Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Writing A Novel Is Easy - Making Love to The Garbini Sisters is Hard


When some people learn I'm a writer of books (you're only considered a "novelist" if you write books that win awards and a hack if you don't) they want to know what it takes to write a novel. Generally the first thing they say is, "Oh, I should write a book." Or, "I've been thinking of writing a novel."
I usually say, "Good luck." Then when I show little or no interest in what sort of novel or book they have been thinking about writing, they quite often ask me for free advice. I'm not so callous or mercenary to ignore them, especially if they are adorable, petite, flirtatious, or leggy and Amazonian.
So here is the quick and dirty lesson I hand out to aspiring novelists on the fly:
Buy a ream of paper. Put it in your typewriter (if you're old fashioned) or the printer to your computer if you're not and start typing.
"Oh, but surely there is more to it than that," they say.
Okay, so you need to have a hero or heroine - better these days if you have a heroine since women buy most of the fiction. And if you're confused about what a novel is, trust me a novel is fiction, not your memoirs or a book on how to survive post-partum depression or surviving a love affair with a married person, or how to raise a horse. A novel is stuff you make up in your head - though granted it is getting harder and harder to do with all the really weird shit you read about in the news these days.
Then you need an anti-hero, someone who tries to prevent your heroine from getting too easily what she wants. This is called conflict and you should do it all in the opening chapter - unless you're aiming to win some literary award, then it doesn't matter if you ever do it.
A book should have 3 parts: Beginning, middle, and end.
This is the beginning.
The middle is all about conflict, guys with guns, being chased, hiding, jumping out windows, weeping at the kitchen table, having your spouse die on you right in the middle of making love just before you can tell him you've been cheating on him with your brother-in-law, getting rebuffed at the DMV while trying to track down the liscence plate of the car that ran over your mama, et al.
Then of course you need at some point to wrap it all up, having the heroine find the killer, or get the guy she's really in love with, finding a miracle drug to revive your dead husband so you can confess your sins and start over again - or, if you are trying to write a 19th century classic - having her throw throw herself under a train.
So there you have it, beginning, middle and end. But I'd forgo having your heroine throw herself under the train because first off this is not the 19th century, hell, it's not even the 20th century. No, she has to either live happily ever after, or at least her sister does if you plan on having her die tragically from a head cold the day before her wedding. Readers still like happy endings. They like to cry and feel all lovey-dovey and see themselves as your heroine. They don't want to end up under a train.
Oh yeah, one more thing: keep those denouments short less they become anti-climatic. Need I explain what anti-climatic is? We've all been there.
That's it, you've written a book. Now you just need to find somebody to read it. Trust me, this last part is the hardest part of all.
So what does making love to the Garbini Sisters have to do with writing a book? Nothing. They pay me for brand placement is all.

Now for some stuff that happened this day in History.

Lewis and Clark left to find the Pacific Ocean. No, not Jerry Lewis and Dick Clark - the other guys from history.

Vaseline was first sold as petroleum jelly in 1878 and immediately people started figuring out uses for it.

It hit 10 below zero in Climax, Colorado (1896). It is reported that even the Vaseline froze.

Judge Florence Allen was the first woman to sentence a man to death (1921). All the others just killed them outright.

A "We Want Beer" march was held in New York City. I guess it worked.

And now from Big Sal's locker next to her skivvies and tennis shoes, this:

What The Old Bum Knew About Eggs

Each morning the old bum would eat
At the same restaurant – the Sunshine CafĂ©
and order the same thing: two fried
Eggs, wheat toast, two strips of bacon.

One morning when the cook, a guy named
Robert, who had a tattoo of a girl sitting in the
Crook of an anchor on his left bicep, brought
The old bum his egg, the old bum said
“This is what I know about eggs:

The shell has about
7,000 pores, the
hen’s temperature when she lays
is around 106 degrees, there
is a small white spot
on the yolk called the germinal
disc; it’s where
the female’s genetic material is found.
There are
Eight parts to an egg not
counting the yolk itself.

That’s what I know about eggs.”

The cook was
impressed at how
much the old bum knew about eggs.

"But what I really know about
Eggs is this," the old bum said.

"I like eating them very, very much."

be of good cheer, don't drink alcohol before 8 A.M., change the bedsheets once a month.

http://www.authorbillbrooks.com/

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