Where Ideas Come From

The world is an amazing place. It is filled with unlimited stimuli for our senses and our minds.

Something so simple as the wind moving the pine tree in an impromptu dance can bring forth images from other times, other places. Or that pine in the wind can be a soothing balm for our eyes and mind.

To my way of thinking, the thing that separates a writer from a non-writer is the ability to take the thoughts, patterns, and images we experience around us and see a story in them. The non-writer simply experiences the world. The writer not only experiences, but sees the stories that are there.

For 30 years I worked in county government and hated it. Yet, that job provided me with the seed idea for my first mystery, Festival of Death, gave me experiences and information and insights that I’ve used in many poems, short stories, and novels.

One morning a sentence popped into my head: Today I killed a man and a woman. A provocative sentence that! Must’ve had a bad day at work! That sentence, though, grew into my post-apocalyptic cozy catastrophe The Rocheport Saga.

The job isn’t the only source of ideas, however. Story ideas are everywhere.

The Pierce Mostyn series has a genesis that goes back decades. In the early 70s I became a member of a Minneapolis-based horror and pulp fiction fan group. I met Donald Wandrei, Carl Jacobi, Weird Tales artist Jon Arfstrom, and Jack Koblas, who went on to became a noted regional historian and biographer.

That fan group also introduced me to The X-Files, although many years passed before I actually watched the show.

Then sometime in 2017, after watching a few episodes of The X-Files, I got the idea for a mash-up between The X-Files and the Cthulhu Mythos. I liked the idea of an FBI agent hunting monsters and aliens. And what’s not to like about Cthulhu and his ilk?

After that idea took hold, it was a simple matter of a few broad brushstrokes to create the Mostyn world, and I was in business. But what stories would I tell about Pierce Mostyn and the Office of Unidentified Phenomena?

The first three Mostyn tales were heavily inspired by HP Lovecraft’s stories “The Shadow over Innsmouth”, “The Mound”, and “The Lurking Fear”.

The next Mostyn stories, however, drew inspiration from a variety of sources: Van Dyne’s Vampires from cryptozoology (the chupacabra and the Jersey Devil in particular); the seed idea for The Medusa Ritual came from the Heald/Lovecraft story “The Man of Stone” and the Medusa myth; Lovecraft’s “The Nameless City” and the movie The Mummy gave me the launch pad for Demons in the Dunes; and the forth coming Van Dyne’s Zuvembies makes use of Robert E Howard’s creation which appeared in his story “Pigeons from Hell”.

There is nothing new under the sun, the writer of Ecclesiastes declared. And he’s right. Everything plays off of everything else. Someone may come up with a unique and memorable way to express the thought, but most likely the thought itself is not unique. Someone said or wrote something like it before.

All one has to have are the eyes to see the stories, the many stories, that are all around us. If you have those eyes, you’re a writer. If you don’t, perhaps you can learn.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy creating!

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Fiction Is People

Fiction is all about people. At least good fiction is. That’s why good fiction stays with us. Why it’s memorable.

Theodore Sturgeon once said, “Good fiction is people. And people are people you know.” Which is probably the point of the old writing adage: write what you know.

It’s all fine and dandy for the writer to show off his or her knowledge about cars, or cooking, or stamp collecting, or orchids — but if those things don’t touch people, so what?

Of late, I’ve been watching Colombo. The lieutenant is a wonderfully drawn character, and certainly went a long way to contribute to the show’s popularity. What I find of even more interest, is that Colombo knows people. He knows what makes them tick. What is likely and unlikely behavior. He’s a shrink masquerading as a police officer in a rumpled raincoat.

Columbo is all about people: their greed, their habits. And how it is that in the end, who they are is what ultimately trips up their attempts to get away with murder.

Good fiction is about people, because without people there is no story. How can a story exist without people? Sure, we can substitute animals for people, but that’s just a camouflage. The story is still about people, and still tells us something about the human condition. It is as Ray Bradbury noted: create your characters (the people), let them do their thing — and there is the story.

There are writers who get hung up on plot. They have to detail each little action in the story. Too often, what gets lost along the way are the people in the story. And the reader knows it. The characters are flat, lifeless paper dolls.

Now some readers don’t care. They devour the story and move on to the next one. Those readers are kind of like junkies just looking for reading fix.

However, I think most readers want a quality reading experience. They want to read about people like themselves, or about people they would like to become, doing wonderful and amazing things.

Tarzan is memorable because he personifies the best in us and is ultimately someone who we’d like to be.

Rex Stout gave us the sedentary eccentric genius, Nero Wolfe, and the wisecracking man of action, Archie Goodwin. I find myself drawn to both of them, but particularly to Wolfe. Why? Because I would like to be the master of that brownstone. Good food, good books, the big globe, beautiful orchids. I’d just sub tea for the beer.

I can’t recall any story that I remember solely because of the plot. I do, though, remember many because of the characters. Bilbo Baggins. Hercule Poirot. Sherlock Holmes. Carnacki. Rona Dean (from RH Hale’s Church Mouse). Tony Price and Chris Allard (from Richard Schwindt’s two mystery series). Carol (from Steve Bargdill’s Banana Sandwich). The Zombie from Ben Willoughby’s The Undude. Tatsuya (from Crispian Thurlborn’s 01134). And more. So many more.

Fiction is all about people. Fiction is us.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Reading Indie

I am surprised by the number of authors on Twitter who say they don’t have time to read, or who don’t read books by indie authors.

Don’t Have Time To Read

This one just boggles my mind. How can a writer say he or she doesn’t have time to read?

That’s like a painter saying he doesn’t have time to look at art.

Or a woodworker saying he doesn’t have time to look at other examples of woodworking.

Stephen King has noted that if one wants to be a writer, he needs to do two things:

        1. Read a lot
        2. Write a lot

And Mr. King is not alone in his sentiment. Every writer who makes a living from writing says the same thing.

Reading the writing of other writers not only provides enjoyment for the reader — but it is a seminar on how others approach the art and craft of storytelling.

Writers need to be readers.

Don’t Read Indie

This too boggles my mind. How can an indie author not read the words of his or her fellows?

That’s like an eye doctor never talking with other eye doctors. How is that going to work? I would not want to go to that doctor.

It saddens me to see indie authors not list an indie book when they play those Twitter games of list your current favorite reads. Or an indie author when they’re tagged to list current favorite authors.

I read an average of four books a month, along with a bushel basket of short stories and novelettes. I also sneak in some nonfiction. And most of my reading is of indie authors.

Mind you, I don’t read bestsellers. I find bestsellers, for the most part, not the best books. I scour the bottom of the barrel and maybe the middle of the barrel. That is where I find the real talent. The writers who truly know how to tell a good story. And I find it a shame that those writers are the ones who deserve to be bestsellers and are not.

Indie April is over. But that doesn’t mean the adventure has to stop. Those indie authors are still there waiting to be discovered. Go out and discover them. Find those books that are not in the top 300,000 on Amazon’s paid list. That’s where you’ll find the good stuff.

Writers, if you are serious about your craft, read lots and write lots.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Get It Right The First Time

For those who know and read science fiction, you know what a giant Harlan Ellison was and still is in that genre. Even if you’ve never read anything by Ellison, you know the name.

Ellison was born 27 May 1934 in the city I grew up in: Cleveland, Ohio. He died on 27 June 2018 at the age of 84 in Los Angeles, California. His first publishing credits came in 1949 and started a long and prolific career.

Ellison was born too late to be part of the pulp magazine scene, as the pulp mags were dying out about the time he started his writing career. Yet the way in which he worked was very much in the manner of the pulp fiction writers.

I must confess that I haven’t read any of Ellison’s work. By the time I became acquainted with his name, my reading of science fiction was on the wane. However, I was very interested in an article Eric Leif Davin sent out to the members of PulpMags@groups.io on Ellison’s work habits. Because I’m very much interested in why some writers are able to maintain high quality and yet be exceedingly prolific in their output, and how is it they are so prolific in the first place.

One of the things that creative writing teachers teach and the publishing industry itself promotes is the virtue of re-writing. Yet virtually every prolific writer does not re-write. They simply don’t have time. They get it right the first time. Or at least mostly so.

Mr Davin began his article noting two points about Ellison’s writing:

Harlan Ellison produced first drafts quickly, and there was nothing careless or thoughtless about them. If you’d like to read one of his first drafts, just read any of his stories. What you see is what he wrote, first time, last time. 

Harlan Ellison was a fast writer and did not re-write. He got the story right the first time. In this, he was no different than such prolific wordsmiths as William Wallace Cook, Edgar Wallace, Hugh B Cave, H Bedford-Jones, Max Brand, or Dean Wesley Smith (although Smith calls himself a three-draft writer).

Mr Davin goes on in his article to say how he watched Harlan Ellison sit in a bookstore window and type a story from start to finish from noon to five each day. Ellison had been doing that for a week. At the end of the day, Ellison would give the typescript to one of the bookstore clerks who would duplicate it and give a copy to whoever wanted one if the person bought $10 worth of books. Davin got a copy and when the story was published, verified not a single word had been changed from the typescript. And Mr Davin was not alone in this assertion. Editor and author Ted White confirmed that this was how Ellison worked.

Five hours, one story. That’s prolific. Five hours, one story, no re-writing. That’s knowing what you want to write about.

It’s my opinion that we writers listen to the advice of people who do not make their living by writing fiction. We accept as sacred shibboleths the words of creative writing teachers who make their money by teaching — but generally have few or no publishing credits of any consequence to their name. As George Bernard Shaw wrote: those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.

For myself, I’d rather listen to those who know the business. They are themselves writers and writers who make money from their writing. People like Dean Wesley Smith, or H Bedford-Jones, or William Wallace Cook, or Erle Stanley Gardner. Or Harlan Ellison.

Mr Davin wrote that after sitting in the bookstore window for five hours typing, Ellison was eager to talk to people and would answer questions.

A female reporter from a local college newspaper asked him the first question: “Why do you write just one draft?”

“Because I get it right the first time,” Harlan answered. 

Mr Davin went on to note:

After a few others asked similar questions, I ventured my own: “Are there any circumstances under which you can’t write?”

“Absolutely none,” Harlan replied. “If you’re a true writer, you can write under any conditions…in the middle of a party, riding in a car, in a store window, anywhere.”

That is an amazing statement. A true writer can write anywhere.

As I write this, I’m putting Ellison’s statement to the test. I’m visiting my dad who likes to listen to music and is hard of hearing, even with his hearing aids.

I certainly don’t want to tell the old guy that he can’t listen to his music because I’m writing and like it quiet when I write. And I certainly don’t want to have a non-productive week by not writing. Nor do I want to insult him by putting in my ear plugs and donning my ear muffs to keep out the noise.

So I just write. And you know what? Ellison was right.

Mr Davin complicated his question with a follow up. Outlining an impossible writing situation; at least impossible for most of us. Ellison responded:

“You can write one paragraph, or one sentence, sitting by yourself on the toilet. If you do that every time you go to the bathroom, it adds up. Or you can go into a closet, shut the door, turn on a light, and write. Proust wrote “Remembrance of Things Past” in a small closet. It was cork-lined to keep out the noise, but it was a closet.

A writer writes. And, if you really are a writer, nothing can stop you. You’ll write anywhere, under any conditions, you’ll just do it. It’s that simple.”

So what can we take away from Mr Davin’s article on Harlan Ellison’s writing?

I think it is this:

      • Writers write. They don’t make excuses. They just write.
      • Writers don’t need to re-write. They just need to get it right the first time.
      • Write fast. By writing quickly, one captures the muse’s inspiration before it evaporates. The work generated from the creative side of the brain is always better than the work from the critical side of the brain.

I know writers, including some who are to me very dear people, who spend more time giving excuses for not writing than they spend in writing. Now I can understand that. Because I was one of them.

But I broke out of that self-defeating dynamic thanks to an article by Lawrence Block in Writer’s Digest. It was the most valuable advice I ever got out of that magazine. We procrastinate, make excuses, for a reason. Find the reason, conquer it, and you will no longer procrastinate. 

I no longer procrastinate. I did so because I was afraid of failure and affirming my parents’s opinion of me that I’d never make it as a writer.

I got rid of that fear once I realized that what they thought didn’t matter. I discovered that only what I thought mattered. Since coming to that realization, I’ve been writing like a crazy man. And I’ve discovered that there are people out there who like what I write. The naysayers are rarely right.

Ellison was on the money: writer’s write.

Ellison was also on the money when he said: no writer needs to re-write. Just get it right the first time.

I can say that I am mostly there. My first draft is basically the story. I do some tweaking and minor editing, but nothing major is ever changed. One does not need to re-write to make the story better. Write in the heat of the creative brain. And follow Heinlein: don’t re-write (that is, keep the critical brain out of it), unless an editor tells you to.

I found Mr Davin’s article to be profoundly inspirational. Harlan Ellison was living proof that all those sacred shibboleths are merely words. Follow them if you want. But you don’t have to. And you might end up a better writer if you don’t.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy one-draft writing!

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A Matter of Style

My whole career is based on the idea that the formula doesn’t matter, the thing that counts is what you do with the formula; that is to say, it is a matter of style.      —Raymond Chandler

I’d seen Raymond Chandler’s name, and that of his most noted creation, Philip Marlowe, around for decades before, I actually read anything from Chandler’s pen.

All I can say is that I’m glad I made Mr. Chandler’s acquaintance.

The first story I read was Chandler’s first published story, “Blackmailer’s Don’t Shoot”, back in February 2018. However, over a year passed before I picked up another Chandler story. That story was “Killer in the Rain”, which I read this past Christmas Day. I followed it up with “The Curtain” on the third of January of this year, and six days later finished The Big Sleep, which is a fix-up novel put together from “Killer” and “Curtain”.

What captured my attention and stirred my interest in Chandler is his style. Quite simply put: it is beautiful. Almost poetic, it is perhaps the most lyrical prose I’ve read. Murder mysteries elevated to the level of literary fiction.

And this is directly related to Chandler’s approach to the art of storytelling. He wasn’t overly interested in the plot. Chandler strove to give the reader interesting characters with believable behaviors, and an emotively moving atmosphere.

What HP Lovecraft emphasized as most important for supernatural horror, the atmosphere of the story, Raymond Chandler also emphasized for the murder mystery. Characters and atmosphere — not plot — carry the day.

Erle Stanley Gardner wrote that the problem with the murder mystery was the utter simplicity of the plot.

A murders B, but the police think it’s C, until the detective gets C off the hook, and pins the deed on A.

The simplicity of the murder mystery plot is undoubtedly what drove Chandler to emphasize characterization and atmosphere over plot.

When I read Chandler, I’m caught up in the mood of the story that the atmosphere produces. I’m caught up in the dilemmas of the very lifelike characters. I’m sucked into the story by the descriptions of the people and places.

Raymond Chandler was an artist using words instead of paint and brush.

As a writer, I am inspired by what he did with the written word. Chandler showed writers and continues to show writers that the most formulaic of genres can be turned into glorious art. That we writers can transcend the confines of our genres and produce not only entertainment, but timeless literature.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading (and great writing)!

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H Bedford-Jones

H Bedford-Jones was one of the most prolific writers of his era. His only rival was the equally prolific Fredrick Faust (aka Max Brand).

During his 40 year career, HBJ sold 231 novels, 21 novellas, 372 novelettes, and 748 short stories — more, or less. We write “more, or less” because HBJ used so many pen names it is difficult to pin down with exactness everything he wrote and got published.

After his death, however, his name, along with those of many of his fellow pulp fictioneers, faded into oblivion.

Thankfully, the renewed interest in the fiction of the pulp era is restoring the reputations of the many fabulous writers that era produced.

Consequently, we can now find many of H Bedford-Jones’s works back in print.

One of the most enjoyable books I read last year was HBJ’s lost race novel The Buddha’s Elephant, published in 1916 in All Around Magazine, under his Allan Hawkwood byline. The book is a rousing adventure yarn that is thrilling and suspenseful.

HBJ, because of his prolificity, was dubbed “The King of the Pulps”. His prolificity also earned him during the 1920s $60,000 to $100,000 per year. Which in today’s money would be equal to a few million dollars in purchasing power.

What was the key to his prolificity, and the key to his popularity? Let’s take a look at each in turn and see if we can’t find some clues.

Prolificity

What I’ve gleaned from HBJ’s book This Fiction Business and from information in King of the Pulps: the life and writings of H Bedford-Jones by Ruben, Richardson, and Berch, HBJ viewed writing as a job. In fact, it was his job. He had no other source of income. Writing was it. Consequently, if he wanted to eat, he had to write.

HBJ was not a good record keeper. One of the reasons why we aren’t sure what his total output actually was.

The estimate is that HBJ wrote at least 25 million words in his 40 year career. That means he wrote on average 625,000 words or more per year, or about 1712 words per day at a minimum.

On a good day, I can write those 1712 words in an hour and a half. However, HBJ advised writers to work 4 to 5 hours a day at just writing, and the rest of the work day reading or studying. He limited writing to four or five hours, because writing is exhausting work, and he felt we should protect ourselves from exhaustion.

My guess is that HBJ wrote far more than 1712 words in a day, at least up until a heart attack left him in poor health. In fact, he advised writers to write between 5,000 and 10,000 words per day.

Nevertheless, if you start at age 25 writing 1712 words per day — you will have your 25 million words by the time you are 65. The same as HBJ.

Another key to HBJ’s prolificity was that he did not let writer’s block get in his way. He had four typewriters loaded with stories in progress. If he got stuck on one, he just moved over to another machine.

I do the same thing and I can tell you — it works!

HBJ also wrote in series. Doing so speeds production because you don’t need to think about scene or setting. The world of the story is set — just start writing.

Popularity

In his day HBJ was exceedingly popular. What was the key to his success?

It lay in avoiding what HBJ called The Deadly Sin. That is, “The lack of perception as to what must be emphasized…”.

How does this lack of perception manifest itself? By not letting the reader follow and share the emotions of the hero in detail. By skimming over the crucial conflicts — by not sharing the details of the hero’s thoughts and feelings with the reader. To quote HBJ:

The reader wants the situation prolonged in proportion to its bigness, or at least emphasized: even though it passes in a moment’s time.

Let the reader share in the agonies and the ecstasies of the hero. Don’t gloss over them.

I recently read three books by a writer who is very high up on the Amazon charts. I read them because even though they were loaded with PC pandering (which I don’t like), he didn’t commit The Deadly Sin.

And neither did HBJ.

Therefore, I got to experience the ups and downs the main character experienced in both writer’s books.

Lessons Learned

H Bedford-Jones was a giant among the writers of his day. He was prolific and he was popular.

So what can this man who died in 1949 teach us today about This Fiction Business? I think it is two-fold:

    • Plant butt in chair and write. Write like your supper depends on it. 5000 to 10,000 words per day needs to be your goal, according to HBJ.
    • Don’t cheat your readers. Let them freely and fully experience the main character’s emotions. Give the reader a powerful vicarious experience.

H Bedford-Jones should be on every writer’s reading list. If you want to be a successful writer, he is a fine exemplar to follow.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Write Bravely

The best writing advice is free. Mostly because there is nothing new under the sun, and the same advice is simply recycled. And the internet is a great repository of recycled advice.

I started getting The Writer magazine in 7th grade (1964) and Writer’s Digest shortly thereafter. And I constantly run across the same writing tips that I read 56 years ago. And when I read books on writing from the ‘50s or earlier, I smile at the knowledge that what I read a half-century ago was simply advice recycled from decades earlier.

A couple weeks ago I ran across the following advice on Twitter from Matthew J Crocker (@CooksUpAStory):

My 1st book taught me I COULD write.
My 2nd book taught me my method.
My 3rd book taught me my voice.

All will never be published as is. And all were invaluable.

Writer. Every word you write teaches, makes you better.

So write bravely.

There is nothing new in Mr Crocker’s advice, other than it receiving the imprimatur of his own experience, which moves the advice from the academic to the personal. And therein lies its value. It’s proof that what he says is true.

Mr Crocker’s experience is similar to my own, just substitute poems for books.

As Dean Wesley Smith notes — writers write. You learn writing by writing — not by re-writing. 

A carpenter learns how to make cabinets by making cabinets. A potter learns how to make pottery by throwing pots. A painter learns the art of watercolor painting by painting. 

It is only in writing that the authorities tell you to learn the craft by not doing the craft.

However, the pros, the ones who earn a living putting words on the page, will tell you that it is only by writing that you will ever truly learn the craft and art of writing.

Robert A Heinlein and Edgar Rice Burroughs were two writers who gave the same advice to new writers as Smith currently does. They just said it differently. And Mr Crocker is saying the same thing as Smith, Heinlein, and Burroughs. He’s simply using his own words to describe his experience.

Each book we write teaches us something. Doesn’t matter if it’s our first, or our hundred and first.

Writers write. So, my friends, write bravely. Because there are no mistakes. Only happy accidents.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy (and brave) writing!

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Men’s Fiction Revisited

A knowledge and understanding of history gives a person a depth of perception that is noticeably missing from those who are only savvy with current events.

There was a time when men had fiction that catered to them, catered to the things that men find interesting. Today, though, this isn’t so much the case. Yes, a man can find contemporary novels and stories written with a male audience in mind. However, in my experience, they are few and far between.

Some time ago I outlined what Men’s Fiction might contain. I’d like to revisit the concept of Men’s Fiction and why I think it is of vital importance that a BISAC category for Men’s Fiction is created — and soon.

A cursory search of the internet will reveal the concern in the publishing industry over the statistics showing a decline in book buying and reading in the States.

Personally, I’m not convinced the stats portray an accurate picture. As the now defunct Author Earnings website repeatedly demonstrated, book buying is quite healthy. 

The reason for the discrepancy lies in the fact that most indie authors don’t use ISBNs, which is how the book industry keeps track of inventory. Thus all those books with no ISBNs are never counted. They are invisible to the bean counters sitting in the treasure rooms of the corporate publishing houses.

What the stats actually reveal is a decline in purchases of traditionally published books.

As for those surveys showing a decline in reading and that men aren’t reading fiction, I’ve previously discussed male reading habits. One of which is that men tend not to be social and demonstrative in their reading. Which means men simply may not be accurately represented in the survey results.

I know men who read, and men who don’t. I know women who read, and women who don’t. I know men and women who never touch fiction. And those who only read fiction.

The simple fact of the matter is that the surveys may not be accurate.

Another factor which is likely to throw a spanner into those stats on book buying are the folks who basically buy used books and only used books. As a case in point, I rarely buy a new book from a corporate publishing house. Yet, I do buy a lot of traditionally published books — virtually all used. New books are just too dang expensive.

In addition, today the frugal book buyer is having a field day with all the free books that are now available on the internet — and I’m talking about the freely available public domain books one can find on Project Gutenberg, Project Gutenberg Australia, Faded Page, and archive.org. As a further case in point, I have downloaded books and magazines by the hundreds from these sites. All for free. After all, I’m retired and living on a fixed income.

Personally, I think reading is alive and well — and I think the male reader is nowhere near needing life support.

However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t problems. Which is why I think the book industry and indie authors need to be careful not to exclude the male half of the population. The book industry and indie authors need to make sure that there is fiction boys and men will actually read, not stuff the industry hopes they’ll read.

Male readers prefer, for the most part, the genres of adventure, humor, horror, and science fiction. They also tend to shy away from books that are focused on relationships (such as romance).

The male reader also has a strong preference for main characters who are men, men he can relate to, and for male writers. This may be due in part to the current stereotype that reading fiction is something only women do. And thus boys especially need the male writer and male main character to avoid being seen as a “sissy”.

Gender issues aside for the moment, if we want boys to read — we writers have to give them something they will actually read. They aren’t going to read books about androgynous main characters. Or books where the main characters are female. They just aren’t. If we want to capture those young male readers, we need to give them boys and men they will respect and we need to give them storylines boys are interested in. It’s as simple as that.

This year I’ve been exploring and reading the fiction of the old pulp magazines. I’ve discovered writers such as H. Bedford-Jones, Talbot Mundy, Erle Stanley Gardner, Max Brand, Seabury Quinn, Alison V. Harding (almost certainly the pen name for Lamont Buchanan), and Hugh B. Cave. I’ve gotten reacquainted with Carl Jacobi, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Frank Belknap Long, and E. Hoffman Price.

The above writers (save for Harding) all made their living from writing fiction — and writing fiction for men. In fact, Blue Book magazine at one point proudly declared that their stories were “for men, by men”. Pretty doggone clear who their audience was!

So what have I gleaned from my reading of pulp era fiction?

The main character is always a man. He’s strong, smart, and very capable. He is a man of good morals, and is polite and considerate, unless unduly provoked. Then he is liable to deck his antagonist. Or he may deal him a witty barb that figuratively knocks him out. The pulp fiction hero is what every man would probably like to be. There are no angst driven heroes in pulp fiction. There are no heroes who are physically or mentally challenged. We’re thinking Jack Reacher types here.

There’s frequently a love interest. The woman is, surprisingly, given all the stereotypes, a strong personality who can go toe to toe with the hero. She is a woman who is strong and capable. A woman the hero can and does admire — that’s why he falls in love with her.

However, men have a need to be a knight in shining armor; a protector of those who are not as physically strong as they are. And they also have a need to pursue their love interest. If the woman is easy to get, then she really isn’t of interest as a mate. 

So even though the woman with whom the hero is in love can drink, swear, and dispatch a dozen bad guys, she will need to be pursued and at some point she will need rescuing. And rescue her he will. The rescue is the ultimate display of his love for her and also proves to her she wasn’t wrong in her choice of him for her mate.

Pulp fiction is often laced with humor. Men love a good laugh, and pulp fiction provided it. Laughter helped to ease the tensions of a hard day at the office or on the assembly line.

Action. Almost all of the stories are filled with action. Pulp fiction heroes are men of action. They aren’t navel gazers.

Adventure. Pulp fiction stories and novels are mostly tales of adventure — regardless of the genre. Men live for adventure. There’s a bit of the wandering spirit in all of us guys.

What I found in reading pulp fiction surprisingly corroborates the research Kate Summers presented in her article “Adult Reading Habits and Preferences in Relation to Gender Differences”.

Which to my mind means the pulp writers and magazine editors knew their readership and gave them what they wanted. Strong men. Strong women. Humor. And plenty of action and adventure.

The corporate publishing industry is dominated by women. And evidence shows they have little interest in catering to the reading preferences of men. Which is a shame, as they are leaving a huge revenue source untapped.

Which leaves us with the men writers who are independent author-publishers. What does pulp fiction teach us men who are indie authors? I think it means, if we want to tap into an audience that is starving for good stuff to read, that we write Men’s Fiction. 

Fiction with strong, intelligent, and wholesome male leads. Fiction with women who are the equal of the hero, but are also all woman. Not the kickass heroine who is too often a man in drag. Fiction with plenty of action and adventure.

Pulp fiction was commercial fiction. It was written and published to make a buck. It was meant to be disposable, casual reading. It was pure entertainment. Pulp fiction was not meant to be great literature, but then Shakespeare wasn’t intentionally writing great literature either.

We men who are indie authors, could also do a world of good by writing fiction for boys. Because if boys learn to love reading, then we writers have them for life. 

Kate Summers concluded her essay noting that while gender equality is important, when it comes to reading, and especially reading for leisure, it might be better if we just gave men and women what they want to read. I’m sure glad a woman wrote that.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Making Life Pleasant

“I wish… to thank you for your share in making life pleasant for me.” —from a letter, by a reader, to William Wallace Cook

In this little world, so crowded with sorrow and tragedy, what is it worth to have had a share in making life pleasant for a stranger?

—William Wallace Cook, in The Fiction Factory

William Wallace Cook, due to his prolificity, was called “The Man Who Deforested Canada”. Unfortunately for us, and I suppose him, his popularity with the reading public seemingly died when he did in 1933.

A search of the internet yielded no complete bibliography, nor even much of a biography. It seems none of his books are in print. And virtually none have been digitized. I suppose the lack of bibliography is due in part to the many pen names he used, and to a very large portion of his work being published under house names, and a considerable portion of his writing for the 5¢ and10¢ libraries of the day not being credited at all!

Would his present anonymity have bothered Cook? I’m sure I can’t answer that question. However, in his autobiographical The Fiction Factory (published under a pen name!), Cook does not seem to have had an eye to the future. He knew very well he was writing “disposable” fiction. He was not writing the great American novel — he was writing fiction to make a buck to pay the rent and put food on the table. He was an entertainer, much like TV scriptwriters today, and he seemed fine with that.

Then there are the quotes above.

While it’s clear Cook wrote hundreds of novels and stories for money, he was not averse to the writer’s higher calling: making life pleasant for the reader.

If he could, by his typewriter, help to alleviate someone’s sorrow, that was worth more to him then the check he got from the publisher.

I was a prolific poet: writing something over 2000 poems in the space of about 10 years, and seeing several hundred of them in physical and virtual print.

As I’ve said before, there’s no money in poetry. One must seek satisfaction in something other than the almighty dollar. For me, it was hearing from a reader how much one of my poems touched him or her.

Quite honestly, 99% of us will be forgotten by the time our peers and our children are dead. And some of us a lot sooner than that!

What matters most in life is how we touch others. We can be a vehicle of positive energy or one of negative energy.

As a writer, I can crank out books to make a buck — or I can seek to step a bit higher and hopefully make life pleasant for someone. The choice is mine.

I like money. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t writing in the hopes of making money. However, at the end of the day, I’d rather touch someone, inspire someone, or make life pleasant for someone than bring home shopping carts full of money.

There’s nothing wrong with money. After all we do need it to live. If suddenly my sales took off, I’d be jumping for joy. And I wouldn’t give the money back. But if no one ever told me one of my books made life pleasant for him or her, I would be very sad. Very sad indeed. For though rich, truly I’d be poor.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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The Deadly Sin

H. Bedford-Jones, known as “The King of the Pulps” because he was so prolific, made a very decent living selling stories to the fiction magazines of his day. In today’s dollars, he was a millionaire.

He wrote for about six hours every day and had four typewriters going — each with a different story or novel. If he got stuck on one, he slid over to the next machine and started banging out more on that story.

We don’t even know exactly how much he wrote. He was a poor record keeper, and used several pen names. The current tally of his output is 231 novels, 21 novellas, 372 novelettes, and 748 short stories, plus an incredible amount of non-fiction, poetry, radio dramas, and articles. All in a 40 year career. Something over 25 million words he wrote.

So, when I came across a copy of his book This Fiction Business (revised edition, 1929) — I bought it. My thinking being this guy knew a thing or two about writing. The book is quite entertaining, very inspirational, and informative. It’s a bit dated, but the publishing industry hasn’t actually changed all that much in the 90 years since the book was published. Much of the business aspect still applies for those going the traditional publishing route.

Chapter 6 is titled “The Deadly Sin”. In this chapter, HB-J reveals the one thing that holds back new and inexperienced writers from getting published — or, in today’s indie world, from getting readers.

The deadly sin is “The lack of perception as to what must be emphasized…”.

The new writer with little experience often misses the beat when she fails to emphasize what is important in the story from the reader’s perspective.

HB-J gives the example of a friend who couldn’t sell a story, even though he had editors praise it. HB-J read the story and saw the problem right away. The writer had disposed of the climactic conflict in 2 sentences.

Readers don’t want that. They want to fight with the hero or heroine in an arduous contest, perhaps almost lose, and then come out victorious.

Ironically enough, just before reading This Fiction Business, I read a short story in an anthology where the author made the same mistake. In the span of two sentences the story went from very good to ho-hum.

The writer lost me as a reader in those two sentences. I have no desire to read anything else she’s written. I don’t have the money to waste on a book that might have a lackluster climactic scene. Not when there are plenty of very good writers to read.

The art of telling a story is to know how to pace it for the maximum effect you, the writer, want to achieve. You also need to know what your audience is going to want to spend the most time experiencing. Is it the description of a room, or an info dump of background material, or the main character locked in a battle with the villain?

Some writers just naturally know how to tell a story. They’re the ones you want to listen to sitting around the campfire. The rest of us have to learn how to tell a story. And the best way to do that is to, as Stephen King noted, read lots and write lots.

Only by writing story after story do we get the practice needed for us to learn how to tell a good story.

Only by reading story after story, written by those who know how to tell a story, will we gain the feel for how it’s done.

So now, my writing friends, go forth and sin no more.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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