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snoopy369
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Of the Peanuts Gallery
Apr 2004
time: 23:35
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Thursday, June 4, At the Random House Exhibit
Bill Bryson, Dave Barry, Joseph Ellis, China Mièville, Erik Larson, and John Irving are sitting at one of the tables, several minutes before the exhibit opens to the public.
"How's the new book going, China?" asked Bill.
"Eh, not bad. Iron Council is going to be hard to top, but that's ok, I'm up to the challenge."
"Sounds like you'll do okay in the business with that attitude," responded Bill. "Of course, you write Science Fiction, so you'll never be a big hit, like me. But I'm sure HUNDREDS of nerds out there will be very impressed with it!"
"Hey, there's no call to say that," said Erik Larson. "Just because he doesn't write serious work, doesn't mean he's not entitled to some respect. After all, Cider House Rules wasn't exactly an accurate recount either, but enough liberals liked it for it to make the best seller list ..."
"Woah, what are you talking about?" asked John Irving. "My books are very serious--"
"John, it's just not the same thing when you're writing about things that didn't happen," said Joseph Ellis. "Even Dave here writes about his own life, even if he does embellish it a little. You fiction writers, though, you get to make everything up. Erik and I have to work with what really happened, no matter how dull it is. You have it easy - if something dull should have happened in one of your books, you just don't write about it, and instead write something interesting in its place."
"What? You're crazy," said China. "You don't have to spend months coming up with a basic plot. You have history to give you the plots. All you do is take someone else's story and say it again, in your own words. I have to make up my own world and everything in it, not to mention the history, AND make sure it's believable enough for my fan to like it."
"Ok guys, the fans are almost here. Break up the fight and let's get out there and present one face to the public..." says Dave, who naturally is the conciliator of the group.
Elsewhere, at the Penguin Putnam Pavilion ...
Tom Clancy and Robert Parker are sitting at a table, across from a pair of cute publishing interns.
"Hey Tom, been a while since you wrote a hit, eh?" said Robert. "I mean, you can live on the kind of publicity you get from Hunt for Red October for only so long, eh? Red Rabbit wasn't exactly Clancy material ..."
"Oh yeah, like you outsold it with Melancholy Baby," retorts Tom. "That Spenser character is a bit worn, isn't he? At least I have the sense to mix it up a bit, throw in some nonfiction every so often ..."
"Yeh, right. You probably didn't even write the last couple of those. Shadow Warriors? You needed *two* coauthors on that one. And don't get me started about your Net Force series. You don't have anything to do with those at all, except picking up a check!"
"Well, excuuse me for making a few extra dollars AND helping new authors out."
Orson Scott Card walks over from the nearby Tor exhibit. "You two guys doing alright? I thought I heard shouting going on. Don't tell me all is not right in the land of the mystery/thriller?"
"Yeh, whatever. You scifi people creep me out. And that military stuff you write, Orson, it's just not right. Go back to writing books about religious figures. At least then you don't screw up naval orders and make a mockery out of our men in uniforms."
"Yeah, and this whole writing the same plot twice thing is disgusting, too. At least Tom and I are writing *different* books each time ..."
"Well, nice to see that my stopping by had a positive effect on your relationship, at least. If you're even in Utah, give me a call. Maybe I can hook you up with a nice restaurant or something. Anyway, the public will be here soon, so ta-ta."
In the Harper-Collins Exhibit Area ...
Joyce Carol Oates, Jonathan Safran Foer, and Elmore Leonard are swapping stories of their writing, when Neil Gaiman steps in. "Heya, guys and gal, how are you finding yourselves these days? How's the world of American fiction treating you?"
"Right, Neil. You mean Writing. Run along now and let us talk about our writing. I hear the comics pavilion has room for some more Comic Book people," said Jonathan.
"Hey, hey, I write books, too. American Gods was a huge best-seller and a smash hit over here!"
"Yeh, whatever. Get a couple of films made based on your books, and then we'll talk to you," Elmore sneered.
"Hey, Neverwhere was a great film, especially given the low budget we shot it on. Get Shorty wasn't exactly my idea of a cinematic masterpiece, and you had loads more money for that than we did. And besides, Jonathan here hasn't had any movies yet."
"Yeah, but he's not a Comic Book man. He knows where he belongs - with the Writers of Novels."
"Sheesh, I know when i'm not wanted." Neil wanders off towards the D.C. Comics pavilion, where his pal Dave McKeon is standing, talking to George Carlin.
"Hey George, how's it going?"
"Hey, not bad, Neil. Sounded like those guys were using the Seven Dirty Words an awful lot. You talking to them like an Author again?"
"Hey, I am an author!"
"Yeh, right, me too. Tell you what. Next time one of us writes a real book, the other can buy him a car. Think GM will be taking a check from me any time soon?"
"You're just being mean, now."
"Hey man, I tell it like it is. Now let's go hit the refreshment stands before those losers start coming in. I don't want to be seen around you with the public around - those nerds that always hang around you give me chickenpox or something."
At the Time Warner Annex...
"So, Dave, what's it like being shelved next to 2002's big hit?" asks Alice Sebold.
"Well, if your book had any staying power, then maybe more people would read mine as a result. But since you're just a one-hit wonder, nobody seems to care."
"Hey, I wrote two successful books..."
"Right. Lucky was the same book, just non-fiction. And it didn't sell a lick until after Lovely Bones was out, even though it was written earlier. That was pure spill-over."
"Hey, I know who would love to hear you two talk about this ... Tom Wolfe. I bet he has tons of stories about one-hit wonders." George Pelecanos was a bit tired of their bickering. "Then maybe I can get a rest, before I get attacked by fans of my hit mystery series."
"George, George, one of these days we'll convince you to write a book that actually means something. I mean, Alice here may be a one-hit wonder, but her novel struck a chord in the hearts of millions, and gave hope to those without hope. My books bring a lightness to the world as well, a lightness of humor while considering the serious world we live in. Perhaps someday you'll write something ... mainstream?"
"Yeah, Dave, you are just jealous that I get a bigger following than you in these things. You're one of those authors whose books are purchased mostly just to have on the bookshelf, not actually read but so that you can hear other people whisper, "Oh, he has Naked on his bookshelf, how hip. I bet his wife gets really lucky at night ... My readers actually read my books."
"Okay, whatever. Here they come, let's get ready ..."
At the S&S table ...
"Hunter, you didn't actually do all those things in Fear and Loathing, did you?" asked Ann Rule. "I mean, you could practically star in one of MY books at that rate. It's a wonder you haven't killed anyone yet, with all those drugs and the violence all around you."
"Ann, I could never kill a fly. I'm just a misunderstood youth, who happens to be nearly seventy. I expand my mind, true, but that doesn't mean I'm a nut case."
"Yeah, well, remember you're talking to the expert on nut cases here, Hunter," inserted David McCullough. "I mean, John Adams may have been a loon, but Ann here has literally gotten in the mind of some of our craziest killers. It's a wonder she's still all here herself."
"David, now, as a fellow historian I would think you would have some respect for what I do. It's all well and good to write about some guy who lived hundreds of years ago, and left thousands of pages of writing, plus thousands more pages of opinions other people wrote and said about him. It's another to write a book about a deranged psychopathic killer, who left no notes behind, and nobody knew well enough to describe him beyond 'Woah, that guy was far out'."
"Whatever, you two. Watch out, those people are starting to get in. We might want to go out the back way ..."
"Hunter, you actually have to *greet* your fans. That's the point of a signing event ..."
"Yeah, whatever."
...
And they all went off to their respective booths or signing tables, not thinking any further on the heated discussions of the morning.
To be continued ...
Last edited by snoopy369 on 13-03-2005 at 11:40
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13-03-2005 10:34
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I prefer my GO avatar.
ACK!
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