Anyone who visits this site with any regularity knows that when it comes to rejection, my motto is, If you’ve got it, flaunt it. Which is not to say I feel no disappointment when one of my stories is turned down for publication. Rather I feel that rejection is inevitable (so says the note taped above my ever-growing pile of such letters), as natural to the writing process as brainstorming or copyediting. Of course I also feel that if one keeps writing and submitting, then acceptance is also inevitable. (Unless of course, one is a particularly bad writer; and even thing I like to think such individuals are at least somewhat aware of their abilities — or their lack thereof.)

I don’t post my rejection slips as an affront to the publishers who don’t appreciate my art! Nor am I doing it in an attempt to steal the thunder of would-be critics who feel my efforts are better applied to law or perhaps salmon-gutting. When I conceived this site, I knew that a great part of displaying the struggle of the aspiring novelist would be the myriad roadblocks and flat-out refusals that come with gaining entry into that fabled kingdom of Publishing. Although I post those somewhat disheartening missives with a certain tongue-in-cheek attitude, I am in no way upset by their number (not too much, anyway), nor do I feel I am being unjustly gerrymandered from a readership who would enjoy my stories. Plainly put, rejection is inevitable, and since this site is about all of the facets of professional writing, their inclusion on this site is nothing less than necessary.

Ian

Some writer (I don’t remember who) once said there are two kinds of writers in the world: those who sell books and those who win awards.

While I usually abhor generalizations of any kind, this might go some way to explaining why literary high-brows have such a disliking for the so-called "popular novelists." But things are never so cut and dry, no more than the other postulate that suggests that if something is popular, it must appeal only to the lowest common denominator. Britney Spears sells lots of CDs because her fans are mindless teenybopping morons; Survivor receives high ratings because TV audiences are mindless, bloodthirsty zombies; and sells lots of books because his/her fans are mindless trash-loving idiots. It’s sad, but some people truly believe this is the case. And while I’m neither fan of Britney Spears or Survivor, I think it’s too broad a statement to suggest that the only people who enjoy such distractions are mindless consumers. Okay, some of them are, sure, but then by which method do the haughty literati measure success if not by how many people buy the book? By how many awards it wins? By (God forbid) the movie adaptation?

Another writer musing once said (and I’m paraphrasing): "He’s a fine author who has won a great many awards. And I think some people have even read his books, too."

Tom Clancy (one of the literati’s Ten Most Hated) once defined literature as anything written by a dead author which is forced upon high-school students. This is, again, a broad generalization, but I think the focus is more on the humor (and the irony) of the statement than the correctness of the definition.

Here’s another question: Is it better to be despised, as in the case of popular novelists like Clancy, or is it better to be ignored? Sometimes entire genres received the cold shoulder from the publishing community. When was the last time you heard of a children’s book or a young-adult novel receiving praise outside of children or young-adult award ceremonies? I think writers in those fields might even have it worse than the Tom Clancys and John Grishams. In the Rejection section of this site, I opined that a personalized rejection is better than a form letter, and I stand by that; likewise, I feel that a bad review is better than no review at all. Critics may not like you’re work, but at least they’re saying something, and ultimately that’s what most concerns me.

Ian

I was recently turned on to a couple of new writing resources that I’ve found extremely useful. The first is called OneLook, and features a very helpful reverse dictionary. The second is Hyperdictionary, one of the few online dictionaries on the Web that isn’t charging for the full range of its services. Check them out.

Ian

One of my contemporaries recently commented to me that my tangents of late have been decidedly lit’ry. So, in the spirit of being a tad more low-brow, I thought I’d discuss something which many writers consider to be very un-lit’ry: the movie novelization.

Novelizations are but one of the many bastard children of the publishing industry — not quite as bad as the abridged novel, but certain part of the same slush-pile.

Novelizations are movies that have been turned into books — as opposed to novels that are turned into movies (natch). Novelizations usually start with no source material other than a script, and can be seen as little more than extensions of the movie screenplay. I own a few, myself, though not for their literary merit. Tearing apart a novelization is like shooting fish in the proverbial barrel — or like comparing The Book with The Movie; an unfair comparison in almost every instance, since, in my opinion, there is little chance of any movie embodying all of the elements contained within a novel. Novelizations should be considered more as companions to the movies upon which they’re based. I enjoy the odd one not because of the author’s elegant style or dialogue (most of which has been copied from the script anyway), but for the same reason I like watching the deleted scenes of a laserdisc or DVD: because it’s interesting to see more of the movie.

One of the novelizations I enjoyed is Poltergeist. Based on the Tobe Hooper–Steven Spielberg film, the writer, James Kahn, creates an interesting backstory for the characters, as well as an enjoyable (if somewhat hackneyed) subplot for the diminutive psychic, Tangina Barrons. None of it is high-literature, but it makes for a good story, and it adds something to one of my favorite films.

Another good one is Aliens, by Alan Dean Foster (author of many a novelization). Besides including elements from deleted scenes in film — deleted scenes which remained unseen until the release of the laserdisc years later — Foster throws in his own token elements of characterization that make his books so enjoyable to read. (Another Foster novelization I would recommend is The Thing.)

While they’re certainly not deserving of a high place in the tiers of literature, novelizations have their worth for cinephiles and maybe even a few bibliophiles, as well.

Ian

lost boy lost girl
Peter Straub
Random House
304 pp.

At first glance, there wouldn’t seem to be much point in writing a review of lost boy lost girl, the new novel by Peter Straub. Why? Well, take a look at this portion of the jacket description:

… beautiful, troubled fifteen-year-old Mark Underhill … vanishes from the face of the earth. To his uncle, horror novelist Timothy Underhill, Mark’s inexplicable absence feels like a second death … Tim searches his hometown of Millhaven for clues that might help him unravel this mystery of death and disappearance. He soon learns that a pedophilic murderer is on the loose in the vicinity, and that shortly before his mother’s suicide Mark had become obsessed with an abandoned house where he imagined the killer might have taken refuge. No mere empty building, the house on Michigan Street whispers from attic to basement with the echoes of a long-hidden true-life horror story …

Then take a look at another, this one from Black House, a collaboration between Straub and Stephen King:

When a series of gruesome murders occur in western Wisconsin that are reminiscent of those committed several decades ago by a madman named Albert Fish, the killer is dubbed "the Fisherman" … But these new killings merely the work of a disturbed individual, or has a mysterious and malignant force been unleashed in this quiet town … Jack is drawn back to the Territories and to his own hidden past, where he may find the soul-strength to enter a terrifying house at the end of a deserted tract of forest …

On the surface the books have striking similarities: serial killer on the loose, kidnapped boy, strange house that is more than what it seems. A colleague was quick to suggest that maybe lost boy lost girl (Straub’s first novel since B.H.) might in fact be Black House minus what King brought to the table.

Regardless, I’ve tried to look at lost boy lost girl as a separate entity, and you should too, because it is a book worth checking out.

Straub has been known as a much more artsy genre writer — not so much pretentious as he is particular about the language — and in a field with a reputation for pumping out a lot of crap, he’s a welcome breath of fresh air.

Speaking of fresh air, I should begin by saying that lost boy lost girl is that it’s a novel about atmosphere — and not just in the writerly sense of the word.

Tim Underhill, horror author and reluctant investigator, travels to his hometown to investigate the disappearance of his nephew, Mark. Greeted by his less-than-impressed brother, Phillip, Tim quickly realizes that it’s up to him to find out what happened.

As it was mentioned above, there’s a serial killer on the loose, and before he disappeared, Mark became obsessed with a house which he believed was connected to the murders.

The characterization of Tim and Mark and the bond they share is the book’s greatest strength. A successful novelist and a would-be skaterpunk, the two are polar opposites of society, and yet they never seem phony or unbelievable. At one point, Tim pointedly refers to his brother’s jealous, and suggests that he might even have something to be jealous of. Tim feels like a real character — no apologies.

The book’s only failing, at least to me, is the story structure. lost boy lost girl doesn’t feel quite like a novel; instead it presents itself in a series of beautiful and horrible flashes, like vignettes of some strange impressionist film. It’s not a new style, but it’s not one commonly used, and it takes a little while to get used to.

Although the book is certainly stuck in the shadow of Black House, lost boy lost girl is by no means the same book or a variation on said book; it’s an examinatio

n of horror and home — the horror of being at home, the horror of coming home, and the horror that drive us from h ome.

Not for all tastes, but definitely worth a look.

Ian