine whether a passage is where it needs to be. That takes a neutral third party. Someone not afraid to tell you, “Hey, this actually kind of sucks.” It’s much easier to just glide on by, assured in a chapter’s “greatness.” Is rewriting this scene really going to make much of a difference? Is it really worth my time to dig deeper into this character interaction? Nah. Besides, I cleaned up the grammar and misspellings. Good enough for government work.
Fourth, as hinted at above, you simply don’t know how something comes across to a reader other than yourself. A passage may feel perfectly logical to you, but is unintelligible to someone else. You simply don’t know what you don’t know. Or maybe a certain scene felt inspired and necessary to you, but confusing and boring to another reader.
Fifth, and by no means final, is perfectionism. You start rewriting one passage, which only leads to having to rewrite another one. And then maybe you realize it’d be really cool if you just added a little something here. A line of dialogue there. Before you know it, you’re taking the whole scene in another direction that will force you to rewrite everything else to fit this new “vision” you’ve just had.
So, what is a solution to avoiding some of these editing pitfalls? I’d say the best thing is to follow the Koontz-Steele Method: Put as much effort into the first draft to avoid complicated editing maneuvers later. This may require constructing a better outline.
But what if you don’t outline? Or what if you use a light outline, letting yourself freestyle as needed? Then understand the genre you’re writing in well enough to know the kinds of conventions and expectations. I think this is the secret to Koontz and Steele’s longevity and prodigious output. Koontz mostly writes thrillers, dovetailing into other sub-genres as he chooses. Steele has cornered the market on romance for decades now. Both writers know their genres inside and out, and know their audience. And because of that, it wouldn’t surprise me if when they write, a lot of the plot is already mapped out in their heads. I mean, in a romance, at some point the two lovers are going to meet, they’re going to break up, and they’re going to get back together. Not necessarily in that order. But the Love Triangle is almost certainly going to make its presence known. For thrillers, you generally open up with a crime, especially a murder. And it’s a given that someone close to the hero will betray him. There’s a high probability of a final showdown involving guns, or threats of death. The hero wins by the skin of his teeth. You get the idea here.
Does that make all writing just a structured process? For the most part, yes.
“But that doesn’t sound creative. That doesn’t sound fun.”
Actually, I disagree. It gives you a set of rules to play by. But that doesn’t mean it has to be boring. Ever sat down to play Monopoly with three good friends or family members? How often does that become a boring event? Almost never. And Monopoly has plenty of rules.
Think about the book The Shining by Stephen King. It’s basically a haunted house story. Nothing new there. Richard Matheson did his own haunted house story with Hell House, another horror classic. The difference is that King took a familiar blueprint, and applied his own voice and style. As did Matheson. Editing should be less about the mechanics of writing itself. It should be more about making sure your voice is on the page. Your uniqueness.
Dean Brooks 