Cranky Introverted Loner Needs Advice
I was talking a while back about doing school visits to promote the paperback of GONE and the launch of HUNGER (GONE 2) and the editor I was talking to made a good point. She said, “Look, the question is how you’re going to present yourself. You have to put some thought into that.”
The gold standard is someone like Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler.) He would play the accordion and tell jokes and basically put on everything just short of a Broadway show. I only met Mr. Snicket while getting a book signed for my kids. So I didn’t have a chance to talk to him and say what I would like to say. Which would be, “Thanks a lot, jerk, you’ve really raised the bar for the rest of us.”
I don’t play a musical instrument. I don’t tell jokes. I’m a big, fat, baldheaded, cranky old man. The things I care deeply about are politics and food. If I had to sit down and talk to a group of YA readers the topics of conversation that would come naturally to me would be, 1) My preference for the Powell doctrine of overwhelming force, 2) Why food ideologies are ridiculous and beside the point. I can do a good extemporaneous half hour on either. Or on any number of other topics that would cause a 14 year-old (and most other sensible people,) to fall into a coma.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy talking. It’s hard to shut me up unless you have a baseball bat handy and are prepared to use it. But, man, what do I talk to “the kids” about? The things I’m interested in are things that will either cause students to consider jumping out of the window, or, things that will make their teachers want to throw me out of that same window.
This is not a new problem for me. I’ve always sucked at small talk. I’ve never been very good at relating to, um, humans. When I was in school myself I was clique-less. I had no friends. But please, no “Awww.” People occasionally wanted to be my friends (something was obviously wrong with those kids) but I would always come up with an excuse for why I couldn’t join, or sleep over, or play, or hang out. I think that was my earliest fiction writing. ”Sorry, I can’t come to the party tonight because I’ve broken my leg. But I expect I’ll be all better by tomorrow. Nope: no cast. I’m a quick healer.”
Bullies didn’t beat me up because they couldn’t quite figure out which category of victim I was. (Hmmm, he’s not smart enough to be a geek, not interesting enough to be a freak, doesn’t skateboard, too uncool to be a punk. Gentlemen, we must find an acceptable grounds for giving Michael the beat-down he deserves!)
The cliche advice is, “Be yourself.” Well, that’s no good.
So, I guess it will come down to talking about writing. Unfortunately my approach on that runs pretty much counter to what kids are taught in school. I don’t know the first thing about literary theory. My son would come back from his fifth grade class and show me some writing assignment he’d have to work on and my usual response would be, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
I can show someone how to create a character, or how to work through a plot, or build a backstory. I can talk fairly authoritatively about self-discipline and work habits. I’m very good at creating “series bibles.” I’m good at reading markets. But anything I have to contribute assumes that people are looking to get published, not just write. And I can never use the words “muse” or “inspiration” without smirking.
Anyway, I could honestly use some advice. I can’t be the only cranky, introverted loner in the writing business. So if anyone has some, please . . .
This entry was posted on Sunday, October 19th, 2008 at 6:52 am by Michael Grant and is filed under Uncategorized, writing life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
October 19th, 2008 at 11:03 am
Lemony Snicket is epic at signings. I’ve seen him before, and he was so awesome.
That probably wasn’t helpful…
October 20th, 2008 at 11:20 am
No, khy, that wasn’t helpful.
(And I’m going to smack the next person who says to me, “That Stephenie Meyers is selling a lot of books. Maybe you can right something like that.”)
What astonishes me is how many shiny-faced teenagers (with the starry-eyed support of their parents) tell me that, “It is my dream to be an author when I grow up.” And then, with their precise diction, they talk about writers workshops and literary theory … and i just think: No. Not gonna happen. You are way too normal.
As for advice (I actually got a degree in teaching high school English before realizing that I’d rather not spend my days surrounded by humanity): Don’t think of it as a speech, think of it as a lesson. Throw it back to the kids as much as possible: “What do you think a writer does all day?” You can show them copies of drafts & notes & ARCs and cover concepts & explain the process of a book. Tell them you always knew you wanted to be a writer. Tell them your ideas come to you in dreams. Tell them you make piles and piles of money. Just don’t forget to pop a breath mint if you swig a little whiskey first.
October 20th, 2008 at 4:40 pm
First of all, know that we completely support (and applaud!) your pride in being a cranky, introverted loner. Rock ON! In our opinion, Cranky Introverted Loners do not get nearly the credit they deserve.
As fellow introverts, we totally get how hard it is to come up with a schtick for things like school visits and speaking engagements when all you really want to do is be alone. However, it is also our opinion (dear gawd, why-oh-why did we start using this royal we thing, and how can we stop??) that even the crankiest and most introverted among us can find some angle or subject that makes these sorts of presentations easier. There are a couple of approaches to try.
One is something like what Daniel Handler does and that is to step COMPLETELY outside who you really are and put on an act. It can be a wild act or a subtle one, but sometimes completely stepping outside your own box can be freeing. Unfortunately, neither one of us have had a chance to read your books (but if you saw our TBR piles, you’d see you are in very good company) so we’re probably not in a good position to be able to speculate what sort of act might work with your books.
The other approach is to be completely authentic, flat out, this-is-who-I-am-warts-and-all type approach. In fact, this might work really well for you because so many students will relate to not being smart enough or cool enough or anything enough to warrant being picked on. It might also be comforting to them to know that you aren’t visited by a muse and find inspiration smirk-worthy, many of them probably feel the same way–especially about homework.
Also, having read the description of your books, it sounds as if one of your thematic elements might be Extreme School Politics Brought About by Catastrophe. That, in turn, sounds like it might tie in with one of your above stated passions, politics. Seriously, who says you can’t use your books to engage kids in a discussion of why the Powell Doctrine of overwhelming force has merit and explain how that’s different from the gang of high school kid beating the spit out of weaklings? Take it to their level, put it in terms they are familiar with, and you might just have a fascinating angle for school presentations. Especially if you pepper in some examples of how you used those same elements to build a plot or why a certain sort of backstory became critical and how that backstory allowed your characters to be heroic rather than despicable. Let them know that the writing assignments they are doing in school are not what being a writer is truly about, and they may just heave a sigh of relief.
Or you could just tell the school you’ve managed to break your leg yet again, and in fact, now that you’re older, you aren’t such a quick healer. Introverts everywhere would understand.
October 21st, 2008 at 5:56 am
“Extreme School Politics Brought About by Catastrophe.”: Nice summary The SVs! I might have to use that one . . .
You and the teacher should leave the class alone for five minutes and when you come back to paper aeroplanes and fist fights say, “Now imagine that times a 1,000.”
Or you could get one of those bags of flour they give to young teenage girls to make them think twice about the responsibility of having to take care of children. I reckon most wouldn’t last the lesson.
OR just do a Bill Hicks, sit on a stool, smoke cigars and give ‘em hell.
October 22nd, 2008 at 10:49 pm
Seriously, Michael, you underestimate the level of interest among book-lovers in becoming writers. Reading a market might not be of interest to them, but creating characters? Sure. Even if it’s weird and nothing like what they expected. That should only add to their interest.
October 23rd, 2008 at 1:19 pm
Hey Michael–
I was always very comfortable working in children’s theater (I was a sixth grade teacher for four years) but speaking in front of adults was always much harder for me. The following things might not help you, since they are the things I try to do before speaking before grown ups–as my mind tells me “you’re going to screw up” and my I feel a mild stroke coming on–but they’ve been of service to me.
1. Cary Grant played Cary Grant every day of his life–he created the character. So I created a character that is a knowledgeable, warm, kind, charming editor who is thrilled to be speaking to the audience. He also happens to be several inches taller than I am, has a full head of greying hair, a large Swiss bank acount inherited from the arms dealer “father” who adopted him at age 26,and carries a Walther P99 on a shoulder holster under his perfectly tailored Calvin Klein collection suit. But you can create whatever character you want–that’s the fun part.
2. Like the great critic Stanley Edgar Hyman (The New Yorker, husband of Shirley Jackson) I use the toilet,wash my hands, and check my fly. (And by that I mean I make sure it is zipped up.)
3. Breathe in (nose) and out (mouth) noisily several times. Do this BEFORE you are in front of the audience–people tend to find it funny.
But most of all, who cares what they think? Let most of them be bored. As long as you have something REAL to say to them, at least one of them will get the message. Kids hear bull*%#@ all day long–just be honest about what you do and say and if they start talking over you, just drop your voice to a whisper. They’ll shut up and listen eventually. And think about the Walther P99. Just having it makes you feel warm and cozy. (SEE FOLLOWING NOTE ON IRONIC CONTENT OF THIS COMMENT.)
NOTE ON IRONIC CONTENT OF THIS COMMENT
I actually loathe handguns, but love the new James Bond movies and that’s his gun of choice. With the exception of Daniel Craig, I think no one should be allowed to have handguns, or larger weaponry for that matter. I am adamantly anti-NRA, FYI.
October 25th, 2008 at 5:50 pm
Michael,
I love doing schools and because of the range of my writing, I can end up talking to K-YA. I do exactly the same thing for every age group, with adjustments for their age. A publicist at S&S, way back, asked, “What would have meant something to you, at the age of the audience, to hear from an adult?”
I thought about that long and hard. So I start talking, telling the truth about whatever comes out. If teachers raise their hands to ask me to explain revision, I ignore them and watch the kids’ faces and keep telling stories about whatever that school, those kids, that day, the stories behind the books on the table, make me want to tell. And when the faces light up, that’s the way we go…
From what I see above, self definition could be a good clothesline to hang your first few stories on….or surviving as a loner among those who prefer to run in herds, or seem to, anyway, at that age. Talk about how the bullies couldn’t define you and talk about how you defined yourself, then, later, now, never, whatever is true. Tell them about the great relief of writing, the hard work involved, or whatever it was/is for you. Reading, ditto; include how certain books shaped you a bit if that feels right, how *writing* certain books effected you. Do what you do on the page. Let your true stories carry things along. Poof, the hour is over and the kids love you for talking to them straight-up about what matters/ed to you. The teachers are amazed at how still and attentive they were, and the messages about reading and writing and libraries and literacy they all want you to include were there, organically. And the big thing, that you respected the kids enough to tell them some of what is true for you, will stick with them and help some of them more than you can imagine.
About the stock signing thing–
I, too, am fast, and have a stacking method, but haven’t signed more than a few hundred all at once before. Perhaps when my career actually takes off, if it ever…?
–well, if you ever hold the derby, tell me.
k
October 28th, 2008 at 3:32 pm
Hi Michael!
Okay, I’m an English teacher (and massive fan of both you and your wife) and I feel your pain. Every day I have to find a way to address “those kids” when I didn’t even relate to them when I was one of them. And talking about rhetoric when I would rather be forcing NaNoWriMo or some other creative writing workshop down their throats is a daily torture.
Here’s my advice: talk about what you’re good at. If you don’t care for literary theory don’t bother with it. A guest speaker is a break from the normal routine of rhetoric and formal language study (a very welcome break, for student and teacher). You say you’re good at self-discipline and work habits? Well that can be applied to any person in any subject.
In all honesty, the biggest questions my students want answered (these are 16 and 17 year old juniors, by the way) is ‘why read?’ They want to know why they should turn off the video games, put away the cell phones and open a thick wad of binded paper.
Hope this helped. Also, I just thought I’d mention that if you ever decide to do school visits and come within a 100-mile radius of my school I may have a minor heart attack (your books have been my life for over a decade now). So please, send some warning!
Sincerely,
Jessica Honard
p.s. I’d love to know the secret to your ’series bibles’ - they’re the bane of my existence!
November 1st, 2008 at 9:35 am
Mr. Grant,
As a high school junior, I guess I fit into the category of video-game playing, cell-phone-glued-to-the-hand, why-do-we-have-to-do-homework? teenagers. Although I do enjoy reading, and my friends have often described the way I read as “eating books for breakfast, lunch, and dinner” (unless, of course, it’s a textbook).
But enough about me. What I do enjoy about hearing an author speak are their stories. The weird, uncommon or common, this-has-nothing-to-do-with-anything stories. Stories about their pets, how one day they were walking through the snow, and found a ten dollar bill on the ground, heard a man yelling at them for stealing their money (when they had only found it on the floor) and proceeded to running away from the man, screaming for their lives.
But, if you don’t have any, you could certainly exagerate or just discuss character development and plot structure for those who wish to become authors in the future. I just enjoy hearing strange experiences and stories about an author’s life because it gives a personality to the face we see on book covers, it humanizes the name printed on a book’s spine and I find that learning about the author helps me relate to them thus making the whole presentation a lot less awkward.
-Julianna Mercado
P.S. “Genius is 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration.” -Thomas Edison
I bet Edison smirked too.
November 13th, 2008 at 10:52 am
Hey, bring your extroverted daughter as a “sidekick”!