Write More or Write Better?

Choose one: you could write the most novels ever by a single author, none of them great; or you can write only one, but it’s the best novel ever. Most of us would choose to write one standout novel.

It’s not a realistic choice, though, in guiding how you should write. A novel doesn’t get to become a classic until after its publication, and often not until after the author is dead. In other words, at the time you’re writing it, you don’t know whether your novel will stand the test of time.

But we do face the real problem of deciding whether to spend our limited time being prolific (writing a lot), or polishing a small number of stories.

We need to manage what I call our 1/E Ratio. The ‘1’ is the time we spend writing first drafts, and the ‘E’ is the time we spend editing those drafts.

At one extreme, 1/E could be very small. In this case, you might spend twenty years polishing a novel, editing and re-editing draft after draft. Your final product might be very good and might become a classic, but you couldn’t repeat your success too many times.

Or your 1/E could be very large, nearly infinite. You could spend all your time writing first drafts and never editing them. Just self-publish them immediately. You’d be very prolific, limited only by the number of story ideas you have and your available time.

Writers at both extremes seem to have solid rationale:

  • For Writer One, a small 1/E ratio is best. She seeks top quality with small quantity. After all, editors always say they want your best work. Writer One finds her story improving with each draft, greatly increasing its chances of entertaining more readers. Few people remember the most prolific authors, she says, but everyone can name some great ones.
  • Writer Two keeps his 1/E ratio large and goes for maximum output. He claims he’s honing his craft with every novel, and believes it’s still possible that one of his many books will strike the right chord with readers. In fact, by writing so many books, Writer Two thinks he’s maximizing his chances of being successful.

Remember, 1/E is a ratio, and there’s a wide spectrum between near-zero and near-infinity. You don’t have to choose one of those extremes.

In my analysis so far, I’m ignoring some factors that come into play when selecting how to spend your writing time. Some authors write for their own enjoyment, and aren’t aiming for high quality prose. Others don’t generate enough story ideas to write more than a few books, so their time is best spent editing the few stories they can write.

Your situation will be specific to you and will be constrained by your talents, your preferences, your end goals, etc. I have some general advice to offer, though:

  1. If you’ve been polishing and editing the same novel for over a decade and it’s never quite good enough, try dialing your 1/E ratio a little higher on the scale. Declare that novel done, send it out, and start writing another.
  2. If you’ve written a fair number of stories that just aren’t selling, try nudging the pointer toward a slightly smaller 1/E value. Spend more time editing each of your stories before sending them out.

Helping you adjust your 1/E ratio for optimum performance is all part of the free service provided by your writing mechanic—

Poseidon’s Scribe

Trademark Cock-up

You may not think much about trademark law, but people who own trademarks think a lot about the words you write and the images you post. Allow me to introduce the following recent cases as evidence:

In the first case, following an outcry on social media, Nike apologized and cancelled a planned fashion collection that would have featured the logo.

In the second case, the blogger wrote a respectful (and hilarious) letter to the restaurant chain. Olive Garden decided to take no further legal action and sent Mr. Malone a $50 gift card.

The third case (now termed Cockygate) has created pandemonium in the romance novel industry and is all over social media. After obtaining her trademark, Ms. Hopkins sent cease-and-desist letters to numerous other romance authors who’d used the word ‘cocky’ in their romance novel titles. Initially, Amazon removed those authors’ works from its site, but has since restored them, pending legal resolution. One romance author and retired lawyer filed an appeal with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, challenging the issuance of the trademark. Another author has published an anthology called Cocktales, where all the proceeds will go to authors impacted by Hopkins’ actions, and to the Romance Writers of America advocacy fund.

The fourth case is pending and the USPTO may not grant the “Dragon Slayer” trademark, but the ‘cocky’ case probably inspired that application.

I’m most concerned about the last two cases, since they involve fiction writing. I understand the value of trademarks, and the need to protect them. I assume there is a stringent process the USPTO uses to process applications and grant trademarks, and that it followed the process in the ‘cocky’ case.

It strikes me as odd that one can trademark a single word, even a valid dictionary word, as opposed to one the author made up. If USPTO policies allow that, perhaps it’s time to question those policies.

Further, if an author can obtain a trademark on the use of the word ‘cocky’ in a book title, that may well lead to an open floodgate of similar trademark applications, such as ‘dragon slayer.’

Moreover, as author Steve Brachmann points out in this excellent post, in this age of social media, a strong-handed attempt to enforce your trademark can backfire.

Writers no longer live in separate, isolated bubbles; they communicate freely. If one author receives a cease-and-desist letter, chances are everyone in that author’s circle will soon know. In the ‘cocky’ case, the predominant opinion across social media is running against Ms. Hopkins. We’ll have to wait and see if she prevails in the courts, where law matters more than popular sentiment.

Perhaps it’s time I applied for a trademark on my pseudonym—

Poseidon’s Scribe

Author Suicides

Writers, it’s difficult, but we have to talk about this. The recent celebrity suicides of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade have raised awareness of the general suicide problem. However, writers may be particularly at risk.

A study released in March 2017 by the UK’s Office for National Statistics reported a higher risk of suicide “among those working in artistic, literary and media occupations.” [My emphasis added.]

It didn’t take long for me to compile my own partial list of fiction authors who have committed suicide (in order of birth date):

  • Virginia Woolf – (1882-1941, age 59)
  • L.M. Montgomery – (1884-1942, age 67)
  • Ryunosuke Akutagawa – (1892-1927, age 35)
  • Yasunari Kawabata – (1899-1972, age 72)
  • Ernest Hemingway – (1899-1961, age 61)
  • Sándor Márai – (1900-1989, age 88)
  • Karin Boye – (1900 – 1941, age 40)
  • Arthur Koestler – (1905-1983, age 77)
  • Klaus Mann – (1906-1949, age 42)
  • Osamu Dazai (1909-1948, age 38)
  • Primo Levi – (1919-1987, age 67)
  • Walter M. Miller Jr.– (1923-1996, age 72)
  • Yukio Mishima – (1925-1970, age 45)
  • Sylvia Plath – (1932-1963, age 30)
  • Jerzy Kosinski – (1933-1991, age 57)
  • Richard Brautigan (1935-1984, age 49)
  • Hunter S. Thompson – (1937-2005, age 67)
  • John Kennedy Toole – (1937-1969, age 31)
  • Thomas Disch – (1940-2008, age 68)
  • David Foster Wallace – (1962-2008, age 46)
  • Ned Vizzini – (1981-2013, age 32)

For three of these (Kawabata, Mann, and Levi), the suicide explanation remains in doubt. I feel compelled to point out that three other authors on this list (Boye, Miller, and Disch) wrote Science Fiction, my chosen genre.

In reading articles about these authors, it’s significant how many articles mention the word “depression.”

Following any suicide, we naturally seek a reason, an explanation, an answer to “why?” Some authors left notes attempting to rationalize their choice, but often these only leave us with more questions.

It’s probably unfair to generalize about such a personal choice, an option chosen based on necessarily specific reasons. Still, it’s natural to wonder if there are aspects of writing fiction that increase suicide risk. Here are my (unscientific and unsupported) speculations on that:

  • Writing is solitary. Writers tend to be less social and have fewer contacts with friends who might talk them out of suicide.
  • Writers explore their inner feelings, and those of their characters. Such deep introspection can lead to depression and suicide.
  • Writers think more about death and suffering than most people do. All fiction involves conflict, and writers must put their characters through pain, and, in some cases, death.
  • Feedback can depress writers. Authors offer their cherished work to the entre world, and hope for a positive reaction. If the public ignores their stories or reviewers lambast them, authors often take it personally.

If you’re a writer (or anyone) contemplating suicide, please, please, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), or go to their website.

Perhaps you know a writer (or, again, anyone) who may be at risk of suicide. There’s a Twitter hashtag devoted to this: #BeThe1To. Here are the 5 Action Steps you can take to help your friend:

  1. Ask your friend in a caring way if they feel suicidal;
  2. Do what you can to keep your friend safe;
  3. Listen without judgement and be there for your friend;
  4. Connect your friend to a network of resources and helpful people; and
  5. Follow up with your friend, even after treatment.

Let’s have a world without suicides. That’s the dream of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

A Writing Fool and his Money

After eleven entries about my cruise to Alaska, I’m returning this blog to topics dealing with the writing scene. Authors often debate the pros and cons of retaining a literary agent. You can add one item to the con list—your agent’s bookkeeper might be embezzling your earnings.

According to a New York Post report, the bookkeeper for a top literary agency has admitted to a charge of wire fraud. The agency alleges the bookkeeper stole at least $3.4M, leaving the company on the verge of bankruptcy. Forensic auditors are combing the agency’s books back to 2001, so that figure could go much higher.

Donadio & Olson is a prestigious company based in New York, boasting an impressive list of clients, including Chuck Palahnuik and McKay Jenkins, and the estates of Mario Puzo, Studs Terkel, and Peter Matthiessen.

How could such a thing happen? Writer and editor Kristine Kathryn Rusch has a theory, and I suspect she’s right, though I respectfully disagree with some of her remedies.

Ms. Rusch’s blogpost paints a picture of authors who loved to write, and didn’t really care to mess with figures having dollar signs, so they outsourced that job to a literary agent. When some of those authors died, their heirs didn’t want to know details either, and outsourced the financial and contractual stuff to the agent. Workers within the agency, likewise, may not have relished the numerical, pecuniary part of their job, so they contracted that to a bookkeeper.

Then nobody checked up. The authors and heirs trusted the agent; the agent trusted the bookkeeper. Millions of dollars passed through this bookkeeper’s hands, and nobody asked him if he was putting every dollar into the right account. Temptation may have overcome honesty, and years passed.

Then somebody checked up. One author, represented by D&O, asked about a $200,000 advance payment the author expected to receive from a publisher. When the bookkeeper kept putting the author off, the author persisted, then asked several people at D&O. The house of cards began to collapse.

I don’t know if this is what really happened, but it is believable, given the attitudes some authors have about money. If this scenario is true, what lessons should writers draw from this misfortune?

Ms. Rusch’s advice is clear: (1) sever your relationship with your agent and never hire one, and (2) learn the financial and contractual end of the writing business and do it yourself.

While acknowledging her greater knowledge in this area, I believe Ms. Rusch’s recommendations go too far. They strike me as disparaging an entire group of professionals for the actions of a few.

I’d summarize my suggestions as follows: (1) hire an agent if you believe you must, and (2) learn enough of the financial and contracting biz to ask hard questions. More simply: trust, but verify.

If you’re the type of starry-eyed writer who wishes only to frolic in the forest of words, leaving those dreary accounting matters to your (oh, so friendly) agent, be warned: there are wolves in those woods. These wolves smile nicely and talk sweetly, but prey on your intentional ignorance of money.

Remember how the D&O bookkeeper scam got discovered? Out of all their clients, just one persistent author cared enough to check up, to ask the hard questions. That author may have trusted, but went on to verify.

Don’t be the writing fool who’s soon parted from his, or her, money. That’s the advice about agents, and money, from—

Poseidon’s Scribe