I’ve been thinking (always a dangerous thing). The last year was my best in terms of gaining readership. That’s a fancy way of saying I sold more books. But who gives a fuck? Truly.
I was a guest in my grandson’s class last week. He goes to a school that helps kids with learning problems. What an amazing group. I’m not sure who had more fun, me or them. My grandson was very happy to have his writer/illustrator/designer/ whatever G. in his class. (The kids have always called me “G”.) Anyway, they peppered me with questions like only kids can… and no topic was verboten. Well, unless their teachers didn’t want them to say. My fave question was this:
”What is your bestselling book… and what is your worst selling book?”
This was from a ten-year-old(ish) kid. He wasn’t trying to get a rise out of me. He just wanted to know. I was at a David Sedaris reading and launch one time, and I’m disappointed that I didn’t get to ask that one. Mr. Sedaris probably would have laughed.
I laughed, too. And then told the class that I didn’t really know. I mean, I have some guesses, but I never keep that good of records—that goes for my self (sigh, independent) books, and the traditional pubbed ones. I sigh because I’m so tired of the labels. But yeah, I really have no idea because that’s not the point. And that’s what I told the class. They seemed fine with it. The teachers smiled too.
Things changed for me when I figured out I wasn’t going to do this for a job. When I first started, I had some dreams (delusions) that I’d get the first of many big deals, and I’d be set. Full-time writer, making a decent salary, and people just waiting for my next book. Hell, the very first query I sent out, the agent asked for an exclusive. Oh, poor naive Craig… he had no idea that that was how publishing was. The moon can get promised and yanked right out of the sky… seemingly at the very same time.
But that’s not what this post is about. It’s about writing.
Why the fuck do you do it?
That’s what the ten-year-old was maybe hinting at, I dunno. Maybe he had capitalistic parents, or worse, Conservatives.
“You gonna do that artsy-fartsy thing, you better have a way to pay the mortgage, boy.”
”Jokes on you dad. I’ll never have enough money to buy a house!”
Turns out I did. But that’s another topic. Back to the central question.
Writers get asked this all the time. Or maybe it just seems that way. So if you’ve read this far and rather go watch something on Netflix, I understand. I think some writers set out to make it a job, a well-paying one. At least that’s the sense l get listening to Lee Child. After he got canned from his well-paying TV gig, he set out to become a bestselling author. Yeah, right. Well, whattya know, the son-of-a-bitch did it. And I say more power to you Mr. Child. I read 2.5 Reacher books and knew I no longer had to read any more. Still, I loved the recent TV series. And I admit to not even minding the Tom Cruise ones, featuring a 5’ 2” Reacher, with lifts on his shoes, and a stack of phone books to sit on. (Movie magic.)
In the beginning, I thought this could be me. Score a big deal, sell some movie rights, do some tours… the whole deal. But then when none of that happened, I had to think about why I continued to chase that dream (delusion.) Truthfully, I didn’t think about it. I decided it was time to quit. It’s too painful to go to all this work, get close (and I did get close), and then get your ass kicked to the curb along with yesterday’s recycling.
Rather than digress into the past (hey, not to late to switch over to Netflix!), I’ll say what I told the kid in my grandkid’s class. I. Love. Stories.
And it’s very true. The most honest answer I could give. I love reading stories, and I love making them up. Yes, they feed my creative soul, or some mystical shit like that. But also, I just love what they do for me. They allow me to examine my world, and how I’m in it. I’ve learned to not start with some theme, or high and mighty position place of reflecting on the human condition. It’s more like… what makes a good story?
A list off the top of my head.
1. Good characters.
Language that sings.
Real emotions.
Questions, some answers, and a good laugh once in a while.
Good characters… Needs to be mentioned twice.
In the next Luke Fischer book, Sayulita Sucker, I allowed myself to follow my instincts on how I’ve been feeling about the fucked-up world we live in. That doesn’t mean the book gets all didactic, and moralistic. Because it doesn’t. There’s still beer and tacos, and Luke needs to duck a few things swung at his head. But by paying attention to the story, and at the same time the world around me, something honest emerged.
I hope to have this book completed by early 2025. And I hope some readers will like it. Part of the artistic process for me is always about sharing what I do with others. I’ll never be the dude who puts his manuscripts in a locked drawer, or burns them under a harvest moon. No. I’d like (need) people to read them. In a way that I have a hard time articulating, having people read the work completes the circle. And then it starts again.
So as the year starts, I’m delighted to gain more readers. Equally delighted to be teaching my first writing clinic this month. The year feels like it started with more than a few bumps, and I’m still trying to find my rhythm. But even the act of writing this post is the beginning of something.
See you. Thanks for completing the circle.