10 Questions never to ask a writer
I wonder how many of you have asked a writer of your acquaintance what you thought was a perfectly harmless question, one intended to show your interest in that person and what they do, only to be rewarded by a mumbled response, possibly a trembling chin, or, horrors, a glower. You walk away thinking, What’s wrong with these writer people? Have they no manners? Well, sadly, some of us don’t, but it’s more likely you’ve stumbled upon one of the questions likely to leave us at…well, a loss for words.
I don’t mean to suggest that writers are such fragile flowers that no one should approach us for fear of having us break down in puddles if asked the wrong question. Really, that hardly ever happens. But if you do detect a slight twitch, or an inadvertent sigh, perhaps it’s because you’ve asked a perfectly well-meaning, seemingly reasonable question, one that if you asked anyone else wouldn’t be a problem. However, as writers, alas, we’ve probably been asked that question a thousand times before, and wouldn’t mind at all, if we had a decent answer, but we don’t, and so we mumble and sigh and twitch and go and stand behind the potted palm where it’s safer. It’s embarrassing to stand there with a drink in one hand and a palm frond up the nose. Uncomfortable for everyone, really.
So, for next time…these are some questions writers dread, in no particular order:
1. How’s the novel coming? Well, probably not very well. Novels are wild, unwieldy beasts that resist being tamed. Really, do you want to hear how Faulkner spent twelve hours writing a scene about looking at young girl’s dirty underpants as she climbed a tree? Probably not, and that was the definitive scene in The Sound and the Fury, so imagine how much less you’ll want to read about that eel-skinning scene I labored over for hours yesterday, only to erase today. To quote Oscar Wilde, “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.”
There is also a story about James Joyce wherein someone came round to see The Great Man as he worked in his Paris garret
“How are you, James?” he said. “You don’t look so good.”
“Is it the writing?”
“Of course it’s the feckin’ writing! It’s always the writing!”
“Can you not write then? Are you blocked?”
“I’ve written seven words today.”
“Well, James,” said the friend, “for you, actually, that’s not bad.”
“I suppose,” said the Great Man, “but now I’ve got to figure out what order to put them in.”
Thus, it’s a question for which there is no good answer, and we know it.
2. Are you writing? If I am, see 1. above. If I’m not, you really don’t want to know. The only thing worse than having writer’s block is talking about it. Having to listen to such panicked whining is recognized as torture and we wouldn’t dream of inflicting it on you.
3. Has your novel sold? Sad to say, but it’s unlikely. Publishing is a slaughterhouse these days, and even in the Good Old Days (if ever there were any), almost no one published, and of the minuscule number who did, almost none of those published a second novel. Having to answer that question over and over again is like rubbing glass in an open wound. Believe me, if there’s good news, we’ll be telling you. Heck, we’ll be telling EVERYONE! Most of us write because we can’t stop writing – it’s a sort of mental illness – and thus we do so in spite of the searing disappointments. Try not to make us talk about it.
4. When’s that new book coming out? Let’s put it this way: if, since the last time we spoke, I’ve finished the manuscript, submitted it to my agent, my agent has read it (which usually takes three months because they are busy, important folks), and loved it just as it is with no changes at all; if the agent has then in turn submitted it to editors and one of them has read it (think another few months or so, or more, since editors are also important, busy folks), and that editor LOVED it, and showed it to the sales force (the important people who really run publishing these days) and the sales force LOVED it just as it is, and made an offer……. even if ALL those things have already happened, it will still be around TWO YEARS before the book will actually come out, due to the editing and production process. So, if you’ve asked this question once in the past three years, you needn’t ask it again. Also, see 3).
5. I just love the new Dan Brown novel (or Sarah Palin’s memoir), have you read it yet? My condolences, and no.
6. How come I can’t get your books here? And by ‘here’ you probably mean America. This one may not apply to all writers, but it will to a surprising number of us. Especially if we are, say, from Canada or Britain or Ireland or Scotland or New Zealand or Australia… doubly so if we are from a country where English isn’t the first language (and no jokes about Scotland, please). Although, with some justification, America views itself as the center of the universe, people do publish in other countries, and getting published in England does not mean a writer will find a publisher in New York, which considers itself (again, with some justification) as the center of the center of the universe. Without a publishing contract in the US, the book will not be available to the US market. You could, however, go on the internet and order books from bookstores in the US or Canada or gasp, even Australia. I do it all the time.
7. Is that story autobiographical? Until my parents are all dead, the answer to that is no. I’m joking, really Mum, I am. However, it can be a bit insulting to a writer to have everyone think that a) you really were a junkie porn star homicidal trust fund baby and just kept it a secret, or that b) you haven’t the imagination to MAKE THINGS UP, which is, after all, what fiction writers are supposed to do, mostly. I will paraphrase what W. Somerset Maugham said, though, in that writers are not God, we cannot create out of nothing. Everything is inspiration and fodder, even cocktail party conversations.
8. Oh, you’re a writer! Have I heard of you? Do I know your books? I have no idea, but if not please don’t make it sound as if I’ve failed. Might I suggest, if you’re interested, you note one of the titles and buy a book?
9. How big an advance did you get? How many books did you sell? Now really, didn’t your mother ever tell you it was impolite to ask someone what they make for a living? It will either be shockingly low by your standards, or shockingly high, neither of which is useful information. People in France, where I lived for many years, never ask these sorts of particularly American questions. They ask instead, “Where can I buy one of your books?” Which is a lovely question, since it implies they are a) interested in your work, and b) interested in supporting your work by actually BUYING a book.
10. What’s the book you’re working on about? Two problems with this question: the first is that if I talk too much about it, I won’t write about it, so I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to answer that question. (Most people are pretty good about that and don’t take offense, but you’d be surprised, perhaps, by how many do.) The second problem is that I may not know. I write a story that pops into my head, but I may not know what it’s really about until a long way down the line. When I was writing The Radiant City, it wasn’t until I was through the first draft, and heard Rev. Ernest Hunt, the Rector at the American Cathedral in Paris, say, “Cynicism is the last refuge of the broken-hearted” that I understood I was writing about precisely that – whether disillusionment, the kind that breaks your heart, like terrorist attacks, or war, or genocide, damns you to a life of cynicism, or if it’s possible to continue to walk through the world with a compassionate heart. (The quote became the epigram of the book. Thanks Ernie!)
And although it’s not a question, there is one statement that’s almost guaranteed to send a writer scrambling to a safe nest behind the potted palm: “I’m going to take six months off from my job and write a book.”
Legend has it this statement was made to either William Styron or Margaret Lawrence, depending on who’s telling it, by a heart surgeon at a cocktail party. As in, “I just loved your book so much, and you’ve inspired me. I’m going to take six months off from my job and write my own memoir.” “Really,” replied William/Margaret. “Well, you’ve inspired me as well. I’m going to take six months off from writing and become a heart surgeon.”
I wouldn’t have the guts to say that, but I admit it, I do think it from time to time. It takes as long to learn to be a good writer as it does to do anything else – play the violin, perhaps, or architecture, or yes, heart surgery. And just like those things, having just a soupcon of talent doesn’t hurt.
So at this point you might be asking yourself what you CAN ask a writer. Well, we love talking about books we’ve enjoyed, as well as anything else that inspires us. And as writers we tend to watch the world pretty closely, since you never know when a story worth writing about may pop up, so current affairs are just as interesting to us as to anyone else. Then too, if we’re well-brought up, psychologically stable folk (and some of us are), we probably think YOU’RE pretty interesting. You might not want to answer questions about, say, how much you make for a living, and I wouldn’t dream of asking you, but I’d be fascinated to learn, for example, what you believe and how you came to believe it. I’d like to know how you met your spouse, and what you think about the death penalty, and why; and what you think about censorship, and that story about fly-fishing, and the one about the rescue dog, and what you think it means to be a good person… oh, there’s a world of things out there to talk about, isn’t there?
I will leave you with this video, from the brilliant Family Guy. Poor Brian. I know how he feels.
So what are people supposed to say when they hear you’re a writer?
Dear Anonymous, what are people supposed to say? Well, as I mentioned in the blog, under question number 9), people in France often asked, “Where can I buy one of your books?” Which is a lovely question. And then, in the last paragraph of the blog I address that specifically and say, “Well, we love talking about books we’ve enjoyed, as well as anything else that inspires us. And as writers we tend to watch the world pretty closely, since you never know when a story worth writing about may pop up, so current affairs are just as interesting to us as to anyone else. Then too, if we’re well-brought up, psychologically stable folk (and some of us are), we probably think YOU’RE pretty interesting. You might not want to answer questions about, say, how much you make for a living, and I wouldn’t dream of asking you, but I’d be fascinated to learn, for example, what you believe and how you came to believe it. I’d like to know how you met your spouse, and what you think about the death penalty, and why; and what you think about censorship, and that story about fly-fishing, and the one about the rescue dog, and what you think it means to be a good person… oh, there’s a world of things out there to talk about, isn’t there?” Which brings me to the question — what, dear anonymous, inspires YOU?
Fantastic post! Especially love that you buy books from Australia.
I’ve just discovered your blog (via references to this 10-question post on other blogs) and look forward to exploring it further.
Cheers from Sydney(and sometimes Paris, and originally NJ – glad to read you’re enjoying life there at the moment!)
Your brilliant, refreshing honesty made me laugh out loud, Lauren. There is such desperate need for honesty of this kind in our media-hyped world and the constant pull for narcissistic display. Thank you for being so funny and witty. About the difference between the States and France: en effet!
Author Randy Susan Meyers (The Murderer’s Daughters) commented on this blog over
at http://www.Shewrites.com. She says: My least least least favorite question: “Have you thought of going on Oprah?” Oh, snap. Wish I’d remembered THAT one!
[…] Doodle coffee and taking a break from my own novel-writing, I stumbled across this blog post, 10 Questions never to ask a writer on Lauren B. Davis’s blog. Being something of writer myself (wannabe, that is) I’ve […]
Thanks for a hilarious and astute post, Lauren! I was hanging out
with a bunch of other writers at a bookstore event in Seattle, and
the main conversation was exactly this topic. One of them (the
fantastic Michelle Goodman – http://www.anti9to5guide.com/) sent
me a link to you. I posted it to my Facebook page, and wanted to
send you a)appreciation, and b) Some my writer friend’s suggestions
of other things that are perennially asked.
“I’ve got a great idea for a book. How about if I tell it to you
and you write it and give me half the money?” – Diane Mapes
In Germany, or at least in the circles I travel in here (clearly
a non-writing crowd), it’s not “How is it coming?” but rather
(seriously) “So is it done?” I used to contort to find a positive
way to answer that no-win question (“No, but it’ humming along,
why just yesterday afternoon I changed the outdoor garden to a
greenhouse and everything came into focus…”) but lately I’ve
taken to simply replying, “Sunday. I’m going to finish it Sunday.”
– Kim Wood (http://www.kimwood.org/)
And my own mutterings on this topic (I wrote a book called The Year
of Yes, and was blessed with a lot of coverage, to which some
people reacted bizarrely):
“Personally (and, okay, this is a complaint of bounty, and could
potentially sound whiny, I know) I always liked it when someone
had seen me on TV and called me just after I was on, to say that
they wondered why they shot me from “that weird, not-too-flattering
angle.” Because writers, all of us, are totally secure individuals
who would never be bothered by such a thing.
And: “Did you happen to see this bad review in a paper of note/
obscure blog/random site/Amazon? (linked) Wow! Bummer. I can’t
believe how crazy people are!”
Totally didn’t see it. I would never spend 18 hours a day
patrolling the internet instead of writing, in order to ferret
out bad reviews and convulse in immature and idiotic ways over
them. Thanks for sending it to me!”
Maria — thanks SO much for your (and your friends’) comments. Wonderful. Laughing! Loudly.
Thank YOU – I cracked up throughout your post. It is soooo true.
Lauren, this is a fabulous blog entry, I too am sharing it with many friends. It makes me think of the Globe & Mail review about you and your writing in your first collection of short stories, RAT MEDICINE AND OTHER UNLIKELY CURATIVES:
“..a rare pleasure, an amalgam of deep intuitive perception, sly wit and candor that could strip paint. Read it for its reminder that the wheel of pain and anger turns inside each of us. Keep it handy for its implicit and abiding prescription for the hurt: Healing comes from understanding.”
Thanks, Lucky 8, it’s nice to know someone still remembers that review. I was rather pleased. Very generous of you.
How about “Why don’t you write romance/mystery/vampire books/whatever is popular right now?” and the every popular “Can I get it in a bookstore?”–“No, you can find it at your local gas station.”
I found this on She Writes today — thanks for posting!
I write YA and I’m really tired of explaining that no, my novel is nothing like Twilight, and yes, I’m aware how much money I would make if I would just write the next one.
Rachel – Absolutely! Isn’t it amazing that folks who don’t write novels always think they know exactly how you should write yours? As thought I’d suggest how a doctor should operate on a patient, or a pilot should land a plane, or an electrician should wire my house! Good luck with your book, and thank you for not writing another vampire novel. Truly, we are in your debt! 😉
Perfect post! When people hear I’m a writer the first question always seems to be: “Are you published?” And of course, I’m not. Thanks so much for asking. Is there room behind that palm?
Hi Addy, Thanks so much. And yes, by all means, always room for one more behind the palm.
Brilliant! I’m going to suggest this as recommended reading at the creative writing group I run at BlogHer.com. Please stop by and join us if you ever need a break — lots of new sriters looking for inspiration there. http://www.blogher.com/groups/creative-writing
Thanks so much, Rita. I popped into your blog — nicely done! I’ll certainly go back and spend more time later today. On another post I wrote — https://laurenbdavis.com/blog/?p=306 — where I talk about Dani Shapiro’s recent article on writing, we’ve started discussing the self-publishing issue, and how few people are actually searching for ways to be better writers, or to experience the process of writing…they all want to publish NOW! I’d be interested in your thoughts. Thanks again!
So glad to hear it’s okay to hide behind the ficus when these questions come up. The ficus and I have become really close over the last few months I think we may have to move in together. Will have to pop a link on my page so I can just say “see link” when I’m next asked.
Hi Michelle — thanks for popping in. As it happens, someone wrote me an email the other day, asking one of the dreaded 10, and I sent them the link. Seems to have worked. Snort.
Thanks. Just came across this, via a writer’s blog in Malaysia. Great stuff, so true. I was recently interviewed by a nice couple from Ireland and was asked why do I live in Borneo – they were astounded that no Americans live here. (I’m sure there are a few like me – Borneo is a big place.) Then I thought, precisely that, there are no Americans here! That’s not really true, it just seemed like a good answer. Why does anyone live anywhere? Either a job takes you there, or that’s where you ended up broke (so you have no means to leave), or, in my case, this is where my wife’s from (and a little of the other two).
Either way home is where we write, assuming we get any writing done with the kids and all (got 5 & 3 year old playing – arguing – nearby). And the novel? Uh, which one? Been rewriting 3 or 4 for the last 10-15-20 years! But, hey, one just made it to the Second Round of the Amazon contest (http://borneoexpatwriter.blogspot.com/2010/02/2010-amazon-breakthrough-novel-award.html) and it’s still a contender…
I am both laughing and crying reading this blog & wondering if I
could get away with e-mailing it to certain family members without
Hi Krysten — I’d give it a try. I’ve had several friends/family open their mouth to ask me questions recently, only to stop and say, “Well, I was going to ask you something, but I read your blog.” SUCCESS! I then jump in with something like, “So, what did you think of the giant inflatable beavers at the closing ceremonies for the Vancouver Olympic Games?” Seems to work. Good luck. Keep me posted.
This really made me laugh. I always get ‘how’s your book’ which is a question so stunningly wide that it is impossible to answer. (Which book, I’m always working on several… Do you mean, how is my agent/publisher getting on with it) Also, so what’s it like, being able to write all day?
Thanks, Lauren. These are indeed the questions of doom.
I posted this on my facebook page.
I was chuckling as I read this. This is so true. And people asking
the questions do not make matters easier. My favorites are: “A writer.
Man, you must be loaded–like Stephen King.” Or, “A writer . . . hmm
. . . poor as a pauper.”
What really gets me are Mr. or Mrs. Helpful who suggest alternate
jobs for you when you are perfectly happy being a starving writer.
[…] Don’t. Just don’t. […]
Glad to have discovered this post. It rings so very true! Will link to it.
Thanks, Carrie. I appreciate it.
Well-meaning folk who ask “How’s the novel coming?” often don’t realize it’s like asking a pregnant woman, “So, had the baby yet?” When there’s something good to share about the situation, don’t worry, we’ll tell you; we likely won’t be able to shut up about it.
I usually tell people what draft I’m on. That’s boring enough an answer, while being also true, that they realize it’s not worth asking me about.
So true, David! And with your permission, I’ll use that “Well, I’m on my 14th draft” answer myself next time! Snort.
May I add #11: “I’ve always wanted to write. I just never had the time.” Because that’s all it takes, you know, time. If I had some, I could write like Jane Austen too!
And #12: “So, are you able to pay the bills?” Because you know that if I weren’t, I’d really want to talk about it with you. Right here. In the produce aisle.
#13: “I’ve just lost my job and have decided to be a writer. Can you introduce me to your agent.”
Yes, yes and yes!! Nailed it! thanks, Beth. “In the produce aisle!” Snort! Well done.
This is such a great post. Am I the only one who’s had people say, “I lost my job, and so I’ve decided to become a writer. Would you recommend me to your agent?”
Thanks, Maddie. And alas, you are not alone. Don’t folks get SO disappointed when you suggest, at the very least, they might try actually writing a book before approaching an agent? Snort. (By the way, LOVE the cover of your book! Look forward to reading it.)
[…] a very funny essay by writer Lauren B. Davis: 10 questions never to ask a writer. I especially liked number 1. […]