Greg Levin's Blog, page 14

Read This, Not That

Far be it from me to tell anyone what to read or what not to read. I would never do that. But my edgy alter ego, Ridley, would. (Ridley gets me punched a lot.)
 
Below is a list of what I… I mean Ridley... believes are better alternatives to several popular and classic books.

(Warning:  Literary – and literal – sacrilege ahead.)

READ Ham on Rye, NOT The Catcher in the Rye. When it comes to the classic male coming-of-age novel, most sane people think J.D. Salinger, not Charles Bukowski. But sanity shouldn’t factor in when talking about males coming of age. Bukowski’s Ham on Rye does a better job than The Catcher in the Rye of capturing the angst, isolation and hormonal madness of a teen boy trying to make his way in the world. I mean, wouldn’t you rather read about a gritty kid coming of age in Los Angeles during the Great Depression than about a pompous rich kid whining about his charmed life while playing hooky from prep school?      

READ Hope: A Tragedy, NOT Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl. Perhaps this one is more of a “read this AFTER that,” as who in their right mind would ever diss Ms. Frank’s legendary diary. Hope: A Tragedy, however, is definitely the funnier of the two books, and we could all use a few laughs these days. It’s a fictional tale about how Anne Frank secretly survived the Holocaust and is living in the attic of a modern-day family’s farmhouse in rural New York. The book is as touching as it is uproarious and irreverent, and, unlike The Diary of a Young Girl,  it does not require the reader to have an entire case of Kleenex or any Zoloft on hand when they get to the end.

READ The Golden or The Shake or Enter, Night or Blood Vice, NOT Twilight.  Some people might think that the Twilight books have been picked on enough on this blog over the past year, but those people would be incorrect. If you’re looking for a vampire book truly worthy of the paper it’s printed on (or the Kindle it’s being read on), you can’t go wrong with any of the Twilight alternatives listed above. You may have never heard of them, but trust me, each features exquisite writing and compelling storytelling. And yes, plenty of delicious, nutritious blood.   

READ the back of a cereal box, NOT Fifty Shades of Grey. No, I’m not some sexual deviant who gets aroused by what I read on the back of cereal boxes… well, except for Grape-Nuts of course. And if you are really paying attention, you shouldn’t get aroused by what you read in Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s not that I have anything personal against author E.L. James; it’s that I have something personal against really poorly devised erotica – and all of the houses, cars and islands Ms. James is now able to buy because of it.

READ any Chuck Palahniuk novel, though NOT without consulting a physician first. Palahniuk’s work is a big reason why I became a fiction writer – that and the fact that I’m virtually unhireable. He is the master of darkly comedic transgressive fiction, and his stories cause just enough brain damage to make you interesting and compel you to never pick up a copy of Twilight or 50 Shades of Grey again. There have been reports of audience members passing out during his public readings, so if you have a weak heart or were raised in the Midwest, ask your doctor if she/he thinks it’s safe for you to read a Palahniuk novel. If she/he says no, find a new doctor.  

READ The Old Testament, NOT The New Testament. While neither of these books is a beach read, at least all the sinners who are murdered and massacred in the Old Testament no longer have to fear the wrath of God once they’re dead and buried. That book’s God is perfectly content just to have them out of the picture. In the New Testament, however, God’s hell-bent on bringing the pain to sinners for all eternity. Death isn’t the end, it’s God just getting warmed up. It’s all a bit heavy handed. I appreciate the authors’ (note the plural possessive) intention, but a mere mortal reader can handle only so much violence and damnation. Never mind the success of Game of Thrones.

READ Notes on an Orange Burial, NOT A Confederacy of Dunces. Don’t get me wrong, I loved A Confederacy of Dunces, it’s just that my lame alter ego, Greg, doesn’t get any royalties whenever somebody buys a copy of it. Notes on an Orange Burial, on the other hand, was Greg’s debut novel, and has drawn comparisons to Dunces from numerous readers – some of whom Greg didn’t even ask, “Doesn’t my book remind you a little of A Confederacy of Dunces?”
  
READ The Exit Man, NOT whatever you're reading now. C’mon, you had to have seen that one coming.


For those of you who were upset and/or angered by my… I mean RIDLEY’S post, fear not – this was the last time he’ll be guest-blogging here. My new medication seems to be working.

My Biggest Fears As An Author

I’d like to think I’m a courageous man, but let’s face it, I’m a fiction writer. I lie, fabricate and embellish for a living. All while sitting at home in my pajamas.
 
And still I’m afraid. Despite spending most of my time with imaginary people over whom I have complete and utter control, I live in constant fear. Of what, you ask? I’m scared to say, but only a real ass would bring it up in a blog and then not elaborate.

So, without further unnecessary buildup, following are my biggest fears as an author:

Opening one of my novels after it's been published. Few things are more frightening than spotting a typo in a book you’ve put out into the world and that dozens of friends and family members might actually read.

Having only my mother show up to a book signing. Thank goodness this has never happened to me. My father, wife and daughter were there, too.

Losing a hand. I’ve tried typing one-handed before, as well using a speech-to-text device, but both methods resulted in text that was about as readable as a book by Stephenie Meyer.      

Succumbing to the temptation to write what people want to read rather than the story stuck in my soul. I’m terrified of compromising my artistic principles for fame and money. Oh, how I wish a zombie apocalypse was stuck in my soul.

Having a cat ruin my manuscript. With two cats very fond of laptops, and a writing office with no real doors, this is a daily threat in my house. Plus, both cats are dicks.

Meeting Chuck Palahniuk at an event and accidentally talking about Fight Club. The first rule of meeting Chuck Palahniuk at an event is you don’t talk about Fight Club. But I have some pressing questions for him I don’t think I’d be able to stifle.

Not realizing one of my nipples is showing in a bio photo. Yeah, I know, revealing a nipple would likely only help book sales, but still.

Accidentally thanking cancer during my acceptance speech for a book award. Terminal illness turns my protagonist into a hero in my latest novel and the one I’m currently writing. If I were to win a major award for either book, I can’t promise in all the excitement I wouldn’t sing the praises of adenocarcinoma or the like. 

Getting killed by a character from one of my abandoned manuscripts. Oh, you don’t think a fictional being from an unfinished book could come to life and seek revenge on the writer? That’s because you’re sane, you lucky bastard.

Going to hell and finding out I must spend all eternity writing book synopses. This one is too horrifying to even elaborate on.

Having one of my novels made into a movie by the same guy who directed the 1995 rendition of The Scarlet Letter. Demi Moore is fine on a stripper pole or in the Marines, but for the love of literature please keep her out of my book’s adaptation. 

Finding out I have only three months to live when I’m six months away from completing a manuscript. I hate feeling rushed when I write. Also, I hate not having a say in cover art. Thus, this one would be a little scarier than some of the others.

Having my teenage daughter tell me she wants to be an author. After paying what will turn out to be a king’s ransom for her education, I’m petrified my daughter will take after me and make an exerted effort to be poor. To help fend against this, whenever I catch her reading a book or writing in her room, I tell her to knock it off and get back to Instagram or Netflix.      

Having my teenage daughter’s books outsell mine. Like any father, I want my daughter to succeed. However, like any author, I secretly want all other authors to fail and go into real estate. In my daughter’s case, I’d want her to fail and go into reality TV or Oregon marijuana sales – you know, where the money is.

25 Bumper Stickers For Writers

Writers do not feel at home in cars, unless they happen to live in theirs, which is true for only about thirty percent of writers. When a writer is in a car (that they don’t live in), it means they are not at home or at the cafe or in the mental institution doing what they do best. Time spent driving is time away from creating.

Writers in cars are also dangerous, as the vast majority spend their time thinking about their current book or coming up with an idea for another rather than paying attention to other vehicles, traffic lights, pedestrians or oceans. Studies show that 78 percent of all traffic fatalities are caused by daydreaming authors.

To help writers express themselves while driving, as well as to alert other drivers that a vehicle in front of them contains a writer, I’ve come up with 25 bumper stickers specifically for men and women of letters:

1) Driver makes frequent plot twists.

2) Honk if you hate missppelings. 

3) Cut me off and get killed in my next novel.

4) Crazy on board.

5) Your kid’s an honor student? Big deal – let me know when he finishes a manuscript.

6) If you can read this, you’re too close… but at least you can read. Buy my book.

7) The whales are fine – save the poets.

8) Write the book you want to read in the world.

9) Forget my driving – how’s my writing?

10) Jesus reads!

11) I brake for muses.

12) My other car is ALSO a piece of shit – I’m a writer.

13) What would Cormac do?

14) If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention… or you’ve never read any of the Twilight books.

15) Driver has write of way.

16) Stop honking! I’m trying to come up with a title.

17) I’d rather be signing books.

18) Character development in progress.

19) You’re driving behind me because I wrote it that way.

20) Objects in mirror may be more fictional than they appear.

21) Guns don’t kill people, crime writers do.

22) Don’t text and drive – unless you're finishing up a chapter.

23) Stay off my ass and you’ll stay out of my book.

24) Yeah, I passed you – you drive like my novel sells.

And this last one is to help subliminally sell my latest novel:
25) Are you sure you didn’t miss the exit, man?


While I’m busy turning the above statements into large adhesive stickers, feel free to share some of your own writer bumper sticker ideas in the comments section below.

The Failed Alternative Titles Of 30 Famous Novels

Writing a novel is easy; choosing the title is hard. It’s like trying to capture the essence of a soul in six words or less.

A good title can instantly propel a book into the limelight and firmly establish it as a lasting literary treasure. A bad title can get a book punched.

Below are the titles of some of the most famous novels of all time, each followed by an alleged alternative title that, fortunately, was shot down just prior to the book’s publication. 

The Great Gatsby. Crazy for Daisy

Catcher in the Rye. Whiny White Kid Without a Cause

Crime and Punishment. Die, Bitch Pawnbroker, Die

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Two Rednecks Save a Slave

The Stranger. Senseless Murder in the Sand

A Farewell to Arms. War and Piece of Ass

Animal Farm. The Bacon Rebellion

Lord of the Flies. Boys Gone Wild

Atlas Shrugged. Reader Winced

Metamorphosis. Why You Buggin?

To Kill a Mockingbird. Rape, Racism and that Rascal Mr. Radley 

Lolita. The Charming Pedophile

Tropic of Cancer. Sex and Drinking and Sex and Writing and Sex in Paris

The Picture of Dorian Gray. Forever Young and Homicidal

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.  Tripping Balls

The Lord of the Rings. The Nerd Bible

Brave New World. Gimme ‘Soma’ Loving

The Grapes of Wrath. Eat My Dust

Finnegan’s Wake. Joyce’s Jibberish

Naked Lunch. Tripping Balls: The Next Generation

Gravity’s Rainbow. WTF: A Novel

The Shining. Living It Up at The Hotel Colorado

The Road. A Very Bad Trip to the Beach

Life of Pi. Oars and Roars Toward Distant Shores

Fight Club. What We Talk About When We Don’t Talk About Fight Club

The Hunger Games . A Future Without Child Protective Services 

Gone Girl. You Go, Girl.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. I Seriously Need to Get Over Myself

Eat, Pray, Love . Gorge, Beg, Screw


As for my own novel, The Exit Man (about a party supply store owner who leads a double life as a euthanasia specialist), several alternative titles were given serious consideration before the drugs wore off, including:

·      Helium: It’s Not Just for Celebrating Anymore
·      Your Friendly Neighborhood Suicide Guide
·      Neunundneunzig Black Balloons

 
Your turn. Share some of your own alternative titles for famous novels in the comments section below. Do it!

A Captivating Letter From A Grieving Reader

You can’t write a darkly comic novel about euthanasia and then act surprised when you receive a letter from a reader. But I CAN act surprised after reading the letter (okay, the email) I received from one woman who recently finished reading ‘The Exit Man.’ I CAN act surprised because I WAS. I AM.
 
The woman – who, sadly, just lost her mother – didn’t lambast me for writing a subversive and sardonic book about death and dying. She didn’t take out any of her anger or sadness over her mother’s passing on me, as I might have expected… and would have understood. No, instead she THANKED me. Not only that, the letter itself was so wonderfully written – at once touching and a tad twisted. Heartbreaking and humorous. Basically, it was one of the best things I’ve read in a while. (And not JUST because she praised my novel.)

I was so intrigued and moved by the note, I asked the woman who wrote it (her name is Simone) for permission to publish it on my blog. She responded with a prompt and enthusiastic “yes,” and I am very grateful she did. Her words are worthy of being read by more than just a sicko fiction writer like me.


Hi Greg,

I just finished The Exit Man. I really, really enjoyed it. Your ability to pull the rug out from under a reader is fantastic. Wonderful twists and turns – like the ones on Space Mountain, they were deliciously well hidden.

Okay, so I read your section about the author, now here is a little something about the reader…

I lost my mother a little over a month ago. She and I shared a passion for reading. She could read in many different languages. A clever Brit who taught until the ripe old age of 70. She died one day shy of her 71st birthday, but then I knew she wouldn't spoil her actual birthday.  

Unlike the folks who needed Eli's help, my mother was 100% independent five months ago. She took a fall down some stairs and broke her neck. A Halloween-loving roller-skater and avid knitter, she became paralyzed from her accident, unable to breath on her own or move anything but one shoulder. Then, her voice was stripped away from her by a ventilator and, after further complications, a traech tube.

Why am I telling you all of this? I loved your story because it hit home. While my mother's circumstances did not involve disease, she had to fight for the right to do what she wanted with her life. I knew on day 53 that she was unlikely to recover and that we would lose her. She was not coming home. Stuck in a broken body, with her mind still intact, she knew it too. While others played cheerleader and drill sergeant around her, willing her to live, she knew that their definition of living was vastly different from what she was willing to accept.  She was not a sit-around kinda girl. Those who knew her well knew she lived life with a shout!

It took her four months to take the reins back from those who refused to accept her fate and continually overrode her wishes. I stayed clear of the battlefield, choosing to spend our time together just as we always had. I knew that eventually she would prevail. She was always a clever girl. I am a champion lip reader now. She asked me on more than one occasion to help her escape. I suppose draping a coat over her and finding a pair of wheels to scoot her out would have been the easy part. What then? Attach her to my Dyson vacuum?  We laughed about that.

She was annoyed that she was going to die as a result of such an ordinary accident. I promised her to have a much more dramatic demise. Eaten by an alligator perhaps or getting run over by a bus driver who shares my first name. She liked the former idea.  

As the end neared, she asked for a party instead of a funeral. She asked me to tell all in attendance about the importance of Advanced Directives. She had planned on writing hers, but each year she was distracted by some other distraction – a trip, learning Mandarin, teaching a group of welders how to speak English. Something!   

A few of my friends thought I should wait to read your book – given the subject matter. I wanted you to know that it was precisely the right book at the right time.  A brilliant work of fiction (unless you do own a party store with a shrinking helium inventory) that collided with an important time in my life. I loved your book and my mother would have too. I'm sure she was reading along over my shoulder! 

It's funny – I thought about how when it comes to people, we refer to them in the possessive but at the end of the day, one's life has but one owner. I never once questioned my mother's decision to refuse medical treatment. She wanted out.  She wanted to be free from forced life support. I will forever admire her for having the courage to go on her own terms. It was a privilege to be her daughter.   

As for any other feedback on your novel, I am a giant Mr. Magoo fan and a former criminal defense attorney. You nailed both Magoo and the evidentiary components of your story. The police part at the end was a bit of a stretch, but one that did not detract from a satisfying ending to a great story.

I will look forward to reading more from you!  

Best,

Simone

 
It’s always nice to connect with a reader – especially one who could easily have wanted to punch me in the face. Simone, your mother was an AMAZING woman. I don’t even have to have met her to know that. Your note said it all.

21 Signs You're Not Cut Out To Be A Writer

Just because everyone these days is a writer doesn't mean they are CUT OUT to be one. It's like how Keanu Reeves is an actor, or how Delaware is a state.

To determine if you're cut out to be a writer, read through the list below. If you identify/agree with more than a handful of the items, we're going to need you to put your hands up and step away from your keyboard or notepad.

1) You're perfectly willing to let little things like funerals, weddings and the birth of your children interfere with your writing days.

2) You wish you could write the next Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey installment.

3) You ARE writing the next Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey installment.

4) You have a panic attack every time you receive a rejection notification.

5) You DONT have a panic attack every time you lose a great story idea or sentence before writing it down.

6) As far as your concerned, their is nothing wrong with this sentence – its perfect.

7) You not only feel it's okay to use numbers to spell words, you think it's gr8.

8) Your plan is to take the proceeds you earn from your writing and use them to buy an island, or...

9) Your plan is to take the proceeds you earn from your writing and use them to buy a house, or...

10) Your plan is to take the proceeds you earn from your writing and use them to pay your portion of the rent.

11) The title of your novel is misspelled.

12) You think your work is done on a book once you type the final word.

13) Your muse has a restraining order against you.

14) You think all fonts are created equal.

15) Everyone finds you delightful.

16) Your house is on fire and the first thing you save isn't your manuscript.

17) You've never been diagnosed with a mood disorder.

18) Whenever a friend tells you something horrible that happened to them, your first thought is to console them, not "Hey, that would make a great book!"

19) You rarely if ever hear voices in your head. When you do, it concerns you.

20) The first person you see in the morning and the last person you see at night is not your protagonist.

21) You allowed this list to make you seriously question whether or not you are cut out to be a writer.

 
Time for you to get in on the action. Share some of your “signs” in the comments section below. Go ahead, don’t be shy – sometimes you need to be a little pretentious and/or self-deprecating just to know you’re alive.

The 10 Dead Writers I'd Most Like To Have Dinner With

The most fascinating people I know are dead writers I’ve never met.

I often fantasize about dining and drinking with famed dead authors, poets and playwrights. I think about what we would talk about, what we would order, if they’d like my writing, and, most importantly, who’d pick up the tab.

I had a devil of a time narrowing down the list, but here are the 10 dead writers with whom I’d most like to stuff my face, get drunk and have a chat:

1) William Shakespeare. Due to how much the English language has changed over the past 450 years, I’m sure Mr. Shakespeare would struggle to understand 90 percent of what I was saying, so we’d be even. I would take him to an English pub, ply him with wine, ask him if he really wrote all the plays that are attributed to him, or if the likes of Christopher Marlowe and Francis Bacon had a hand in any of them. Then I’d challenge him to a rap-off. I would also be sure to let him know he became one of the most famous and revered writers of all time following his death, though is still greatly despised by eighth- and ninth-graders across the U.S. In addition, I’d point out that the modern day Anne Hathaway is much hotter than his wife of the same name. If he argued, I’d introduce him to Google Images, Wikipedia and IMDb. Finally, I’d blog about the whole experience – in iambic pentameter – featuring a selfie of Shakes and me each knocking back a Jager Bomb.
    
2) Ernest Hemingway. What writer wouldn’t want to dine and drink with Papa? What an honor it would be to have this iconic literary legend personally insult me for sipping vodka instead of absinthe. What a privilege to have him punch me in the face for ordering a salad instead of a steak. And how thrilling to have him point a shotgun at me for using more than a single adjective in a paragraph. During our dinner, I’d tell Hemingway that A Farewell to Arms was the first novel I truly loved in high school, and then I’d quickly duck as he swung at me while accusing me of kissing up to him. I’d also tell him I occasionally post his quotes on Twitter and on my Facebook author page. I’d then spend the next hour showing him what Twitter and Facebook are, and the next hour in the emergency room having my iPhone surgically removed from my rectum.

3) Fyodor Dostoevsky. An existential literary pioneer with a gambling addiction who once faced a firing squad and did some serious prison time – DAMN STRAIGHT I want to hang with Fyodor! He being Russian, our meal would be infused with the finest vodka on offer, and thanks to that big beard of his we’d have no problem getting a seat and near-friendly service at any of the hot hipster establishments in town. I’d tell him how I cut my teeth on his novella Notes from Underground (112 pages) before tackling Crime and Punishment (448 pages) and The Brothers Karamazov (824 pages), and that his work had a profound impact on me as a reader and a writer. And he’d be all, “I no speak English. Shut up, drink!”    

4) Anaïs Nin. Most remember Ms. Nin for the groundbreaking erotica she wrote – highly stylized, eloquent and sensual works that mesmerized men and women alike – but it's important to realize she also wrote a lot of other... sorry, I can't stop thinking about her erotica. During my dinner with Ms. Nin (which I'd invite my wife to in order to eliminate any feelings of jealousy and to open the door for a ménage a trois that Ms. Nin might decide to immortalize beautifully in writing), I'd ask her about her bohemian days in Paris with Henry Miller. I’d also ask her if it's true she had a physical relationship with Miller's wife, June, and, if so, what they were wearing and if a pillow fight was involved. At some point in the evening I'd show Ms. Nin a copy of what's passing as erotica these days, after which I'd accompany her to London to egg E.L. James’ house.

5) Oscar Wilde. I could sit and listen to Wilde's unparalleled wit and brilliant observations all evening long, particularly if he's springing for the reckless extravagance of cucumber sandwiches he'd no doubt insist we eat. I'd let him know his is the only Irish writing I can stomach from his era, and how close I've come to getting one or more of his sardonic quotes about life and art tattooed on my daughter. In addition, I'd tell him how heartbroken I was after learning all about his trial and imprisonment, and that I even mentioned it in my first novel, which I'd have him read in front of me on a Kindle over dessert.

6) Mark Twain. Having dinner with the greatest American humorist would be a little intimidating, but I'm sure Mr. Twain would soon relax and realize I'm quite approachable. We'd feast on oysters and steamed mussels, which were his favorite foods as far as Wikipedia knows. I'd tell Mr. Twain how reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn woke me up to great literature at age 11 and even made me miss Saturday morning cartoons once. Adhering to good etiquette, I'd wait until he'd had at least three or four whiskey cocktails before I informed him that his famous quote "The report of my death is an exaggeration" no longer was an exaggeration. Being sober when finding out you've been deceased for more than a century can ruin a perfectly enjoyable evening.

7) Sylvia Plath. Most people would assume that someone as deeply depressed and as successfully suicidal as Ms. Plath would make a miserable dining companion, but most people don't think they know Sylvia the way I think I know her. After all, her ghost figured prominently in my debut novel – a fact I'd be sure to point out to her during our meal, while keeping her away from any cutlery and the kitchen. I’d let her know her words – particularly all the white-hot ones she wrote in Ariel just before she spun off the planet – sparked a fire in me and compelled me to stop watching so many goddamn episodes of “Friends” and “Everybody Loves Raymond.”     

8) William S. Burroughs. I being born with tongue firmly in cheek, it would be crazy cool to break bread and bottles with the man Jack Kerouac called the "greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift." (I thought about adding Swift to this list, but he, unlike Burroughs, was never addicted to heroine nor killed any wives William Tell style, and thus I feared he might be a bit of a bore.) While dining with Burroughs, I wouldn’t ask or say much – I’d just sit there and listen. That’s what you do when you’re with a Harvard grad who helped build the Beat Generation and the 1960s counterculture, and who inspired not only some of the greatest writers of his time and ours but also such musicians as Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Tom Waits and Kurt Cobain. Even if he ended up speaking in sentences and fragments that were totally out of sequence, like in his masterpiece Naked Lunch, I'd shut the hell up and just smile and wave.

9) Maya Angelou. During my dinner with Ms. Angelou, I’d say even less and listen even more than during my dinner with Burroughs. It seems every word – hell, every burp – that ever left this lady’s mouth was a beautiful and courageous poem. (Speaking of poems, she recited a pretty phenomenal one – “On the Pulse of Morning” – at Bill Clinton’s presidential inauguration in 1993, making her the first poet to do so since Robert Frost at JFK’s inauguration in 1961. Not too shabby for someone who once worked as a fry cook and as a prostitute.) Just to be sure I kept quiet during my dinner with the honorable Ms. Angelou, I’d order a very chewy steak and/or a huge peanut butter sandwich, and then just bask in the light and the eloquence and the power her syllables. Naturally, though, I’d live-Tweet the whole experience.

10) Theodor Seuss Geisel (a.k.a., Dr. Seuss). Upon greeting the Great Doctor for the first time, it would take all the power I could muster to not ask, "Is that a wocket in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" After overcoming that ridiculous urge, I'd spend too much of the evening fawning over the writer who taught me at a tender age to fully embrace all the beauty and wonder and absurdity of the human experience, and to be open to trying odd-colored breakfast foods on a boat or with a goat. As for the actual meal, I'd recommend we bounce around to different restaurants and sample little plates at each locale in hopes of inspiring Seuss to write a book called Oh The Places You'll Go To Dinner.

 
What dead writers do you think would make lively dining companions? Feel free to share in the comments section below.

Five Novel Ideas Of Mine That Didn't Make The Cut

While I like to think that most of what I dream up in my pretty little head is pure literary gold or at least a good idea for a new cocktail, I must acknowledge sometimes I miss the mark. I’m my own worst critic – I really must commend myself for that.

Following are the tentative titles and brief descriptions of five novels I came dangerously close to writing before good sense and common decency kicked in.

1) LMAO – A Novel. A dystopian tale set in the year 2080, a time when, due to decades of excessive text-based communication, only a few humans on the planet still have a functioning larynx and thus are able to speak. The story follows a disgruntled homeless speech pathologist who kidnaps teenagers and holds them captive until they’ve learned to gossip about and bully one another using only their voice.  

2) There’s Some Place Like Home. This dark satire of American homogeneity tells the story of a man who mistakenly drives to a house in a suburb that looks just like his house/suburb, and who lives there for an entire weekend before he or anyone in the house (his wife who isn’t his wife, and his kids who aren’t his kids) notices something’s amiss. Everything seems like life as usual until the man, while on his way out to golf that Sunday, realizes (to his absolute horror) the golf clubs in the closet aren’t his – they belong to the wife’s actual husband, who all weekend long has been getting drunk and watching sports at a 24-hour Hooters.    

3) # – A Novel. In this sequel to LMAO, spoken language has all but completely disappeared from Earth and nobody even texts in full sentences anymore – they just use a series of descriptive hashtags to communicate. The speech pathologist from the first book eventually gives up and decides to end it all, getting one of his teenage kidnap victims to write his suicide note in the style of the day: #GoodbyeCruelWorld #Whatever #YOLO  

4) The Hangry Games. The tale of a sadistic television producer who creates a new reality TV show that takes America by storm. Each week on “The Hangry Games,” ten men and women who’ve been kept in holding cells without food for an entire day are released into a stadium, where they fight to the death for a single Snickers bar. A bunch of pacifist nutritionists who are dead-set on getting the show cancelled lead protests across the nation, but end up getting captured by the TV network’s henchmen and are forced to compete against one another in the show’s final episode. The episode draws five billion viewers, including a high percentage of people who usually only watch "Downton Abbey" or listen to NPR.   

5) Flight Club. Fed up with the ever-increasing inconvenience and inhumanity of air travel, a group of passengers starts an underground movement – in the sky.  Participants of the movement, called “Flight Club,” meet in airplane restrooms and take out all their frustrations with flying coach by pummeling one another in the cramped quarters. The first rule of Flight Club is you don’t talk about Flight Club. The second rule of Flight Club is you must stop fighting and return to your seat immediately if the captain turns on the ‘Fasten Seatbelt’ sign.


Just because these are among the worst book ideas I or anyone else has ever had doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be huge international best sellers. If you let me know which one is your favorite in the “Comments” area below, I’ll have my ghostwriter start working on the book immediately.  

Fiction Writing Is My Life -- And What Will Likely Destroy Me

Few things satisfy me more than fiction writing – immersing myself in a world I've created, playing with imaginary people prone to deviant behavior. Fiction writing fuels me. It fills me with a sense (read: delusions) of grandeur. It brings me to the brink of euphoria and sometimes beyond.

It also makes me really stupid and irresponsible... at least when it comes to life in the "real" world. I get so wrapped up in whatever story I'm working on, so engrossed in the lives of my characters, that I sometimes forget to do little things like feed my cats, bathe, change my clothes, eat, make friends, pay bills, accelerate when the light turns green, stop when the light turns red, kiss my wife, ground my daughter, or look for a good therapist.

Fictionally, I'm an omniscient force. In reality, I'm an inattentive idiot. Not surprisingly, this has taken its toll on my social life. It's hard for me to stay present in conversations with people talking about their jobs and their kids and their pets when I'm so used to spending time with fictional assassins, vigilantes and sociopaths. Just as I'm sure it's hard for people to stay present in conversations with me when I haven't bathed in three days and keep trying to steer the conversation toward effective murder methods.

If I continue to write fiction, I likely won't live past 55 or 60. I mean, one can only daydream so much near busy intersections before one’s luck runs out. Even if I manage not to get creamed on the roadway, my wife, Miranda, will probably leave me due to my lack of attentiveness, and thus I won't have anyone to remind me to take the pills I'll be prescribed for the heart and/or liver condition I'll undoubtedly develop after years of sitting on my ass writing and drinking.

You may be thinking, "Why don't you just quit writing, Greg? It's not like you're all that great at it." First of all, that's a very insensitive and rude thing to think. And impractical, too. You wouldn't expect bees to quit stinging even though it often results in their death. You wouldn't expect male black widow spiders to stop having sex even though their female mate tries to kill and eat them immediately afterward. So you shouldn’t expect a writer to give up writing just because it's going to cause him to die prematurely and probably alone. Writing is woven into my DNA. I simply don't know any better.

To be clear, sympathy is not what I'm seeking. The fact is I'm very fortunate to have found something besides vodka that I'm truly passionate about, and to be able to (almost) make a living doing that thing. Sure, I'll likely end up friendless, penniless, divorced and dead, but hey, you can't write about your cake and eat it, too.

So, I ask not for pity. I merely ask for a little understanding. If we are ever engaged in conversation and you sense my attention drifting, or I start talking about the best way to kill yourself or someone else, or you notice an unpleasant odor coming from my direction, please try not to be offended, frightened or repulsed. Try instead to simply remember I am a fiction writer, and that there's no known cure.

HBO Wants To Turn My Novel Into A TV Series!

I’ve always been a big fan of HBO. I remember when my father first subscribed to it in the early 1980s. It instantly transformed me into a popular kid in my neighborhood and gave me the opportunity to see bare breasts without having to sprint to my friend Eric’s house for a peek at his dad’s Playboy mags. Life-changing stuff.

Well, HBO may soon change my life AGAIN. The premium cable/satellite TV network just optioned my novel, The Exit Man, to develop it into a series. (Allow me to pause here and pinch myself – for the 100th time.) Now, before you pull into my driveway armed with champagne, this doesn’t guarantee the show will get off the ground. Novels often get optioned for film or TV but never reach the large or the small screen. That said, there’s a fair chance my novel will at least be adapted for a pilot episode and, with any luck, become a full-fledged TV series. On HBO. HBO!    
(Insert internal reminder to myself to relax and act like I’ve been here before.)  

While I’ve always found optimism to be an awful endeavor, I’m going to imagine that everything goes off without a hitch and The Exit Man gets the final green light. Here is a list of my demands (read: polite suggestions, prayers) for HBO to help ensure my novel becomes a huge TV hit:

THEME SONG: “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult. While most songs about death are too damn depressing, this song is rather soothing and ethereal – yet dark and haunting enough to let viewers know they aren’t about to see an episode of Gilmore Girls.

The song actually popped into my head on several occasions while I was writing The Exit Man – you know, whenever I’d lose focus and start fantasizing about my manuscript becoming a movie and me hanging out with Megan Fox in the bathroom at a Hollywood party. Other songs that often invaded my brain while writing include Bob Dylan’s “Knocking on Heaven’s Door,” which is a bit too heaven-y for a dark comedy, and Johnny Cash’s “I Hurt Myself Today,” but that was only because I frequently banged my head against my writing desk when struggling with the story.

One other song I might consider is “Dead Man’s Party” by Oingo Boingo, which was featured in the 1985 Rodney Dangerfield movie Back to School and made it such a cinematic tour de force.  


MAIN CHARACTER (ELI): Jake Johnson. You may know him as Nick the ne’er-do-well bartender in the sitcom New Girl (or from his starring roles in the feature films Drinking Buddies and, regrettably, Let’s Be Cops). Mr. Johnson is perfect for the part of Eli, who is also a ne’er-do-well but who, instead of running a bar, runs a party supply store in addition to leading a secret life as a mercy killer. Johnson, with his sad eyes and comic chops, is built for black humor… the kind featuring terminal illness and death, not the kind in which he co-stars with Damon Wayans, Jr.

In the event Nick Johnson isn’t available for the role, or if for some strange reason he decides he doesn’t want to star in a series based on a book written by nobody he’s ever heard of, other actors who might shine as Eli include Michael C. Hall of Dexter and Six Feet Under fame, Aaron Paul from Breaking Bad (he played Jessie), or Bob the cartoon dad from Bob’s Burgers (I’d want the actual animated character, not the actor who does the voice).  


FEMALE LEAD (ZOE):  Emma Stone. She has starred in various movies, including Superbad and Zombieland, and in a few of my dreams that I cannot describe here without risking a divorce. And while she may not be a TV actress, and her hair may not be quite as red as I described in my book, Ms. Stone would do a spectacular job as Eli’s sultry and suicidal ginger girlfriend. She has yet to return any of my texts, tweets, Facebook messages, emails, phone calls, letters, faxes or telegrams, but I think if HBO were to get involved she might be a little more receptive.

The only other actress I’d be happy with is any actress who looks and sounds exactly like Emma Stone. I guess I could also be convinced to consider Kat Dennings (2 Broke Girls, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist), but only if she agreed to get a boob reduction, or not.     


SUPPORTING CAST: There are many minor characters in The Exit Man – most of them are Eli’s terminally ill clients who end up not sticking around too long. Thus, for casting purposes I’m really only interested in actors and actresses who already look like they’re dying before their time. Viable candidates include Samuel L. Jackson, Helen Hunt, Ed Harris, Laura Dern, and any of the extras from Walking Dead.


MY CAMEO: Stephen King almost always has a cameo appearance in the movies and shows based on his books, so why shouldn’t I? I’m not asking to play a key character or to have any kind of real impact on the action; I merely want to show up on screen at some point in the pilot episode, preferably as Zoe’s masseuse or gynecologist.  


FONT FOR THE TITLE, CAST AND CREDITS: Helvetica Neue Medium. This one is pretty much non-negotiable. If I find out HBO plans on using any other font for the show, so help me God I'll pretend there is actually something I can do about it. 


Before I go and pinch myself some more, I just want to send out a very special thank you to:

Ilene Staple , the wonderful TV producer who first approached me regarding the TV/film rights to The Exit Man and who had a huge hand in selling the show idea to HBO; Adam Berkowitz , the amazing agent and co-head of Television for Creative Artists Agency (CAA) who sealed my option deal with HBO; Brian Buckner , the extremely talented television writer who is currently working on the show outline and the pilot script for The Exit Man.
Were it not for these people, right now I’d be working on another blasé blog piece about being a writer rather than fantasizing about what to wear to the Emmys and the Golden Globes.

Oh, and if you’d like to learn more about the book version of The Exit Man, you can do so HERE.