The Joy of Self-Publishing. Mike MD Buchanan
altogether. And you won’t enjoy writing that way.
Iain Banks is one of my favourite British authors, and his approach to writing couldn’t be more different that Stephen King’s. Let’s start with plotting. Stephen King claims not to know the ending of his books before embarking on the writing, and he has an interesting rationale for adopting this approach. If he doesn’t know how the book is going to end – while he’s writing it – then nor can his readers. I suspect it also makes the writing process far more interesting for him. Iain Banks takes a completely different approach and spends a great deal of time on detailed plotting through to the end, before the bulk writing commences. Neither approach is right or wrong. They’re simply approaches which suit these individual writers. They also differ on the matter of characterisation. Stephen King’s success is often attributed to his skilled characterisation, while Iain Banks goes in for relatively little characterisation.
There’s a good reason for being selective about taking advice on writing. Let’s say that you slavishly follow Stephen King’s advice. You’ll then be in the company of all the writers who are doing likewise. How many? 1,000? 10,000? 100,000? Who knows? But I can see from the sales ranking of On Writing on Amazon that it’s still selling well, ten years after publication. Why would you want to compete head on with even 1,000 writers writing under the same guidance? What satisfaction could there possibly be in that?
I imagine many of those writers have written numerous books in the style of Stephen King and are puzzled by their lack of success. You could probably spot them by their haunted expressions. I’d rather be distinctive and enjoy the writing process. That way, even if my books don’t sell, I’d at least have enjoyed writing them.
Amid much advice King tells us that ‘the adverb is not your friend’, and continues:
Adverbs . . . are words that modify verbs, adjectives, or other adverbs. They’re the ones that usually end in –ly. Adverbs, like the passive voice, seem to have been created with the timid writer in mind. [Author’s note: ironically, and rather sadly, the timid writer – after reading King’s advice – will thereafter cease to use adverbs.] With the passive voice, the writer usually expresses fear of not being taken seriously; it is the voice of little boys wearing shoepolish moustaches and little girls clumping around in Mommy’s high heels. With adverbs, the writer usually tells us he or she is afraid he / she isn’t expressing himself / herself clearly, that he or she is not getting the point or the picture across.
King proceeds to back his thesis with examples of dialogue where the adverbs add little or nothing. But could it be that King is simply not adept at using adverbs, and is therefore disinclined to use them? He advocates having the spoken words explain the emotion or emotions that the speaker is feeling. Well, at least in the country I live in – England – people often don’t put their emotions into the words they employ. Life can be altogether more pleasant as a result. An English writer will naturally use adverbs to convey the emotions associated with the spoken word.
It’s time to bring in one of my favourite authors of his generation, George Orwell. Let’s look at a few unrelated lines picked off random pages of his 1949 masterpiece Nineteen Eighty-Four.
‘The past is more important,’ agreed O’Brien gravely.
Winston looked up at him. ‘In the place where there is no darkness?’ he said hesitantly.
‘These things happen,’ he began vaguely.
‘Smith?’ said the woman. ‘Thass funny. My name’s Smith too. Why,’ she added sentimentally, ‘I might be your mother!’
It’s a good thing Orwell didn’t take heed of anyone’s views on adverbs associated with dialogue. In a bookstore the other day I chanced upon How to Write a Blockbuster, a book written by Helen Corner and Lee Weatherly. My wild hunch is that Lee Weatherly is of the female persuasion, given the books published under the name. Anyway, they give the same advice as Stephen King on adverbs. Marvellous. The book’s readers won’t be writing dialogue like I shall. I plan to use plenty of adverbs in my first work of fiction.
Flick quickly through any Stephen King and George Orwell books and one major difference will strike you at once: the former have a great deal more dialogue. You read 12 pages of Nineteen Eighty-Four before you come to the first line of dialogue.
Let’s move on to the formal rules of grammar and punctuation. It’s inexcusable to have more than a very few ‘unintended’ mistakes in your books with respect to grammar and punctuation, and a good copy-editor / proofreader will help you avoid them (and spelling mistakes, too). But consider the following section of a book first published in 2006. The book is surely a proofreader’s worst nightmare.
The falling snow curtained them about. There was no way to see anything at either side of the road. He was coughing again and the boy was shivering, the two of them side by side under the sheet of plastic, pushing the grocery cart through the snow. Finally he stopped. The boy was shaking uncontrollably.
We have to stop, he said.
It’s really cold.
I know.
Where are we?
Where are we?
Yes.
I dont know.
If we were going to die would you tell me?
I dont know. We’re not going to die.
If a child wrote that he’d be told off. But it’s an extract from Cormac McCathy’s Pulitzer Prize winning The Road. He’s widely considered one of the greatest fiction writers of his generation, and his ten previous books include the remarkable No Country for Old Men. If you’re writing fiction take your lead from McCarthy and choose the extent to which you follow the ‘rules’. Never forget the immortal advice about lesser people: Illegitimi non carborundum.
Writers of guides to writing fiction frequently distinguish between ‘literary’ novels and ‘commercial’ novels, the latter being what they generally seek to help you with. In his excellent Plot and Structure (2004) James Scott Bell differentiates between two types of novel:
The difference between a literary and a commercial plot is a matter of feel and emphasis. A literary plot often is more leisurely in its pace. Literary fiction is usually more about the inner life of a character than it is about the fast-paced action. A commercial plot, on the other hand, is mostly about action, things happening to the characters from the outside.
Of course these are simplifications. There can be both literary and commercial elements in a book. Scott Smith’s A Simple Plan reads like a literary novel – what happens inside the first-person narrator is primary – while moving ahead like a commercial crime novel.
The strength of Stephen King’s commercial plots is his characterisations. He always seems to be writing about real people, and not merely players for his high-concept concoctions.
Literary fiction is much more comfortable with ambiguities. The endings may be downers or leave the reader wondering. We don’t know what’s going to happen to Holden at the end of The Catcher in the Rye, and that’s part of the power of the book.
While researching for The Marriage Delusion I read many books on psychology in general, and the personality trait of extraversion in particular, as manifested in introversion and extraversion. While the proportions of introverts and extraverts in the population are consistent in societies around the world – a little over 50% of men are predominantly introvert, a little over 50% of women predominantly extravert – most societies have cultural preferences for either introversion or extraversion. An American psychology professor told me he considered Australia to be the country with the strongest cultural preference for extraversion, closely followed by the United States. Britain has a mild cultural preference for extraversion, while Scandinavian countries and Japan have strong cultural preferences for introversion.
I’ve read most of George Orwell’s literary novels and none of Stephen King’s commercial ones. It seems obvious to me that introverts will