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From the Office of Admissions
Let’s not call them confessions, okay? Because that reeks of guilt. And for many of the following, I feel no guilt whatsoever. I admit… I am immediately turned off by best-selling books because I hold fast to an erroneous belief that for something to be popular, it must cater to the lowest common denominator and I prefer to believe I am far above that line. I am not above that line. I pick up a book based on its cover and only rule out a possible purchase if the blurb on the back bores me to tears. Otherwise, I’ll buy it and give the author every opportunity to surprise me.…
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Why Are You Reading This?
Most blog posts save the Really Important Lesson for the last paragraph. I’m just going to cut’n’paste it right here: I write not because I “have to,” but because I want to be read. Thanks for reading. Skip to the bottom of this post and you’ll see the very same words. Are you still reading? Why? Anything written between the first and last word will merely be used to support the Really Important Lesson noted above. You won’t be surprised to discover that I have a few theories on why you’re still reading. Feel free to skip these: You think I’m trying to trick you. You know from the past…
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10 Reasons I Don’t Want to Be a Bestselling Author
1. I’ll have to purchase a whole new wardrobe from somewhere other than Wal-Mart so people don’t accuse me of wearing my false modesty like a neon sign. 2. Jerry Bruckheimer will want to add explosions to the movie adaptation of my bittersweet love story. 3. I’ll be the guest who gets bumped from Letterman when his lovefest interview with Julia Roberts runs long. 4. Struggling authors will hold quarterly “Hate Stephen Parolini” days to coincide with the receipt of their royalty statements. 5. An interviewer will ask me questions like “Did you know you had written a bestseller?” and “What’s your secret to writing a bestseller?” over and over…
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7 Random Distractions to Keep You From Noticing There’s No Real Content In This Post
All indications are that it’s Friday. And apparently, it’s a holiday weekend, too, though I didn’t realize this until my fictional next door neighbor started setting off fireworks in his driveway. I think it’s some sort of holiday to celebrate man’s dominion over dogs. I didn’t verify this in the “current holiday we just made up” section at the Hallmark store, but previous experience and the ain’t-that-cute tweets of complete strangers on Twitter give me reason to believe July 4th is known as “Make Your Dog Cower Under Your Desk” Day. I could be wrong about that. I don’t have a dog. So, in honor of this fine holiday, I’m…
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Brief Sunday Update
A quick thanks to all of you who entered my contest. There were a total of 35 entries, and while that may not seem like a lot, I’m very pleased with the response. After all, this blog is only 4 weeks old and the contest demanded your careful thought and time. So…thank you, truly. I’ll be going through the entries in the next two days and will announce the winner on Wednesday. It’s gonna be tough, because there are some great ones. Meanwhile, I wrote a short story of my own last night – one of those midnight creations. It’s not a 200-word piece involving a wristwatch. Just something inspired…
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Confidence (and Lack)
I‘m just going to come right out and say it: sometimes I feel completely incapable as an editor. When these times come, I stare at the author’s words and they swirl together like some cheap TV special effect to spell out “You are a fraud!” I worry every time the phone rings that one of my publisher friends will be on the other end of the line. “Hey, Stephen?” “Yes…?” “We’ve been looking at the book you just edited. You know the one we’re talking about?” Gulp. “Yes?” “…and we were wondering…did you send us the wrong file?” This experience is sort of like a waking version of that dream…
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Chasing the Flame
Note: I am a writer as well as an editor. Sometimes I wear my writer’s hat when blogging. This is one of those times. When the source of his fiction was autobiographical, Eddie could write with authority and authenticity. But when tried to imagine – to invent, to create – he simply could not succeed as well as when he remembered. This is a serious limitation for a fiction writer… But Eddie would make a living as a novelist, nonetheless. One can’t deny him his existence as a writer simply because he would never be, as Chesterton once wrote of Dickens, “a naked flame of mere genius, breaking out in…