GETTING TO KNOW WHAT YOU KNOW

By Sharon May

“Write what you know.” That’s maybe the most important and oft repeated advice for writers. Sounds easy, right?

While in graduate school, I tried to explain what it meant to be a woman in Appalachia to an acquaintance who was also born into an isolated, disenfranchised, impoverished minority. I gave examples of behaviors, and she responded that women from her culture were the same, no differences.  

I realized I had failed to find the words what distinguished Appalachians from other minorities. Basically, I didn’t know what I was supposed to know. After all, I’m an Appalachian woman, so I should know what it means to be one.

I had moved to Columbia the year prior to this discussion. Though I had been thinking about what being Appalachian meant for years, I had no perspective. I had not seen enough of the world, except through the media, to make comparisons and to help understand the complexity of my home.

Years in South Carolina have given me some perspective, but there is some overlap in Southern and Appalachian ways. I’m not moving away from Columbia, so I have to learn the distinctions via travel. Believe me, Peggy loves nothing better than traveling, which gives plenty of opportunities to explore the world beyond Appalachia and the South.

While seeing the world, I don’t act like a cultural anthropologist asking silly questions. I’m not writing a textbook. Obviously, the people I meet and the places I see give me ideas for characters and help with describing scenery. At times, I hear interesting phrases. All fodder for future works.

But to connect to my current work of Appalachian fiction, I need something beyond the obvious experiences associated with exploring new places. I need distance from my subject and time to reflect. I find the mountains relaxing but they are too much like home.

Like Herman Melville, I am more inspired by the sea. Unlimited free time to relax and pamper myself. I can reflect, take notes, read, write, and simply think. Best of all I can do this while staring at the water. It’s fine to take a few days at the beach to relax and come up with new ideas for writing.

But I discover much more about myself and what I know and what words to use to convey what I know when at sea on a ship with a waitstaff. I have no desire to actually work the seas as Melville did as a youth.

The open seas calm me even in rough weather. My mind can drift into the deep recesses of my memory, subconscious or unconscious. Imagination soars toward the unending horizons. My childhood home comes into focus, the tenor of Appalachian speech crystalizes, and I discover what I know. 

MEETING YOUR CHARACTERS IRL

By Kasie Whitener

Years ago, I went home to Northern Virginia over a school break and met my mom for lunch at Uno Pizzeria. It was on the corner of the most upscale shopping center in our area and it was one of my favorite places to eat.

I’d been away at college for a while and had been writing the novel that would become After December. I knew the story was about Brian Listo, a version of myself I felt confident sharing with others. He was arrogant, privileged, and good at everything he did. He also smoked and drank like it was his job and was kind of a slut.

I loved him. And he loved me back. Through the troubled years surrounding my parents’ divorce and the break-up of our family, when I moved away from Northern Virginia and only rarely went back, Brian was with me.

Imagine how it felt to see him walk into Uno Pizzeria.

As my mom continued talking to me, I watched Brian move through the bar area. Watched him greet his friends who did not resemble the other characters of the book. Watched him light a cigarette and take a deep drink from a tall beer. The afternoon sunlight played on the shades of dirty blonde and light brown in his hair. His grey gaze seared me from across the room.

Day drinking, flannel-wearing, ridiculously hot Brian stood just yards away.

Of course, it wasn’t him. Searing gaze aside, he was just some handsome college-aged guy that looked like he could have been Brian. To the one-raised eyebrow, he could have been him. But of course he wasn’t.

Neither was Josh, the actor who stood in my kitchen this week listening to me explain how Brian’s kind of an asshole. And how he’s trying not to be. You know, character arc and all that. Then Josh went upstairs, got in bed with Meli, and filmed the opening scene of the book for the trailer.

Being with an actor who is trying to learn more about Brian so he can accurately portray him was both terrifying and thrilling. Josh looks like Brian. Not as much as that guy in Uno 20 years ago, but a lot like him. And he’s handsome and he has a great smile. But as soon as he started talking, he sounded young. Like Millennial young, and I remembered the literary agent that asked me if After December had to be set in the 90s.

Yes, yes it does.

Josh is a good actor, he really is. Watching the filming of the trailer was awesome. Thanks to Fanatik Productions for putting it together.

Being in the same room with your characters is the ultimate thrill.

Next week we’ll be visiting those Northern Virginia locations where the book is set. Many, like Uno, are no longer in business. But I’ll go anyway. Be nostalgic for the 90s and hope I run into Brian Listo again. Of course, he’ll probably have his teenaged son with him.

OUTLINING the PANTSER

By El Ochiis

OK, I hate outlines, I would rather count sand in the Kalahari Desert, in lieu of sitting down and actually constructing one. 

“Think like an architect, a carpenter,” chided my English teacher. “Would you build a house without a plan?”  

“Yes, yes Mrs. Thronebush, I actually would,” I shouted without a thread of shame. With writing, I just jump right in and see where the story takes me. In the same vein, I’d build my house exactly the same way, buy the materials as I go along: art or writing studio space, area for sleeping, food preparation zone, a place to empty after eating and drinking, which may or may not be in the primary structure – one big room – a yurt. I could just add walls later, maybe. Then, I look at Frank Lloyd Wright’s houses. Seriously, Frank, you just had to go proving me wrong. And, don’t get me started with Frank Gehry, he’s like the Tolstoy of architectural prose.

I write from ideas and expand. Then, I go back and write the essentials that the persnickety ones have, probably, already done at the beginning. I am the backwards writer. This could explain my current lack of money producing, scribe status.  

But, lately, I have been paying more attention to the critics’ observations on two kinds of writers:  outliners and pantsers. Pantsers are individuals that would rather start a project without the slightest idea of how it’s going to go down, and Outliners like to have a clear image of their project before it starts.  If you haven’t guessed, I am, sort of, kind of, a pantser. I mean, I do begin projects without a clue of how they will progress, however, at some point, I stop and create a rough guideline, of sorts. I might be wrong, but this could explain why it takes more time than I have to complete said projects. My math teacher said my approach to logic was eccentric. I am sure it was just his polite way of calling me “weird”. You see, when I had to do math, I would use my left hand – to channel the side of my intellect that oversaw logic and analytic thinking – news flash: it did not increase my dismal geometry scores.   

Back to the outlining issue for which I began this piece. I have changed my point of view on the importance of outlining – “a change is gonna come.” Yes, me, the bohemian, plant-eating, non-conformist who once hitched a ride in a converted school bus from Oklahoma to a hippie commune in Tennessee – I think it was called the Farm. For all you pantser-scribes in arms, tie-dye wearing creative outcasts, here are some outlining tips from a bestselling writer, that even you should find rather easy to begin your novel:  

1. Plunge your main character into terrible trouble as soon as possible. (That trouble will mean something different depending on your genre. For a thriller, it might be life-threatening. For a romance, it might mean choosing between two suitors.)

2. Everything your character does to try to get out of the trouble makes it only worse.

3. Eventually things appear hopeless.

4. Finally, everything your character has learned through all that trouble gives him what he needs to personally conquer the opposition.

5. In summary:  Set the Stage, Organize the scenes (starting scenes – building scenes) and, troubleshoot your story outline.

This is a structure that will keep you and your reader engaged and insured against boredom. So, that’s how to outline a novel, whether you’re an Outliner or a Pantser.   

WORK In PROGRESS

By Ruth Saunders

My lighthearted creative nonfiction about growing up in rural, Lowcountry South Carolina describes experiences that have shaped me as a person with the hope others will find them entertaining. My goals are to put together a collection of stories for family and friends and to submit an electronic version to the Self-e Library Journal. This past year I have shared many of these pieces with participants in the Columbia II Writers Workshop and a manuscript consultant. The feedback and discussion have been beneficial and, in this blog, I share some of what I have learned.

· Reason 

Defining my purpose (why I am doing this), goal (what I am trying to do) and intended audience (who I am doing it for) serves as a guiding beacon that keeps me from getting lost on the long path to realizing the final product. I have also learned that the purpose, goal, and intended audience may evolve on the journey, and that is OK.

· Remember

What I write must be authentic to my memory and experience. Human memory enables us to carry the narratives of ourselves forward in time, helping create a sense of self. But our memories do not store an infallible record of factual events and not all memories are preserved. Those that are retained are malleable, revised over time with new experiences. My writing necessarily focuses on the memories I have kept and sculpted over time. Within these limitations, I do my best to stay true to my authentic experience.

· Research

I frequently request “memory assists” from my sister and brother, as we shared the setting and many experiences. My sister is also the family archivist, so she is my source on recorded family information such as names, dates, and other genealogical facts. I do internet searches to gather relevant background and historical information. I ask family and friends to read pieces to make sure the material rings true to them and to correct factual errors.

· Reflect 

I find it useful to reflect on memories, notes, flow charts, outlines, feedback, and early drafts. Taking time to think and to allow ideas to incubate increases the depth of the writing. I am beginning to identify and deliberately incorporate into my writing themes and images embedded in my experience. I enjoy this slow and exciting process of self-discovery.

· Review

By getting feedback from others I identify areas that need strengthening, rework the flow of the narrative, add detail and dialogue to make the piece believable and real, and work to make the stories entertaining to the reader.

· Write and Revise

Writing is not a series of ordered steps as listed above but is a cyclical process. I write and revise at every “step” and not necessarily in the order listed. “Steps” will be repeated as often as needed until I reach the final product. 

HYPOCRITES in the LANGUAGE FAMILY

By Bonnie Stanard

As I read Richard Edwards’s article “10 Words Editors Hate” I got an adrenaline rush. He affirms my view that some words have become frauds, and we writers are betrayed by using them.

It’s reassuring that I’m not the only person who cringes when I see the word soul, which heads the list. Why do I have the idea that writers who use this word are trying to reveal some deep and intense spirituality? By the way, I doubt that  intense spirituality comes out in words.

The word love is number three on the list. It’s a trouble maker. We cover a lot of emotional territory with that one word. What parents feel for their children may be something that nurtures, impedes, or even destroys. And what about a child’s reaction to a parent? A teenager’s crush? A debaucher’s wanton passion? In sentences, the subject love is promiscuous in selecting direct objects, which might be a book, a movie, Las Vegas, or the Dalai Lama. Love is a belly-fat cliché. When will we come up with precise words to replace it?

The concept of forever is inconceivable, as Edwards points out, so the word is given an impossible task. But that’s not what bothers me. It comes across as an immature effort to be emphatic. I picture the writer chewing gum and blowing bubbles as they type it.

Then there’s light, life, and death. Edwards says an editor will shut down at the sight of these words. Write about them but don’t write the words. I get it about life and death, but light? I’d put dark on the list ahead of light. And as I write this, I know I’ve written dark many times. Light too. I use these two words to express feelings, which by the way is another no-no, i.e., don’t write the word feeling. But stories without feeling are basically news reports, so he’s saying write about feelings without using the word.

Dianne Urban’s article, “43 Words You Should Cut From Your Writing Immediately,” goes overboard. I’d put her word immediately in a list of words to avoid. She makes a good point about words like said, replied, and asked. She suggests we surround dialogue with action and leave out dialogue tags. This doesn’t always work, especially if there’s a quick exchange of comments.

Urban puts the word begin on her list and I applaud that. There are occasions when it might be needed but most of the time it’s like a preview to what is coming next. And who needs a preview when our writing is hot with action?

We once had a writer in our group who took issue with the word that (one of Urban’s 43 words). He marked every that in a paper. Now there are times when you need that. That’s a fact.

Many of Urban’s words are weaklings that undermine your writing, such as completely, then, just, literally, actually, somehow. But what’s wrong with breathe, shrug, nod, think?

WHAT DOES IT MEAN to “TIGHTEN UP” and HOW DO I DO IT?

By Kasie Whitener

I’m bringing the second half of the second novel to group, one segment at a time. Like a serialized version in biweekly installments.

Consistent feedback at one group, for me and others, is “tighten up.” Last week one of our novice fiction writers candidly asked, “What does that mean and how do I do it?”

When our critique group says, “tighten up” I take it to mean I should make the scene less boring. The dialogue should be punchier, the action more impactful, the scene more tense. How do you make a so-so passage that meanders a little bit less boring?

Get rid of all the stuff that doesn’t belong.

Step 1: Reduce the details that don’t directly contribute to the action of the scene.

Sometimes those details are exposition, sometimes they’re scene setting like the lighting or furniture in the room. Whatever slows down the pace of the scene or distracts from the real action has got to go. How do you know? Take it out and read the scene without it. Do you miss it? Count how many details are about a person, remove half of them. How many are about the room? Remove half of those.

Step 2: Read the dialogue out loud. Just the dialogue.

If it bores you, it bores us. Tightening up dialogue means the characters only have to say what matters to the story. We can assume they greeted one another upon arrival, so dispense with the “Hi, how are you?”s. Strong writers use dialogue to advance the plot. Accusations, denials, confessions, and pleas get dialogue. Instructions (“Put that down.”) and procedural stuff (“I made lunch.”) don’t deserve dialogue. Give them gestures. Or better yet, assume we know they exist and cut them all together.

Step 3: Read each sentence word-by-word and cut any extra words.

Being succinct is an easy way to add tension to a scene. Read each sentence and consider what the real action should be. We sometimes combine two unrelated actions into the same sentence. Decide which one stays and which one gets cut. We sometimes give full driver’s license descriptions (hair color, eye color, height, weight) when only one feature matters. Pick one. Tightening up is about getting rid of the excess line-by-line.

Tightening work can also mean “kill your darlings” those clever turns of phrase you think demonstrate your quality as a writer. But mostly it means focus the passage on what matters to the story. It may require that you re-evaluate what the scene means to the novel. The hard work of writing is revision.

When I’m told “tighten up” I think my readers lost focus somewhere. I don’t want that. I want them spellbound by every single word. So only use the good words. Stream of consciousness may have worked for Mrs. Dalloway but Ulysses proved it’s unsustainable. Novice writers get better when they cut the excess and focus on the story.

Procrastinators Would Unite Tomorrow, if Their Writing Wasn’t Blocked, Maybe

By El Ochiis

How can you convince yourself to write when even your imaginary friends won’t talk to you? Writer’s block, and some form of procrastination, probably existed since the invention of writing.  But you can blame English poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who first described his “indefinite indescribable terror” at not being able to produce work he thought worthy of his talent. Of course, soon afterwards, “French writers latched onto the idea of a suffering connected to writing and expanded it to create the myth that all writers possessed a tortured soul, and were unable to write without anguish.”

Speaking of the French, and, writers, it has been after I’ve finished reading Flaubert’s Madame Bovary that I cease tapping letters on my keyboard in an attempt to produce what I believe is a Man Booker award-winning novel and clean my closets in search of a blanket to use for curling into a fetal position. How can any writer pen something as prolific as Flaubert? Well, firstly, he lived with his mother and didn’t have to pay rent or buy food. You see how that just happened, I was writing about avoiding the task of writing, leading to writer’s block, yet I managed to digress. But, this should count as part of the subject matter – wait, I had to perform hours of research on the internet – oh look, I found a cute cat video that just had to be posted on Facebook, then, tally how many likes – crap, a day has been shot to Hades, but, I still had a few more days to finish that piece.

Back to the subject, I think. You see, any female who has given birth, knows that to nurture another human being whilst churning out prose worthy of publication, for financial compensation, is nearly impossible. My point, Flaubert was not a mother? Oh dear, maybe some of us writers may simply suffer from attention-deficit disorder. Nah, it’s definitely procrastination.  

Tim Urban says that procrastinators’ brains are the same as non-procrastinators, save for the presence of a little friend called an “instant gratification monkey.” This monkey seems to be a lot of fun, but, in fact he/she is nothing but a ton of trouble – monkeying around is fun but not productive when you’re under pressure to produce.

So, does a writer, tackle procrastination that leads to blocked writing or vice versa? Well, after having researched both for days BEFORE I managed to tackle writing this piece, I came across some advice that even I would agree is helpful:

1. Form a relationship with your inner critic – you know, the one inside your head that is capable of convincing you to bring your writing to a complete halt through a huge dose of self-doubt, leading to self-deprecation. “Have you overdosed on metaphors?” “I think you could use a better opening, couldn’t you?” Stephen King struggled with it and Margaret Atwood was well acquainted with its debilitating effects – I doubt there is a writer who hasn’t been blocked by his/her own inner critic.  

   

2. Talk to your characters – like you would converse with a friend or stranger who is trying to make your acquaintance or you his/hers - seriously, at the center of all stories are characters. Then, if they are not clearly defined in your mind, you most likely to come crashing straight towards writer’s block. Some conversations to have with your character(s):

a. If your house was on fire and he could run back inside and save one thing, what would that be?

b. What is the one trait you deplore in yourself?

c. What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Create a profile for your character(s):

1. The outer layer – physical appearance and the basics: name, place of birth, height, weight, speech, communication – stuff that makes each person different from the rest.

2. The Flesh – (past or backstory) - characters are products of their environments (family and external relationships)

3. The core – deep down, who is your character? Play with psychology – is he/she street or book smart? What does your character want in the story?

3. Take a walk – no, really – walking can help a writer think.  Writing IS thinking. A study at Stanford has found that walking improves creativity – it can actually help improve brain function and allow you to come to more effective and novel solutions.

Walk along a river, lake or trail, have a goal for your walk, at least one mile, before you give in to fatigue, heat, cold or procrastination, leading to writer’s blockage, or, vice versa. If you weren’t able to complete numbers one and two, you will AFTER you’ve walked.

VOICE REVISED

By Sharon May

One of my previous blogs focused on voice. At the time, I was in the early stages of writing a novel, which has multiple first-person narrators. My first step in brainstorming about the topic was to search the Internet. That helped me write the blog, but not the novel. I learned the definition of voice and how to build the character of a narrator, but not how to write a distinctive, engaging voice, much less several of them.

Many novels out there have bland, distant, and downright boring narrative voices, whether first or third. Or stereotypical ones. Hillbillies are painted as ignorant and are to be made fun of. Women sound whiney and/or bitchy. Men often have a false toughness, like the author is imitating how the Marlboro man might talk. Drug dealers sound like they stepped out of Pulp Fiction. What readers want is a voice that carries the novel and that is ultimately, unique and memorable.

Someone once said that when fiction has multiple narrators, a reader should be able to turn to any page and determine quickly who the narrator is. The structure of sentences and the word choices are extremely important in building narrators. Setting a novel in Appalachia, as I am, means everyone has a dialect, but all the narrators can’t have the same linguistic markers.

In reality, hillbillies will sound hillbilly, but not speak the same. Some hillbillies revel in the language of the hills, while others try to hide its influence on them. Also, some will rely heavily on the words and pronunciations that are distinct to the region. Some speakers drop -s, -g, and -ed endings. The key to creating an interesting, distinctive voice is putting all the pieces together to find the grammar of a particular narrator.

First-person narrators are not simply characters to be developed, but also story tellers. Their stories obviously raise the question of reliability. But there is more to consider. The author has to decide how and why the narrator is telling the story. What are the motivations for revealing plot and for introducing and reacting to other characters? How does each narrator relate to the surroundings and help build mood?

The voices of the two main characters of my novel, Lafe and Preston, came alive magically, organically. Honestly, I was lying down, thinking about beginning the novel again – for at least the fourth time in 30 years. Suddenly, Lafe spoke a line to me to introduce himself when I asked myself who should begin the story. Much the same happened with Preston when I was trying to determine how he is different from Lafe and what his purpose as story teller is. The other narrators are finally “finding their voices” too.

A lot of writers avoid first-person narrators because they think the work will be judged as autobiographical and by an inexperienced writer. I may not have published the novel yet, but I am getting very experienced at understanding and mastering voice.

WHY CAN’T YOU JUST CALL YOURSELF A ‘WRITER?’

By Kasie Whitener

I subscribe to Runner’s World magazine and every now and then the discussion comes around as to when someone can realistically call themselves a runner.

If you started a Couch-to-5K program yesterday and haven’t gotten to the running part yet, are you a runner?

If you used to run half-marathons but now mostly stroll with your neighbors instead of training for anything serious, are you a runner?

It’s called ‘imposter syndrome’ and has been explored at length in discussions ranging from sports newbies (like runners) to female business owners (entrepreneurs). It fascinates me that as I reached the point in my career where I finally have a good amount of experience and expertise, I’m surrounded by people who admit they feel like fakes.

But no place do I see this rash of insecurity as often as I do in the writing community. There are dozens of reasons why. Here are just a few:

‘Writer’ is a broad title for a number of professional roles.

To be a professional, one must be paid. Professional writers can be copywriters in marketing departments, communications specialists in public relations offices, journalists or storytellers in news outlets, and even the holy grail: Novelist complete with publisher, agent, and roof-over-your-head paycheck. So does winning a contest with a $300 payout make me a professional writer? Do blog subscribers count as currency?

 ‘Writer’ could mean any level of experience and education.

In most professions, there’s a career path that includes some combination of education and experience. But writers don’t always have the same credentials or the same resumes. Many of them have no resume at all. Your work is your evidence of achievement. Unless you have an MFA, right? Or a PhD?

Being a ‘writer’ only means you write. It doesn’t have to mean anything else. But it could.

If you’ve been writing, you’re a ‘writer’ according to Jeff Goins who has made a tidy internet success out of telling people to self-declare. But there are professional writers who want the title to mean more. They want prestige and meaning behind the term. Lance Armstrong is a cyclist, sure, but I rode my bike yesterday and that technically makes me one as well.

The accolades and distinctions of ‘Writer’ are not organized into any recognizable path of achievement.

While there are national and international awards of distinction and while publication in esteemed journals or by discerning publishers can be badges of your skills, the literary world is highly subjective. For every dozen learned scholars who praise The Great Gatsby, there’s an equal cadre of scholars who loathe the work. How can subjectivity rule a profession? Ask any gymnast with a gold medal.

If it’s not enough to simply write and be a ‘Writer’ then create for yourself a vision of what you think ‘Writer’ is. Decide what you want to accomplish, what respect or recognition you’d like to earn and then put in the work to make that goal a reality.

ARE YOUR NARRATIVE ‘TELLS’ OBVIOUS?

By Kasie Whitener

Poker players have ‘tells.’ Maybe it’s tapping a pinky on the table, crossing or uncrossing legs, or blinking a little bit longer than usual. Tells are the minor behaviors that indicate the cards dealt the player are either very good or very bad.

Writers have tells, too. Whether it’s a pattern of development that is beyond genre conventions, or a particular phrase a writer favors, writer tells are the things we love to hate about reading the same authors over and over.

Ben Blatt captures these tells in his book Nabakov’s Favorite Word is Mauve. Using a method he describes in this article, Blatt suggests that the frequency of certain words in a piece works like a fingerprint to identify the author.

I’d argue that the fingerprint is just part of establishing one’s narrative voice. Prolific authors, like my favorite Kindle Unlimited romance star J.A. Huss, rely on the well-exercised muscles of vocabulary and voice to deliver stories quickly. I can’t be certain Huss isn’t being intentional about the fingerprint; I’d be more willing to bet she’s writing what she knows will sell.

So where would the identification of the fingerprint be really useful? Blatt explains the method was created to identify the true authors of anonymous writings like The Federalist Papers. Historians are notoriously dogged about assigning credit to things like anonymous essays.

How can the fingerprint concept teach us about our own writing?

While reviewing my novel, After December, before sending to a professional editor, I noticed what I described to my publisher as “The Brady Bunch Habit.” Everybody was looking at everybody else. Eye contact is my go-to narrative action. During this most recent revision, I worked on switching out neck-up action for whole-body action: posture, weight shifts, clothing fidgets, shoe scuffing. Anything to add action to the scene that wasn’t characters looking at one another (or looking away because eye-contact-avoidance is my second favorite).

I’m reading a series now where the author more than once has a character admit to being unable to read another character’s expression. Turns out these people are really bad at recognizing facial tells. Or, more likely, the author loves the way an inability to read one’s listener forces the speaker to take a chance on whatever she’s about to say. It’s an effective device used once per book. Unless you’ve read five of her books. Then it’s a recognizable tell.

On the daily our preferences as consumers are being catalogued by ones and zeroes wherever we leave a digital footprint. Facebook shows us relevant ads, Zappos basically stalks us, and Amazon suggests titles that match our browsing and buying history.

The author’s fingerprint is just another algorithm by which we can code the sloppy, emotional wreckage of creation. Whether it’s sentence structure or vocabulary, as we become better (and more prolific!) writers, we shape our own fingerprint through our work. Now we just have to decide if we’re intentionally telling other players we have a full house.

What are your narrative tells?

COUNTERFEIT BOOKS on AMAZON

By Bonnie Stanard

Counterfeiting is becoming a problem for writers who publish and sell their books on Amazon, according to the New York Times. Though it’s not considered widespread, there’s no reason to believe that book counterfeiters will willingly retrench their profitable activities, especially considering that there’s no organized measures being taken to track down counterfeit books.

How do you know if somebody has copied your novel and is selling it on Amazon? The discoveries so far have been made by readers who have recognized book duplicates or irregularities on Amazon. For example, an Atari buff discovered and exposed a counterfeit copy of Breakout, by Jamie Lendino. A certain Steve S. Thomas remade Breakout and sold it as his own. He got rid of the title and replaced it with the subtitle — How Atari 8-Bit Computers Defined a Generation. According to the NYT, “He put on a new cover and substituted his name for Lendino’s” and kept Lendino’s biographical details. 

Other writers have said their books have been copied and sold by counterfeiters: Andrew S. Greer (her novel Less); Tish H. Warren (Liturgy of the Ordinary); Danielle Trussoni (Falling Through the Earth); Lauren Groff (Florida). According to the NYT, “For 18 months Amazon has sold a counterfeit of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express despite warnings in reader reviews that it is a ‘monstrosity,’ dispensing with such standard features as proofreading and paragraph indenting.”

Amazon tells prospective publishers and sellers, “It is your responsibility to ensure that your content doesn’t violate laws or copyright...or other rights.” In other words, Amazon does not assume any responsibility for selling counterfeits. And our courts have not found Amazon liable for selling counterfeit products. The company has successfully argued that it is a platform for sellers, rather than a seller itself.

The Authors Guild, in advocating for the creation of a small claims court, points out that a major factor to the rise in book piracy is that the law does not hold internet platforms accountable for copyright offenses of sellers in the same way as brick and mortar stores, which are held liable for unlawful sellers on their premises.

Andrew Hunt, publisher of a computer book that was stolen, pointed out that when somebody buys a counterfeit, the real author may get cheated but Amazon still makes a sale. “You could ask, What’s their incentive to do something?” he said.

So where does that leave you? It means that you must figure out if Amazon is selling counterfeit copies of your book. When it comes to issues such as copyright infringement, we as individual writers have no clout. Which gives us a reason to join an organization and find strength in numbers. One of the best known for its advocacy of writers is the Authors Guild.

If Steve S. Thomas and a gang of counterfeiters are rounded up, can we expect them to be prosecuted? Will they go to jail? Not according to James Gibson of the University of Richmond School of Law: “...the chances that a copyright infringer will suffer any legal consequence – criminal or civil – are vanishingly small."

There is hope on the horizon. Congress is currently considering the proposed Copyright Alternative in Small-Claims Enforcement (CASE) Act, which would create a small claims tribunal to hear counterfeit charges. Currently such cases must be brought in federal court at a cost of several hundred thousand dollars.

HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH RESEARCH?

By Rex Hurst

Currently I am finishing up a book, called Sunday Morning at the Peak of Hell, the setting of which is the great beyond, the bad place where the souls of all the people we don’t like go. It’s a modern day odyssey through the afterlife, similar to the one Dante took in the 11th century, only updated for modern times.

So far it’s taken me five years to complete. Not because of the plot, there isn’t much of one, it’s because every time I had a new historical figure, I feel the need to stop all work and research the hell of that sad soul.

Granted a lot of these characters aren’t exactly well known in the public domain: Decius Mus, Upnastium, Alistair Crowley, Anton lay Vey, Tomas de Torquemada, Hetty Green, Ambrose Bierce, Wilhelm Reich, and John Romulus Brinkley. Recognize any of those names and you get a gold star. However, when I added each of these characters, often knowing very little myself about their lives, I felt the need to stop everything, buy every book I could on them (often this didn’t amount to much more than two books, in two of the cases there weren’t any and I was forced to use Wikipedia alone), and absorb the whole of their lives.

Which is why the whole of the book has taken five years to complete.

You’re probably going to laugh when I say that all of these months of research often only resulted in a few extra paragraphs (maybe half a page at most) of text. But I was also trying to absorb the flavor of the historical figure’s personality, so that their dialogue in Hell would seem accurate to the two readers who would read my novel and also know who John Romulus Brinkley or Hetty Green were. For some reason, it needed to feel right to me.

Now later on, as I’m polishing this work up to actually send to publishers, I’m wondering if I just spent too much time, literally years, on making these obscure characters as real as possible. Maybe I’m too much of a perfectionist. Maybe I’ve got OCD. Maybe I’ve been wasting my time and no one will give a damn.

As a final taste test, I gave the latest draft to my wife. She read over the manuscript and shrugged.

“It’s pretty good,” she said.

“What did you think of the depiction of Ambrose Bierce?”

“Oh, is that a real person?”

Ah well….