Hitting the bestseller list will make you more attractive, rich as an oil baron, and impervious to the common cold. So what are you waiting for?
As an author, there’s one question I get asked above all others: “Where do you get your ideas?” I’ve heard other writers answer this question in vague, unsatisfying ways, claiming that they “just don’t know” where the inspiration comes from, or that “there’s no one way” to craft a bestselling book.
If you’re thinking those replies are soaked with more hogwash than a runoff stream at a pig farm, you’re right. There is, in fact, only one sure-fire way to harness fabulous story ideas and write a blockbuster. But for obvious and selfish reasons, all of those successful authors prefer to keep that juicy insider knowledge to themselves.
Lucky for you, I’m different. Unlike the James Pattersons and Colleen Hoovers of the world, I refuse to monopolize an entire shelf at Barnes & Noble — and I also refuse to keep this secret under wraps a minute longer. So pull up a chair, my fledgling literary friend, and get that pen poised.
Ready? Good. Let’s make that muse your bitch.
For starters, you’ll want to find the oldest oak tree on your block. Preferably with migrating birds in its branches. On the first Tuesday of the month, sprinkle the base of that tree with one tablespoon of tabasco sauce, half-a-cup of Himalayan Sheepdog dandruff, and a thimbleful of flop sweat. Bring nothing for the birds.
Step two: Bottle rockets. Make them yourself, or buy them from the guy in the green pickup just over the state line. Either way, you’ll want to shoot them off at twilight. And yes, I understand that this might cause a problem with your neighbors, and possibly the police. Which begs the question: How bad do you want this?
The ideas should begin to percolate before the last whiz-bang explodes into your tool shed, but use caution. Jotting down epiphanies in the regular way tends to erode their effectiveness. Instead, you’ll want to slow things down. Needlepoint works well, as does calligraphy, stencils, and rock carving. You’ll be amazed at how fresh and exciting those plot twists will feel after you’ve been hacking them into quartz and feldspar for days on end! Much like a casino, there’s no passage of time in a desert-cliff cave. Use this to your advantage.
Once all of those extraordinary brainstorms are recorded, start writing. If your first sentence won’t make a reader spit out her coffee, try again. Remember, we’re aiming for greatness here. Shock value and naked emotional manipulation will go a long way toward attracting lucrative book deals. Descriptions of the weather will not.
Whenever possible, refer to your manuscript as “The Great American Novel.” People love that.
If and when the dreaded writer’s block strikes, simply repeat this mantra until the words start flowing: “I am worthy of a six-figure advance. I deserve a killer, two-story library with a rolling ladder and unobstructed ocean views. I, too, will one day giggle on-air with a CBS morning-show host, claiming that my story arrived fully-formed in a dream, despite the fact that every other human being’s dreams consist mostly of forgotten locker combinations and quicksand.”
Finally, finish the book. If you’ve followed the steps above, this part should be fast and easy. The first draft will probably be good enough. You might be tempted to let fellow writers or editors take a peek, but resist that urge. They’ll only want to pester you with concerns about “plot holes” and “unresolved character arcs” and “dangling participles.” This is not the energy you need right now. Not when you have to tackle the next, all-important phase:
Get published. We’re talking big-time, here. New York City, no-reservations-needed, ushered-straight-to-your-table kind of published. Fame and fortune will quickly follow, as ticks follow deer.
How, you ask? The answer is shockingly straightforward. Less shockingly, “they” don’t want me to tell you. “They” keep tossing around words like “Omerta” and “sleep with the fishes” and “keep your fat mouth shut.” But since I’ve come this far, I might as well take it all the way, right? Score a victory for us little guys. So here it is, earnest writer. The one, final thing you’ll have to do to — [indistinct choking sounds][End.]
