Excerpt from The Business of Being a Writer

Zestful Blog Post #256

My friend Jane Friedman, publishing expert and digital-industry thought leader, has just come out with a new book, The Business of Being a Writer (University of Chicago Press). It’s packed with useful stuff for aspiring authors as well as experienced ones. Reading through the galley she sent me, I was struck by this short passage in the first chapter:

[excerpt begins] …I’ve witnessed many writers hit their heads against the wall trying to publish or gain acclaim for a particular type of work, even as they succeed wildly with something else— that they don’t think is prestigious or important enough. Getting caught up in prestige is perhaps one of the most destructive inclinations of all. Paul Graham has written elegantly on this, comparing prestige to a “powerful magnet that warps even your beliefs about what you enjoy. It causes you to work not on what you like, but what you’d like to like.” Avoiding this trap is easier said than done. Most of us live under the weight of expectations put upon us by parents, teachers, peers, and the larger community. Breaking free of their opinions can be liberating, but what others think of us also contributes to how we form our identities. It’s not a problem you can solve as much as acknowledge and manage. Still, if you can at least let go of the many myths about writing, and pursue what you truly enjoy with as much as excellence as possible, you can shape a writing life that is not only uniquely your own, but one that has a better chance of becoming a lifelong career. [excerpt ends]

Wise words. They instantly made me think of one of my literary heroes, Arthur Conan Doyle, enduringly famous for his Sherlock Holmes stories. Besides those stories, perhaps you are familiar with his novel The Tragedy of the Korosko. No? Well then, maybe you’ve read Uncle Bernac. Hm, no? That’s because nobody has. They were heavy-duty historical tomes which, although published, just didn’t get popular. Not much then, not at all now. But the Holmes stories struck a deep chord with readers. That didn’t please Doyle! He resented that readers liked his gripping mystery tales over the important stuff about Uncle Bernac, whoever the hell he was. So he killed off Holmes at the end of “The Final Problem.” The public outcry was such that he had to bring him back (“The Hound of the Baskervilles”).

Many of us can relate to this. My own fiction is mostly mystery- and crime-type stuff. When I look at big famous literary authors, sometimes I think, well, I should be doing more so-called literary work. Literary work is defined as having literary merit, and a lot of that consists of social commentary. Hypocrisy is bad—see, I’ve written a novel that shows it. War is bad—see, I’ve written a novel that shows it. Mean people suck—see, I’ve written a novel that shows it. Gimme my Pulitzer. Funny how literary fiction so often likes to show us the correct moral path. Which is preaching. Which, unless the author has real humility and skill, gets pukey fast.

If you can reach readers with a good story that’s well told, while being fully yourself as you write, and having fun along the way—well, isn’t that ideal? If you’re fully yourself, your writing will feature the things you cherish, which just might include issues like right vs. wrong. The only difference is, you won’t be in your readers’ faces, telling them how to think. Far less risk of pukiness. Far more chance of success.

Get hold of Jane’s book for more wisdom and solid advice on building a writing career. If you like it, be sure to put up a review, OK? I’ll be putting one up soon myself.

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Reverse Reading

Zestful Blog Post #168

Hi! I’m always so happy to see you. (I’ve never said that before in this blog, but it’s true. Everyone who reads my blog is my friend, because I get about as intellectually intimate as it’s possible to get, here. As soon as I upload a post, I imagine you reading and thinking along with me.)

The other day I wanted something to read that would be pleasantly stimulating but require no heavy lifting, so I cracked open my old Sherlock Holmes collection at random and read “The Naval Treaty.” Reread it, actually, but it had been so long that I didn’t remember the plot. As all Holmes readers do, I tried to guess the solution to the mystery. [Spoiler alert from here on; I’ll be discussing plot specifics.] I was fairly lazy about it, but one early hint stuck in my mind, and lo and behold, yep, the criminal turned out to be the fiancée’s brother.

Sometimes Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote stories with so few clues for the reader that you have to just wait until Holmes tells you what he was up to offscreen, so to speak. But this one actually revealed to the reader pretty much all the information Holmes was privy to. So I went back in one-page increments (roughly) from the end, noting specifically how Doyle constructed the plot and planted clues.

The setup: A trusted Foreign Office employee named Phelps is given the original of a pending naval treaty between Great Britain and France to copy over. In the midst of the job, he steps out of the room to get a cup of coffee, and the original is stolen. Phelps is in deep trouble, the British government could be screwed if the treaty ‘should fall into the wrong hands’ (love that trope), the police are stymied, and Phelps appeals to Holmes for help.

It would take many paragraphs to unpack and discuss all the complex facts and clues, including a nice red herring subplot involving the office charwoman, but here’s what grabbed my attention first: Holmes and Watson go to the unfortunate official’s house in Woking and are welcomed by his future brother-in-law, a guy named Harrison. Holmes remarks that the man is not a member of the family; Harrison looks down and sees that Holmes must have noticed his monogram, and says, “For a moment I thought you had done something clever.”

A most generous hint from Doyle! One who belittles the skills of Holmes usually pays a price. Going back further, I saw that Harrison was placed in London the night of the theft; Phelps had planned to ride the last train home to Woking together with him. Now that is an actual clue: a factual bit of business that twines into the plot. That thread is left lying through most of the rest of the story, though Holmes, we learn at the end, picked it up and made use of it immediately.

Then I read the story again from the beginning and noted all references to Harrison. Most were minor and offhanded, with the main sturm und drang involving the charwoman. I noted Harrison’s behaviors and figured out the timeline for him, and saw how Holmes would have zeroed in on him after excluding other possible thieves.

So: For learning good plotting skills, repeated close readings can be tremendously helpful. As a reader, you can pretty much figure that the shouting and arm-waving are often a smokescreen; the train tickets and bedroom assignments can tell the real tale. As a writer, take the time to read closely, reread if possible, and make notes, zeroing in on particular elements that catch your attention. Try reading out of sequence: backwards, as it were. Watching one key character all the way through a story can yield great insights. Short stories are wonderful for this, because you don’t have to invest a ton of time to learn valuable stuff. I don’t read everything so tremendously closely, but I do read slowly, and I like to reread books and stories I consider excellent.

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