I've been checking more books out of the library, not so much out of economic necessity as just not having room for more books. The trouble is, library books must be returned, eventually, and then I don't have them. I also loan out books, usually in a rush of foolish generosity, then forget who has them, and then have to buy new copies — I recently had to buy another copy of Eddy Portnoy's great Yiddish press celebration, "Bad Rabbi" — if you're the person I loaned it to you, well, you might as well keep it at this point.
As for skipping to the end of books, honestly, the idea never occurred to me until ... well, I'm exploring topics our guest writer and old friend, mystery novelist Jack Clark, probes, talking about his latest book, and so should simply shut up — an art form I struggle to master — step aside and say, "Take it away, Jack!"
I took four books out of the library the other day and they sent me an email receipt. At the bottom it said, "You just saved $116.94 by using your library. You have saved $2,228.18 this past year and $82,672.80 since you began using the library!" Wow! That's a lot of money. That's a lot of books. I don't blame them for using the exclamation point.
I love my library but I didn't save anywhere near that much. If it wasn't for the library, most of the books I read would be paperbacks from thrift shops and second-hand bookstores, or borrowed from friends.
There's always a danger with friends. You have to return the book in good condition — no reading in the bathtub or while eating chips and salsa — same for the library, of course. You're also likely to be asked what you thought of the book, which they probably recommended. Too many times, I have to confess that I didn't finish it. That's how it often works out, I usually give up on about half the books I start.
My library never asks what I think of a book. You don't even have to talk to them. You can check out your books all by yourself. Being old, I've never done this. I've never even attempted it. I like to make small talk with the clerks. They usually respond in kind but I sometimes think I can see what they're really thinking: What's this guy up to?
It's a tough place, this new, do-it-yourself world.
My friend Marilyn goes through a lot of library books too. She has a 50-page rule. That's how much she'll force herself to read before giving up on a book. I've heard of people with a 100-page rule.
I have a first paragraph rule. Of course, the books that fail that test never get out of the library, at least not with me.
When I get books home, my biggest criticisms are, 1) I don't care about the characters. 2) I don't believe in the world the writer has created — or tried to create. 3) The book is too wordy. You really don't have to describe every last, little detail. Let the reader fill in some of the blanks. If we wanted everything spelled out, we'd be watching TV.
Elmore Leonard had a list of 10 rules for writing. My favorite goes something like this: You know those parts you skip over when you're reading a book? Don't write those.
When I've had enough of someone breaking this rule, I'll sometimes shout, "Elmore Leonard," and toss the book to the end of the sofa where library books begin their return trip.
I once saw my father throw a book across the room. It wasn't a very good book to begin with, he explained, and then he came to a paragraph where someone drew a round circle on the ground. That was one word over the line for my dad.
Years back, I was spending a quiet evening at home with my wife Lisa. I looked up from my book and she was almost at the end of hers, which I knew she'd just started. "You can't do that," I said.
She was ready for me. "Yes, I can," she said and I couldn't really disagree. We both did pretty much whatever we wanted. This might explain why the marriage didn't work out. "If I think a book is stupid and I'm not going to finish it, sometimes I'll go to the end to see if it's as stupid as I thought it was going to be. And if it isn't, I might go back and finish it." I could see that she was proud of her reasoning. The way she looked at it, she was giving the writer a second chance.
I wasn't that sold on her argument but, shortly thereafter, I was reading a mystery novel. Things were moving right along until page two or three when a racist police officer showed up at a murder scene. "Oh, tell me you're not going to do this," I said, and then I remembered Lisa's rule.
I flipped to the back and, yes, the racist cop was the bad guy. Lisa had just saved me a couple hundred pages of misery. If the writer gives the villain away on page two, what other crimes will he commit before he gets to the end?
Still, I hardly ever flip to the back of a book. Many of the books I give up on, I just can't get myself to care enough about the characters to give them a second chance. "I don't care what happens," I'll shout as the book goes flying towards the sofa.
Everybody's got their own rules, of course. One of mine is, you don't have to read those parts in italics. That's just for extra credit.
Way back deep in the last century, Marilyn gave me Continental Drift by Russell Banks. She'd gotten it from our next-door neighbor Bob. They'd both really liked it and I did too. I passed it on to my friend Robin. When she gave the book back, she said she liked it. "But that Haiti stuff was really rough."
"I skipped all that," I said.
"It's half the book."
Robin tends to exaggerate. "It's no more than a third," I said. "Anyway, it was in italics."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
She'd apparently never heard about the italics rule. Well, as the justice system is always happy to point out, ignorance of the law is no excuse.
When I gave the book back to Marilyn, she said she'd skipped all the Haiti stuff too. I asked the next-door neighbor. Yep. He'd skipped that part also.
I don't know what that says about the book or about my circle of friends. I'm sorry to report that Russell Banks died in 2023, but at least he didn't have to hear about this.
Meanwhile, early in this century, one of my writer friends was hired to work on a screenplay for Continental Drift. I think it was a script doctor job. I never got the details quite right. When I told him to just skip everything in italics, he said, "I can't really do that. The director is Haitian."
It shouldn't come as a surprise to hear that the movie never got made. Sometimes the hardest part of editing is figuring what to leave out.
I had a difficult choice to make with my latest book, Murder Reporter (just released). I showed a late draft to my writing group. Steve circled a paragraph about seven pages in and wrote: "This would be a great beginning."
I pondered that for a couple of days and decided he was right. I'd buried the lede, as they say in the newspaper business. (Look, that's how they spell it. I don't like it either.)
So now what was I going to do with the beginning I already had, which I really liked. It was only a page and a half. I didn't want to leave it out. Two seven-year-old boys are talking while sitting in a crabapple tree in Columbus Park. Then the story skips ahead 14 years.
I couldn't move the scene deeper into the book. That wouldn't make any sense. The story is told in chronological order. What if I just put it in italics? Some of those who knew the rule could skip it — the overachievers could take the extra credit — and the others could read it and then, when the real type began, they'd probably realize, oh, here's where the story starts. I'm pretty sure it works.
I took four books out of the library the other day and they sent me an email receipt. At the bottom it said, "You just saved $116.94 by using your library. You have saved $2,228.18 this past year and $82,672.80 since you began using the library!" Wow! That's a lot of money. That's a lot of books. I don't blame them for using the exclamation point.
I love my library but I didn't save anywhere near that much. If it wasn't for the library, most of the books I read would be paperbacks from thrift shops and second-hand bookstores, or borrowed from friends.
There's always a danger with friends. You have to return the book in good condition — no reading in the bathtub or while eating chips and salsa — same for the library, of course. You're also likely to be asked what you thought of the book, which they probably recommended. Too many times, I have to confess that I didn't finish it. That's how it often works out, I usually give up on about half the books I start.
My library never asks what I think of a book. You don't even have to talk to them. You can check out your books all by yourself. Being old, I've never done this. I've never even attempted it. I like to make small talk with the clerks. They usually respond in kind but I sometimes think I can see what they're really thinking: What's this guy up to?
It's a tough place, this new, do-it-yourself world.
My friend Marilyn goes through a lot of library books too. She has a 50-page rule. That's how much she'll force herself to read before giving up on a book. I've heard of people with a 100-page rule.
I have a first paragraph rule. Of course, the books that fail that test never get out of the library, at least not with me.
When I get books home, my biggest criticisms are, 1) I don't care about the characters. 2) I don't believe in the world the writer has created — or tried to create. 3) The book is too wordy. You really don't have to describe every last, little detail. Let the reader fill in some of the blanks. If we wanted everything spelled out, we'd be watching TV.
Elmore Leonard had a list of 10 rules for writing. My favorite goes something like this: You know those parts you skip over when you're reading a book? Don't write those.
When I've had enough of someone breaking this rule, I'll sometimes shout, "Elmore Leonard," and toss the book to the end of the sofa where library books begin their return trip.
I once saw my father throw a book across the room. It wasn't a very good book to begin with, he explained, and then he came to a paragraph where someone drew a round circle on the ground. That was one word over the line for my dad.
Years back, I was spending a quiet evening at home with my wife Lisa. I looked up from my book and she was almost at the end of hers, which I knew she'd just started. "You can't do that," I said.
She was ready for me. "Yes, I can," she said and I couldn't really disagree. We both did pretty much whatever we wanted. This might explain why the marriage didn't work out. "If I think a book is stupid and I'm not going to finish it, sometimes I'll go to the end to see if it's as stupid as I thought it was going to be. And if it isn't, I might go back and finish it." I could see that she was proud of her reasoning. The way she looked at it, she was giving the writer a second chance.
I wasn't that sold on her argument but, shortly thereafter, I was reading a mystery novel. Things were moving right along until page two or three when a racist police officer showed up at a murder scene. "Oh, tell me you're not going to do this," I said, and then I remembered Lisa's rule.
I flipped to the back and, yes, the racist cop was the bad guy. Lisa had just saved me a couple hundred pages of misery. If the writer gives the villain away on page two, what other crimes will he commit before he gets to the end?
Still, I hardly ever flip to the back of a book. Many of the books I give up on, I just can't get myself to care enough about the characters to give them a second chance. "I don't care what happens," I'll shout as the book goes flying towards the sofa.
Everybody's got their own rules, of course. One of mine is, you don't have to read those parts in italics. That's just for extra credit.
Way back deep in the last century, Marilyn gave me Continental Drift by Russell Banks. She'd gotten it from our next-door neighbor Bob. They'd both really liked it and I did too. I passed it on to my friend Robin. When she gave the book back, she said she liked it. "But that Haiti stuff was really rough."
"I skipped all that," I said.
"It's half the book."
Robin tends to exaggerate. "It's no more than a third," I said. "Anyway, it was in italics."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
She'd apparently never heard about the italics rule. Well, as the justice system is always happy to point out, ignorance of the law is no excuse.
When I gave the book back to Marilyn, she said she'd skipped all the Haiti stuff too. I asked the next-door neighbor. Yep. He'd skipped that part also.
I don't know what that says about the book or about my circle of friends. I'm sorry to report that Russell Banks died in 2023, but at least he didn't have to hear about this.
Meanwhile, early in this century, one of my writer friends was hired to work on a screenplay for Continental Drift. I think it was a script doctor job. I never got the details quite right. When I told him to just skip everything in italics, he said, "I can't really do that. The director is Haitian."
It shouldn't come as a surprise to hear that the movie never got made. Sometimes the hardest part of editing is figuring what to leave out.
I had a difficult choice to make with my latest book, Murder Reporter (just released). I showed a late draft to my writing group. Steve circled a paragraph about seven pages in and wrote: "This would be a great beginning."
I pondered that for a couple of days and decided he was right. I'd buried the lede, as they say in the newspaper business. (Look, that's how they spell it. I don't like it either.)
So now what was I going to do with the beginning I already had, which I really liked. It was only a page and a half. I didn't want to leave it out. Two seven-year-old boys are talking while sitting in a crabapple tree in Columbus Park. Then the story skips ahead 14 years.
I couldn't move the scene deeper into the book. That wouldn't make any sense. The story is told in chronological order. What if I just put it in italics? Some of those who knew the rule could skip it — the overachievers could take the extra credit — and the others could read it and then, when the real type began, they'd probably realize, oh, here's where the story starts. I'm pretty sure it works.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments are vetted and posted at the discretion of the proprietor.