Write Good or Die by Scott Nicholson Read Free Book Online Page B

There was a
problem, however. The book was a hundred and thirty thousand
words.
    "Can you cut thirty thousand?"
    I said I could. The effort was one of the
most frustrating, and at the same time rewarding, episodes in my
writing career. Because I didn’t want to affect the story, I
delegated myself to trimming the fat.
    And there was fat. A lot of it.
    When I finished, the editor read the revision
and said, "Cut another ten thousand words."
    Now there was no choice; I had to cut story.
It was very difficult to do. I was forced to confront my novel and
determine what was essential to the plot and what could be left out
without disturbing the narrative flow.
    But I did it. And it improved the book, a
lot.
    The editor read this version and said, "You
know, I think I like your concept more than your execution of the
concept. Can you start over from the beginning?"
    Jane stepped in before I popped a blood
vessel.
    “ We’ll move on to the next
book, Joe.”
    For my third book with the agency, I decided
to make sure I wrote in a specific, distinct, defined genre, the
medical thriller. Also, because editors seemed puzzled by the
amount of humor I was putting in my books, I completely cut out the
jokes.
    After another year of writing and research, I
gave the results to Jane.
    She HATED it, and refused to represent it.
Jane liked my sense of humor, and a novel without jokes had no
spark.
    Back to square one.
    Again, I took time away from writing to
brainstorm. I liked Jane a lot, as a person and as an agent, but I
didn’t think she’d keep me on as a client if I kept giving her
books she couldn’t sell.
    My last three books were failures, but they
were important failures. They taught me how to rewrite. They taught
me that I needed to use humor. They taught me that techno thrillers
and medical thrillers weren’t working for me.
    So what genre was left? What would be the
best vehicle for my sense of humor?
    I went downstairs and began perusing my
library. A pattern emerged. Janet Evanovich. Robert B. Parker.
Lawrence Block. Robert Crais. Donald Westlake.
    All my life I loved mysteries. My favorites
were series characters, especially ones that were funny.
    Why hadn’t I thought of that before? This was
a genre I knew and loved, and something that would allow me to zing
the one-liners and have fun.
    I created Violent Crimes Lieutenant Jack
Daniels of the Chicago PD. I used every convention popular in
successful mysteries—a flawed but funny hero, a recurring cast of
oddball characters, a catchy title that instantly identified the
series, a spring-loaded plot.
    A few months later, I
gave Whiskey Sour to Jane, along with proposals for the second and third books
in the series, Bloody Mary and Rusty Nail.
    Jane loved it.
    She helped me tweak the concept, and after
two requisite rewrites, she went out with the book.
    In the meantime, I started
work on another high concept novel, so when Whiskey Sour got rejected, I’d have
something else to pitch to Jane.
    But the damnedest thing happened. A few days
after Jane submitted the book, she gave me a call.
    "We have an offer. It’s for six figures."
    She named a number. I jumped around my house
like a wind-up toy.
    "That’s great! We’re accepting it,
right?"
    "No. Another editor is interested. I think I
can get more. In the meantime, Leslie Wells at Hyperion wants to
talk to you. Is tomorrow morning good for you?"
    Leslie was a hero of mine, having edited two
of my favorite authors, Ridley Pearson and Robert Crais. The
thought of working with her awed me.
    But what should I say? How should I act?
    "Just be yourself," Jane advised. "I think
you’ll like each other."
    Leslie and I instantly hit
it off. She loved my book, but more importantly, she had great
plans for the series, and great ideas on how to make Whiskey Sour even
better.
    I got off the phone hoping Hyperion would
wind up with the book.
    The call came two days later.
    "Joe? Jane Dystel. Are you sitting down?
Hyperion made an