Saturday, December 8, 2007

Preston, What's It Like Working With An Editor?

To paraphrase Stephen King in his book On Writing, “Writers do their jobs and editors do theirs. Trust your editor.”

The first time I worked with an editor, it was with a short story, and I got back this message: “I just love the story! There are hardly any edits to make at all. I’ll just give you a call and we’ll discuss the few changes that need to be made.”

“Cool,” I said.

Then the next day I got another message: “You know what? Maybe it’ll be easier if I jot the few marks on the manuscript and send it back to you, then you look over it and get back to me.”

“Cool,” I said.

When I got the manuscript in the mail, there were like seventeen pages of corrections on a twenty-page story—red marks were everywhere. I got depressed.

My writer’s tender ego bruised, I put the thing down and surrendered to dark thoughts for about three weeks—three weeks later the editor sent a message: “I haven’t heard from you. Are you okay? Have you looked over my edits?”

“You hate the story,” I said.

She said, “What? I’m crazy about the story.”

I said, “But there are like red marks all over it. There are suggestions to make major changes. I thought you said you like the story and that there was nothing wrong with it.”

She said, “I’m an editor. It’s my job to make your writing say what you think you made it say.”

Oh.

You see, the problem with me was that before working with this editor I had published many fine stories in many fine magazines without anyone else’s help and/or interference. For me, as with most authors, writing was a solitary exercise.

Oh sure, back during the MFA phase, we workshopped each other’s stories, but for the most part, the only editor that we truly trusted was the one living in our heads.

Every perfectly chosen word, every profound nuance of sentence structure, every brilliant image that we set down on the page was created and approved by us. This is what made us brilliant geniuses. This is what set us apart from the mere mortals of this world. We needed help from no one.

Thus we deservedly hogged all the glory when the finished project was presented to the world and praised for its exemplary use of such and such and its amazing, dazzling displays of so and so. We feared that an editor would make so many changes that they would in some ways “steal” our story and make it their own.

But if you are going to receive pay for your writing, you had better learn to work with someone who is skilled at making sure that you say what you think you are saying.

Publishing houses are not concerned with whether you think you are brilliant or not. They are interested in selling books. The editor is their professional, and he/she represents their will.

Remember that it is your story—but it is their book.

Their cover. Their binding. Their isbn number. Their paper upon which it is printed. Their factory and warehouse for making and storing the thing. Their advertising. Their connections with bookstores to get it on the shelves. Their editor. And your story idea—which their editor will help you to “fix” so that it fits their cover, their binding, their advertising—you get the picture.

Oh, and by the way, who gets all the praise when it’s all put together successfully? You, the author. Cool.

A little story I’ve heard: D.H. Lawrence was notorious for turning in unfinished and incomplete manuscripts. His editor, who admired him, would often complete the books for him. What is the name of that editor? Who knows? Go look it up. Not that it matters—you won’t have heard of him anyway. It’s D.H. Lawrence who is the great writer of Lady Chatterley’s Lover and the “Rocking Horse Winner.”

I have been fortunate to have worked with some pretty dang good editors—Carol Taylor, Andrea Selch, Ellen Milmed, Katie Blount, Jarret Keene, among them. They did not “steal” my story and make it their own, as so many writers fear an editor will do.

Instead, I found myself saying at so many points during the process of their editing, “Yes. Yes, that is exactly what I was trying to say,” or, “I would have caught that given more time and that is exactly the change I would have made,” or, “I did not see it like that before, no, no, but it makes so much sense that way, and it is consistent with things I’ve written elsewhere in the book. Gee, I’m glad you caught that,” or “Yes, yes, you’re right. I was just showing off there. We can cut that part.”

What my editors did, because they are good editors, is to reduce the unnecessary layer of clumsy, grasping, distracting egoism that I and so many writers color their writing with and excuse it by calling it style or personality.

In other words, editors reduce the “noise” of the writer’s own annoying habits (which he/she calls style. Style my butt!). Editors make your story cleaner.

Now there do exist a few bad editors, I am sure, but I will let someone else’s blog deal with that breed. But we needn’t worry too much about them if we rest our faith in two absolute truths:

(A) Editors won’t exist long in this business if they are bad; and (B) the writer’s typically large and overblown ego, which is shield enough, unfortunately, to defend the manuscript against a good editor, is certainly more than a match for a bad editor.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Today Is Your Birthday!

Today is my birthday, but that is a big by-the-way, because as we age (not that I am aging), our birthdays come to signify less significant changes than they did when we were younger. The difference between 12 and 13--huge. The difference between 15 and 16--huge. The difference between 38 and 39--not much. The difference between 71 and 72--duh. As we age we appreciate each new birthday not for the growth it implies, but for the marker along the path of life's journey that it represents. I can say that at the age of 43--which is what a man born on December 5 in the year 1964 would be on this day--that I love my three children more than ever. I really miss my son, who is serving in Iraq, and I am sorry that I did not answer the phone at 3:00 a.m. this morning when, apparently, he called. Hey, Junior, call back. Wish your olde man a happy birthday. I can say that I love my four brothers--we are a tight crew--we sail our ship just fine. Well . . . there is brother # 4, the one who became a Greek Orthodox monk--but you know what, he's just fine too. He's part of the crew, too, in his own Greek Orthodox Monk kind of way. The brother was seeking something spiritual and he found it, I hope. Deal with it, remaining brethren. I can say that I really love my wife more than ever. I say this without subterfuge or guile, which is what we can do when we are olde enough not to be shy about such things. I can say that I miss my mother, who passed away this year. I wish she had lived to see my new book ALL OR NOTHING. Well, I read sections of it to her last year, and she laughed a lot and told me the book would be a success. Thanks, mom. She loved my first novel HOOCHIE MAMA, which is weird because she was a born again Christian and not much into raunchy detective thrillers per se--but she loved her son and she loved his book and she urged him to write a sequel. Okay, mom. I will. One day. My father left a message on my machine today--he was singing happy birthday. Well, now. I can say that I am happy that I have five books in print. I can say that I am happy about my latest story, "CRIP," which will be appearing in a collection called LAS VEGAS NOIR sometime next year. I wrote it so that it would blow you away. I wrote it so that you would want to read it a second time, then tell a friend to read it. I never wrote a story like that before, but I felt my mom looking over my shoulder. I wrote a creepy, raunchy story that even she would have loved. I can say that I am happy that I am a teacher. I love teaching. I love young people. They make me feel young at 43. I am young at 43 thanks to my students. I never want to do anything else but write and teach young people. Okay, I have a lot of students who are not young--and I love teaching them too. One day I am going to write a guidebook for young people (as though I know how to be young--heck, I did not even know how to be young when I was actually young--I have always been a young 43, even at 23, even at 12--I remember asking my pastor to explain that part of the book of Genesis when Onan had sex with his wife and then spilled it on the ground--I kept asking him, "Spilled what, pastor? What did he spill?"--Pastor never really did explain). I think it is time to polish up that book that I have been working on for a decade--I think it will be my life's work, my magnum opus. I have a lot to say in it about love and faithfulness and God and religion and spilling it on the ground and sleazy car salesmen. The book is called THE FAITHFUL and it features the two lovers (16 year olde Elwyn and 43 year olde Sister Morrisohn) whom you met in my collection CHURCHBOYS AND OTHER SINNERS. I had a publisher who was interested in it a few years ago--maybe I will contact them--maybe I will contact my new publisher Akashic, see if this is the kind of book they like. Sleazy car salesmen, spilling it on the ground, 43 year olde church ladies with 16 year olde church boys . . . hmmmm.

I decree that we replace the new word "old" with the olde word "olde." Here, here now!

Lipshitz 6

Lipshitz 6
Reading T Cooper for Christmas

Punk Blood

Punk Blood
Jay Marvin

Breath, Eyes, Memory

Breath, Eyes, Memory

Anonymous Rex

Anonymous Rex
Reading Eric Garcia for Christmas

Vinegar Hill

Vinegar Hill
Reading A. Manette Ansay for Christmas

Nicotine Dreams

Nicotine Dreams
Reading Katie Cunningham for Christmas

Junot Diaz

Junot Diaz
Pulitzer Prize Winner!!!

Edwige Danticat

Edwige Danticat
New Year's Reading

Greed

Greed
This Brother Is Scary Good

One More Chance

One More Chance
The genius Is At It Again/The Rapper CHIEF aka Sherwin Allen

Sandrine's Letter

Sandrine's Letter
Check out Sandrine's Letter To Tomorrow. You will like it, I insist.

All or Nothing

All or Nothing

Editorial Reviews of All or Nothing

New York Times--". . . a cartographer of autodegradation . . . Like Dostoyevsky, Allen colorfully evokes the gambling milieu — the chained (mis)fortunes of the players, their vanities and grotesqueries, their quasi-philosophical ruminations on chance. Like Burroughs, he is a dispassionate chronicler of the addict’s daily ritual, neither glorifying nor vilifying the matter at hand."

Florida Book Review--". . . Allen examines the flaming abyss compulsive gambling burns in its victims’ guts, self-esteem and bank accounts, the desperate, myopic immediacy it incites, the self-destructive need it feeds on, the families and relationships it destroys. For with gamblers, it really is all or nothing. Usually nothing. Take it from a reviewer who’s been there. Allen is right on the money here."

Foreword Magazine--"Not shame, not assault, not even murder is enough reason to stop. Allen’s second novel, All or Nothing, is funny, relentless, haunting, and highly readable. P’s inner dialogues illuminate the grubby tragedy of addiction, and his actions speak for the train wreck that is gambling."

Library Journal--"Told without preaching or moralizing, the facts of P's life express volumes on the destructive power of gambling. This is strongly recommended and deserves a wide audience; an excellent choice for book discussion groups."—Lisa Rohrbaugh, East Palestine Memorial P.L., OH

LEXIS-NEXIS--"By day, P drives a school bus in Miami. But his vocation? He's a gambler who craves every opportunity to steal a few hours to play the numbers, the lottery, at the Indian casinos. Allen has a narrative voice as compelling as feeding the slots is to P." Betsy Willeford is a Miami-based freelance book reviewer. November 4, 2007

Publisher’s Weekly--"Allen’s dark and insightful novel depicts narrator P’s sobering descent into his gambling addiction . . . The well-written novel takes the reader on a chaotic ride as P chases, finds and loses fast, easy money. Allen (Churchboys and Other Sinners) reveals how addiction annihilates its victims and shows that winning isn’t always so different from losing."

Kirkus Review--"We gamble to gamble. We play to play. We don't play to win." Right there, P, desperado narrator of this crash-'n'-burn novella, sums up the madness. A black man in Miami, P has graduated from youthful nonchalance (a '79 Buick Electra 225) to married-with-a-kid pseudo-stability, driving a school bus in the shadow of the Biltmore. He lives large enough to afford two wide-screen TVs, but the wife wants more. Or so he rationalizes, as he hits the open-all-night Indian casinos, "controlling" his jones with a daily ATM maximum of $1,000. Low enough to rob the family piggy bank for slot-machine fodder, he sinks yet further, praying that his allergic 11-year-old eat forbidden strawberries—which will send him into a coma, from which he'll emerge with the winning formula for Cash 3 (the kid's supposedly psychic when he's sick). All street smarts and inside skinny, the book gives readers a contact high that zooms to full rush when P scores $160,000 on one lucky machine ("God is the God of Ping-ping," he exults, as the coins flood out). The loot's enough to make the small-timer turn pro, as he heads, flush, to Vegas to cash in. But in Sin City, karmic payback awaits. Swanky hookers, underworld "professors" deeply schooled in sure-fire systems to beat the house, manic trips to the CashMyCheck store for funds to fuel the ferocious need—Allen's brilliant at conveying the hothouse atmosphere of hell-bent gaming. Fun time in the Inferno.

At Books and Books

At Books and Books
Me And Vicki at Our Reading

Bio


Preston L. Allen is the recipient of a State of Florida Individual Artist Fellowship in Literature and the Sonja H. Stone Prize in Fiction for his short story collection Churchboys and Other Sinners (Carolina Wren Press 2003). His works have appeared in numerous publications including The Seattle Review, The Crab Orchard Review, Asili, Drum Voices, and Gulfstream Magazine; and he has been anthologized in Here We Are: An Anthology of South Florida Writers, Brown Sugar: A Collection of Erotic Black Fiction, Miami Noir, and the forthcoming Las Vegas Noir. His fourth novel, All Or Nothing, chronicles the life of a small-time gambler who finally hits it big. Preston Allen teaches English and Creative Writing in Miami, Florida.