Norman Green

PLAY YOUR OWN GAME

Jeremy Lin, the New York Knicks hot new superstar point guard, said that last year, on those infrequent occasions when he got into a game, he concentrated on fitting in. He decided that if he got a shot this year he was going to succeed or fail on the basis of playing his own game. So he finally got his shot, and the rest is history.

Go Jeremy!

What I take from that is that you have to write what you want to write, not what your mother (or anybody else) wants you to write. I’m not saying you shouldn’t listen to advice, as a matter of fact I do that myself. I told a good friend of mind from Brooklyn that I was in between writing projects and didn’t have much of a clue what I should do next. ‘Get back to the street,’ he told me. ‘Get back to Bushwick.’ I value his opinions, and not just on writing, either, so I listen. But still, it’s a temptation to try and figure out what would stand a better chance of finding a broader audience. Unless you hit one out of the park on your first time up at bat, I do think it’s human nature to wonder what sort of manuscript would bring you more readers than the last one. I’m not sure there’s ever a good answer to a question like that, though. It will take me a year, more or less, to write my next novel and just because a particular topic is hot right now does not mean anyone will still be interested in it a year or two from now.

Besides, I don’t think I do vampires very well.

Not the fictional kind, anyhow. No capes or long white fangs for me, thanks. There is no shortage of genuine predators, though. And why do they need to be supernatural, I ask you? Check out ‘The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon,’ one of Stephen King’s better efforts. This girl gets lost in the woods and winds up being stalked by a giant bear. You can’t tell me that you can scare the poop out of yourself any more thoroughly with a Satanic bear over a real one. The real one wants to kill you and eat you, isn’t that bad enough? And why do we have to invent werewolves and vampires, aliens and chupacabra, give me a break. There’s enough real stuff to be afraid of.

I think I do inner city predators pretty well, so maybe my buddy from Brooklyn has a point.

Yeah, I can do that. I think I will try to follow Lin’s example and win or lose playing my own game, not someone else’s.

On the topic of invented horrors, I must admit that I am intrigued by one of J.K.Rowling’s throwaway characters, Teddy Lupin. He only got a paragraph or two right at the very end of it all, but if you read the books you know what I’m talking about. Now there’s a guy who’s got an inner demon and a half, and he can’t win because it’s not some parasite trying to influence him in the wrong direction, it’s part of who he really is. It’s him…

I hope Rowling does something with the guy…

EMPTY PAGES

This business of confronting the empty page is an interesting problem. I have certainly had my troubles with writer’s block before. My longest dry spell was my first encounter with the phenomenon. I was halfway through the first draft of my first book, ‘Shooting Dr. Jack,’ and I ran dry. Suddenly I had nothing much to say. Days turned into weeks until an entire year had gone by and it was beginning to look like writing was just another one of those manic enthusiasms that grip me from time to time, and maybe it had run its course and departed. What got me out of that first one was an audiobook, ‘If You Want to Write,’ by Brenda Ueland. My wife got it for me, told me she wanted me to listen to it during my daily commute to and from work. Well, it worked, Brenda got me going, and I’ll always be grateful. Since that first time I have run into the problem again from time to time, but when it happens now I don’t get too squirrelly about it. For me, trying harder just makes things worse, but what works is imagination. I lie on my couch, close my eyes and just let my imagination roll. Actually I think it probably does that most of the time anyway, what I’m really doing is taking the time and trouble to pay attention. It seems to work for me. If you, like me, suffer from the affliction of a Puritan upbringing (what are you DOING!), it may take a little getting used to, but I know if I spend a couple afternoons on the couch I will come away with a starting point, and that is usually enough.

I am on a bit of a break from writing right now. It has been about a month. For a while I kidded myself that I was editing, but what I was really doing was admiring my own stuff, and that gets old in a hurry. The book in question is, at the moment, called ‘Benbow Street Shakedown.’ My agent has it, and I am trying not to think about what may or may not be going on there.

Also, it seems that late winter, early spring is a tough time for me to do any real writing, things get busy at my day job and I’m still trying to squeeze another ski trip in before it’s too late, although this year I might have to go a long way north to find any snow. Still, I think it’s time for me to start thinking about getting back on the horse. I think I’ll do it, block out a couple of afternoons, turn off my phones, and listen…

GO GIANTS

So they did it, the NY Giants won the superbowl. It was a great ride and great fun to watch (aside from my nagging unease about Harry Carson’s cognitive difficulties. There are a lot of other guys whose names you could put next to Harry’s, including Dave Duerson, who, being dead, doesn’t have to worry any longer about the damage his brain suffered in the NFL). Still, it makes for an inspiring story. The Giants were a mess at midseason but they pulled it together, managed to harness their considerable talents, played hard, and they got lucky as hell. I don’t care how rabid a Giants fan you are, you have to admit that if the ball had bounced the other way once or twice during their sprint to the finish line, that trophy would have someone else’s name on it.

So there they are, the three things you’ve got to have if you’re going to make it to the big dance.

One, you’ve gotta have the talent. There are plenty of people who want to be novelists, they put in the time, they do the work, they try like hell, but if you’ve read their stuff you know they ain’t making it. If you’re a writer you’ve probably had the experience, someone asks you to read his stuff and when you do, the hardest thing is facing the guy afterwards, trying to find a humane way to deliver the bad news.

Two, you’ve gotta do the work. I know people who have the chops but not the ambition, and I bet you do, too. And writing a novel, now matter how enjoyable parts of the process might be, is work. What makes it even harder is that most of us have a whole world of other things clamoring for our attention, jobs and careers and houses and relationships and lawns to mow and all the rest of it, so we have to grab our writing time when we can get it. How seductive is that armchair in front of the TV at the end of your day? Yeah, sure, go ahead, commute into the city, bust it all day long, fight your way through the traffic to get home again, deal with everything else on your plate, and then pretend you don’t see the TV or the X-Box or the internet or your TBR pile. I’ve got Elmore Leonard’s ‘Pagan Babies’ sitting there looking at me, along with stuff from Deaver, Pelicanos, Mosley… Screw it, I deserve a night off.

Yeah, sure. Yield, and your novel remains unwritten.

Three, and last of all, you have to be lucky. I would like to believe that the cream eventually rises to the top, but I really think that you can have all the talent in the world and you can work your butt off but if the ball doesn’t bounce your way, you’re screwed. It’s part of the process: if the Goonas aren’t smiling on you, you ain’t getting to the promised land.

Don’t believe me? Ask Moses.

One thing, though, is beyond dispute: if you don’t do the work, your name ain’t even in the hat, so shut off that television, stop looking at the web, and get back to work.