Some readers mistake a fictional character’s opinion for that of the author. Were that true, I’d be in prison by now. My plots are full of characters living on the edge of society…okay, that much is me. Let’s start again: Not every thought a character espouses reflects my values. However, some books strike closer to home than others.
My mission is to entertain. I’m not trying to predict the future. I do extrapolate plenty, and in the last few years, reflecting reality has become more unsettling. Inevitably, my political views slip in where appropriate. No apologies or regrets on that front.
“I don’t try to predict the future.All I want to do is prevent it.”
~ Ray Bradbury
Here are five times my work reflected reality closer than I expected:
In Our Alien Hours, the alien threat rises from ocean. Seen the news lately? Nobody seems to care, but I’m prescient!
In The Night Man, the dad is a drug smuggler, but he’s just trying to get cheap Canadian drugs to Americans who are in need. The protagonist is a wounded veteran with few choices after he is medically discharged.
The genesis of Endemic is a virus that kills billions. Many of the survivors suffer cognitive impairment. Long-COVID (and repeated infection) gives some people brain fog, and since the disease is now endemic, we will continue to see such ill-effects to brain health.
In This Plague of Days, paramedical professionals were recruited to make do and join the fight against a pandemic. Long ago, I sat in a meeting about pandemic preparedness. This was part of the plan. I informed those in charge that this was a terrible idea and gave multiple reasons why. I was fired for it. In This Plague of Days, a non-medical person works in a hospital. She and her baby are infected because of that ill-conceived strategy.
Citizen Second Class is unfolding now. The uncaring elite are building bunkers and fortifying their islands, while the lower classes worry about providing for their families.
Then, of course, there’s my upcoming thriller, Vengeance Is Hers.
Given all that’s happening in the news and the many failures of the justice system, I predict there will be an appetite for vigilante justice thrillers.
Recently, an author posted about how an up-and-coming writer’s book had failed to launch. The author claimed to be a bestselling writer, and boy, was she a scold! She was all up in her feelings about a self-published author’s debut that failed to sell many copies. Her core message was, “If only they’d done what I had done! If only she knew better!”
This demonstrates a fundamental misunderstanding some folks have about publishing books. There are too many variables outside the author’s control and no guarantees of success. You can do everything right, and still fail. In fact, trad or self-published, most books fail to find an audience. To become a bestseller in Canada, you have to sell a few thousand in a week. Less than 0.5% of the 100,000 hardcovers published each year make the New York Times Bestseller List. Novels have a spectacular failure rate (if your only metric is sales and reaching a wider readership. Some authors do not share those aspirations).
The bestseller criticizing the debut writer attributed her success to herself, her publisher, and her skill. There are many more factors than that. When people succeed, very few have the perspicacity to admit they were just plain lucky. Instead, they rationalize their genius moves after the fact.
You can optimize your chances of success, but the headwinds against you are enormous. The Netflix documentary featuring Fran Lebowitz was originally expected to air earlier than it did. Netflix put that off, and that turned into a happy accident for Lebowitz. That delay meant the show aired during the height of the pandemic. Many more people watched than otherwise would havebecause everyone was stuck at home.
Arrogance and ignorance can really drag an artist down.
During book promotions, many authors freely give away books to boost the store algorithms and garner more reviews. When my dentist asked about my work, I mentioned that I was running a promotion at that moment for my new book.
“You can pick it up for free right now,” I offered. Nice and generous, right?
“You’re giving it away?” His tone suggested I was making a rookie mistake in devaluing my work.
I still run into that attitude among some authors, but it’s a tried and true marketing tactic.
“Objection! Stephen King doesn’t have to do that.”
Ahem. You’re not Stephen King. Neither am I. There can be only one!
To be found, loss leaders are common and not at all shameful. It’s incredibly difficult to get people to review a novel, and harder still to sell a novel with few reviews. Many authors decide to give to get to increase their long-term sales. There are other approaches, but this is far from outlandish. Give a few hundred, and potentially gain a few thousand new readers and maybe a couple of dozen fresh reviews. Simple marketing, right? (It is, I’m not really asking.)
It gets worse.
On a Zoom call with fellow alums from my university, I discovered how I’d stumbled into a rather insulated clique. First, one woman didn’t believe I had attended our alma mater at all. “I don’t recognize you,” she said. It was a challenge.Amazing how casual some folks are about making an enemy for life, huh?
We attended a small university, but I wasn’t one of the cool kids. I recognized her from the cafeteria, but saying so would have made me feel even more inconsequential. She was active in clubs, at the bar, and getting lots of pictures of herself with friends she would keep for life. I was up in my dorm room readingand happy.
(Stay tuned. My humiliation continues below the graphic)
All that content solitude in university was one reason I got to do this:
On the same Zoom, an old friend said he had picked up Endemic for free. The other people on the call laughed at me. The friend asked if giving away books was worth it. In that moment, it sure wasn’t. I was in the wrong group, talking to the wrong people. Hurt feelings aside, I’ve never put hurt feelings aside.
Whatever you’re choices, there will be people who don’t know your journey, but they are certain you are doing it wrong. Don’t just agree to disagree. Disagree to disagree. Keep going, and do you, Boo.
Coffee and a book or two are great ways to start a Sunday morning. I’ve found my escape from the news, at least for a little while.
I just got these this morning, and I already know Writers and Lovers is a binge-read.
Sunday Morning, back home in Nova Scotia
When we weren’t arguing about whether I should be imprisoned in the car and taken to church, Sunday mornings used to be magical. Sunday mornings meant listening to CBC’s Sunday Morning and Dad cooking up a hunter’s breakfast. The theme music was “English Country Garden,” a very civilized and incongruous opening for a series of radio reports about the state of the world. My clearest memory of the show comes from November 1978. I know the date because it was when I first heard the gritty details of the Jonestown massacre. Many years later on the same program, they read a letter I wrote on air. It was an ode to my beloved journalism prof, Walter Stewart, upon his death.Read the second paragraph under Early Life and Career on his Wikipedia page, and you’ll understand why I loved him.
Sunday morning: today.
This morning, I awoke to news of rebels capturing Damascus and Bashar al-Assad fleeing to parts unknown. I had to shovel the end of the driveway again because the plows came through. That done, I headed out as CBC reported on the abuse of First Nations people by police. As I drove home from the bookstore, the cantankerous and fun Fran Lebowitz was interviewed. “English Country Garden” is long gone, but the journalistic standards remain.
I was once a journalist and columnist. Now, when I get a weekend newspaper, I skim the news and head for the Books section. I wonder if I’ll pay so much attention to politics and world affairs for the next couple of years. I love to be informed, but I write fiction. It occurs to me that many of my happiest times were when I retreated into the safety of books.
Books are Milestones of Nostalgia
One Christmas, when all I wanted was a train set, I was sick. I went to bed with a tall canister of Smarties and read Chitty Chitty Bang Bang by Ian Fleming. Later, I would read all the James Bond books. They had so little to do with the movies I loved, but I loved the books no less.
University was me putting off toiling in the workforce for four years. It meant hiding in my dorm and reading In Cold Blood and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Once I graduated, I moved to Toronto to work in publishing. I was selling American Psycho and arguing with my bosses about censorship (Them: for; Me: Against).
I ate up Bright Lights, Big City, and related to the story so hard. On a summer night on the 28th floor of my apartment building in downtown Toronto, I devoured my favorite novel, The Color of Light by William Goldman. When I realized he had fooled me again, right down to the last line, I threw the book across the room, partly in exaltation, partly in admiration.
Chase the Cozy
Losing oneself to a novel, there is a coziness that feels like sitting by a crackling fire as a storm rages, a storm you don’t have to face.If you have the privilege of ignoring the violence and disappointments of current events, even for a little while, cherish it.
I encourage you to check out my books and retreat into fictional worlds for some solace. There are plenty of links to your right.
Hemingway said, “Write drunk, edit sober.” I say, stop being such a chicken. Take more risks.
In my fiction, I look for opportunities to do innovative and unexpected things. The chapter titles to This Plague of Days trilogy aren’t just numbers. Go to the table of contents, and the chapters form an epic poem that hints at the complex events across the narrative. Is that weird? I don’t care if it’s weird. The clues to the story are there, but it’s actually more fun for the reader to go back to read that poem again after they’ve completed the trilogy. They’ll gain a deeper understanding once they’ve read the story. (In gaming, they call that replay value.)
In my new thriller, every chapter title is one word that ends in -ion, and relates to what’s happening in that chapter. For instance, instead of Copyright, Table of Contents, and About the Author, you get Notification, Configuration, and Confession, respectively. (And yes, there really are that many useful words with the -ion suffix.)
Some publishers would clutch their pearls at such deviations from the norm. Who cares? I am the helmsman on this voyage, and I say we skip the Panama Canal and risk the storms around the Cape of Good Hope. No one remembers a voyage over calm seas.
Have you got anything besides title tricks, Rob?
Sure. Proper editing ensures that we communicate well and do not confuse readers in our efforts to entertain them. I’m not getting in the way of that, but I will deliver the unexpected. Editors make prose clear, not safe. Who said it was supposed to be safe? To quote another sage of our age, Captain James Tiberius Kirk insisted, “Risk is our business.” Put another way: Let’s be interesting. Resurrect old idioms. Come up with new idioms. Experiment with expressions that have never existed in real life. (Not yet, anyway. I’m hoping some of my innovations catch on.)
I look at Papa’s advice with the same dim view as, “Kill your darlings.” That mindset done too broadly will eliminate your most clever stuff. Inside jokes can be okay. That’s the writer writing for themselves and the die-hard fans. As long as you don’t disappear up your own metaphorical butt, it works a treat. “Works a treat” is a dated British expression some beta reads would flag. Leave it in. They are readers, so assume they’re smarter than stale toast. Trust them to pick up context clues.Free yourselves! Break the rusty chains of the Olde Gods!
Readers who aren’t in the know will skip right by sub-references.
In 1985, I met with the great science fiction writer Spider Robinson. I was a fan, but I hadn’t read all of his stuff yet. He sat me down over coffee and spoke of his origins as a writer. He looked very serious as he opined something like, “I was on my bed, naked, with some good tunes on the stereo, a drink in one hand, some hash in the other, and a book in my lap. It occurred to me that I was bored.” So Spider decided to write his own novels instead of just reading them.
Only after I read more of his work did I run across those words in one of his novels. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was quoting himself.Good on him. When you’ve got good words, don’t give the same speech once.
On Black Friday, I visited Villains, the companion shop to Heroes, the best comics shop in Other London. I bypassed the men-in-tights stuff of my youth and went straight to the indie publishers’ offerings. On the hunt for fresh and interesting stories, I found them. Think in terms of Harvey Pekar’s American Splendor. Or lush watercolors without a single line of dialogue that still tells a story. I’m a fan of Iron Man, but you can’t say Marvel and DC are taking risks. Their products are dependable, but you won’t experience many new flavors.
Writers, take risks. Readers, please indulge us. We’ll make it more fun for both of us.
Now about those pictures
Last night, I could not sleep. With an appointment to get to this morning, I decided to do battle the snowstorm. The first snowfall has always been a tentative thing, a warning of what’s to come. It’s Motherhumping Nature asking, “Have you got your snow tires yet? Did you remember to pull the snow shovels from the shed?” (Yes, to the first question, negatory on the second, dammit.)No mere warning this time, though. Got a big dump of snow that is still pummeling us as I write this.
At 4:45 a.m., I was out there slinging it, testing my new hip. Worked fine and barely raised my heart rate. I shoveled about a foot of snow. By the time I was done that and had cleaned off the car, I had to shovel again. Dug a fresh six inches at 8:45 a.m. Saints preserve us, winter is here. I prefer palm trees, but I do like how quiet the landscape becomes once the sharp edges and hard surfaces are soundproofed under a thick blanket of snow.
And when it gets very cold — Moon cold — the snow squeaks underfoot. Of course, by then, I’m afraid to go outside and hide in my blanket fort, writing the next novel.
My parents did brave things. Having kids is brave. Starting and running several businesses took courage and ongoing resolve. My mom saved lives as a lifeguard and a nurse. My dad dealt with criminals and physical conflict several times. The hardest thing they dealt with was the end of their lives. Mortality is scary, but they faced the Reaper with grace. (Well, Mom was pretty mad about it, but with her last breath she did wave goodbye.)
I was unfair to my parents.
When I was younger, I thought fear governed them. I felt that whatever I wanted to do, they were there to thwart my ambitions. Mom and Dad seemed to wage a war on fun. I don’t think I fully understood their protective impulses until I had kids of my own. You want to shield your children from harm, and you worry a lot. You also want to prepare them for the world. It’s a difficult balance.
When I said I wanted to be a journalist, my parents were supportive. Working for newspapers and magazines sounded relatively safe to them. Switching my aims to working for book publishers pleased them, too. Later, when I said I was going to be a freelance writer, they got nervous. They were right to be so.
The night I told my parents, “I’m an artist,” I’m sure Mom hurt herself rolling her eyes. I could never make enough money to satisfy my father. They never asked if I was happy, only how much money I was making. With my kids, I’m only concerned if they are not happy. They’re smart and good, so I have confidence everything will work out for them.
Part of what I do is not so different from what my parents did, anyway. They started and ran multiple businesses. I’ve done the same over the years. I am now down to one. Writing is the artistic side, but publishing is a business, and it is not easy.
Too often, authors don’t think of what they do as a business.
If you are writing for a readership greater than one, you’re an author in business. Though putting words to paper can be therapeutic, it is not my therapy or merely a hobby. I write crime thrillers and apocalyptic epics to entertain. Is it profitable? My point is it’s supposed to be. I put movies in my readers’ heads. The story in your head lasts much longer than a trip to the movie theater. My latest thriller took two years to write, and there are many costs involved in bringing a book to market. So, yes, I’d like to get paid so I can continue to write. No shame in that. I love writing, but that doesn’t mean I can do it for free.
With much disapproval in her tone, Mom once told me, “You’re judged by the company you keep.” The company I keep is Ex Parte Press. Please support authors. Read books. Literacy makes everything better, and I’m a big fan of fun.
As my beta readers review my latest manuscript, I’m preparing for my next book launch. Some marketing gurus say authors should start promoting their books at least a year in advance, or the at the moment of conception, whichever comes earliest. That sounds like an exhausting marathon for both of us, but I’m cranking up the hype machine.In the meantime, there’s plenty of books to read while you eagerly await my next masterpiece. Right? Right?
There are many variables with these endeavors.
When I launched Endemic in October 2021, Amazon sabotaged me. Despite multiple calls to customer support, they wouldn’t allow me to run ads. It was obtuse, but my story about how people change and how they don’t was hidden from view. Oh, yeah, and the backdrop was New York, fallen to a pandemic.No doubt, the AI bots at Amazon suffocated my baby because of the title. They thought my sci-fi content could some misleading or controversialstatement about the real world.It was fiction, not misleading, and possibly controversial to some pearl-clutchers.
Happily, Endemic went on to win the prestigious North Street Book Prize in genre fiction, a Literary Titan Award, and first place in science fiction at both the New York Book Festival and the Hollywood Book Festival. Vindication!
Eventually, Amazon lifted the ban, but the experience left me bitter, gun shy, and feeling a deeper sympathy for authors of banned books everywhere. I’m assuming that, because my heroine in Endemic is asexual, the book would get banned if the censors were paying attention. (Looking forward to that! I’d be in good company.)
Given the state of the world, it’s significant that some of the censors’ favorite targets make political points. I’m with Stephen King on this: If they don’t want you to read it, add it to your reading list. Throughout history, the book banners have never been the good guys. Some examples of banned books I’ve read that I consider essential are:
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Animal Farm by George Orwell
Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
The Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
The Giver by Lois Lowry
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
The Hate You Give by Angie Thomas
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
This is not a comprehensive list, but if you haven’t read any of the above, I recommend you fill that gap.Or even read this one:
Ovid Fairweather is a neurodivergent book editor in New York when a deadly plague sweeps the United States. Bullied by her father, haunted by her dead therapist, and hunted by marauders, Ovid must find courage amid the chaos to become the person she was always meant to be.
Let’s pull back the curtains and open the kimono. What goes into writing a book? I’ll just talk about inspiration and craft here. There are many more moving parts than what I could jam into one post.
My life. All fiction is autobiographical, from the knife held to my throat when I was a kid to all the other injustices for which I have an eidetic memory.
Environment. Growing up in Nova Scotia, I was in a target-rich environment for hearing interesting dialogue. My next thriller is set in Maine, and I take great delight in putting fresh spins on familiar idioms. (My dad had a hundred weird expressions. “That smell would drive a dog off a gut wagon,” for instance.)
My major was journalism, and my minor was philosophy, but I had better chances to feed my work. My first year of university was a survey course called The Foundation Year Program. A unique offering, it’s been described as the history of philosophy or the philosophy of history. FYP seemed to cover everything, from classics of literature to classical music and jazz. I read a lot of stuff I wouldn’t have read otherwise. It was a great opportunity to discover how much I didn’t know.To quote Ted Lasso, “Be curious.”
University isn’t for everybody, and a decent library would suffice. However, I’d worked for my family’s business since I was thirteen. My main goal was to stay out of the workforce for four years. (University was insanely cheap, then, lest you think me a brat. Besides, I kept up with my studies just fine.) University was best for the gift of time. I used those four years to read, and read, and read. I’d read a lot of science fiction through my teens. Most of my spare time in university went to American writers. I remember reading Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood in one go, only stopping briefly to nap and eat.
My obsession with reading didn’t stop. Usually, I’ve got ten books going at once, though lately, I’ve turned more to audiobooks as a time management strategy. Everything feeds my work. Astute readers will note the parallels between This Plague of Days and The Stand. William Goldman’s prose was my awakening to how I plot a story to provide delightful surprises to readers.
Movies. One of my family’s companies was a video store, so I got to watch everything.I love movies and bring that sensibility to my writing. If you think my action scenes are cinematic, that’s probably why. When you’re reading my books, I want to put a movie in your head.
Wikipedia and assorted trivia. At my last dental cleaning, I blurted some obscure fact to the dental hygienist. She said, “How do you know that?” I know lots of useless factoids. A doctor once asked me if I had medical training. I replied (putting on a Southern accent because I’m funny), “I’m an educated fool, suh! Born to high privilege and of low station, beyond the delightful and obscure, I am otherwise useless to society.” (That didn’t help the psych evaluation, I can tell you!)However, interesting factoids are woven into my narratives, and readers appreciate them.
I have help. My editor, Gari Strawn, is a gem to whom I am so very grateful. My prime beta reader,Russ, has quite an eye for detail. Last night, he messaged me about whether there are hubcaps on Lincoln Continentals. This morning, he messaged me with suggestions for alternative classic cars the villain could drive in Vengeance Is Hers.
Anger, humour, and spite. Some people who could have been mentors, more helpful, or at least kind, told me I had delusions of grandeur. Fuck ’em.
My writing space has three desks, and I feel very lucky to have this writing life.
