great books, singular books that are absolutely unique and almost revolutionary and immediately identifiable as yours.
We think of Hemingway now and it’s just Hemingway. But when his books first came out—short, declarative sentences, tight, lean, easy to read, plot-intensive writing—it was radical. If you think about Kerouac, radical. Henry Miller, radical. Ginsberg, radical.
The best best of all
I’ve had some spectacular moments as a writer. It’s awesome the first time you see your book in a bookstore; the first timesomebody says, “Damn, dude, I love your books.” I love starting a book and finishing a book. There’s pure pleasure when you feel like you wrote a sentence that’s perfect for whatever it needs to be. I’ve had readings with thousands of people at them, I’ve sold ten or fifteen million books, I get to go on book tours around the world. At one point I was number one on both the hardcover and paperback
New York Times
bestseller lists.
You would think that would be the greatest moment. But it wasn’t.
The greatest moment—I might even start crying when I talk about it—was when I typed the last word of
A Million Little Pieces
. I looked at it and burst out into tears. I don’t know if there will ever be a moment in my writing career better than that.
I have a deal with myself. If I’m ever more concerned with what people are saying or with what my sales are or how many people show up at my readings than I am with writing shit that rocks people’s worlds, I’ll quit and find something else to do. I’m not going to be some seventy-five-year-old man who’s just cranking shit out because my ego won’t let it go.
Marvin Hagler just walked away from boxing one day. Everyone was asking, “When’s he coming back?” He’s never coming back. I have huge respect for the way he did that.
At some point I’ll just leave, and nobody will ever hear from me again.
James Frey’s Wisdom for Writers
In true art there are no rules. It doesn’t have to be fiction or nonfiction. You don’t have to have gone to a certain school or have an MFA. Either you can write or you can’t.
Work hard.
Thanks to e-books, publishers aren’t necessary anymore. If you want to publish a book, do it yourself.
Believe in yourself. If I can do it, you can do it.
C HAPTER F IVE
Sue Grafton
Phillip Lanahan drove to Vegas in his 1985 Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet, a snappy little red car his parents had given him two months before, when he graduated from Princeton. His stepfather bought the car secondhand because he abhorred the notion of depreciation. Better that the original owner take that hit.
—Opening lines,
V Is for Vengeance
, 2011
I dare you: read a page one like the one above and put the book down. Go ahead and try.
“Bet you can’t read just one” could be Sue Grafton’s brand identity. And—in addition to being a gifted writer who rightly prides herself on her rare dual achievements, rave reviews
and
blockbuster sales—Grafton
is
a brand. Fortunately for her millions of readers in twenty-eight countries and twenty-six languages, she’s a brand with twenty-five built-in sequels.
Published in 1982, when Grafton was a forty-two-year-old successful but unhappy screenwriter,
A Is for Alibi
was the first in her mystery series featuring female private investigator Kinsey Millhone.
A
wasn’t, in fact, Grafton’s first novel. She wroteher first at age eighteen, and six more in quick succession, only two of which,
Keziah Dane
(1967) and
The Lolly-Madonna War
(1969), were published. After years at author boot camp, a.k.a. screenwriting, an irresistible mystery plot presented itself. Enmeshed in bitter divorce proceedings, Grafton found herself fantasizing about murdering or, at least, maiming, her soon-to-be ex-husband. Luckily for all of us, she turned those fantasies into a novel. Grafton has already completed
A
through
V
in the series. Never have so many wished so fervently to add a few more
We think of Hemingway now and it’s just Hemingway. But when his books first came out—short, declarative sentences, tight, lean, easy to read, plot-intensive writing—it was radical. If you think about Kerouac, radical. Henry Miller, radical. Ginsberg, radical.
The best best of all
I’ve had some spectacular moments as a writer. It’s awesome the first time you see your book in a bookstore; the first timesomebody says, “Damn, dude, I love your books.” I love starting a book and finishing a book. There’s pure pleasure when you feel like you wrote a sentence that’s perfect for whatever it needs to be. I’ve had readings with thousands of people at them, I’ve sold ten or fifteen million books, I get to go on book tours around the world. At one point I was number one on both the hardcover and paperback
New York Times
bestseller lists.
You would think that would be the greatest moment. But it wasn’t.
The greatest moment—I might even start crying when I talk about it—was when I typed the last word of
A Million Little Pieces
. I looked at it and burst out into tears. I don’t know if there will ever be a moment in my writing career better than that.
I have a deal with myself. If I’m ever more concerned with what people are saying or with what my sales are or how many people show up at my readings than I am with writing shit that rocks people’s worlds, I’ll quit and find something else to do. I’m not going to be some seventy-five-year-old man who’s just cranking shit out because my ego won’t let it go.
Marvin Hagler just walked away from boxing one day. Everyone was asking, “When’s he coming back?” He’s never coming back. I have huge respect for the way he did that.
At some point I’ll just leave, and nobody will ever hear from me again.
James Frey’s Wisdom for Writers
In true art there are no rules. It doesn’t have to be fiction or nonfiction. You don’t have to have gone to a certain school or have an MFA. Either you can write or you can’t.
Work hard.
Thanks to e-books, publishers aren’t necessary anymore. If you want to publish a book, do it yourself.
Believe in yourself. If I can do it, you can do it.
C HAPTER F IVE
Sue Grafton
Phillip Lanahan drove to Vegas in his 1985 Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet, a snappy little red car his parents had given him two months before, when he graduated from Princeton. His stepfather bought the car secondhand because he abhorred the notion of depreciation. Better that the original owner take that hit.
—Opening lines,
V Is for Vengeance
, 2011
I dare you: read a page one like the one above and put the book down. Go ahead and try.
“Bet you can’t read just one” could be Sue Grafton’s brand identity. And—in addition to being a gifted writer who rightly prides herself on her rare dual achievements, rave reviews
and
blockbuster sales—Grafton
is
a brand. Fortunately for her millions of readers in twenty-eight countries and twenty-six languages, she’s a brand with twenty-five built-in sequels.
Published in 1982, when Grafton was a forty-two-year-old successful but unhappy screenwriter,
A Is for Alibi
was the first in her mystery series featuring female private investigator Kinsey Millhone.
A
wasn’t, in fact, Grafton’s first novel. She wroteher first at age eighteen, and six more in quick succession, only two of which,
Keziah Dane
(1967) and
The Lolly-Madonna War
(1969), were published. After years at author boot camp, a.k.a. screenwriting, an irresistible mystery plot presented itself. Enmeshed in bitter divorce proceedings, Grafton found herself fantasizing about murdering or, at least, maiming, her soon-to-be ex-husband. Luckily for all of us, she turned those fantasies into a novel. Grafton has already completed
A
through
V
in the series. Never have so many wished so fervently to add a few more
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