Three days from now will be the two year anniversary of the morning my agent called me to tell me Scholastic had made an offer on my book, which was then called I Think My Teacher is a Superhero and featured art by Jacob Chabot (including the page to the right). The offer wound up being for a four book deal, and two months ago, I finished the final draft of Book 4 in the series.
Since that July morning that I sent off the final draft to my editor, I have taken half-hearted stabs at Book 5--for which there is no contract or even discussion of a contract--and three other projects I've had bouncing around in my head. Last night I finished the first book in a new series that I can't announce anything official about yet.
However, this is a collaborative project which was created and loosely plotted by two other guys who asked me to write it for them since their writing experience is in comics and animation, but not in prose. It proved to be quite a grind for me to knock it out, largely because while they gave me complete latitude to flesh out the characters and plot, it wasn't my story or my characters. It was a paycheck--or in this case, a speculative potential for a paycheck at some point in the years to come--but so is approximately 99% of the writing being done in the world every day.
I began struggling with my writing while working on Book 4. Being the last book of the contract with no guarantee the series will continue, I found myself focusing on some of the corners I'd written myself into and questioning whether I even wanted to continue with a Book 5. After working on the same characters and scenarios for nearly five years and not much of anything else for the past two, I found myself much more interested in exploring something completely different and unable to focus on the story at hand. But when I finally finished it and was free to work on other projects, I found myself floundering. Maybe it was because I'd been working for two years on a series that had already been figured out and I merely had to get one step closer to the already-decided-upon conclusion. Maybe it was because I was overwhelmed by the number of opportunities available and couldn't decide which way to go, like Morgan Freeman unable to pee without his boss's permission after getting out of Shawshank.
Or maybe it was because I'd already climbed that mountain and climbing it again held no interest for me.
I've written before about the number of successes I've had professionally and the subsequent disappointment I've had with said successes. I set goals, I work hard to achieve them, but once I do, I find myself asking "What's next?" I worked for years learning to be a sportscaster, then within a year of my first television job, I felt empty. After three years, I walked away and have never regretted the decision for a second. Now I wonder if the same is true of my writing career. I set the goal of writing a book that would get published, and I did it. Now is my mind moving on to "What's next?"
And this, I discovered, is the true value of religion to the human race. The idea of heaven or nirvana or paradise, the goal of achieving some perfection akin to a flawless mythical being is impossible for any mortal to achieve. Therefore, no matter how long one lives, one always has a goal to strive for. No one in the entire history of the world has gone to heaven, come back, and said, "Well, I did that. What's next?"
Granted, we all could do the same thing by setting impossible goals, except we know they are impossible. Over the summer, I took up curling. I could say I will not be satisfied by anything less than winning an Olympic gold medal, but that goal would almost do more to demotivate me than motivate me because I would know it was realistically unachievable. Being grounded in truth and realism prevents me from accepting impossibly high standards.
As such, the skeptical non-believers of the world are at a disadvantage to the religious. Those who can accept the concept of a magical man in the sky who lives in a place where all your dreams can come true can face every day never having to ask, "What's next?" Everything they do, no matter how insignificant, is a piece of the puzzle that ends with an ascent to sit at the right hand of the Father.
That's because your God always thinks the way you do. Do you hate gays and Muslims? So does God (Leviticus 20:13; Exodus 23:24). Are you accepting of other religions and sexual orientations? So is God (Leviticus 19:17-18). Do you think God wants you to be rich? He does (Psalm 12:1, 3). Do you think God loves you more than rich people because you're not rich? He does (James 5:1). If your marriage is unhappy, do you think you should tough it out because you made a commitment before God and your loved ones? That's what God says (Matthew 19:6). Do you think God would rather you find someone new who can make you happy rather than stay together and be miserable? Of course he does (Deuteronomy 24:1-2)!
Whatever you do, whatever you think, that's what God wants you to do and think. And it all adds up to your express ticket to the Pearly Gates as soon as you kick the bucket. While we atheists are trying to make the most of our time here on earth, objectively looking at our accomplishments and our impact on those around us, the religious can trudge forward through every day meaningless and without worry about their fellow man, unburdened by the madness those of us who seek truth and reality suffer as we continually try to find something else of significance.
Sanity through unwavering belief in the insane. That is the objective value of religion.
There's an old adage about the grass always being greener on the other side, but lately it seems the grass is dead everywhere.
Monday, I wrapped up the majority of my edits on Book 4 with no discussion yet about a contract for Book 5 and beyond. Until school is back in full swing and we get a full sales report around October, my publisher cannot even broach the subject. I have another project I'm working on that I can't talk about until Monday, but it's a collaborative project which means any money from sales will be split four ways, and given the nature of publishing, I've decided if I see more than $25 before 2012 from this, I'll chalk it up as a win. Worst case--yet entirely possibly--scenario, Monday afternoon may have marked the end of my professional writing career.
While I was facing this fact, I got a phone call and subsequent interview for a job in an investment firm. It's precisely the kind of job I would hate, but it would pay well, provide me with health insurance from day one, and finally make use of that MBA I still owe $70,000 on. Clearly, if I get the job offer, I have to take it--unless Paramount makes a million dollar offer for movie rights in the next two weeks... COME ON, PARAMOUNT! I just wonder how long it will be between my first day on the job and the day I start window shopping for a pistol with a built-in mouthpiece. I'm putting the over/under at two weeks.
Strangely, I'm not the only one struggling with this same dilemma. I mean, obviously I'm not, but it's strange that in the 24 hours that followed my phone interview, that theme popped up several times from others.
Tuesday morning, Phil Hester tweeted this:
Career diagram: Thing I don't want to do that pays very well. < Me > Thing I love that doesn't pay at all.
Within an hour, Chris Sims reviewed a new Archie comic that uses Veronica and Betty to represent Mr. Hester's two situations, respectively.
In that review, Chris made a reference to his friend, Eugene, who recently walked away from a lucrative law practice to pursue a rap career.
I had two unrelated phone conversations with two friends along the same lines about writing and art. I suppose it stands to reason that given the large number of artistic-type friends I have, this would be a common theme, but it's discomforting to have everyone independently on the same subject at once.
Going back to my opening statement, the idea of the grass always being greener on the other side of the fence is born of wishful thinking. "If I was over there, things would be better," is so old that Moses made a comment about it on those tablets everyone makes such a big deal about. Something about coveting your neighbor's wife's ass or something. But the Valley of Artistic Agony doesn't have any green grass. The wishful thinking isn't about things being better. It's about things not being as bad.
On one side of the Valley live those with money who hate what they do and wish they could pursue their artistic desires. On the other are those pursuing their artistic desires who wish they had money. Each side is keenly aware of the sacrifice needed to cross the Valley, but few are willing to make the move.
And anyone who thinks he can set up camp in the middle and live the best of both worlds doesn't take long to learn why it's called the Valley of Artistic Agony.
I am fascinated by the idea of divergent timelines. I don't believe in heaven, but if there is an afterlife, I hope it offers the answers to all the "What if...?" questions. How would life be different if I'd moved to San Jose in 2000 and married Colleen instead of staying in TV and going to Florida? What would my daughter be like if her mother and I had broken up before she was born? If I'd gotten my GED at 13 and started college at 14 like I wanted to, would I be more or less fucked up in the head? Essentially, I want the afterlife to allow me the free reading of the entirety of the Choose Your Own Adventure book of my life.
That wish, however, is born of a hope that somewhere, somehow, maybe in another dimension or an alternate universe, I'm happy. We want to believe that while life might be miserable, if we'd only made one left turn where we made a right, we'd be in the Garden of Eden. Unfortunately, I know that's mostly not true.
During the rockiest years of my relationship with Colleen, three years of trying to maintain a long distance relationship, I wondered whether things would be better if I'd never bothered pursuing my TV career, took that web design job I'd been offered, and stayed with her. My mind didn't let me follow that train of thought for long before I admitted I would always dwell on wondering how things would be different if I'd pursued my TV career and would probably come to resent her for robbing me of that opportunity.
And that's my fear about reading Choose Your Own Adventure in the afterlife. What if ever divergent path is equally miserable? In a way, that almost worse than if some are particularly horrible while some are only mildly depressing. In the latter case, at least you can be certain that your life wasn't as bad as it might have been, but in the former case, the message is clearly, "Nothing you did mattered. You were destined to be equally unhappy regardless of any efforts you did or did not make."
Does E! still do "E!'s True Hollywood Stories"? I haven't watched anything other than "The Soup" on E! for the better part of a decade.
NARRATOR: Beloved children's author Jake Bell pursued his dream of being a writer from early childhood... but when his first book deal came along at the age of 34, Bell quickly fell into the trap of glitz and glamor.
JAKE BELL INTERVIEW: I knew my advance was coming... and I couldn't stop myself. I was like "Hey, my glasses broke. I'm going to go buy a new pair." I figured my contract would be finalized in a week or two and I could float a pair of glasses on my credit card for that long.
NARRATOR: But Bell's taste for extravagance got the better of him. Not only did he get an eye exam to update his prescription, but he also got a second pair of sunglasses...
EYEMASTERS CHICK: Mr. Bell came in and had a coupon for two pairs for $99. It was clear he had money to burn.
JAKE BELL INTERVIEW: You're looking at yourself in those little mirrors and you don't even recognize yourself--not just because you're wearing different frames but because you're so out of control. The girl asked if I wanted polycarbonite lenses and UV protection and I just went with it!
NARRATOR: And the spending didn't stop there...
RUSS FROM MIDAS: Jake came in here with his 2001 PT Cruiser and the battery was completely dead. There was a flaw in the battery so we replaced it, but the warranty was just over a year old, so he had to pay $12 to replace it. He looked me right in the eye and said, "Why don't you go ahead and change the oil while you're at it."
JAKE BELL INTERVIEW: I think when I started to realize how far over the edge I'd gone was when I was getting in the car to go to get my hair cut. I've cut my own hair since 2002--back then free haircuts were part of my contract at WJHG--and can't remember when the last time I paid for a haircut was. Here I had a few hairs touching my ears and I was ready to go drop eight dollars? Who was this mad man?!?!
NARRATOR: Bell estimates he may have squandered up to $300 on indulgences like car insurance, prescription eyewear, and some cans of soup.
JAKE BELL INTERVIEW: My book's not even going to be published until 2010. What's next? A trip to the dentist? A non-emergency doctor's visit? Where does it end?
Well, I still can't name names--actually, maybe I can, but I don't want to jinx anything so just to play it safe I won't--but we weighed offers, counteroffers, and counter-counteroffers and finally agreed on a deal that will bring My Teacher is a Superhero to a bookstore near you tentatively in May of 2010, with the sequel hot on its heels in July. The deal is for a four book series, so I'm now at work trying to plot out the overarching story arc.
My plan for the whole series to conclude with a revelation that will completely change everything you've read and cast it in a new light. When trying to think of a way to illustrate what I meant, I think I came up with the worst possible example.
Watch this scene from the conclusion of 1985's Teen Wolf. Michael J. Fox's team has just beat their arch rivals, the team with the guy who's Teen Wolf's bitter nemesis. What makes it so touching is that the Beavers won without Michael J. Fox turning into the Wolf, but instead by using teamwork and a renewed confidence in themselves. To top things off, the sexy blond who only dates the most popular guys homes in on Michael J. Fox, but gets rejected as he expresses his fondness for the mousy brunette who's been his friend all along, but promises to be so much more.
Now go back to the 37 second mark and look at the guy at the top of the screen in the red shirt and blue jeans. See how his pants are unzipped and he's exposing either his white underwear or maybe worse? Every time you watch this scene for the rest of your life, you won't think about the valuable life lesson we all learned about being ourselves. You'll think about some extra sitting in a crowd scene eagerly awaiting his chance to jump up and let his junk hang out with the passionate hope the editors wouldn't catch it.
And that's what's going to happen when you read the final book of my series. Not that some guy who's an extra exposes himself--though I might be able to work that in--but that you'll no longer be able to see the first three books in the same way and will reread them with a completely different understanding.
Oh, you know what's a better example? The Prestige! The second time you watch that movie, it's a completely different film because Christian Bale's character is seen in a whole new way and practically every line of his dialogue has a new meaning. Yeah, can we just forget I even said anything about Teen Wolf?
I still can't name names until we finalize a deal, but there are two major publishing houses (major meaning even even people who've don't read much have heard of them) vying for I Think My Teacher is a Superhero. There's another smaller publisher interested as well... we think. We expected to have a deal finalized by yesterday, but one editor is on vacation and the other made an offer but needs to get the acquisitions people to sign off on it before it's official, so we won't be able to make a decision until Monday.
When I got the email detailing this around three o'clock yesterday (6:00 back East), I said, "Well, that's a letdown," and Rachel, my agent, smacked me back into perspective:
| Okay, you win. This is a major, major let down. Huge. But, please don't tell any new writers that your manuscript went to acquisitions meetings at three major publishing houses (I'm including Random House), because then you might just realize how good you have it. And we wouldn't want that to happen now, would we? |
The truth is, I am spoiled. I've had a lot of success in my life. One thing that kept coming to me throughout this experience was a story from 2002 when I was working as a sportscaster in Panama City Beach. I was covering a celebrity golf tournament and set up at one of the greens to get some shots. While waiting for the next foursome to tee off, Ray Wilson struck up a conversation with me.
Back in 1994, Ray Wilson made his NFL debut as a back-up safety for the New Orleans Saints. After getting on the field in three games, we was either traded to or was cut and signed with the Green Bay Packers (I can't find any evidence of which).
Ultimately, his NFL career was over with a stat line up six games played, zero games started, and zero tackles, fumbles recovered, interceptions, or any other statistic that shows up in a box score.He asked about my job and I told him I had out some resume tapes, trying to get to a bigger market, and he asked how tough it was to get a job. I explained that you have to start in small markets (Yuma and PCB for me) and try to move up. There are 212 media markets in the country and they have an average of fewer than three news stations each (i.e. Yuma has only two because its ABC affiliate is the station from Phoenix; PCB has just two because the local CBS station is out of Dothan, Alabama) and each news station employs an average of two sportscasters, though that's always dropping as more stations rely on sports packages produced by networks or just have a feature reporter or a weather guy go cover any important local sports. On top of that, there are thousands of new J-school graduates every semester trying to break in. When a job gets posted on TVJobs.com or any other broadcasting site, a newsdirector can expect at least 80 resume tapes within a week and a total of more than 150.
Ray was quiet while I got some video, but he wasn't just being polite to avoid causing background noise. He was doing some math. "So it's actually harder to be a sportscaster than to play in the NFL," he pointed out.
At first it seemed unlikely, but he laid it out. If you figure an average of five sportscasters per market, that's 1060 jobs. Throw in another hundred or so for national outlets like NBC Sports and ESPN and FoxSports, and you're still around 1200. There are 32 NFL teams, each with a roster of 53 players. That's 1696 guys without counting practice squads.*
He was right. My crappy job put me in an elite upper-99.999% class. I was making $20,000 a year, working 60-80 hours a week, wallowing so deeply in debt that for one month I ate nothing but rice, ramen, and fish and squid I caught myself from a pier down the beach from my apartment. From the time I arrived in Florida, Terry Cole, the station GM, treated me like a bastard son from a wartime tryst who'd shown up unannounced at his front door and actively tried to make my job duties so miserable that I'd quit, but despite all that I was the envy of thousands of people who would have traded their souls for my misery.Ray was a prime example of someone who understood exactly that. He made it to the NFL... but played only a handful of snaps before his career was over. It would be easy to look at him and call him a failure because he doesn't have even a tackle to his credit, but that overlooks the fact he even made an NFL roster, something millions of people dream about but never come close to accomplishing.
In the end, I blame being raised during the Reagan era. Like too many Americans, I have that Gordon Gekko mentality. Only where the Wall Street hustlers say, "Sure, I have a million dollars, but you know what would be even better? Ten million," I say, "Sure, I have a deal on the table for a four book series with a major publishing house, but you know what would be even better? A Newberry medal and a movie deal."
Of course, considering what the Reagan era has begotten our economy today, maybe I should just shut up and start working on the second book in the series.
* In point of fact, I should note that it's actually harder to make an NFL roster since those 1696 guys play several positions that are not interchangeable. Of the 53 men on a roster, only five to seven will be defensive linemen and a player who is built for that position and has played D-line his whole life isn't going to make an NFL roster as a wide receiver or a punter. So really there are only about 192 potential job openings for him and for other positions (i.e. kicker) there are even fewer. Still, Ray's heart was in the right place and his point was still valid.
Way of the Gun has several notable and memorable scenes, most of which can be found on YouTube. The movie is most famous for the opening where Sarah Silverman cusses a blue streak and gets punched in the face. There's also Geoffrey Lewis's prolonged death scene, the barbed wire torture, and the shootout where Ryan Phillippe jumps into a fountain full of broken beer bottles.
But the scene that has always stuck with me was the meeting between Benicio Del Toro and James Caan, two world-weary criminals who know they will eventually come to a point where one will have to kill the other, but can remain polite until that time comes.
The reason this has always stuck with me is because of how often I see it everywhere else in the world. Concepts are always so much more appealing than realities. How quickly would Fender go out of business if the only kids who bought electric guitars were the ones with the genuine drive, ability, and dedication to be successful with them? Why is it that Americans own more exercise equipment than any other society in history and yet we're also fatter than any other society in history? What reason is there to fund PBS with taxpayer dollars? We all like the idea of being physically fit guitar-gods who watch "McLaughlin Group" and "Nova," but the truth is we're much more inclined to stuff our faces with Doritos while watching "Sanford and Son" on TV Land and failing to properly armpit fart the theme song.
I bring this up because I'm coming to a point where I have to question whether I'm more interested in writing or in being a writer.
Since I was seven years old, I've wanted to be a writer. Writing was a passion, but I've always understood passion alone isn't enough. There are millions of people with at least an inkling they'd like to be a writer. In cold reading situations, "You've considered writing a novel but haven't found the time," is a standard statement. In other words, nearly everyone in the world has considered writing a novel at some point, but everyone thinks this idea is unique enough that a phony psychic telling them such a thing is considered an intimate enough detail to earn confidence.
Because everyone wants to write and everyone understands the difficulty of writing and everyone is instilled with a respect for literature, few aspiring writers are told just how bad they really are. For starters, it's considered rude. Years ago, I wrote a scathing review for a comic book by an aspiring creator. The story was about a woman who was part moth and she was taken prisoner by these lizard aliens who wanted to rip off her wings to make some kind of lizard aphrodisiac. It was one of the worst things I've ever read in my life.
My review came under fire for being too cruel. At least this guy had put his stuff out there, some argued. He deserved credit for trying. I countered that his comic was so bad that any hopes he might have for ever working in the industry were likely buried by publishing Mothspy and handing it out to big name comic talent like Darwyn Cooke (who I was standing with when the guy handed us the books).
Part of my review placed the blame on his friends and family for not telling him how awful the comic was. Instead, people are much more inclined to "say something nice or nothing at all" and encourage a writer to keep plugging away as though all writing has merit.
And as I say, I'm smart enough to recognize that people have told me what a good writer I am throughout my entire life. But that's exactly what they would tell me even if I sucked. A recent post on Cracked (hey, kids, don't click on that without asking mom and dad first) talked about terrible fanfiction. One point that jumped out at me was that many of the stories were novel-length tales that centered completely around gay fantasies between two science fiction characters.
What I'm saying is "I Think My Teacher is a Superhero" is about 30,000 words long. Someone who wanted to share with the world his vision of Anakin Skywalker falling in love with Commander Riker and their vacation together on Risa is likely to make it twice as long.
Those writers have people telling them to keep up the good work. Knowing that, how much stock can I really put in my friends, family, and agent who tell me I'm great and on the cusp of something big? Hearing other professional writers compliment my work loses its luster when they later make it clear they can do nothing to help you find a writing job.
So here I am, waiting for my novel to sell. I've taken a part-time job at a grocery store down the road to try to pay some bills and I know that I could probably work my way up the corporate ladder fairly quickly if that was my goal. It's not, but at this point, I'm not really sure what is.
Do I love writing? Or am I just in love with the idea of being a writer?