brianrayfiction.com Blog

So Nabokov’s wife and son never burned the draft of his last novel, like he asked them to. (Do they ever?) Now it’s going to be published. Here’s a little preview from PW:

Mostly, this amounts to a peek inside the author’s process and mindset as he neared death. Indeed, mortality, suicide, impotence, a disgust with the male human body—and an appreciation of the fit, young female body—figure prominently.

The preview generally says this manuscript barely resembles a novel and that a valid reason exists for N. wanting it burned. In fact, I imagine N. will rise from his grave to kill off those involved in its publication – like some kind of mummy movie. Pedophilia, if you’re wondering, does make a brief appearance in this book.

In other news, PW is up for sale. Anyone interested?

Latest news on the street. There’s going to be a Pride and Prejudice and Zombies graphic novel. (Also keep an eye out for Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters.) Here’s what Publishers Weekly says:

The Graphic Novel will be adapted by Tony Lee, a veteran comics writer who has worked on X-Men, Spider-Man and other comics series, and artist Cliff Richards, who has worked on the Buffy the Vampire Slayer comics series. The deal was announced at the San Diego Comic-Con International and was negotiated by Mutzumi Miyazaki, Del Rey director of licensing and acquisitions, with Marsha Armitage-Bristow, executive v-p of licensing at Dimensional Branding Group, and Jessica Schmidt, director of sales for Quirk Books.

This horror-classics blend is really starting to take off. Maybe I should try to get in at the ground level of this bubble before it bursts. For I predict that by 2015 we’ll see nearly all of Jane Austen’s novels retold with the addition of gruesome creatures. They’ll begin to appear on summer reading lists across the country, and Victorian lit scholars will no doubt throw a few of these page-turners onto their syllabi in order to pump up their students for what’s otherwise – at least for them – dull stuff. What’s next? Perhaps Bleak House in Space. Anyway, I’m calling dibs on Emma, because I’ve just heard the muse whispering in my ear. I envision that this Emma will not only try to match-make among humans but also various night walkers. Harriet Smith will be re-cast as a recovering vampire who must learn proper etiquette and courtship protocol in order to wed the wealthy Mr. Elton. The new opening chapter will begin with Emma saving Elton’s life from the un-mannered Harriet, who’s initial idea of flirtation involves, of course, blood sucking. If Harriet can’t learn a more ladylike way of charming her suitors, of course, Emma will have to slay her. A short preview:

The real evils, indeed, of Emma’s situation, much more evil than Harriet’s recent transformation, were the power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself: these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her many enjoyments. The danger, however, had been so unperceived, that she had barely noticed. She had always wondered why Harriet slept all day and was never in her bed at night, and why she now avoided sunlight. The first error, and the worst, now lay at her door – or beneath the table, was more like it, her dress bloodied. It had been foolish, it had been wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together without at least considering the possibility that Harriet belonged to the world of the undead. It was adventuring too far, assuming too much, making light of what ought to be serious—a trick of what ought to be simple. She was quite concerned and ashamed, as she looked at the writhing, fanged Harriet now chained and shackled to the table leg. She resolved to do such things no more, unless, of course, this vampiress could somehow be schooled in the art of manner and conversation. Yes, that was it, indeed, Emma thought, and scurried off to fetch her conduct books.

Been one helluva weekend between belly dancing shows, Rocky Horror, and a drive through Sumter to find some inspiration for final revisions on the novel-in-progress, which I hope to more or less wrap up before heading to the Rockies. (We’ll see how that goes.)

The current novel was last week’s bestseller for Hub City. I hope copies keep moving. By the way, if you’ve enjoyed the book you might write a sentence or two on Amazon. This tends to help.

New story on Burton’s upcoming Alice and Wonderland makes me wish it were coming out this Christmas and not next March. (Having just finished final revisions on an essay about Burton coming out in a collection from Utah State U. Press, I wouldn’t mind looking at that script.) Oh, well. At least I’ll get to tour the new online gallery on Burton’s website – albeit with creepy Stainboy. Must admit, it’s not unlike walking through Edgewood’s prison studio in my book.

Meanwhile, I’m set to read at Fiction Addiction’s author lunch series on Oct 2. Should be fun. Plus, new video and podcast up on Atlanta Forum.

Now for a surprise. Big chain retailers like Target are actually known to boost new, indie-ish writers into the spotlight. Take this excerpt from a recent NY Times article:

Indeed, the book, by the first-time novelist Tatiana de Rosnay, was well on its way to sinking out of sight last fall when Target, the discount retailer, chose the paperback version of “Sarah’s Key” as its Bookmarked Club Pick: a choice for a program that designates titles for prominent display throughout the chain’s stores. Suddenly sales exploded…Target “can sell hundreds of thousands of copies of a book that is virtually unknown in the rest of the marketplace,” said Jacqueline Updike, director of adult sales at Random House, one of the world’s largest publishers…By assembling a collection of books by unheralded authors, Target behaves more like an independent bookstore than like a mere retailer of mainstream must-haves (although, of course, Target sells its share of best-seller list regulars, like James Patterson and Janet Evanovich).

de Rosnay went from a few thousand copies sold to nearly 200,000 between hardback and paperback versions. Thanks, Target. If you’re out there.

Hate to say it, but this dude was asking for trouble:

A Florida man has been sued by DC Comics for selling figurines that resemble Batman characters — though he says they’re meant to portray actors from the 1960s “Batman” television series. In a lawsuit filed in federal court in Tampa, DC Comics accuses John Stacks of committing copyright and trademark infringement, among other violations, with his resin composite figurines. The characters in question include Batman, Robin, Catwoman, the Joker, Batgirl, the Penguin, the Riddler, Egghead and King Tut.

Read the full story from the AJC here.

Now the question for me is this. How much did this guy make off these less-than-impressive looking toys? I could buy, like, a real batman action figure on Ebay for around five bucks. In fact, I wouldn’t buy Mr. Stacks’ figures for my worst enemies. I wouldn’t even try to hide them in happy meals or stuff them inside cracker-jacks boxes. I’ll bet you could make more money off selling the resin these things are made from. DC must simply enjoy making this man’s life miserable. To be fair, of course, they did send Stacks a letter asking him to stop marketing these knockoffs. So did Warner Bros, who also owns rights to Batman. Here’s an excerpt:

Dear John Stacks,

I’m going to kick your f*&king ass. I want these f@^king little toys off this market, you prick! I mean, what don’t you f&^*king understand about copyright laws? Don’t just be sorry. Think, for one f^uc@ing second. Seriously. What. Are. You. Doing! Do you have any f&#*ing idea about, hey, it’s dishonest and illegal to go around like “la-la-la-la-la, hey, I’m a huge jerk who makes cheap Batman figurines out of home-made plastic, and I don’t give a crap about intellectual property.”

You want me to trash your resin molds? Huh? You want me to f*&^king trash ‘em!? Then why the f&*^k are you trashing my image with your dinky little collector’s items? Good God, man, you’re amateur. Look, just stay off our turf. You can make little figurines of Harry Potter or that vampire show, or movie, or whatever it is. Stay away from Batman. That’s my scene.

None of us can work properly with you contaminating our PR. Yeah, that’s right. You don’t understand what it’s like working with super heroes or actors or lawyers, do you? DO. YOU?

Seriously, dude. Just stop making the figures. We’re the ones making the figures. Yeah, man, like seven figures. As in seven-figure salaries. What you need to do is stop making the figures.

Christian Bailout
Warner Bros, Inc

Keep thinking about something that happened in Greensboro the other week. I figure, why not make it a blog post? When I read at the B&N, I was sort of stunned when a health care professional shook my hand and thanked me for writing about mental illness. “It’s something my generation swept under the rug,” he said, adding that Southern culture in general has preferred not to talk about that sort of thing. A big taboo. I knew that. And I knew that’s what my book, in part, is about. But now I know it.

The story of Fred Frese helps illuminate this aspect of the story – the mom’s erratic behavior and mental illness. Frese, a doctor, managed to gain control of his mind after, of course, some wild incidents. While he was in the Marines, during his mid 20s, Frese began to develop acute symptoms of schizophrenia. He thought American leaders were being hypnotized in a conspiracy to control the U.S. atomic weapons supply. He also feared a Communist plot that involved the fluoridation of American drinking water and the destruction of our precious bodily fluids. (Wait, that’s a film.) Later, he suffered from hallucinations that he was shape-shifting from monkey to snake, to dog, to fish, and then finally turning into an atom that would bring about the destruction of Earth. But he got a grip, finally, stayed on his meds, and got a PhD in Psychology – eventually becoming the director of a health center.

Frese faced persecution. People didn’t trust him. When she discovered his dark past, his girlfriend (now wife) almost called their relationship quits. In fact, she sort of did. She went all the way cross-country. But, love stories are true. She realized what a big mistake she’d made and returned to him. Aww.

The mom’s fate in my book, essentially, is Frese’s story gone terribly awry. She’s a product of a culture that makes madness a taboo and makes things worse for people like her. Misinformation or lack of information, and the family’s failures to communicate, all contribute to the tragic – albeit macabre – undoing of a gifted artist. There’s still a great deal of mystery surrounding mental illness. A recent study implies that viral infections during pregnancy can contribute to the development of schizophrenia – as much or more than heredity. Bet that would make some of the characters in my book rest easier at night.

In the end, that’s what the novel’s about. Yeah, yeah, it’s also about a steel mill. But before that, even, the story is about the destruction of a family in a culture that fears the deep, dark recesses of the mind. Foucault would have a field day with this story.

This show with Jimmy Fallon has somehow caught some attention by pitting Edward Cullen against Harry Potter. Watch it here. Who’d win in a fight? Now, here’s five minutes of my life I’ll never get back. Someone needs to cast a stupify spell on Fallon. Or perhaps someone already has.

Where do I stand on the Potter vs. Cullen debate? There’s too many factors that people aren’t considering. The fight could go to either one of them. Cullen could dodge Potter’s spells. One good whack and stomp and Potter’s glasses would be nevermore. Hard to fight blind. Isn’t it? Potter, I suggest you get contacts. On the other hand, couldn’t Potter turn into a dragon or something and eat Cullen? And could they bring a friend to the fight?

In any case, I have a better question to pose. Who would win in a humor contest between Fallon and a chimpanzee? Well, we need to know: is the chimp wearing a tuxedo or a policeman’s uniform? The first would be funnier than Jimmy Fallon. The second would be much funnier.

Speaking of sucking, Margaret Atwood has a new book coming out soon. If it’s anything like Oryx and Crake, this will go at the bottom of my Amazon wish-list. Apologies to a barista friend who is currently reading Oryx and Crake. So sad, really. I consider myself an Atwood fan.

Lots of little things to blog about this weekend. First, the new Harry Potter flick. The first one I’ve truly enjoyed. I’d like to get to know that Bellatrix a little better. She seems like a trip, so long as she doesn’t turn you into a newt and then eat you. Bellatrix Lestrange, can I compare thee to a summer day? Then how about a frigid tundra night? Thou art more lovely and more tempestuous. Less predictable but pretty good lookin’, in a Tim Burton, screwed up kind of way. As it turns out, the actor who plays Bellatrix (H.B. Carter) also happens to have a bit in common with Sarah from my book. Turns out her mom suffered a severe mental breakdown when she was only five and spent three years recovering. Sometime in her late teens/early 20s, her dad became largely paralyzed after brain surgery that went awry. Poor kid. No wonder she’s such a match for Burton.

Janet Evanovich recently told NY Times she prefers linear mysteries without flashbacks. Apox on you, Evanovich! Now I’ll never sell my sequel to Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five – “Seventy Years Later: Comin’ Through the Slaughterhouse.” Just as well. His agents probably would’ve sued me anyway.

My air mattress, recently mentioned in the News-Record, expired this morning after a brief life of three months. Cheap piece of crap. Can’t take a rough roll in the sheets, I guess. Might be sleeping on the floor a few evenings, unless anyone cares to buy a copy of my novel. I’m like the stock market. Good news facilitates commerce. Shameless guilt trip, I know. But let’s see if it works.

The latest Publishers Weekly lauds Deanna Zandt for finding inventive ways to generate money to do research for her forthcoming book, Sink or Swim. In addition to fundraising letters raking in thousands of dollars, she’s won over a pizza place in New York that has offered a $100 budget for junk food each month. Zandt signed with a smaller publisher that gives no advance, reasoning that it’s better to work with a house you like than to sell out.

Way to go. Inspired by her success, I’ve started brainstorming other ways that authors can earn a living in these desperate times:

1. Author striptease. Pack a hundred or so people into a dimly lit space, preferably with strobe lights and electronica. An announcer starts things off by saying the writer will remove one article of clothing per copy sold. For success, dress in layers. Patrons should not pay a bookseller at an event like this. Instead, let them insert the cost of the book into a place of their choosing. (We recommend this idea for young, healthy-looking writers.)

2. Ads in your book. Contact major companies like Coca-Cola or Microsoft and tell them, say, page 40 and 78 of your forthcoming title can belong to them for whatever price you can negotiate. A romance novelist might contact Victoria’s Secret. A sci-fi writer might drop Best Buy a line.

3. Product placement in your book. Like ads, this strategy involves the actual interweaving of specific items into your prose. For example, consider this scene from my forthcoming Harlequin Romance that I plan to market later this fall – “Melinda lounged sensually on her bed, waiting for Michael to shut down his Apple Thinkpad 740X with touch screen and voice command, dual processor and sleek sexy designe. She moaned. Almost as sleek and sexy as her, she thought. In fact, Mike had been coming to bed later and later. She worried about his increasing interest in Maximum Biohazard Shock, a new game. But finally he joined her, sliding into bed where they shared a Starbucks Iced Cappuccino and watched the latest episode Battlestar Gallactica.” Or consider this crime thriller I’m writing: “Hernando entered the dark room and adjusted his brand new Crew jacket, reaching for his pistol. Then the shots came, and he ducked. An exchange of gun fire led to a three block chase. Guys down at the precinct always made fun of Hernando for wearing Nike Swifts with his nice clothes. But there was one guy not laughing, Hernando smirked to himself, and that was the suspect – now face down on the sidewalk in a pool of his own fresh blood. ‘Hey,’ he said on his radio. ‘Better tell the paramedics to bring plenty of ShamWow.’”

4. Author blackmail. The above three methods make fundraising sound hard. It’s easier and more interesting to dig up dirt on your friends, neighbors, coworkers, politicians, and celebrities. Then send them an ominous letter about their affair, their illegal activities, or embarrassing secrets. Tell them that all evidence can disappear for the low price of _______, and then you’re all set. Seriously, if you’re lucky you might only have to blackmail two or three folks. Fellow writers, if you try to blackmail me – I’ll sneak into your house and erase your hard drive while you’re sleeping.

I’m throwing new stuff on the website. Check out my recent appearance on “Your Day,” a radio show on local NPR. The segment originally aired on Monday, July 13. Second half of the program. By the way, if you like my blog, then try my book.

Today’s NY Times simply delighted me to no end. I love reading about the introverted, Bohemian ways of writers who’ve been well-off a long chunk of their lives. “The assumption is that writers can write wherever they can sit down,” Roxana Robinson, wife of a retired banker, said. “But the main thing you need as a writer is a sense of certainty that you won’t be interrupted.”

I know what she means. It’s been so nice to have a place where no babies are crying in my neighbors’ apartments, no rock bands or packs of wild dogs upstairs. But, really, what a writer needs is an apartment not over-run by roaches, like one of my last places in Columbia. Seriously, waking up with a roach in your bed – finding five of them in the bathroom any given trip – has a negative effect on your process. Not to mention the fifty bucks you spend on RAID and fumigation bombs eats well into your paper and ink cartridge budget.

Here’s a description of her writing space:

Ms. Robinson, whose home is an 11-story apartment house on East 68th Street near Park Avenue, writes in an 8-by-10 space that faces a tan brick wall and was formerly a maid’s room. In décor and design, it is as spare as a monk’s cell. The spartan furnishings include a brown wooden chair, a small white bureau, an old-fashioned metal radiator with peeling gray paint and a cotton rug. A white coverlet lies atop a twin bed. The first thing in the morning, after having her coffee but before speaking to anyone, Ms. Robinson retreats to this room, sits cross-legged on the bed, places her laptop on her knees, and writes for several hours.

That strikes me as very similar to the kind of cheap apartment a grad student holes up in. She could’ve saved herself a lot of money by moving into a one-bedroom apartment here in Greensboro. Hey, Robinson, come live with me. Why have one Spartan room? Your whole place can be as spare as a monk’s cell! We’ll split the rent even-steven.

A big thanks to the crowd at B&N Thursday night. We packed that place to the walls and lured shoppers near with our cackling. I’m told a couple of book sellers gave each other high fives.

Saturday, I’m off to Atlanta to catch up with friends and read at A Cappella Books. Past few days have been tour-heavy and wonderful.

A glimpse into my psychology: Thursday morning, at FOX 8 News, I chatted with a news anchor, before our live interview, who mentioned she was from Sumter, SC. My instinct was to say, “Ha, home of ‘Pee Wee’ Gaskins.” Fortunately I caught myself and suppressed it. Instead we talked about USC and Clemson. More conducive to weekday morning conversation, I think.

My interview with Jeri Rowe is a little more along the Pee Wee Gaskins line. Also see the article.

Burton trivia: Growing up, Burton freaked his parents out on a routine basis. One afternoon young Tim cornered his dad and said, “You know, you’ve got a really great view. I mean, it’s really great.” The father’s bedroom window overlooked a couple of huge dead trees and some rotting wood. A few weeks later, his parents bricked up young Burton’s window. Strange.

There will indeed be a sequel to the Greensboro reading, somewhere in Greensboro. So anyone who missed this time ’round, fear not. Stay tuned.