In The Marbury Lens, the monsters have these fire-red brands that can't be covered and light up at night so you know who they are.
In writing, there are brands, too. Sometimes, like in the case of the monsters in Marbury, brands can make it easy to sort things out. You know, there are some writers who put out their first book... and then, the second one and everything after that is kind of like the same story with the same issues and the same characters who have different names and live in Florida sometimes and Maine others and the seasons are different, but, other than that, it's... their brand.
But -- call me a hipster (and I evaluated my life on a hipster checklist that my friend Ksenia posted today and realized that, lacking the essential defining attributes, I am, indeed, not a hipster) -- I have always kind of thought of "branding" as a negative thing for me, personally.
So I try to never go to the same place twice in my books. If you're among the five or six people out there who've read my three published novels, you'd probably agree with that (as well as the two or three people who could include my forthcoming fourth in that list).
Forthcoming fourth. That sounds really stupid. But I think my fourth book, Stick is really cool. It's a kind of postmodern journey story about ugliness and beauty and it has this kind of weird experimental structure in places. Anyway. It's different.
I guess some people would say I have a "YA" brand, but I've never really thought of my books as being "YA." (My apologies for that). In fact, I will always cherish the email I receive from one reader of The Marbury Lens which began with the irate (I am only guessing, because tone is such a problematic issue in emails) proclamation: "This is NOT YA."
Well, okay. I don't know what it is, either. I just know it's not like any of my other books.
Which kind of makes me a little unsure about writing another scary book.
I really want to, and I have some burning (like the Marbury brand) ideas for one [side note -- are you actually going to sit there and believe that you can't possibly think up monsters that are cooler and scarier than fucking vampires, werewolves, and zombies??? you have got to be kidding me], but I am afraid of being "branded."
I guess, as far as vampires, werewolves, and zombies are concerned, buyers -- in this case, readers -- get comfortable with certain "brands" too. I mean, if you go out shopping for Wonder bread and you buy Wonder bread, you know what you're going to be putting in your mouth before you even get it home from the store.
Like I said, there are definitely good reasons for sporting the brand. A lot of times, I wish I did, too.
5 comments:
Okay, maybe you don't have a "brand" but personally you are "marked for quality." I may not know what to expect when I pick up one of your books--which I love, btw--but I know I will be blown away. And to me, that's what REALLY matters. :)
Wow. Thanks so much for that, Shannon. It means a lot to me.
No. Not branded. In fact, despite its many viscerally disturbing moments, comparitively speaking, STICK might actually be a "feel good" book. I know, the horror.
Here's how I define your brand: when they finally bring the bulldozers int to dig up your yard none of your neighbors will be saying, "We never suspected." They'll be pushing their way in front of the camera to claim they aways suspected. "Andrew Smith? Oh, yeah, we always knew something was wrong with that dude."
This is because to my eye you have a certain Rod Serling twist going on. It's not about always being scary, it's that even when you're being funny there's a just-out-of-view strangeness to your writing. Whatever you write it's not something we've quite seen before. And the result is that it kind of sneaks up on people from an unexpected direction.
Even Ghost which is fairly straight up storytelling somehow slips in out of the corner of your eye, not quite from where you thought it was coming. More evident in Falling Objects. And of course by Marbury you've perfected the you-didn't-even-see-the-knife-I-just-stuck-in-your-kidney approach. There's a Coen-esque thing, maybe, a twistiness that comes from a natural not a calculated place.
That's a bit incoherent because I don't do literary criticism. But it's just possible you're committing actual literature, Andrew.
Merry Christmas and just remember as the reality that you are no longer teacher/rancher but big deal writer sets in, not to become a huge asshole. You know, like I did.
Michael, What can I say? Thank you very much. I am honored.
And Sarah, yes... I actually had an email exchange with another author (won't name-drop, but it was so freaking COOL to get an email about my books from this author) just yesterday about -- the horror -- of having written a (dare I say it?) uplifting (the word burns in my head) novel with STICK.
As you know (since you've read the manuscript), the final pages have to be perfect because of the way the story is told. I have not seen them yet... which is something that is just part of the very icky long-stretches-of-absolute-silence shit that writers have to endure.
I will send you an ARC when they magically appear, in appreciation for your feedback during the draft phase of the novel.
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