Millicent Dillon is the world’s expert on Jane and Paul Bowles, one of America’s most extraordinary and puzzling literary couples—both cutting-edge literary geniuses, expatriates in Tangier before and after WWII, both gay and yet devoted to each other for 35 years, even throughout Jane’s terrible 16-year illness after her stroke at the young age of 40 until her tragic death.

Dillon’s biography, You Are Not I: A Portrait of Paul Bowles, explores the life and charismatic character of the man who is, arguably, single-handedly responsible for today’s mega-popular “edgy” dark literature. Among other work, Paul wrote his four frightening and beautiful novels, The Sheltering Sky, Let It Come Down, The Spider’s House, Up Above the World, and the shockingly realistic 1940s stories of violence, sex, and alien culture, “A Distant Episode,” “The Delicate Prey,” and “Pages from Cold Point,” (collected in A Distant Episode and The Delicate Prey: And Other Stories), which long before dark literature became popular or even acceptable in the mainstream “opened the world of Hip,” Norman Mailer said later, “and let in the murder, the drugs, the incest. . .the end of civilization.”

Even more fascinating is Dillon’s wonderful A Little Original Sin: The Life and Work of Jane Bowles, the only biography of Paul’s brilliant wife Jane, author of one Broadway play, In the Summer House, a handful of stories, a puppet play, and the 1943 novel Two Serious Ladies, all published in My Sister’s Hand in Mine: The Collected Works of Jane Bowles, and of which Two Serious Ladies has just been reissued by Sort of Books in the UK. Jane, even more than Paul, was a writer of such unique talent and vision that even those literary experts who embrace experimentalists like James Joyce and William Faulkner have never known what to do with her.

For much of the past year, I’ve corresponded and talked with Dillon about her work on the Bowleses. Although Jane died in 1973 (rumored to be poisoned with love potions by her Moroccan lover, Cherifa), Dillon knew Paul well, up until his death only ten years ago.

Millicent, I must credit you with my entire bibliography on Paul and Jane. I knew nothing about them when I picked up A Little Original Sin fifteen years ago, and they have both been enormously influential to me ever since.

So let’s talk first about Jane’s life as a writer, because it was not easy. Jane published before Paul did, and it was his work with her on Two Serious Ladies that inspired him to try his hand at fiction. Yet she sank rather quickly into literary obscurity and put her energy into assuring Paul that she didn’t mind if he was the more successful or if people at her publisher [Knopf] pretended not to know whom she was. What do you think her real feelings were about being overshadowed in the world of literature by her (very talented) husband?

The relationship between Jane’s work and Paul’s work was as complex as the relationship between the two of them. In that relationship she looked to him for support (including economic support) as well as early on, as with Two Serious Ladies, with shaping the work in terms of form—so that he suggested taking out the third serious lady, and she readily agreed. In her early letters, when he does start publishing, stories at first, and then getting the novel contract, you can hear the anguish in her voice. She admits to jealousy and then tries to smooth it over, but it’s obviously there. In the same way she suffered from his relationship with [his long-term lover] Ahmed Yacoubi.

As for Paul, he continuously encouraged her to work, and even said once that he would not see her if she did not work. I would guess, though of course, it is only speculation, that it was not his publishing his own work that made her own work so hard for her, it was a whole host of problems that she had to deal with. The rivalry, the jealousy could have been overcome. But the forces within her that she was fighting were never appeased.

Incidentally, Jane’s play was produced several years after Paul had been publishing. He wrote the music for the play. She anguished over that play for years, tried one version, then the next, and could not ultimately make it cohere. There are wonderful things in it, but it too suffers from her anguish about her own decisions.

If Jane had been a man, do you think her fiction would be more widely-known today? Do you think she would have been classed with the more famous male experimental writers, whom she in many ways completely surpassed?

Jane, as you may know, has never been taken up by the feminists. In fact, I don’t think you can strictly speaking regard her as a feminist. If you remember, she thought in very conservative terms about marriage, her marriage to Paul. He was to provide for her, and she was to take care of the house, etcetera. She never seemed to have any objections to that. Here again I am speculating, but I don’t think feminist ideas as such play a large role in her work. She did not think in general terms, in any case.

You ask if a man who wrote as she did would be more famous? A man, of course, could not write as she did.

As for fame, Victoria, think of the many wonderful writers who have fallen into obscurity in this time of no-lasting impact.

How did she do it—how did Jane achieve such economy, insight, and sheer comedy, while simultaneously giving the impression she was an amateur simply playing around with words? Have you ever tried to imitate her work to see how it’s done?

Once Jane got into the writing of Two Serious Ladies, she never thought of herself as an amateur. In some strange way, she knew how good she was, compared herself favorably to Carson McCullers, for example. Yet even though she knew how good she was, the anguish was always there. I was not and am not into literary psychoanalysis, but she opens herself up in the work and in the letters so that you can see all these forces within her. And at the same time, her terrible anguish about any decision.

No, I have never tried to imitate Jane’s style. I am not into imitation. I’ve spent forty years trying to find my own style.

It seems to me the forces within her were based largely upon her relationship with her mother—with her role as Claire’s “million-dollar baby.” Jane’s work appears to be about exploring that relationship from myriad angles: from that of the daughter who retreats in submission and longing; the daughter who rebels and runs wild; the mother with an iron will; and the mother blind to her own extreme dependence. In much of her work these relationships appear as intimate relationships between peers—even sisters—yet the grappling with the power imbalance is always there.

Yes, it does seem clear that was a very powerful force for her in the way you describe it. Yet I also feel that the struggle in her, as in any human being, is more complex than any single issue. This is where literature begins to depart from psychoanalysis, which is after all a therapy intended to bring the patient into a greater adaptation to the world.

I cannot speak of this in very simple straightforward terms because of the complexity of human emotions. That is what I see so strongly in Jane. It is as though multiple forces assail her, and she is continuously buffeted by them from all sides. What makes her different from others, in a certain sense, is that she has no defense against the multiplicity. If she could have said, “My mother did this to me or that to me,” it would have been simpler for her. But instead, I suspect, she would think of herself as assailed one way and then by another.

Jane’s work is replete with insight into paradox. Whenever she finds a fundamental truth, she immediately progresses beyond it to its antithesis. I think the basis of this must have been in the overwhelming duality of her feelings about her mother—the pampering that gave Jane, ultimately, her faith in her abilities, along with the blatant use of Jane for Claire’s emotional well-being.

My immediate response, with respect to Claire, is to recall the strangeness of Claire taking Jane to Switzerland for treatment in the sanatorium [when 13-year-old Jane contracted tuberculosis of the knee shortly after her father died] and then going off and leaving her there while she went to Paris. In Paris, Claire was pursuing her own version of finding a new life, romantic and otherwise. I could bet she didn’t see anything wrong with this, though it is difficult for me to reconcile that choice with Claire’s constant expression of devotion for Jane. No doubt there was something in Claire that could deceive herself easily.

I do think about Jane that her relation to her family of women and its authoritarianism makes her a figure that is in some way incomprehensible to young women now. I remember giving a talk about the book to a group of women, many of whom were irate because she did not break away, they thought, from the constraints upon her, and, in fact, blamed her.

What did they think she was doing in Morocco in the 1940s, making excuses to Moroccan women [as she described in "Everything is Nice"] when they asked, “Why do you not sit in your mother’s house?” I remember Paul saying that they got married partly so Jane could travel, as she could not have traveled alone in that era. She went to enormous lengths to escape, to the extent that she eventually died of her extremist life in Tangier, suffering terrible pyschiatric handicaps due to that stroke and ensuing difficulties, many years before her time.

When I would talk to Paul about Jane in her later years when she was so ill, I would say, with a certain hubris, “But she was still Jane, wasn’t she?” Paul would deny it. Now, so many years later, after going through experiences with friends who suffered from conditions similar to Jane’s, if not exactly the same, and after being torn by grief, anger, etcetera, etcetera, I think I was both wrong and right.

I would like to think some more about Jane’s physical vulnerability, about her relationship to her own body, or at least try to speculate about it. Jane at times seemed almost oblivious to her body. When she called herself “Crippie Kike Dyke,” did she think it was funny? Or was she being more bitter than funny? Think about what it would be for a teenage girl to be in bed in traction for months upon months.

I think she was both fearless and very fearful at the same time, and this would result in her paying no attention to her body at times and at other times being obsessive about it, worrying about it and how it could be damaged.

Why was writing so terribly hard for her? She was pushed to do it and yet pushed not to do it. She is always, I think, subject to opposing forces and cannot choose what side she is on. Decisions of any kind are a torment to her. So in some way, I suspect, despite her anger at her mother, there also existed in her tenderness, if not love, rage, despair, maybe even sympathy.

I suppose what I’m saying is that the multiplicity is there for all of us, but she could not placate it, keep it quiet.

There is also this about Claire. She seems to have been of ordinary—even limited—sensibility, someone interested in clothes, propriety, middle-class values from her family, a family that she never escaped from, maybe never even knew the impulse to escape from them. One of the ways I see it is that Claire was not an equal antagonist, and as a result Jane had to build her up more and more in her mind to create a true antagonist. This she did with her imagination, and by so doing, was more of a prisoner of that imagined Claire than the real one. But how could Jane fight her own imagination? It is in this realm—the realm of her own imagination—that Jane had to fight out her most serious battles. And no one could help her with that.

And yet, despite all that was so dark in her life, it is important to turn again to her work. Reading it, one sees how remarkable and how innovative it is even after all this time, how funny and surprising it is and profound. Perhaps that’s the most surprising thing of all, how profound it is.

Millicent Dillon is the winner of five O. Henry Awards, as well as being a PEN/Faulkner nominee for her fictional biography, Harry Gold, and the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, two National Endowment for the Humanities Fellowships, and a residency at Yaddo artists working community, the Rockefeller Foundation in Bellagio, Italy, and the Djerassi Foundation in Woodside, California. She is the author of three other novels, The One in the Back is Medea, The Dance of the Mothers, and A Version of Love: A Novel, a collection, Baby Perpetua and Other Stories, and three biographies, A Little Original Sin: The Life and Work of Jane Bowles, You Are Not I: A Portrait of Paul Bowles, and After Egypt: Isadora Duncan and Mary Cassatt, a Dual Biography, all of which are available through Amazon’s Millicent Dillon Page. She is also the editor of two collections, Out in the World: Selected Letters of Jane Bowles, 1935-1970 and The Viking Portable Paul and Jane Bowles. Her own papers are archived in the Harry Ransome Humanities Research Center at the University of Austin, Texas. She lives and writes in Northern California.

I think people laugh because it’s bizarre and they feel better about themselves in comparison, but a small part of them is nodding in recognition because they too once wondered why Jesus wasn’t considered a zombie.—the Bloggess

You’ve been hearing it from me for months now: the Bloggess found this great link, the Bloggess found that great clip, the Bloggess, the Bloggess, the Bloggess. She’s hilarious! She’s also one of the most popular bloggers out there, with half-a-million views a month, a Twitter following of 50,000 (except William Shatner), and ratings from Technorati to Alexa that have, frankly, stymied both of us.

And, just in case you haven’t yet taken my word for it, I’ve gone to her site and brought her back with me. So for all you Bloggess fans out there, your week is just about to get SO MUCH BETTER. And for all of you who don’t know yet who she is (make that: both of you). . .

You. Have. No. Idea.

Join us Monday for the next June Interview, this time with the dark, twisted, & golden-hearted Jenny Lawson:

Let’s Pretend WHAT Never Happened? the Bloggess interview

Donald Maass is the head of Donald Maass Literary Agency in New York, selling more than 150 novels every year to major publishers in the U.S. and overseas. He is the author of The Career Novelist (1996), Writing the Breakout Novel (2001), Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook (2004) and The Fire in Fiction (2009)—as well as numerous novels—and a past president of the Association of Authors’ Representatives, Inc.

Lisa Rector is an independent editor (IE) specializing in late-stage story issues, sagging middles and third draft woes. She offers one-on-one intensive story development workshops, manuscript evaluations and revision assistance to professional authors of thrillers, suspense, mystery, historical, fantasy, mainstream and literary fiction. Lisa works with dozens of authors in the US, Canada, Australia and The Netherlands, teaches advanced editing and fiction writing techniques at conferences world-wide, and is the founder of the Lisa Rector Scholarship for Young Writers.

And they just happen to be married to each other.

Thank you so much, Don and Lisa, for taking time out of your busy lives for this interview! I know you’re an extremely literary household, between running a literary agency and an independent editing business. So the first thing I’d like to talk about is working together. Do you think of yourselves as two different businesses or as a single shop?

DM: We’re careful to keep our businesses separate and not steer writers exclusively to each other. We’re ethically obligated not to do that. Obviously, I recommend Lisa. She’s an outstanding editor. But I recommend others too and encourage writers to make a choice.

LR: Occasionally we do have clients in common. I may refer an author to Don, or vice versa, but only if it’s the right fit. Don’s a fabulous agent. But I refer clients to other agents as well.

Do you discover authors together?

LR: We meet writers online, through our websites, at conferences and workshops that we teach, and by referral of other authors, agents and editors. I recommend other reputable independent editors if I think they’re well-suited to a particular project.

DM: We obviously take an interest in each other’s clients, if only to cheer them on.

How do you deal with the distinction between literary representation, which authors are warned should never come with a requirement of up-front payment, and editing, which does?

LR: Editing is part of the deeper learning that exists beyond conferences, critique groups and MFA programs. A good editor can help a writer see the work that’s left to do when they don’t know what to do anymore. You pay for college, so why not for help developing your writing?

DM: I agree with that. Writers pay for conferences, courses and MFA degrees. Why not for developmental editing too? It’s accelerated learning. On the other hand, literary representation works best when the agent’s income derives from actual sales. The goal there is publication and career management. The agent’s incentive is commissions.

Lisa, do you edit Don’s books? Or are you too deeply involved in the writing of them to be able to get the necessary distance? Conversely, do you ever ask him for advice on your clients’ work?

LR: After eighteen books, Don knows how to reach writers in a unique way. And he has a wonderful team at Writer’s Digest. I did proofread The Fire in Fiction, but it was the kind of thing a wife does whose day job is being an editor. I think it annoyed him every time I pointed out a mistake [laughs].

DM: Grrr.

[Laughing] Don, you write the books. Lisa, you edit the manuscripts. Do you lock horns over issues of craft?

DM: We understand craft in much the same way. In the end we both want great novels.

LR: My focus is on late stage story diagnosis and repair. I’m writing a book on the subject, tentatively titled The Third Draft.

Oh, nice! Like Graham Greene’s The Third Man. Very subtle. Now, “tension on every page” is the one piece of writing advice no author should ever be without. (I’ve mentioned you, Don, in reference to it in two guest posts: “Everything You Need to Know About Writing a Novel, in 1,000 Words” on Nathan Bransford’s site and “Countdown” for 16-year-old Emilee for NaNoWriMo, and I mention you as well in The Art & Craft of Fiction.) However, I’ve gotten push-back from aspiring authors on the idea that that’s too much tension. Can you talk about this?

LR: Most manuscripts downplay tension. This is true of both literary novels and commercial fiction. You may think you have enough tension, but ask yourself: Is your manuscript being rejected? Are your sales declining? When an author backs away from tension it is usually rooted in something beyond story construction. It stirs up disappointment, hurt, or other unresolved feelings in characters—and in their authors.

DM: What virtually all manuscripts need is not less tension but more. Now, the word “tension” might to some imply action or over-the-top emotional churning. But tension can be many things including simmering tension or even subtle unease. There’s never enough in manuscripts. That means yours. Sorry. I’m skimming. And if I’m skimming you can bet on it: so will editors. And readers. I have a whole chapter on how micro-tension works in The Fire in Fiction, if you’d like to know more.

Definitely. Don, you mention “telling-not-showing” in an interview with Andrea Campbell. Can you elaborate?

DM: This is a dangerous topic. It is usually best to show, not tell. On the other hand, there are moments in a novel when you might want to capture something invisible, like the mood in a room or a unique moment in time. There’s a way to do that called “measuring change,” which I discuss in my books and teach in my workshops.

LR: Um, what Don’s talking about here is not for beginners. Don’t try that at home! Call us first.

[Laughing] Yes. You’re talking sophisticated technique. Don, multiple layers are essential for a long work like a novel. Is there a basic technique you recommend that works in most cases? Do you have favorite techniques that are too tricky for the standard story?

DM: The first concept to grasp is plot “layers.” Those are the multiple—and later, interwoven—problems facing a protagonist. They can be planned separately; ditto subplots involving other characters. For multiple point-of-view novels, each character’s storyline can be thought of as a separate novella. Separating storylines makes them easier to manage. It also demands that each by itself is strong. It’s important to weave storylines together, but first they must stand on their own.

Lisa, what is your method for working with a client? What’s your first step, and how do you follow up? What do you consider the most important elements in a manuscript, and how do you go about achieving that with a client?

LR: The first step is to identify what works in the manuscript, what doesn’t and why. Because I work in late-stage story development, those issues can be difficult to pinpoint. At this stage, many writers are close to publication, yet not quite there. Agents and editors don’t have time to explain what’s lacking, so they send cryptic rejection letters.

Through story analysis, workshops and follow-up consults, we work to repair sagging middles, enhance line-by-line tension and address other third draft issues. There is, justifiably, great emphasis on what goes wrong in a manuscript, but most authors also tend to do too little of what they do well. Essential to any good novel are passionate storytelling, purpose, clarity, tension and characters that matter.

That’s a beautiful, insightful list. There are agents, though, who don’t like the idea of authors having their manuscripts professionally edited before submitting them. Some say it makes them nervous, and most say, “Don’t mention it in your query.” What is your opinion on this issue, from both sides of the fence?

DM: Most of the time “professional editing” means line editing by marginally qualified so-called editors. Most manuscripts don’t need that. Most need story development, the kind of work that Lisa does. Count on it: When a query says the manuscript has been “professionally edited” it is not ready. But when someone is referred to me by Lisa, Jerry Gross, Pat LoBrutto, John Paine or Lorin Oberweger, trust me, I pay attention.

LR: More and more I see referrals coming from agents. They’re not looking for line-by-line polish, they’re after great storytelling. And they know that a reputable IE can help get it there.

How can authors distinguish really good, professional editors from the many, many amateurs advertising themselves as “professional editors” without any background or training?

LR: Good editors take time to clarify author goals, identify what is working and what isn’t and provide support to authors in moving forward. Reputable editors do not charge reading fees, nor do they pay or receive money for referrals from other editors, authors, agents or publishers. For more information on this topic, visit my website.

How do you see the laying-off of so many in-house editors in the past couple of years affecting the work you both do, and how these new independents with publishing contacts and skills will play out in the workforce—both as literary agents and as independent editors—in the next few years?

LR: When in-house editors go independent it brings credibility to my profession. But authors need to discern which particular editor best suits their needs.

DM: There are a lot more agents today! That’s good for authors but also, in a way, bad for authors. I see manuscripts taken on, and sometimes sold, that I read too and felt were not ready. What’s wrong with that? Those authors are getting quick gratification but not necessarily a strong foundation of craft under their careers.

The fewer publishers’ in-house editors are left, the more it really puts the burden of polishing the manuscript on the writer. Which is, honestly, either a nearly impossible task or expensive—even if the author knows they need an editor—because, unlike agents, editors get paid up-front. How do you see the role of independent editors evolving as the industry continues to change? What’s your attitude toward writers who take the craft seriously but don’t have the money to pay a reputable editor?

LR: Developmental editing is an investment. It may take time. It may require extra work on a manuscript you felt was ready. Ultimately, a good measure of that investment is what shows up on the page. Conventional editing is expensive and, for the most part, ineffective. Rather than blue penciling a manuscript, I try to equip authors with the tools of craft that can be applied many times over in their careers.

Lisa, do you consider yourself expensive? Cheap? What is your philosophy behind how you price yourself?

LR: Am I the cheapest editor out there? No. Nor am I the most expensive. I work within each writer’s budget to provide the best editorial input I can.

DM: Independent editors like Lisa definitely are part of the publishing landscape now. Is it an extra burden of expense for writers? You can look at it that way, or you can see it as a level of professional help that was never before available.

That’s an excellent point, Don. Have you played with or implemented the idea of the editor taking a percentage of the writer’s royalties, rather than payment up-front, the way an agent does? Do you see any potential in that, or would the semantics simply make it too difficult?

LR: I don’t think taking a percentage would be beneficial for writers. It’s not just the extra cut it would entail, it’s that the editor’s incentive would then be to get done quickly and see a manuscript sold as soon as possible. As I said, I’m not about quick fixes. Authors need the tools of the craft so they can not just sell one book but build a career.

You take a long view of a writer’s career, rather than aim for a one-hit wonder. Don, you talk in The Career Novelist about big conglomerates buying up publishing houses in the 1980s. What effect do you think, in retrospect, the conglomerate business model has had on the quality and types of books published since then?

DM: One effect has been the withering of the mid-list. Genre lists also used to be a safe place to grow one’s craft. Not anymore. Nowadays authors get a very small window, two to four titles, to prove themselves and find an audience. It’s an extremely difficult situation. That’s why learning to write at breakout level from the get-go is important. That’s also why developmental editors like Lisa are important.

Ebooks—Kindle, Reader, Nook, and now the iPad—what is their impact on publishing and readership?

DM: E-books are still only four percent or so of overall sales. E-publishing isn’t changing the industry very much. Remember, you still need the physical book and everything that goes with it (cover, copy, reviews) for the e-book to be successful. Who sells the most e-books? Authors who are already best sellers in paper. Guess what? You still have to write a great novel. As for the future, I can see e-books becoming an established niche in book retailing, perhaps as big as audio books (which are roughly 10% of the book market). But I don’t think the paper book is going away anytime soon.

What is the impact of Publishing On Demand (POD) on publishing, particularly returns? Are publishers moving in this direction?

DM: POD is great for tiny print runs, but what author wants micro-sales? POD is good for authors with backlist titles that can’t be made available any other way. But keep it in perspective. It’s not a way to build an audience.

LR: I agree, POD doesn’t build readership.

But POD is the heart of self-publishing—which leads us to the fact that there’s some truly awful stuff being self-published, and yet we continue to hear about publishers who find excellent work through self-publishing. What role does self-publishing play right now in the whole system from writing through agent to publisher?

DM: Self-publishing success stories are one in 10,000. Every year there’s one breakthrough. Eragon. The Shack. Is self-publishing a career development strategy for aspiring authors? If you like 1-in-10,000 odds then sure. But for virtually everyone, I’d say no.

LR: What pushes authors into self-publishing? Is it the realistic expectation of using it as a stepping stone? I don’t think so. Most self-publish because they’re frustrated, can’t wait, feel it’s their turn (yet they’re not getting “the call”), or because they imagine that self-publishing is the only way to put a particular project behind them.

Writers hear all the time now: “Don’t try to get published if you aren’t also prepared to become your own marketer.” And yet, like self-editing and professional editors, self-marketing is no substitute for professional marketing. And what about “social networking” and the power of grassroots exposure on blogs, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, etcetera?

DM: Promotion and “platform” are much bigger considerations for nonfiction authors. Novelists starting out need to put their focus on great stories. All the blogging in the world won’t build an audience if your fiction is weak. The best promotion in the world is a strong second novel, followed by an even better third novel. But, hey, let’s assume your fiction is superb. You never write a weak novel. (That’s you, right?) Okay, how much effort to put into online promotion? Remember that promotion is cumulative. The effect of any promotion on sales of an individual title is going to be small. If you are a self-promoter you’ve got to commit to it for the long haul.

LR: The emphasis on self-promotion is often misplaced. There are writers who’ve built their website and planned their promo campaign before they’ve even finished their first draft.

I see it all over out there, Lisa. Exactly what you’re saying. And now we’re talking sales numbers—Bookscan has created a situation in which writers no longer have time to build a readership. It’s sink or swim right out of the gate. What is your take on how this helps or hinders the industry?

DM: Bookscan’s a useful tool for publishers, no question. The downside is that it fosters instant success thinking. Fiction audiences don’t always grow like that. Also, some genre fiction sells disproportionately in independent bookstores and outlets that don’t report to Bookscan. I’m happy to say, though, that most publishers get that. I’ve learned to live with Bookscan.

Don, you offer The Career Novelist as a free downloadable book online. And at the same time there is a very real sense among professionals of, “If you undervalue yourself, everyone else will undervalue you, too.” While, simultaneously, many new writers worry that the blogosphere culture of, “Everything should be free,” means their chances of ever earning anything with their work is shrinking away to nothing. How do you balance these conflicting issues?

DM: It’s a strange thing, but giveaways can help sales of physical books. We can at least say with some confidence that they don’t hurt. Look at it this way: You’re happy if your publisher stuffs goodie bags at conferences with your book, so why not do the same thing online?

What about the blog effect—there have always been amateur writers hoping to break into publishing big-time due to the perceived glamor of being A Writer, but now that everyone writes a blog it seems there’s an almost insurmountable bottleneck. People who have never considered writing before are announcing in public that they started writing a book two months ago and, as Lisa said, are already looking for representation and studying up on marketing. How does this affect the industry overall?

LR: Blogging is great. I’ve done it myself. But marketing and craft are two different things. Think about it: does writing a blog teach you how to write a novel?

DM: I’ve never taken on a novelist just because they’ve got a killer blog. What’s the point? It’s not going to sell books, or many. Blogs are a nice place to connect and discuss craft. Blog away. But don’t expect that by itself it will make you a successful novelist. It really won’t help that much.

Traditionally, Don, one reason agents are so important is that they have the leverage to negotiate higher rates for the writer. What about the hailed decline of big advances and advent of backloaded offers? What about advances that don’t earn out and how that figures in the bottom line? What are you advising writers these days on what they can expect?

DM: Publishers are grabbing more than ever in terms of territory and sub-rights. You still need an agent in your corner. Your agent is also your intermediary, problem solver, career advisor, sub-rights broker, payment facilitator and much more. In terms of what authors can expect, yes, our advance expectations right now are lower. Blame the recession, but that can also be good. Advances that fail to earn out can kill careers. More realistic advances can give an author time and room to grow. It’s not all bad.

Lisa, what do you tell your clients (besides referring them to Don, of course) about seeking a career as a writer?

LR: Writing, like anything, is hard work. Successful authors know that dedication and desire to evolve are required every day. They commit to improving their craft and taking risks. They don’t get comfortable wrapping themselves in the familiar. They understand that it is their most recent book sales that dictate success.

Independent editor Lisa Rector can be reached through her website, Third Draft in New York City.

Literary agent Donald Maass can be reached through his website, Donald Maass Literary Agency.

Bob Spear is a long-time bokstore owner, book reviewer & packager, and self-published author. Bob has published 11 books of nonfiction and is working on five mysteries to be self-published soon. He currently blogs about his venture back into the world of self-publishing with his latest mystery, Quad Delta.

First—why did you pick Lightning Source over the others? Was it the price vs. service level, reputation, print quality, or something else? What publishers have you used in the past?

Lightning Source is a top quality digital printer and a distributor, not really a publisher. I have a great local source for digital printing, which is as cheap when taking into account that they deliver my books for free. I just used their services for my first 50 books. On the other hand, Lightning Source is wholly-owned by the world’s largest book distributor: Ingram. Normally Ingram will not distribute my titles because they require a publisher to offer at least 10 different ones. Because I’m going through Lightning Source, they now will distribute me regardless of how many titles I offer. That’s a huge advantage.

Nor is their service exclusive. They know I can also go local when I need something immediately, and that’s okay by them. A similar service exists from BookSurge, which is owned by Amazon.

What service level did you choose, why, and how much did it cost? Are you happy with what you get for the price?

Because of their distribution service, I have signed on for two levels of service:

The first service is to print any number I order and ship to me to sell as I can, and I pay for shipping. I pay their agreed-to printing price, which varies by page number and size and is spelled out in their downloadable materials.

The second service is for them to print onesies and send them to whatever retailer orders them direct from Ingram distributors. That costs me a standard distributor’s discount of 55% and nothing else for the printing. The retailer pays directly to Ingram for the shipping.

Rights: who retains them, and for how long? In whose name is the ISBN registered?

I supply my ISBN that I obtained on my own from Bowker. The rights are all mine. Remember, these guys are a printer/distributor, not a publisher or a vanity press, some of which (like Publish America) can tie up your rights for seven years or even forever. Caveat Emptor—let the buyer beware.

Self-sales: does the printer give author- or bulk-discounts if I want to purchase copies to distribute locally? Lightning Source is owned by Ingram, with its massive distribution channels. How heavily did that weigh in your choice?

It’s Ingram’s distribution system that is the primary reason I’m using Lightning Source for digital printing. Digital printing is best only for small quantities that may be needed quickly or to test a market or to send to reviewers in advance. Digital printing is too expensive per book to use as a primary source for day-to-day sales to the book industry, which may ask for 40 to 65% trade discounts to do business with retailers and two levels of distributors. For that, you’ll need to take the risk of printing lots of 500 to 1,000 or more via traditional offset printing. Paying more per book for the security of digital printing really isn’t viable over the long run. Lightning Source will be happy to bid on offset print runs—which they will job out—but so will any printer, under the right circumstances.

Quality: some people are saying self-publishing’s not publishing, just really, really, really good photocopying. Is that your experience? Are you pleased with the quality of what you pay for?

Self-publishing is not just printing. It’s doing everything from production to marketing yourself. Digital printing these days, on the other hand, looks as good as offset—with the exception of color printing, where offset printing uses inks that mix and blend, while digital uses either toner or wax in color layers, which usually comes out a little darker than the ink blends.

How do you like working with Lightning Source, personally? Do you find them pleasant and helpful, informative, really inspiring? Or simply business-like? Or does the service kind of suck, but worth it for what you get? Would you recommend others use them, and would you use them again yourselves?

I have been frustrated in that I haven’t been able to use their file-uploading system, for some weird reason. I had to send the files on a CD via US mail. They were nice enough, but insisted that the problem had to be at my end because of my server. This is after trying to use my Mac and my PC on Roadrunner cable from home and my PC laptop over ATT’s DSL system down at our bookstore, The Book Barn. That was frustrating, but I worked around it. Fortunately, I had that local source for digital printing that tided me over with an initial print run of 50 copies.

Remember, also, that I do true full-service publishing for myself. I don’t need iUniverse or Booklocker or Author House, et al, because I can do all the things they offer for cheaper and with total control.

Bob Spear is the author of Quad Delta, among other self-published titles. He can be reached through Sharp Spear Enterprises and his Book Trends blog.

Pamela Mahoney Tsigdinos independently published her book, Silent Sorority, on April 18, 2009, after eighteen months of approaching traditional publishers from her background as a professional marketer.

She did her due diligence, spent five years writing her book, hired an editor and designer, identified her unique, focused market, and blogged and networked conscientiously to build her platform. (You should see the number of comments on her site.) She researched agents and had some enlightening conversations. The bottom line? She was writing for “too specialized” a target market. No one would publish for an audience “that small.”

Pamela’s niche market? The infertile for whom medical intervention does not work. Those who fall through the cracks of the massive fertility industry ($3 billion in the U.S. alone). A grieving community for whom no books, apparently, are published—not because those readers aren’t there, but because nobody in traditional publishing knows they are.

Pamela is one writer who is also a successful marketer. And she agreed to be my next interviewee on indie publishing.

First—what printer did you use? Why? Was it the price vs. service level, reputation, print quality, or something else?

BookSurge. It was at the time one of two companies that Amazon had acquired.

I did a lot of diligence about what different vendors would provide in the way of services. I wanted control over artwork and cover—BookSurge did offer turnkey, but they also had a very lightweight offering that said, If you provide us with everything, we will assign you a publishing consultant to guide you through the process. It was $300 to turn over my fully-formatted and -designed book.

They sent two different final proofs, with covers, to read. I found a few more typos I didn’t catch in my formatted files and got them back to them for revision. I approved the final galley, and within a week it was up and available for purchase on Amazon.

What service level did you choose, why, and how much did it cost? Were you happy with what you got for the price?

BookSurge no longer exists—it got merged with CreateSpace—so I was lucky, I got the tail end, because CreateSpace at the time was entirely self-service. At BookSurge, I had the name of a person who was my account contact, so I had a go-to person. At CreateSpace, in April 2009, you didn’t have that extra layer of protection in terms of service available. (I recently found a link that compares the BookSurge to CreateSpace offerings.)

Rights: who retains them, and for how long? In whose name is the ISBN registered?

I own my copyright. I did register for it. It’s one of those administrative tasks that are absolutely must-have. I applied to the copyright office a year before my book came out. I submitted for the copyright, ISBN, Library of Congress, all in my own name.

Daniel Poynter’s Self-Publishing Manual is phenomenal. He’s really good about giving self-pub authors help, he’ll sit the book on his website, he’s got a newsletter. It’s been around for awhile, and he’s updated and added a bunch of things.

His recommendation was to create your own publishing company. (It was way too much to do for tax purposes, for me). He has a checklist.

Self-sales: does the printer give author- or bulk-discounts if I want to purchase copies to distribute locally? If the publisher is not associated with a major distribution channel (like Ingram), doesn’t it then cost a lot of money to place physical copies at local bookstores?

CreateSpace is associated with Ingram. CreateSpace allows me to buy one copy and gives me an online store, whereas BookSurge had an author discount only if you bought a bulk number of copies.

My royalties went up when BookSurge merged with CreateSpace. If you click on Buy the Book, it takes you to what looks like a storefront. Amazon completes the transaction, but I get $8.50 for every book sold on my storefront, and on Amazon I get $5.75. My cost for books I buy is only $3.44.

I have had a couple of wholesale distributors buy, but for most folks fertility is a fairly narrow topic, so if you’re a bookseller my book is not necessarily a must-have.

Barnes & Noble—I ended up sending a copy of my book to B&N for review, and I got this very official form letter that said, We don’t believe this title has a broad distribution opportunity, so no, thanks. But I ended up going through Smashwords. The CEO/Founder Mark Coker does an amazing job (for no charge) helping authors convert their manuscripts to ebook formats. He has a relationship with B&N and Sony, and in a matter of weeks—literally, from the time I took it from print PDF to ebook—it became available through B&N. (You can submit your book separately as a Kindle, but you get higher royalties through Smashwords.)

Depending on what you sign up for, the way of quality control, you may get different experiences. But CreateSpace and Smashwords are as good as a bookstore. And I would encourage people to take copies to libraries.

Quality: some people are saying indie publishing companies are not publishers, just really, really, really good photocopiers. Was that your experience? Where you pleased with the quality of what you paid for?

The book quality, in the end, was as good as you’d find in a library or bookstore. I did hire a book designer, which gave me professionally-formatted PDF files that were then uploaded and used for the first book proof. I took the time to get a good book designer. I found her on on Elance, a San Francisco Bay Area marketplace of freelancers. I typed in a proposal, and people bid on the project. Elance is great. You can check references. They take a small percentage of the total amount paid. I also hired a great editor.

You know, If someone just has a personal interest in sharing a story with immediate family and friends, there are tools that allow people to do that. Shutterfly—there are a variety of other ones—there are ways to create mini-photo books. They’re boardbound.

How did you like working with this publisher, personally? Did you find them pleasant and helpful, informative, really inspiring? Or simply business-like? Or did the service kind of suck, but it was worth it for what you got? Would you recommend others use them, and would you use them again yourselves?

Smashwords is very, very professional, and, as I say with BooSsurge, they would send me emails in response to everything I was doing, and at the bottom of each email it said, If you’re not satisfied, here’s the customer service info.

Can you tell us how sales have been?

It’s been really good, based on just word of mouth, and my sales are increasing, month-over-month, trending up as I get deeper into the communities of interest.

I’m contributing articles to blog sites that range from Open Salon to Divine Caroline to Fertility Authority. In some cases I’m compensated for my posts, and sometimes not, but it really does have a multiplier effect. At the Huffington Post, for example, there’s a woman who teaches women’s studies in Houston, and I get involved in those conversations. It does generate a moving flywheel. Get that flywheel spinning, the royalties start coming in.

I set my price by looking at other comparable books. It’s a balancing act. I chose a price significant enough that, if someone truly wanted to buy it, I wanted them to think it was worth the time. Based on other books in the marketplace on this topic, and the fact that it is a first run, I chose $14.95 because it’s under $15, and hardcovers are around $25.

You have to look at the economics of it at all. For the publishing houses to make an investment, they are taking a big risk. Consequently they have to figure out that the market truly is big enough to support a particular title. At the same time, what happens is there are always going to be niche books. I fully understand that my book will never be a best seller. But the people who are interested in it—people in the infertility community—read everything they can. They have the time. They’re sitting in doctor’s offices! These people are voracious.

I’m reaching an international marketplace. In fact, two of my biggest markets are in South Africa and Australia. I don’t know if there would be this opportunity for me without Amazon. Because it’s Amazon.

Interesting point—I did a fair number of interviews with authors who had gone the traditional versus indie route. After a certain time, traditionally-published books became unavailable. With indie publishing, I jokingly say my nieces and nephews will be getting my royalties in perpetuity. I’m finding the people are very loyal readers. They want the book on their bookshelves. My resale price is twice as big as my real price because a lot of those are being sold in Euros. Another woman did go through traditional publishing at the same time I did, but her book was safer and a how-to manual. She and I are listed as comps. Her books went from $15 to $6, and the price of mine is staying constant. I don’t know what was the initial agreement with her publisher. But, you know, my book will always be available.

Is there anything you would have done differently? Any specific advice you have for others considering independent publishing?

The only thing would be to have been given myself more time to do pre-launch book promotion. I was dead set on getting it out by Mother’s Day, so as a result I really rushed my own promotions. I pitched media first and then put out a press release. I know the drill. I had predetermined a number of bloggers and sent them copies and knew full well that they could have given me a thumbs-down. Fortunately the reviews came in positive.

Nonfiction in particular is an easier way to pursue indie publishing than fiction because there are ways to get into industry groups. I wrote a business plan for my book. There’s an industry around fertility, so I know how to work those channels. If you’re writing a book about infertility, you have to be smart and differentiated. I knew that, since 99.9% of the books out there have been written by mothers, I had a unique voice.

Silent Sorority came out on April 18, 2009. I did a fairly heavy amount of promotion in the May-June-July timeframe. I’ve got a community of readers who read my blog regularly. I had a post up called Birth Announcement for my book.

The workload now feels infinitely lighter than trying to get the book ready for publication. That, for me, was the hard process. A really fine-tuned social appointment, a set of reporters I know, Google set for topics. Now it’s seamless. I do this for a living, so it seems perfectly easy to spend an hour a day scoping about who’s writing about what.

Any other points or stories you’d like to elaborate upon? If I missed something significant that you think others should know about, please do talk about it.

I will say to your point earlier that there is nothing easy about publishing these days, whether it’s through traditional or indie. As the author you are 100% accountable for the publishing of your material.

Indie publishing’s got a negative connotation based on the marketplace. I really was very reluctant to move toward self-publishing, worried it would signal that my writing wasn’t of a good-enough caliber. I was extremely hard on myself when it came to the manuscript. I rewrote it three times over five years. I think you really need to think hard about: Are you propagating the myth of junk? Or are you really truly holding yourself to a high standard, such as you’d get from an external source?

I was reluctant to associate myself with anything that could be perceived as vanity press. And let me be clear: broadcasting to the world that you couldn’t conceive isn’t something you do for vanity purposes. In fact, I didn’t tell family and friends that my book was available right away. They found out about it after I’d already sold a bunch of books.

Realistically—I’ve been around the block (I’ve been blogging for three years)—my intent initially was to build a community and see what the level of appetite was for the type of book I was writing. I signed up for a couple of helpful search engines, went diligently and found out what agents work in what topics—Who do these agents represent? Do they look at issues outside conventional wisdom? And I put very specific pitches together. What I found was really interesting. The response was, “You’re involved in a particularly unusual topic that doesn’t necessarily fit neatly into the traditional publishing world model, so I don’t know that I’d be successful at pitching your idea. It doesn’t fit into their categories.”

Would my idea in itself be interesting because it’s different? I had three or four conversations with agents about this, but they didn’t feel they could make an adequate commission (reading between the lines). Pub houses were tightening the filter, so it had to be a blockbuster type of book.

Which reminded me of the movie studios. There was a time when if it didn’t fit the model it wasn’t used.

I spent eighteen months chasing the traditional publishing world, and I thought, Okay. I work in marketing. I’m just going to do that. I became the contractor for my own book.

I think we’re in the really early days of indie publishing. There are those of us who have decided we don’t fit the formula. When I’m talking to those who have created an economic arbiter—like Hollywood—I don’t lead with the fact that I’ve self-published, I just say it’s available.

Publishers were once the arbiters of good taste. Now it’s the readers who decide what’s good and what’s not. I’ve got thirty reviews on Amazon—thirty-two if you count Amazon.ca—twenty-eight five-star and two four-star.

You said you asked yourself, What is my objective, as an author?

Yes. I was feeling isolated in my infertility experience, I had enough angst about it that I went to the library, I went online. I could find no books by women about infertility who were not mothers. It became evident that there were a whole bunch of issues that hadn’t been covered—the stigma associated with failed infertility treatment. There were no appropriate guidelines for how you grieve and move on through that experience. I got so annoyed, I thought, Hell, I’ve got to change that.

I was shocked by how the fertility industry had become all about the business, not about the individuals seeking treatment. I was flying back from a business trip, and I was in business class, and this young woman was chatting near me with the flight attendant. The flight attendant asked, “What do you do?” and she said, “I’m a med student. I’ve been doing a lot of research, and the highest-paid doctors are in fertility.” Fertility and plastic surgery, those were her two options. The highest money. That’s nasty.

Because there are huge emotional issues associated with finding out you may never have a child. One of the things I put out to people is there is a belief—in society—that if you never actually delivered a child you have no loss. There is this weird sense that you have to have diapered a baby, or you have not suffered any real loss. The creation of embryos, really truly—when you have for the first time gotten an alpha pregnancy—you associate a life and a set of dreams with those early days. To know that others disregard that completely? It’s devastating that there is no support system. So if you’re out there trying to work through that set of emotions, you don’t have a natural safety net, a safe harbor to work through the loss of a fragile dream.

The reader email I get now breaks your heart.

They say, “Nobody understood what I was living through. You have given me a voice I never had.”

Pamela Mahoney Tsigdinos is the author of Silent Sorority. She can be reached through both her blog and her book.

Michelle Davidson Argyle and Davin Malasarn, along with Scott G. F. Bailey, run the Literary Lab, a vibrant online community dedicated to the literary craft of fiction. In the past several months, they’ve run a contest for short stories in a variety of genres, with the results published as the Genre Wars anthology, from which the proceeds go to charity. Michelle and Davin graciously agreed to be the first to be interviewed in this series exploring the independent publishing options available to authors.

First questions first—why did you choose Lulu as your self-publisher? Was it the price vs. service level, reputation, print quality, or something else?

Davin: Well, I first started using Lulu only because Scott (and others) told me how fun it was to print out a draft of their novels in this format to get a sense of actually holding it as a book. So, I tried that with my novel and had a blast. When it came time to do the contest, I knew that other aspects of this would be complicated: reading the entries, judging them, advertising, finding charities—so I wanted to minimize the complication and stuck with Lulu because it was familiar. The price seemed reasonable, although I didn’t have anything else to compare it to.

Michelle: I first heard of Lulu through my father-in-law a few years ago, but I never did anything with it. Then I heard about Davin and Scott printing out their manuscripts through them and how the quality was up to par. I then ordered a novel from a fellow blogger who had put her work for sale on Lulu. I was impressed with the quality and the prices offered. I haven’t really looked into other POD publishers, so I’m not sure how Lulu compares to any others. So I guess you could say it was the reputation that initially got me interested in Lulu.

What service level did you choose, why, and how much did it cost? Were you happy with what you got for the price?

Davin: We chose the most basic service level. This means that we did everything on our own, from the cover design, to the formatting of the text, to the copy editing. So, all that was free. The only cost we had was the cost per copy, which was around $9 each.

Michelle: I’ve been happy with the overall price and the fact that we can also offer downloadable copies of our anthology at whatever price we choose. I like how we can set the price of the anthology, how much profit we’ll make with each sale, and the cut that Lulu takes as well (which seems to be about a fair percentage to me).

Rights: who retains them, and for how long? In whose name is the ISBN registered?

Davin: We didn’t get an ISBN for the book. Again, we wanted to keep things simple. So, as far as that goes, we have the rights to publish the stories. But, since this was an anthology, we only asked for one-time rights to publish the stories in the anthology (and the winners on the blog also). After that, all rights revert back to the original story authors.

Self-sales: does the publisher give author- or bulk-discounts if I want to purchase copies to distribute locally? I have heard that Lulu makes authors pay full price, like everyone else. If the publisher is not associated with a major distribution channel (like Ingram), doesn’t it then cost a lot of money to place physical copies at local bookstores?

Davin: We are able to get copies of the book for the standard price minus any additional revenue we decided to add onto it. That means we can get copies for about $9. We could have also made the book available at that price. But, since we’re donating our profits to charity, we chose to pay full price like everyone else. However, we did order the cheaper versions of the anthology so that we could copy edit from the hard copy. As for bookstores, that wasn’t really a consideration for me. We are basically an online presence and an online community, so we planned to stay within that community.

Michelle: Lulu does also offer bulk discounts—the more copies a buyer purchases, the cheaper each copy is. I’m not sure how this works with Lulu, since we seem to make the same profit off each one, even if they are discounted for the buyer. So I’m guessing it just costs less for Lulu to print multiple copies, so the price therefore goes down, which is nice. I’m not sure if that answers your question at all about distribution. I guess if we wanted to distribute physical copies to local bookstores, the cost would be doable since we’d order in bulk and just have to pay the printing cost.

Quality: some people are saying Lulu’s not a publisher, just a really, really, really good photocopier. Was that your experience? Where you pleased with the quality of what you paid for?

Davin: I’d be okay with calling Lulu a really good photocopier. That’s how we used it. I do believe they have other service options, though, so one could presumably get a more professional book if they were willing to pay more. With that in mind, though, I’m very happy with the results. Lulu tells you if the cover image you want to use is of high enough resolution. The actual text pages look beautiful, in my opinion. Perhaps the one downside to Lulu is that the cover quality doesn’t seem to be as nice as other books I’ve purchased. The glue that holds the pages together is not quite perfect, but not a big problem either.

Michelle: Overall, I’ve been impressed with the quality for the price. Mostly, I’m happy with how simple and easy-to-use it was—especially if someone doesn’t have a lot of design experience. Lulu made it easy to design a cover and have it look decent (and even better if you know what you’re doing), and it was easy to upload the file straight from Word. Lulu converts it to PDF printable format for you. I dealt with my university’s press when I was in school working as the editor-in-chief on the literary journal, and the printing wasn’t as nice as Lulu’s. Quite frankly, I was surprised when I saw a book printed from Lulu. I thought the quality would be less that it is.

How did you like working with Lulu, personally? Did you find them pleasant and helpful, informative, really inspiring? Or simply business-like? Or did the service kind of suck, but it was worth it for what you got? Would you recommend others use them, and would you use them again yourselves?

Davin: For me they are pretty business-like. I think they do their job and they do it well. We also didn’t require hardly any assistance on their part, so it’s a bit difficult to evaluate. I’d use them again, especially as I feel more comfortable with the process.

Michelle: We didn’t really run into any problems with this printing from Lulu, so I didn’t personally have to deal with their service. I’m impressed with the turnaround, though, and how well the site is designed. I’m already planning on using Lulu to print out a copy of my current novel so my husband can read it and not complain about staring at his computer screen for hours. I’m excited to design my own cover and get the book in the mail. It will take a little of that “need to get published right this second” edge off so that I can be patient with revisions and querying the book in the future.

Michelle Davidson Argyle can be found at both the Literary Lab and her personal blog, The Innocent Flower.

Davin Malasarn can be found at both the Literary Lab and a science blog he shares with fellow lab scientists, The Triplicate.

Carolyn & Neal, 1947

Dean merely looked at Camille, pointed at his wrist, made the sign “four”. . .and went out. At three the door was locked to Roy Johnston. At four it was opened to Dean.—Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Neal turned back abruptly and, taking a step or two toward me, raised two fingers in an urgent gesture. What could he mean by that? Alone at last. . .As I lowered my hideaway bed, I was startled by a soft knock on the door. My clock read 2:00 a.m. Who on earth? Cautiously I opened the door a few inches and was face to face with Neal, suitcase in hand. I ardently wished I had not lowered that bed.—Carolyn Cassady, Off the Road

It’s been such a pleasure getting to know you, Carolyn. When I told my husband—that first morning I heard from you—whom I was replying to, he said, “Great! She was always my favorite character in On the Road. I thought she was the only one with any sense.”

Well, bless yo husband—though I didn’t think Camille got a look in, really. And what a howl! Sal sees this “white thigh in black lace”! Sorry, I don’t think so!

[laughing] Let’s talk about being the “only one in On The Road with any sense.” You are known as the woman who was “married” to both Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady simultaneously.

And Kerouac didn’t write anything about the time we spent together when he came to Denver. In those days of the late forties and early fifties, it “wasn’t done.” You couldn’t write about fancying your best friend’s girl, and later he couldn’t write about having an affair with his best friend’s wife! Goodness, no! But—when it gets to the sixties and he writes Big Sur, he is quite comfortable telling how Evelyn had two husbands at the same time. How times change!

The San Francisco men I’ve known who idolized Jack and Neal imitated the misogyny they saw in On the Road. And in As Ever, Allen Ginsberg tells Neal: “I call Jack up to tell him come over and meet this here girl, and he says I only fuck girls and learn from men. . .So I starts writing him poison pen postcards (anonymous) saying that’s why your so dumb.”

It is so strange you think Kerouac was misogynist! His remarks—like the one you quoted about girls—were always taken so seriously, yet he never had any set opinions. You ask a question, get an answer. Ask the same question ten minutes later and get a totally different one.

I can’t see misogyny in OTR, either. At any rate, the men I knew of that generation, especially those raised as Catholic, were all very respectful of women—something the feminists abhor. I loved having car doors opened for me and chairs pulled out, et cetera. When you read my book, you will find a letter to me from Ginsberg in which he tells what Jack thought of me. Hardly misogyny.

So, so, so many misunderstandings.

Like the ”Beat Generation.” No such thing. A phenomenon invented by the media and promoted by Ginsberg. But Kerouac kept saying, “I didn’t have anything to do with all that.” He was forced into it and had to play along, but he hated it. Neal, of course, was totally out of it. The big boys, like Burroughs, disliked this “jail kid” “conman” who hadn’t been to University and didn’t write poetry. Of course, he had read far more than any of them and had a photographic memory as well as an over-the-top IQ. And no ego (Catholic miserable worm of a sinner).

Another opinion is that Jack was tied to [his mother] Memere’s apron strings. I see it quite differently. Actually, he was hardly ever with her, was he? I think that because he was so sensitive, so painfully self-conscious, she was the only person he could be with and just let himself go and be totally himself. She drank and swore, so they could carouse together and not worry who cared. Yes, he loved her—like the madonna, but he didn’t want to live with her for long.

I was going to say I was amused on that website where I found you that some guy said it had never been established if Neal and Jack had a sexual relationship. It is so weird to me that everyone these days seems to think if two of the same sex are loving friends, sex has to be involved.

Ginsberg’s sexual interest in Neal is documented in As Ever, as well as Neal’s love for Ginsberg and his ambivalence about having sex with him (“I’m a lazy punk. . .to allow my elusive cherry to escape from you. . .I love all—sex—yes all. . .In despair I cry ‘Allen, Allen, will you let me splatter my come at you?’”). I think people’s curiosity about sex between Neal and Kerouac is based on Neal’s relationship with Ginsberg.

When I grew up every guy—and gal—had a “best buddy.” Both my brothers did. Then, of course, no one I knew had ever heard of homosexuality. Neal and Jack couldn’t have been more hetero. If Jack got too drunk he could be found in a man’s bed (like Gore Vidal—who elaborated his story after Jack’s death, but I know Jack could never have been the aggressor). Neal, however, gave or sold favors, but he didn’t like it. [Carolyn's book shows no homosexual overtones in Neal's relationship with Jack, although they do appear in Neal's relationship with Allen.]

Jack’s and Neal’s and Allen’s writing, in large part, revolves around the search for identity. In the process of exploring their identities, though, they obscured your own behind the myths of Camille, Evelyn, and St. Carolyn by the Sea. If you could say it in a nutshell: who are you really?

Wasn’t it common and the usual complaint that women were not as important as men—to men, anyway? I refer you to the letter Allen sent me telling what Jack said about me. Of course, that didn’t get into his books. Jack couldn’t write about me much for fear of offending Neal. He wrote several books about his other women—not exactly obscuring them.

I was the stable “mother”/lover. All these men I knew wanted a conventional home eventually, and I furnished that meantime. Have you ever read Allen’s description of his wedding, marriage, and family?

Yes, in your book. It’s beautiful. But of course Allen never married.

“To gratify her is simple enuf as it consists of fantasy words” —Neal wrote this to Allen about Diana Hansen, the woman he was bigamously married to while still married to you. In a separate letter to Allen after Jack married Joan, Neal analyzed his own impulses to marry with amazing lucidity. To what extent do you think lying was a guilty compulsion of Neal’s, and to what extent do you think he knew exactly what he was doing and simply felt no remorse?

Neal could always tell people what they wanted to hear, even if he wasn’t sincere.

You must realize Neal had never known a traditional marriage or family life. I had been raised in an extreme Victorian milieu. So many of his actions were simply a lack of conditioning or any understanding of what was expected. Of course, he’d read a lot of books about marriage, but most of those weren’t exactly perfect in a traditional sense. He was the most compassionate man I’ve ever met, so it was ignorance of my expectations and needs, I think.

Do you think now that it’s better to stay in such a marriage or to get out sooner rather than later? Would your opinion be different if you were convinced the lying partner was an exceptional human being, in spite of their severe problems?

My book answers why I stayed in that marriage—[metaphysics advisor] Elsie Sechrist. But now I see it was all for the good. I learned lessons I would never have learned from another. And I believed in vows. I had married for life. One needn’t take vows, but I believe if you do you must stick to them. Of course, Neal had no concept of such a thing. And yes, I had no doubt he was an exceptional human being, but a split personality.

What did his “diagnosis” as sociopathic mean to you as his wife and mother of his children?

That condemnation that he was sociopathic by the ignorant journalist—I knew better, and it hurt him deeply, being so committed to becoming worthy and respectable. He was certainly responsible: never out of a job, would work at anything, supported a family for ten years. Then when that got a bit boring, with his need for adventure and his need to prove he was lovable, he led his double life.

He did not abandon his family. I forced him to, and he never gave us up. I think it is possible he had manic-depressive tendencies or was. His deep depressions seemed to occur when he was away from me, and he would write to Jack about them, but I wasn’t aware of them.

Was Neal the great love of your life?

Yes, Neal was the great and only love of my life—then. When I met him, I knew he was the one. Our karma, as we were to learn. And why we got into metaphysics. I told you Helen Hinkle felt the same, although she wasn’t into metaphysics either and thought it all hogwash.

Do you still miss him?

Yes, I miss him. I am friends with his first wife and his last mistress of eight years, and we all miss him. As do his children.

You’ve also said you were the great love of Jack’s life. How much was friendship—your husband’s best friend—and proximity—he often lived in your house—and simply sexual attraction between healthy young adults? And how much was romance, romantic love?

It began as a survival tactic. Alas, Neal didn’t “make love”—he just used your body to masturbate, actually. He was never into kissing or caressing or foreplay. [Neal's last mistress] Anne Maxwell agreed, but she was turned on inside, so she didn’t mind. I wasn’t.

Tut, tut, tut. I needed affection. I never had any cuddling as a child nor much approval. (Is that an excuse?)

I didn’t consider Jack a good bet as a husband. He had never had to be responsible and had no responsibilities when we knew him. I knew he had to be free in order to write, much as he longed for marriage and a family. So we were his surrogate family. He kept assuming I would marry him, and in that one letter he says, “Carolyn, your life with me would have been awful,” or words to that effect, assuming I wanted a life with him.

It’s a good thing I didn’t go to Mexico and that’s why he suddenly split, knowing he wouldn’t want me to go back to Neal. [Carolyn once agreed to take a vacation from her family to meet Jack in Mexico, but didn't go, and soon heard from Jack that he'd stopped waiting for her and gone home.]

All in Divine Order, see? Crazy karma.

How did your love for Neal and your love for Jack fit together, in your life and in your mind and in your heart?

I learned our hearts are big enough to love more than one, if in different ways.

Jack and Neal, in spite of so much in common, were quite different men. Jack was more sentimental, gentle and romantic. As I said, I was sexually inhibited, but that’s the price I paid for affection and, in Jack’s case, romance. Neal, who loved everyone and never criticized or judged, always wanted to share everything he loved with those he loved.

He could be jealous—and possessive too—at times. Once his, always his. He never gave up [his first wife] LuAnne in his heart. I could understand that when I allowed myself to love Jack, too.

Ah, sex. Testosterone rules the world. All these married women who turn off after they have kids don’t understand a man’s needs, apparently. Most of my lovers were married.

The writer Jane Bowles fielded a phone call in Tangier from Allen (she called him “a boy”) when he arrived there to visit Bill Burroughs. He was looking for her husband, Paul Bowles, and during the call asked Jane whether she knew “about twenty-five men” whom she didn’t know. She responded to each query with increasing levels of, “Oy weh!” until he finally asked her whether or not she believed in God. She called them the “Zen Buddhist-Bebop-Jesus Christ-Peyote group.”

I knew of the Bowleses, but I was—and am—so opposed to drug use, I never got with them. I think I have a documentary somewhere showing him reading.

But, you see, I keep getting classed with these people, because I knew Jack intimately for twenty-two years, Neal for twenty-one, and Ginsberg for fifty. But I had been raised so sheltered by strict Victorian parents, I was totally ignorant of any street wisdom. Of course, in time I learned that’s why Neal married me—a status symbol for his lifelong quest to become worthy and “respectable.” I didn’t figure that out for many, many years, however.

Jack didn’t drink much when he lived with us. He’d have a half-bottle “poor boy” he drank before he slept or when alone, but Neal couldn’t drink anything but a beer or two. He was not alcoholic, as reported. Hard liquor made him deathly ill, and wine reminded him of his Dad.

So I keep learning how other women my age—like Joyce Johnson and Helen Weaver—were living and am gobsmacked! ( I love that English expression!) All three of these guys I knew really longed for the conventional home I provided, knowing no other, and were always happy in it. (Until I banished Ginsberg—we all make mistakes.)

I am old-fashioned in all my ways and tastes.

You say in your book that Jack was very close to your children. What about his own daughter, Jan? She wrote three books and then died in her forties of hard living, just like her father. What do you make of him denying she was his the way he did?

Yes, Jan Kerouac died many years ago. I have to keep battling the opinions people assume about Jack, never having known him. I know exactly why he dismissed Jan. Jack had these devout opinions on how to raise kids (I often got hints). He intended to have a family when he could support them properly through his writing. When Jan came along, he couldn’t, and there was no way he could give up his freedom and take care of her. He had to be free! It was such a very painful decision for him, but he just couldn’t face being tied down, so he pretended she wasn’t his.

She was very friendly to me, wrote to me, visited me, wrote a poem to me, all before she became so ill. Poor dislocated girl. I knew Edie, his first wife, very well—a real weirdo.

You don’t mention much in your book about Jack’s wives, simply that Joan was his second and Stella his third. (“Jacky! Jacky! Stop. . .”)

Edie was a nut case. I have letters from her that are incredible—they begin with no greeting, so you wonder if it’s the first page, and they are pretty hysterical. When she was at the Boulder festival she rented a room she filled with paintings—obviously by a well-trained painter and signed even. Edie insisted they were by Jack. (She didn’t sell any.) She also had one of his letters copied in the hundreds, because it began with “my only wife.” The last night of the seminar she passed them out to everyone in the amphitheater. She went to his funeral as his “wife.” Funny lady.

I never met Joan. Jan tried to get us together, but Joan said, “I don’t want to know that blonde who stole my husband.”

I also never met Stella, but we corresponded while I was writing the book, and she was very friendly until she read in Ann Charters’ biography that I had said [Jack's sister] Nin killed herself. So she got furious and even sent me a copy of the death certificate. I tried to tell her I never said that, Jack did, and I’d told him I didn’t believe him. Stella said, “Ask Allen.” I did, and Allen said Jack had told him that, too. But Stella believed Ann and not me, so she refused to allow me to publish Jack’s letters. Thanks, Ann.

That’s what put my book on the shelf for twenty years. No one suggested paraphrasing then. The Doubleday office in San Francisco closed, and I lost my great editor there. (He had originally asked me to write the book after Jack died because the journalists were so ignorant of him. Luther Nichols had had a talk show and interviewed Jack, Allen, and Neal, and so knew them.)

Jack did so want a family and a wife, but he was so impractical and when drunk so romantic. Or that’s where Joan came in. Edie he married to get out of jail, and Stella to take care of Memere. He kept proposing to me, but I knew Jack wasn’t husband material yet. He had to be free, and he was no provider, which he knew. Neal was a good provider and loved his kids. We made him “respectable.”

Jack really loved all the women he loved—he, like Neal, loved everyone and always so lonely and horny—well, what the hey.

You say, “knowing Jack’s convictions toward women” when you discuss his sudden marriage to Joan. What specific convictions were you talking about?

I thought I was writing about Jack’s convictions about bringing up children, not women—that’s confused.

We were dumbfounded that he married Joan so impulsively, but he was always lonely and kept hoping to find a mate. And by then the drink was increasing. He was never practical, anyway, but a creature of dreams. Pisces. Neal and I had logical minds and were “from Missouri.” If it didn’t work to improve things—never mind. We needed help! Jack was more mystical and completely illogical or unrealistic, believing in visions and impulses.

You’ve talked about how Catholicism gave Neal the sense of being a “miserable worm of a sinner” and Jack a “madonna/whore” complex (so that you thought he really enjoyed sex best with prostitutes). Do you think they’d have lived different lives if they hadn’t been raised in the Catholic Church?

Yes, I’m afraid the Catholic Church has a lot to answer for through the ages. It isn’t Christ-ianity, it’s Church-ianity. Has no relation whatsoever to Jesus’ life or teachings, yet they still call Him their Lord. Well, don’t get me started. Everyone I know, including [her son] John’s first wife, who were raised Catholic have been so conditioned by their evil teaching, they never get over being guilty and unworthy.

Jesus said,”Ye are Gods! Anything I can do you can,” or words to that effect, since we all have the same Spirit within. “The kingdom of heaven is within you.” Well. Enough.

But yes, I’m sure their lives would have been different without all that guilt—which they never got over. The Church gets them so young, and with all that glitter, candles, colorful costumes, they get brain-washed and indoctrinated before they can even think. So the more they enjoyed sex, et cetera, the guiltier they felt. There’s the constant dichotomy and struggle against human desires and so-called spiritual guilt. Although both Neal and Jack learned to disbelieve and turned to other religions, that guilt stuck.

Neal was ecstatic about finding Jesus again through our metaphysical studies. And we studied Jesus’ earlier lives and his long training to become the perfect man and show us how (the Wayshower). Which the Catholics destroyed. Enough!

You refused to mortgage your house in order to post Neal’s bail when he went to San Quentin, in spite of his intense pressure. Was it paranoia on your part? Or do you think you were correct in suspecting if you bailed him out, he’d disappear, and you and the children would become homeless?

Yes, I think that’s clear in my book. After all, he had twice thrown away our savings. The first time it was the money being saved for the ranch—nine hundred dollars. And the second time it was the investments.

Neal had no experience or interest in money—that is, no idea of planning for future security. I did all the taxes, insurance, mortgage (we always had a mortgage), since he hadn’t a clue. I had to learn, too, because I’d had no knowledge or experience with any finances as I grew up. So, all that money sitting in a bank haunted him. Money to him was to spend! A real novelty for him. And, of course, he always had the best of intentions and had figured it all out carefully so that he satisfied himself he would pay it all back. The road to hell. And, yes, I think he never did forgive me, really.

You have said you found Jack’s work difficult to read because you could tell when he was being false. I certainly have that experience when reading the work of writers I know well and love. Can you pinpoint specific examples?

Honey lamb—now that the archivists have taken away his books I had, I can’t possibly re-read them to give examples of what I accuse him of. Sorry. Seems to me it would be obvious to most people. Maybe not if one is so enamored of him and his writing.

Philip Hensher in the Telegraph, UK mentioned recently how pleased he was when he “rudely” denigrated Allen Ginsberg’s work in a review and received a long, furious letter from Allen in return. People sometimes feel free to treat celebrities like zoo animals, poking them just to get a reaction. You were quite a young woman during your years with Neal and Jack and have lived with their legacy nearly all your life. How has their fame affected you?

Some of the notice I’ve received from being involved with these guys has been very rewarding, and I’ve met a lot of interesting people because of it. As the years go on, however, I do get very tired of having to go over the same ground again and again.

Was Jack’s fame what killed him—did he he really drink himself to death because he couldn’t take the pressure?

Jack had extreme sensitivity, self-consciousness, paranoia—and complete disillusion to have not been considered a literary star, like Hemingway, just a hedonist. The cruelty of the journalists, the total misunderstanding by the young. . .He did vow to drink himself to death—he wasn’t your ordinary alcoholic.

Neal and I learned the purpose of life together; Jack never did. “We’re all gonna die.”

You never married again after Neal died. Why?

Hard as it is for me to comprehend, I never, ever after Neal met any man remotely suitable, unless he was married or gay. But then, I doubt another husband would like to live with a wife who was constantly forced to talk about her first one. Still, I never thought I’d end up alone.

If you could go back and live your life differently, would you? Or is this the life you’d have chosen for yourself?

I believe we choose the life we need, so I must have chosen this one. I regret quite a lot, but if I didn’t learn a lesson offered, I’ll get another chance—some other way.

Well, you asked.

Carolyn Cassady is the widow of Neal Cassady, Dean Moriarty, and Cody Pomeroy, and author of Off the Road: Twenty Years with Kerouac, Cassady, and Ginsberg, The Overlook Press, USA, 2008; Black Springs Press Ltd., UK, 2007. She can be reached through her website.

Carolyn & Neal, 1947

In July of 2009, I posted Part 1 of my interview with writer and literary figure, Carolyn Cassady. I’m very pleased now to be posting Gobsmacked! Part 2.

Carolyn, according to popular legend Jack Kerouac taped a bunch of sheets of paper together (in some versions it’s a roll of paper) and stuck them in his typewriter and sat down and typed out On the Road. However, in your book you mention him having found the paper already taped together (in Bill Cannastra’s apartment?). You also remember him discussing how to end On the Road after that particular manuscript was done, working on scenes for On the Road in your and Neal’s attic in San Francisco, and then spending weeks editing the manuscript with his Viking Press editor Malcolm Cowley. And you’ve read the transcribed version of the ’scroll’ manuscript. How much of On the Road really was written on that single scroll, and how much did Jack work over that original material before he got the final manuscript?

I didn’t know anything about the paper taped together, since Jack did that when he returned to New York. (There is definite identification of the kind of paper—I can’t tell you, ’cause I don’t care. I have seen that scroll three times.) The published version probably tells the true type. Do you want me to look it up? The editor sent me two copies; he was my editor, too.

When Jack was writing it at our house, he just used ordinary typing paper—hence his decision later to paste pages together. I really knew only what Jack wrote in his letters to us, and I wasn’t that into it. There are myriad changes in the published book from what he wrote in the scroll.

You were educated in drama and the art of costume and once went to Hollywood for a job that you eventually turned down because you had Cathy. And then there you were in Hollywood years later, when you were involved in Heart Beat, the movie version of a published excerpt from your book. Your son John has said that he fell in love with Sissy Spacek, who tried her best to salvage that movie. Can you tell us stories about that time?

Ah, the film Heart Beat.

When I lived in Los Gatos, there was a monthly PBS television show called TVTV. It was just an hour, but they were the most wonderful shows I’ve ever seen. So this guy came to see me, saying he was a member of that bunch. I don’t know how he learned I was such a fan. I learned later he’d only been a technician for them. Being ignorant, I was sure they’d do a good job. I learned afterward that this guy’s whole purpose was to “get into the majors,” and he used me to do it. I was ripped off over and over—the lawyer they paid—so many big contracts and all broken, since they knew I wasn’t able to sue Warner Brothers. Actually, it was Orion’s very first film.

And I read in Newsweek a year later that TVTV had disbanded a year before, so in spite of the contract, stationery, sign over the office door, there was no such company.

I had seen Sissy Spacek only once in a PBS series of one-hour dramas. I was so impressed with her, I looked at the credits to find her name. Sissy had read my entire 1143-page manuscript, as it was then. Her husband said she’d cry and want to call me, she loved it so much. So when she asked them to let her play the part, they asked me what I thought of her. I told them I’d love it if she would.

Well, to skip a bit. They hired this guy, John Byrum, to write the script and later to direct, even though he never had before and Lazlo Kovacs did most of it. The script was absolutely horrible and the opposite of how we were or did. Byrum had just seen Jules and Jim and was going to do his own. (They even considered making T-shirts with “Jules and Jim go to Northbeach,” but didn’t. Big joke.) But to the producer here was Byrum, a guy with a “foot in the door” of the majors, and he could ride on him. So he did. He produced later, thanks to me, A Fish Called Wanda, and I don’t know what else. His name was Michael Shamberg.

I met John Byrum, and he was so charming and funny—he snowed everyone he met, including Orion. He had produced a number of films with top actors, all of which were always voted the worst of the year. This he’d tell us as a funny joke. Don’t ask me to explain Hollywood.

As I say, the script was infantile. I wrote poison pen letters all summer trying to get changes, without success. I told them Allen would hate it; they said he’d love it. He told them to erase his name and every mention of him, the script was so terrible. They wanted LuAnne’s address, but she was written as just meat, so I refused. The actress who played her even said she wouldn’t have said some of the lines written for the part.

This was Orion’s first film, and Byrum snowed them, too. They were going to open it at Christmas with the publicity they gave Superman, and Sissy would win the Academy Award, for sure.

Okay, so I failed to get any changes made. So I said, “Well, now that you’ve ruined my life, the least you can do is let me follow you around—I’ll tape my mouth shut—and watch a movie being made.” They agreed, and that’s how I got to know Sissy so well. We were together for six weeks, as well as Annie Liebovitz, who was also onboard. Annie even spent the afternoon and night with my family in Los Gatos while shooting me. She had already done that for an article in the Rolling Stone years before. She has tons of photos of me, but she’s never shown any. Boof. I’m not that famous. We all loved her dearly, however.

When Sissy read the script, she, too, was horrified and did her best, as did Jack Fisk, her husband and production designer. He filmed every inch of my home, thinking it would be shot there. No. But he did his damndest to reproduce it for the film.

In the script we only had one child. I told Byrum everyone knew we had three. He said, “Oh, but the cost!” I said, “You don’t have to show them all!” Well, Sissy was having none of it. She interviewed over 200 kids and chose two little girls who looked almost exactly like my two at those ages. And they got a baby for John.

Annie had told me that everyone on the set (they shot some in Hollywood before I joined them) and all the crew were so excited to do this film. Ha. Not the one they had to do in the end—but it was a super crew. Lazlo the cinematographer, Jack Nietzche did the score, and we had the best of others. Alas.

Anyway, I had a great time traveling from San Jose to Hollywood to San Francisco all those weeks, staying in the best hotels. (I sneaked [my daughter] Jami into the Japanese one in San Francisco [with a Japanese bath]—the only way to bathe.) The last two weeks in Hollywood they let the kids come for a couple of weeks and entertained them, too. I lived in an apartment in a building that young actors used just above Hollywood Boulevard and even drove to Culver City every day—avoiding the freeways. We all did Halloween on Hollywood Boulevard. Fantastic.

Nick Nolte played Neal, and he came right to me when we met, saying he knew he wasn’t as light on his feet or as speedy as Neal, but he’d try to convey that energy otherwise. He was born on Neal’s birthday, and they had much in common—very kind and compassionate. He had already researched Neal some for his role in Who’ll Stop the Rain/Dog Soldiers which has a character based partly on Neal. He helped John Heard [who played Jack Kerouac], a New York actor who felt awkward in Los Angeles and avoided me for two weeks until Nick convinced him I wouldn’t bite. Then we got along fine. He was a lot more like Jack in real life than on the screen. Another story.

I did have a good time. One time, though, only Sissy and I were at a location in Golden Gate Park (where the three of us had never gone together). She had just done a scene in which she and Jack are kanoodling on a bench and Neal is playing with the children. When she got in the station wagon, I said, “Sissy, I know I promised not to say anything, but that scene was really hard for me to watch. You see, Jack and I both loved Neal and never would we have behaved like that in front of him.” She said, “Oh, my God!” and burst into tears. Then we went to another location, and she had to do it all over again.

I think Sissy had the only temper tantrums in her career on that movie, and they were doozies. On the evening they were to film the publication party of On the Road, they had two long library tables in the hallway outside the party with two rows on each of champagne glasses—filled. Sissy threw over both of them. They set them up again, and she did it again. Next morning she said she had to give up; it was hopeless.

Okay, I think that’s the high spots. After the wrap party (Sissy and Jack only stayed a few minutes), she invited me and the kids to their mountain-top home for brunch the next day, which we did. (I have a plastic mold of her face I want to get cast but don’t know how.)

While Sissy was making this film, she was approached to do Coal Miner’s Daughter. She hesitated, because it would mean her playing the fifth live woman in a row. Still, we know she accepted.

The premier of Heart Beat was shown in Denver, and I stayed at the same hotel where I met Neal. After the show, the Orion guys drove me there in their limo. It was like a hearse. One of them asked me if I liked it. I said, “Do I have to answer that?” So they, too, had been snowed by Byrum. They pulled all the publicity, postponed the opening until 1980, the next year, and it opened in a few obscure towns.

Coal Miner’s Daughter was done as mine should have been. Sissy did win the Academy Award for that. I guess Loretta had more clout than I. We had the same lawyer, although I never met her. But Sissy would call me up from Nashville, knowing I’d lived there, and ask me about my time there. Then she’d call and say, “Loretta an’ I were jus’ talkin’ bout you.” because we all believed in astrology and such like. She was such a sweetie. Invited me to their ranch in West Virginia, but I never made it.

I met Byrum years later in New York and asked how he was doing. He said, “Well, I did three TV pilots, all of which flopped, but Paramount has just given me two million and a studio.”

Can anyone understand H’wood? Don’t know what he’s done since. Hopeless.

What a story, Carolyn! Good grief. No wonder you eventually left California. You gave up the house in Monte Sereno, where you had lived first with Neal and Jack and later without either of them for many years, and moved to England in the early 1980s. Why England?

London is the greatest city in the world for K.U.L.T.C.H.U.R.—of which California is devoid now. Europe so close. In my sixties and seventies I traveled all over—Spain a lot, Germany, France, Denmark, Sweden many times, Russia four times. Now, alas, the body has let me down.

How I envy you for building your house—one of my lifelong frustrated dreams. Ah, yes. Although I know Mendocino a bit—I lived in and then near San Francisco from 1947 to 1983—I ran away from home when I was sixty.

What is it about travel that draws you?

I had read so much and had geography and European history in school, so I was always interested in Europe and England.

Jack and Neal traveled only on this continent, becoming icons of American rather than international travel. Were they drawn to travel for the same reasons that you are?

Neal wasn’t interested in travel—just driving.

Did you ever accompany them on their road trips?

The only trip I accompanied them on was the one when we went to Tennessee and dropped Jack off in Nogales. I had kids, y’know. So I didn’t get to do any until they were grown. I had lived all over the USA, though. When I was 11-12 my Dad took me, Mom, and my sisters on a tour of the US, going the southern route and returning on the northern. Boy, how different things were then, and I’ll always be grateful.

Let’s talk about what you know about dealing with tragedy. Your life in the limelight has, in large parts, been tragic. As a young woman, you lived through WWII. The two men you loved most when you were young died in their forties.

The worst time of my life was during the war when I was an Occupational Therapist at an Army hospital in Palm Springs. I became a victim/slave to a psychotic officer who ran the place. No one would believe me when I tried to tell them about him. I even wrote it all up as fiction, but anyone who read it didn’t believe it, either. My parents visited me, and he charmed them so much my Mom didn’t believe what I tried to tell her, and they wouldn’t save me. Later when he came home with me after the war they learned he was nuts. I could have been killed then, and they knew it, but I escaped. So Dad felt bad and let me stay home the next year to recover. Also my partner gal in OT was in love with me and tried to kill me one night.

So to me that was real tragedy. Nothing that bad at all with Neal.

What do you know, as a human who’s lived through the things you have, about life and tragedy that might help others?

When Ginsberg decided to resent me the last 10 years of his life, it made me sad, because he had been so kind for so long, but I figured it was his problem, and I refused to take it on. (One of his last poems is, “Why do I still resent Carolyn?” I wish he’d thought of that earlier. But that was that.)

Tragedy is how you look at things. I believed the metaphysics we studied, so nothing was ‘tragic’ after that. Karma. I must say I wish some psychic could tell me why I went through that and what for! We are here to learn from our mistakes, and we never get any more than we can handle. But one needs to believe that and know how to combat it.

It took me a long time, but I’m grateful I learned from Neal that no one and nothing can hurt you if you don’t accept it. It is our response that hurts us, and we always have a choice as to that.

That was the most valuable thing I learned then.

Carolyn Cassady is the widow of Neal Cassady, Dean Moriarty, and Cody Pomeroy, and author of Off the Road: Twenty Years with Kerouac, Cassady, and Ginsberg, The Overlook Press, USA, 2008; Black Springs Press Ltd., UK, 2007. She can be reached through her website.

I met Craig Bartlett in 1980 on the The Evergreen State College Cooper Point Journal, where he was staff cartoonist and photographer and I was production manager. We were young, barely 20, and following in the footsteps of Matt Groening and Lynda Barry, who’d been running the Cooper Point Journal just the year before—it was a wonderful, exhilarating time.

Craig had studied art in Portland, Oregon, and Italy before switching to cartoons at TESC. He went on to be on the forefront of pioneering claymation at Will Vinton Studios in Portland (California Raisins) before moving to Hollywood to work on Pee-Wee’s Playhouse, Sesame Street, Rugrats, and Ren and Stimpy, among other projects. He made two classic claymation shorts, Arnold Escapes From Church and Arnold Rides his Chair for the International Animation Tournee. In 1994 he developed Arnold into a full-length animated TV series, Hey, Arnold!, which ran on Nickelodeon until 2002 and culminated in Hey, Arnold! The Movie. Craig is also the author of a line of children’s books based on episodes of Hey, Arnold!

Now Craig has just launched his second cartoon series as creator/executive producer, Dinosaur Train, a preschool animation on PBS for the Jim Henson Company. It premiered just a few weeks ago, on Labor Day, 2009, and immediately became the number 1 series on the PBS Kids website, averaging 5 million streaming requests per week.

V: Thank you for joining us today, Craig. Congratulations on Dinosaur Train!

C: Thank you. It’s so nice to hear your voice after all this time.

V: Yours, too. Wow, it’s been a lot of years.

C: I just found a picture from back then, the other day. This friend and I were in Safeway, in Olympia, and there was a polaroid camera display, you know? a demonstration camera—and we had just grabbed these huge geoducks shrink-wrapped in plastic, and we were clowning with them.

V: [laughing] That’s right—geoducks! I didn’t know they sold them in Safeway.

C: I know! I forgot too!

V: That was such a terrific job on that newspaper. I’d sit there every Wednesday, people coming in and out, and at some point you’d walk in and throw a bunch of brand-new cartoons on my desk. Every week, I tried to talk our editors into running a whole edition of just your cartoons. Seriously. They’d say, “We can’t!” and I’d say, “We’re a student paper. Of course we can!” But they wouldn’t. So I’d get to sort through what you’d brought and pick out just the ones I absolutely loved best. I wanted your originals because I knew someday you’d be big. I loved Norm Normal.

C: You know, I think I do have all those original Norm Normals. Drawn on that hilarious blueline paper. Remember? And when we shot them with that big camera to make copies for the newspaper, the blue lines would drop out?

V: The process camera. Yes. That’s what I did after I left Evergreen—I did typesetting and ran a process camera up in Washington for years. But you, you got out. How was that?

C: Yeah. I’ve been in LA for, let’s see—has it been twenty-one years now? I came down to work on Pee-Wee’s Playhouse. That was such a great introduction to Hollywood. We were making the Penny cartoons at two different locations in the two years—two seasons, I think, that was it—one was a warehouse out in Chatsworth, and one was a warehouse at the beach. It was a little neighborhood in Marina del Rey, a bunch of warehouses just a few blocks from the beach. We were happy to go there! By that time I had moved to LA, but it was kind of you-can’t-get-there-from-here, that awful cross-town traffic. But I loved going to the beach. The beaches were empty, it was November when the LA winter kind of starts, the sky in the winter gets softer and prettier. I loved being there.

V: I remember when you moved. I wrote and asked your permission to run something of yours that I had, and you said yeah, sure, we’re moving to LA, there’s a lot of exciting stuff going on there.

C: Wow. Yeah, there was. It’s an interesting thing about life. It’s long. You make decisions. . .A lot of my goals I had when I was younger I’ve had to revise.

V: Do you like LA?

C: I do. I went up to Washington and visited my dad recently and took my daughter to the University of Washington in Tacoma and really liked it. You know—there’s that train station that’s now a courthouse, there are all these Victorian buildings. Have you seen that? The University of Washington has built a campus there. I was like, “What?”

[laughing] I have it in my DNA to love that climate. My kids, even though they grew up in LA, have the DNA to like it, too.

But I really do feel like Southern California has worked its voo-doo on me. I love the life, I love the people.

V: What about Hollywood, what everyone says about the shallow Hollywood life?

C: Most of my friends are extremely cynical about Hollywood, so we keep a healthy contempt for the whole thing. But if you’re going to do the work I’m doing, you do kind of have to be here, you have to be in people’s faces, they have to see you from time to time.

There’s a really interesting phenomenon we had with the Canadian actors on Dinosaur Train, because PBS didn’t have the budget, the Jim Henson Company didn’t have the budget, to pay the residuals (all my old stuff was with SAG [Screen Actors Guild] actors), so it was like, you had to go to Canada.

Before, you’d just pop down to the studio half a mile from the office. “But now I’ve got to go to Canada? It’s going to be insane!”

But it turned out the actors from Vancouver were so great, and the whole process was made such a lovely experience for me by the Canadians, and now I love it. I think, you know, I could move and do the production just to be there.

V: I remember when they were making the X-Files in Vancouver, but I never knew why.

C: It’s union. Actors can be in a union in Vancouver, but Canada offers a buy-out, one fee for the performance, and it includes their scale fee, but also an additional amount so you don’t have to pay residuals ever. Which works really well for the producers, and the actors like it because it pays better. To be contracted to do eighty shows like we did for Dinosaur Train—my god, the Canadian actors love us, of course! “That‘ll pay the bills!”

It’s a fun relationship to me—to have that kind of out-of-town aspect being part of the job description, to go up there for part of our gig. It’s fun!

V: And you can see your family in Washington.

C: Yeah. I can just hop in my rental car and zoom down.

V: Do you see a new Hollywood maybe appearing in Vancouver?

C: They’re always trying to. Vancouver, Seattle, Portland, they all think, “How can we make it so we can permanently have production going on? To live here full-time and do work for the entertainment business?”

V: I’m working with an Indian author on a novel about Bollywood right now, and I didn’t realize before how big Bollywood is, what serious money there is there. I thought it was supposed to be kind of silly.

C: They do! They make more features a year than Hollywood does. So of course they want some respect. It’s amazing—a lot of those theaters in India are stand-up, there are no seats, so they can dance when the inevitable dances come up. A Bollywood movie has like six or eight songs, and they know, “Oh, here’s the song, it’s time for us to dance.”

There’s animation going on in Mumbai, too—Bombay. A ton of the world’s animation has moved, from first us, then to Korea and Japan, and now more than ever Bollywood, in Mumbai.

V: It’s incredible what’s going on internationally these days. The computer industry has relocated a huge amount of their documentation departments to India because of all the computer stuff going on there now.

C: Start up production in India? Maybe.

We’re using an animation company in Signapore for Dinosaur Train. My producer and art director and storyboard artist, all, right now have just left Singapore to look at the Philippines. They’re meeting with people in Manila about possibly doing production there.

Everyone has to come up with their own way of packaging what they’ve got, to be in charge of it. Because if you’re one of the component parts, and your job is out-sourced, the packagers—LA is full of that, the marketers—they’re fine with it, they’re like, “India? Fine!”

Do you know about Skype? So cool! We’re doing our recordings from Canada via Skype, good ole free Internet connection. The important thing is you have to have a high-definition phone line to listen. And then of course the real audio is being recorded on a real digital line and being sent down to you. How cool is that? They’re even in our time zone! It’s nine in the morning there, it’s nine in the morning here.

I think that’s brilliant. It’s kind of the twentyfirst-century promise that was made to us in the first place, what the US has to export to the rest of the world is communication. We’re not making cars anymore, but we’re making the latest cool way to communicate.

V: Craig, you’re a professional storyteller. Dinosaur Train is your second show you’ve created and produced yourself, in addition to all the shows you’ve created, written, directed. And you’ve got all those Hey, Arnold! books. What’s the most important aspect, for you, to telling a story?

C: In the case of Hey Arnold! it was more wide-open, it was anything that could happen to a kid. This show, though, Dinosaur Train, has a lot more rules. We know Buddy [the protagonist] will have to take the train somehow. I mean, we even did a few episodes out of the eighty episodes where they never got on the train. But we know kids have expectations: “I’ve got to get some train time in.” We know there are certain givens, but beyond that it ends up being about the characters.

V: So it’s the characters?

C: Yeah, it’s the characters. You’re trying to make an eleven-minute cartoon, so it’s not really long enough for three acts. We think, “What do we like about these characters that we want to continue to explore?” In the case of this show, who these characters are and what makes them go is still the most important thing. It couldn’t be simpler than the archetypical characters:

Don’s the funny, the kind of “dumb” one, like everyone gets it and then a second later he gets it and laughs. It’s really useful to have someone who’ll go along with anything, who has that kind of innocence.

I think the most fun characters are the two sisters, who are much more leaders, much more intelligent, shrewd. (I was the third kid after two older sisters, so I have the two alpha approaches to being a girl in these characters, like my sisters did). Like role-playing of who did what: one of them’s the alpha princess who thinks she’s always right even when she’s often not, and the other is more in-your-face, modeling kind of more kid behavior.

The advantage I have over people writing fiction is I have these real actors who’re going to come in and do these scenes. We were writing eighty episodes, just blasting them out, just blasting through the whole production in nine months, and I could hear their voices really early on. I could picture persuading the actors to do this or that. They were really good, just naturals. I would just think of those characters and their voices and how they sound. And we were off to the races!

It came out really fast and quickly, the storytelling was made very easy. We knew what we were doing.

We don’t base our characters on real people, but we might use things someone said, the way people speak. We did that in Hey Arnold! Even though there were human characters—they were a lot more realistic than the characters on Dinosaur Train—we sort of had particular people in mind.

V: That’s a huge issue in fiction: “How close to the bone can you cut in basing a character on a real person?” What’s the difference between, oh. . .

C: Authenticity.

V:. . .exactly, authenticity and, you know, libel?

C: The first thing we came up with on Hey, Arnold! was premises of what could happen. Then we’d write up the premises and get them approved, and real often at that stage it was something that had happened to one of us as a kid. But then of course the characters got distorted all out of recognition. It’s not like you’re trying to change it to avoid libel, it’s that if we really played it like that it’d be boring. So we made it more interesting. Stuff like that.

And also, since Dinosaur Train is a preschool show, it’s even more formulaic. You know you have to touch on all these things in a certain amount of time, you can’t dilly-dally around. You’ve got curriculum. It’s got to be about something, kind of something really specific. And that’s real different.

Kids of today, there’s a really great term—what is it? I know—our audience for Dinosaur Train, the toddlers, are called Digital Natives because they were born in the digital era—you grow up with screens, you communicate by text, you multitask. You’re always doing more than one thing at a time.

We’ve got to get out of our kids’ way! They’re already there. If we say [old man voice], “Oh, these consarned devices,” you know, they’ll be gone.

V: [laughing] We’ve gotten even worse in our house, now, with laptops. We come down from our offices for dinner, and we’re both packing laptops under our arms. I mean—we work at home. It’s not like we had to pack them in from the car.

C: I know! The laptop’s on the dining room table, and it’s like, “How come you get to watch your computer during dinner?” So now nobody gets to say someone else can’t watch their computer.

V: I studied Computer Science almost twenty years ago with seventeen-year-old kids, these boys who’d been given computers when they were twelve and hadn’t looked up since. So they had the social skills of twelve-year-old boys, and here I was thirty, I was a woman, I’d already been to three colleges by then—they simply couldn’t understand why I wasn’t awed by their teenage accomplishments. It was bizarre. They lived in that virtual world.

C: We have a term for that: “raised by ducks.” It means they don’t know how to be with humans. That’s what we say when we’re talking about someone who’s just like ridiculous, but they don’t know it. They just haven’t learned how to be with people. I completely agree the technology stuff, the inventions, all are going to act as an impediment to people to be in society. It’s so easy for people to disappear into a computer.

V: I’m always looking over my shoulder for the Matrix these days.

C: [laughing] It’s exactly like that! The Matrix is really appealing to my son’s generation. They all go, “Yeah, that is kind of how it is.”

As a story, The Matrix really resonates with kids. The movies that influence kids’ ideas of how the world works, like the Star Wars movies, my son feels free both to be contemptuous of them—”What a bunch of crap”—but also to completely like parts—”That was a good episode.”

On a computer, human interaction is optional. So we say, “Oh, they were raised by ducks.”

V: You’re not on Twitter, are you? Are you going to go on Twitter? Or just sticking with Facebook?

C: I won’t do Twitter—I got spammed a lot on it. So I bailed. And the Facebook platform lets me put up albums and songs and stuff.

V: One of the things I always loved about your work was the surrealism. In the Arnold shorts—Arnold Escapes From Church and Arnold Rides His Chair—it’s totally surreal. My son and I watched them on YouTube, and he loved them! He laughed his head off! Norm Normal was like that, too. For years I’ve been trying to describe Norm to people: “He’s this normal guy, but he meets giant mutant rats at Three Mile Island, he winds up on a bus in Mexico, he carries a hole in his pocket, he comes up through the toilet, and his wife says, ‘Norm, where you been? I’ve been looking for you all afternoon!’” And they’re going, “Huh?” and I’m going, “It’s wonderful! It’s wonderful stuff!” If it were up to you, would you do more surreal work?

C: Norm was all about non sequiturs. Mostly because it didn’t have to be planned out, the early stuff I did was more improvisational—it was just me. I could take it wherever I wanted because I didn’t have to work it out with someone else. A TV series is going to be planned out with about fifty people, so there’s not a lot of room for improvisation, you’re going to pitch something that’s going to be made, and twelve people are going to come in and record it.

V: But little kids love surrealism. Is that just the general genre of cartoons—it’s surreal up to a point, but then it’s realism?

C: There’s a lot of stuff that’s kind of a given, and everything else is going to be a lot more. . .yeah, you start off, “Okay, we’re in a fantasy world.” And the funny thing is the normal rules that apply. Like they’ll still want to have lunch. That’s what’s fun about it. There’s all this crazy fantastic stuff going on, but now they’re having lunch, or something makes someone irritated, all this domestic stuff. They’re really recognizable human characters, but at the same time it’s a really cool combination of made-up fantasy and the way people always behave.

The nature of TV is way more collaborative. You have to have a blueprint all along the way. The nature of this work is not improvisational. Within the blueprint, there’s room for a little bit of improvisation, but not a lot.

V: So let’s get into the nitty-gritty of professional storytelling. In fiction, if you’re smart, you at least scribble something like a rough outline on a piece of paper before you start. Most unpublished writers don’t even do that. But for a TV show, you need storyboards, which are a heck of a valuable tool. In the context of storyboarding: what’s your first step in creating a plot?

C: Plot before starting storyboard. The plot is the “what’s going to happen” that turns a premise into an outline.

V: So what structure do you use (standard three-act or something else)?

C: I’ve stuck with the three-act structure for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I’ll not think about it, and realize that I’ve come up with a two-act or something, but three is usually the best way to approach it.

V: How do you pick your “hook”?

C: I refer to it as “the inciting incident,” I think from Robert McKee. What makes the story start? Something upsets the status quo.

V: Your act breaks?

C: This is pretty much planned out in outline. First in Act 1, the status quo is upset by the inciting incident. The protagonist then makes a plan and starts to do something about it, and that is Act 2, with all its complications, usually the longest act. Act 3 is the climax. This can be the shortest act, depending how long this takes to unfold. Sometimes this act is very short. And it needs to be funny and memorable, because this is what is remembered by your audience.

V: What about cause & effect—how much do you rely on it to move the story forward?

C: Actions must have consequences. They are very important to character development. Otherwise it’s all fake and no one cares.

V: How do you get from your original ideas to a finished storyboard?

C: I often have plenty of help. People who are better at boarding than me take it on. The important process for me is to “hand out” the script to the board guys. That means the edited dialog track is played and I describe—sometimes sketching—the action and staging.

V: So what’s the essential ingredient to telling a really good story, particularly the one it took you a long time to learn about?

C: I would say that the characters have to be believable, that their emotional connection to the story must seem real.

V: Given that you’re always working with basic archetypes—the two approaches to being a girl or boy, the mother, the father, the grandmother or grandfather, the boss, the underling, et cetera—how do you design conflicting traits, strengths and weaknesses, for a character?

C: This has to be based on the personalities you know—obsessed people, cowardly people, charismatic people, et cetera. Mostly the people whose actions make for funny stories—why do they do the things they do? And why is it funny?

V: I’ve read you especially like Helga from Hey, Arnold! Who are your favorite characters you’ve created? What makes them attractive?

C: Helga is attractive to me because she has layers: a deep inner life, big secrets—right there, she’s fun to write for because there is great subtext. She says one thing and means another. Other times, she’s way out front with her feelings. A private self and a public one. She’s very creative, so she can be a poet and an artist. Tragic and funny, Helga is often humiliated for her instant karma and our amusement.

V: [laughing] For our amusement. Now, TV is different from fiction—even novels—in that a series can be short or long, and if it’s long you don’t necessarily know how long until it ends. How does the longevity of a long-running show affect digging deeper into character? Is there always more to learn, or is there a point at which you just run out of things to say?

C: I guess I could run out of things to say, but usually we run out of [network] orders for episodes before that happens. I love series TV because the characters get deeper and deeper. It’s like a book with many, many chapters.

V: You’ve talked about how you based the characters of the sisters on Dinosaur Train on your own older sisters. Do you see yourself in Don, the silly, innocent younger brother? Or are you Buddy? Or are they really just separate characters from you entirely?

C: I’m more Buddy than Don, I think, because Buddy is very much like Arnold. But I really enjoy how the two boys have developed into sweet little goofballs, with their simple needs right on their sleeves, compared to the more intelligent, moody, bossy, and conniving girls. It cracks me up. I don’t think there is anything very radical there, but the boy/girl differences are very funny to me. The best thing about Dinosaur Train, in my opinion, is what has happened in the character development of the four kids, and I credit the kid actors who play them a lot.

V: Screenwriting is, basically, dialog. But dialog’s also a basic staple of fiction, and there’s a lot fiction writers can learn from people who write dialog all the time. What are your basic guidelines for creating good dialog? Subtext—hidden agendas?

C: Yeah, inner lives. Characters who say one thing and mean another. I try not to be too on the nose.

V: How do you approach the problem that real-life dialog is actually pretty boring?

C: I try not to over-think it. I prepare careful, detailed outlines that show what happens in each scene, then when I actually write the script—when I come up with the dialog—I try to get into a kind of trance and write as fast as I can and not get fussy. Then I reread the pages and edit for sense and humor and brevity.

V: The Arnold shorts are very focused on a particular time and place. (Arnold actually just sits in a chair in one.) But with an on-going storyline, you need a setting. How do you pick a setting for a particular gang of characters and their stories?

C: Arnold’s city was an idealized version of Seattle/Portland, so it was meant to evoke my childhood/early years. Warm and grungy.

V: What about “telling details”—how do you find them to bring a setting to life?

C: I love architecture as character. But the Mesozoic was a completely different challenge. In Dinosaur Train I try to make it like the coolest playground or vacation spot imaginable to a kid.

V: Do you, over time, branch out and take the characters into different settings to see what will happen, or do you keep the characters and setting integrated to keep your premise focused?

C: A TV series gets to grow new characters, and that just makes it better. You keep coming back to the main characters as you go, then back out to the new ones.

V: Writing and editing fiction is pretty much sitting in a chair hunched over a keyboard all day long. What’s the weekly schedule of the creator/producer of a TV animation?

C: Now I’m in post[-production], so that’s very different from the writing/recording part. But in a week, I have days when I do certain things. We meet internally on Mondays, meet with Hensons on Tuesdays, and I was recording Thursdays and Fridays, so the week built up to that, preparing scripts. Now I mix Thursdays and Fridays, and spot music and effects on Mondays. And Wednesdays are calm centers to do stuff like this.

V: Do you have funny or interesting or poignant stories to tell about working with some of the other really talented people in your industry?

C: I have really loved working in VO [voice-over] these last twenty years. You meet the most talented actors, who don’t have to sweat how they look, so they focus completely on creating this animated character for your amusement. They are yours for four hours and sometimes bring real magic.

Dan Castellaneta (Arnold’s Grandpa and Homer Simpson, among others) and Maurice LaMarche (Big Bob Pataki on Hey, Arnold!) were my faves—sometimes I’d get them together and it would be miraculous. And of course the kid actors, from Helga to Tiny Pteranodon. What is poignant is watching the kids all grow up.

V: Absolutely. There’s that issue of time going by, again. Craig, what do you, personally, get out of the whole world of TV and animation?

C: My career’s in a good place now, because I can confidently say that I’ve had a follow-up to Arnold that is probably an even more successful idea. And I know that these Dinosaur Train episodes work for my audience as well as Arnold did.

I followed my ambition to LA to try to make this career. Long, varied, and full of different things I made. What seems to make the difference was this: did the ideas come from me, relatable to my own beliefs on a deep-down level? Arnold and Dinosaur Train both fit that description, so those have been the best times.

This is another golden age for animation. I am in the right place at the right time. And it’s fun!

Craig Bartlett is the creator and executive producer of Dinosaur Train, PBS/Jim Henson Company.

This week, I had the great pleasure of interviewing Wendy Burt-Thomas, author of the Writer’s Digest Guide to Query Letters, which just hit stores in January, 2009.

Wendy, thank you so much for joining us! Query letters are always a serious concern for both aspiring and publishing writers. I know the Writer’s Digest Guide to Query Letters covers all three types of query letters: article query letters to periodical editors, nonfiction query letters to agents, and fiction query letters to agents. I’d like to focus in this interview specifically on those questions I get most often from clients about writing fiction query letters to agents.

You’ve pointed out that a query letter is a first impression and that I, the author of the query, only get one shot at it with this particular agent. So I should be able to extrapolate that the hook, like the lede of a news article, is possibly the single most important part of my query. If it’s bad, I’m finished before I’ve even started. If it’s good, bingo! I’ve got a foot in the golden door of an agent’s attention.

Agent Noah Lukeman says the hook should be about the agent—in fact, he says if I have a recommendation from another client, my hook should be about that recommendation. He even provides the sentence. Agent Nathan Bransford, on the other hand, analyzes on his blog an excellent query with a hook about the book.

What should that all-important opening sentence really be about: the agent, the recommendation, or the book? Or something else, such as the author?

I’m going to agree with Nathan, and not because I just met him at the Pikes Peak Writers Conference. The guy knows his stuff! Nathan is an experienced agent and has no doubt read thousands of queries.

Unless you’re already a big deal, the only time anything should be about you is in your credentials paragraph (or page, if we’re talking about a full proposal). My advice is to always open with a great hook about your book. It’s important to remember that some agents and editors don’t read past the first paragraph or two. Wait until later in the query to explain why you chose them.

If, however, you have a referral from another agent (most agents know that other agents don’t refer writers unless the manuscript is worth a look), you definitely want to mention it somewhere. One neat trick: use the subject line of your email (or even your letter) to mention the referral. For example: “re: referral from Sue Smith of ABC Agency”. This way you can still open with your hook (and maybe get them to pay attention even more!)

I did receive examples for my Guide to Query Letters of both (queries that opened with hooks and queries that opened with referrals) that lead to book deals. I think the key is that no matter which route you choose, don’t drag out the opening of the query. If you open with a recommendation or a “Why I chose you,” keep it short and sweet. No agent wants to wait until the sixth paragraph to learn what your book is about!

Erica Jong says in Fear of Flying, “I was taught never to open a paragraph in a business letter with ‘I’. But what else could it start with?” Poor ole Isadora never does figure out. Do I need to?

It’s not so much the word (letter) itself as how you use it. I think the point is not to come across too stoic unless, of course, you’re writing a book about formal business letters. Your opening paragraph or two should match the voice/tone/style of your book. Besides, you want to stand out in the slush pile!

Ask yourself this: Which would you rather read if you were a busy, bored agent/editor?

Option #1: “I am writing to you because I have written a book about a Japanese internment in Seattle. . .”

OR

Option #2: “I must admit I hate Asian stereotypes. You know the ones. Good at math. Hardworking. We all look alike. Come to think of it, the last one might hold water. After all, my father once wore a button that read ‘I am Chinese’ while growing up in Seattle’s Chinatown during WWII.”

I’d much rather read Option #2. Apparently, so did Kristin Nelson of the Nelson Agency. Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet (for which the query in Option #2 was written) by Jamie Ford sold to Ballantine.

Ford managed to capture his writing voice/tone/style in his query letter. He was still professional (the rest of the query included the vital info), but also interesting.

Is it possible to re-query the same agent with a different project? How long should I wait? Should I mention the previous query? Hope they don’t remember?

You can absolutely re-query the same agent—the key phrase being “a different project.” Don’t rewrite the same piece and send it back—unless they ask you to. But yes, by all means do send book number two when it’s complete.

I would mention the previous query only if the agent had anything good to say about it. A note like, “I like your writing style, but just didn’t feel like I could represent this with passion,” might indicate that the agent would bite on another project.

So now we’re at the whole point of my query, from my perspective, which is: “I’ve written a fabulous book! Please take it!” Some agents ask for a single paragraph about the book, and some even stipulate three sentences. How universal is that dictum? And can those three vital sentences (or more) be standardized as to what each should be about, for maximum efficiency?

Every agent is different, but the majority will ask for no more than a one-page query or a query and synopsis to start. I do see a lot of agents asking for the first thirty pages if they’ve heard your pitch in person (like at a writers’ conference), but I think for the most part they just don’t have time to read more than a page or two unless they already know they like your basic idea.

As for standardizing your first few sentences, I do think most queries can be the same. The only paragraph that would change in your query template would be why you chose that particular agent/publisher.

Given that this all has to fit onto one page and I do have other things besides my book to mention before the end of my query, what should the (frighteningly) brief description of my 200+ page opus focus on: plot? characters? voice? abstract description i.e. “charming, brooding, quirky, multi-faceted, riveting”? Something else, or a combination?

The query hook should match your book’s focus. If the book is plot-driven (thriller/mystery, for example), the query should be, too. If it’s character-driven, you still need to mention some form of plot, but you could put a tad bit more about the character in the query. This does not mean you write a character sketch or get into motivations and inner conflicts. The idea is to reflect your book’s overall focus in your query.

Two examples:

#1: In a mystery, you might just say that Jane Smith is a cop on the trail of a serial murderer—who recently killed Jane’s cousin. This shows motivation (justice/revenge) without saying it.

#2: In a character-driven book of literary fiction, you might need to mention a bit more about the protagonist: “Fifteen-year-old Susan is always dreaming up new ways to kill herself.” (Notice that in example #1, I never mentioned Jane’s age in the hook for the mystery. It’s not really relevant.)

Save the details for your synopsis. The query is only about enticing an agent/editor to request more.

What about comparisons to other books—some agents say they help, some say they hurt. They occasionally sound downright insane to anyone but the author. What’s the consensus? How about marketing myself a little along those lines, as in, “A bonafide page-turner. You won’t be able to put it down!”?

Ugh! Any good writer should be able to show an agent/editor that they’ve got a bonafide page-turner—not tell them. Let the writing speak for itself—even if it’s just a few paragraphs in the query for now.

As for comparing yourself to other books, I advise writers to stay away from comparing yourself to other authors and books. What I do think is fine is discussing the readership for a certain book’s genre. Citing, for example, that the Twilight and Harry Potter series have vamped up the teen readership’s interest in all things paranormal/magical. You’re not comparing yourself to those authors or your book to those books, but you’re showing that there’s a readership for them. I’d probably suggest using this more in your proposal than your query, though. It’s even better if you can find some actual stats about the readership.

You mention in the Writer’s Digest Guide to Query Letters “The Credentials Question.” There’s quite a lot being bandied around out there regarding the loss these days of the opportunity for me, the writer, to build my reputation, due to publishers’ expectations of debut mega-hits, which brings up the question of poor sales records. Given that, what should go into and—maybe more importantly—what should be left out of my author bio?

Published books in other genres (or on the wrong side of the fiction/nonfiction fence)?

Mention other books you’ve written for traditional publishers. If your previous books were in other genres, that’s okay. Better to show that you can write a book than not mention it.

Published books that didn’t do well? Published books long ago?

Don’t worry about sales numbers. A good agent/publisher will probably guess that the sales numbers aren’t about your writing skills or your ability to follow through—and those are two of the things you’re selling in your query letter. You’re not selling your previous book. If your other book(s) did well, even better. Mention the numbers. But many books don’t even sell out of their first print run so it’s not a deal-breaker if you weren’t on the NY Times Best Seller List.

Minor publishing credits or awards?

Definitely mention any writing awards, and publishing credits if they’re well-known publications or smaller but relevant to your book (e.g. If you sold three dog-grooming articles to small pet magazines and the book your pitching is about dog grooming, mention it!).

Attendance at writers’ conferences?

I wouldn’t necessarily mention that you’ve been to writers’ conferences or taken workshops unless you won some awards or were on the faculty.

My day-job or professional experience? (Only writing-related? Only if it helps authenticity? Only genre-related? Only the publishing credits discussed above?) My blog? My community service?

Professional and volunteer experience can go a long way, especially if you don’t have any/many published clips. Some examples:

• You’re a cop writing a crime novel
• You lived with the Amish to make your novel about the Amish more realistic
• You teach English, creative writing, journalism, etc.
• You have an MFA or other degree in a writing-related field
• You run an annual writers’ conference or author series
• You’re a single mother of 10 kids writing about a single mother of 10 kids
• You’re a marriage therapist writing a relationship (or romance!) book
• You’re a computer programmer writing a technology/spy thriller
• You volunteer at a teen shelter and are writing a book about a 13-year-old runaway

Are there any other potential items we haven’t discussed that act as red warning flags to an agent and should be avoided at all costs (like a nice, long list of other agents who already hate me)?

Some things that will be red flags:

• Mentioning that you’ve burned through agents
• Mentioning that you’ve self-published all your books
• Threatening to take your manuscript elsewhere
• Asking to meet with the agent
• Talking about movie or TV rights
• Explaining that you’ve already pitched to publishers on your own (unsuccessfully!)

One exception to the above: if you’ve self-published books and can explain that you did so because you had a major platform (and therefore sold many copies). My father is a good example of this. He sold several books to traditional publishers and then decided he’d rather get eight dollars a book than one dollar book, so he started self-publishing and sold books across New England for several years. Now he’s considering a “buy out” with a traditional publisher. FYI, these aren’t vanity press books of poetry. He was the first person in history to win the Bram Stoker Award for a self-published book!

I’ve always found business letters to be one of the easier forms of writing because they consist so largely of standardized sentences. Businesspeople are busy. They get the most out of a letter if they can scan it, register stock phrases or the lack of them, and move on. Given this, can you briefly tell me how and where to cite:

• recommendations from the agent’s client
• recommendations from other writers (not the agent’s clients)
• my reason(s) for choosing this agent
• “this is a multiple/exclusive submission”
• word count
• my other works that the agent might be interested in?

Again, my preference is to open with a hook about the book, but I’ll admit that I have several great query letters in my book that opened with a referral or a “why I chose you” sentence. (These are real queries that landed real book deals.) As a general rule, the most mundane stuff (“this is a simultaneous submission”) goes near the end. Word count, however, is easily slipped in after the first or second reference to the title. (For example: “ALL HAPPY FAMILIES, complete at 83,000 words. . .”)

As for other works the agent might be interested in, put them in the last paragraph.

Something like this:

1) opening hook (two paragraphs)
2) supporting info about the book (one paragraph)—word count, research
3) author info (one paragraph)
4) why you chose agent/recommendations/other works (one paragraph)
5) request to send manuscript/exclusive submission/thank you (one paragraph)

In citing a recommendation from another writer, should I include a full quote or just say, “I have it if you want it”?

I don’t think you have to include the quote. Something like, “Your client Deb Johnson read my manuscript and suggested I contact you,” should be sufficient. If they don’t believe you, they’ll contact the other writer.

Here’s a quickie: Do most agents expect to see book titles in all caps or italics?

My editor at Writer’s Digest listed all the book titles (in sample queries) in caps, but not italics. This is also how many of the query letters were formatted when they were originally submitted to agents.

How seriously should we take the stricture to use only Courier 12 pt. or Times New Roman 12 pt. in manuscripts, etc.?

I tell writers to stick to Times New Roman 12 pt. because it’s standard. Courier is fine too. The point is to use a font and size that agents/editors are used to reading so they’re not distracted from your writing. Fancy fonts are definitely out, and so is enlarged (or tiny!) print. Don’t make an agent strain to read your query. It should be about the letter—not the letters!

We know the one-page limit is carved in stone (unless I’m Molly Friedrich writing a fan letter to a potential client). But within that limit, is brevity really always best? When might it not be?

I advise writers that one page is best, but that queries for longer manuscripts (such as historical romance novels) can sometimes run to a second page.

Some other exceptions to this rule might apply if you have an exceptional platform that is worthy of more than one paragraph (by all means, if you have a way to sell 10,000 books immediately, say so!) or if your book is more complicated, such as a legal book on the changes in healthcare reform.

What is the general opinion regarding whether or not I should send a synopsis and/or first five/ten/twenty pages with my query letter?

Always follow the guidelines for that particular agency or publishing house. If you can’t find them in the Writer’s Market, check the web. Most agents and publishers list their submission guidelines on their websites. They have guidelines for a reason!

Is there any one single thing that you think writers absolutely ought to know about query letters that we haven’t touched on here, any really huge Mark of the Rank Amateur to steer clear of, maybe something from your section on “Common Novel Query Mistakes” in the spirit of the late Leo Buscaglia, who said, “The one to listen to is the one who will say, ‘Honey, you’ve got dirt on your nose”?

The buzzword in publishing right now is “platform.” My friend Christina Katz (who actually got me this latest book deal!) just wrote a book called Get Known Before the Book Deal (Dec. 2008, Writer’s Digest Books). This isn’t just a plug for her book—it’s a direct message to writers: you will have to market your book! Long gone are the days where you could just write a book, speak at a couple local bookstores, and then start on book number two. If you can’t market yourself—and indicate so in your proposal—don’t bother trying to submit to traditional publishers.

The good news is that marketing your book is cheaper and easier than ever. With blog tours (a.k.a. “virtual book tours”), Internet radio shows, do-it-yourself websites, and free blogging, you can develop a following in your pajamas—for almost nothing.

(I am wearing my pajamas as I type this. Seriously.)

Do not assume that your work is done when you type “the end.” You need to sell your book to an agent (or publisher) and then to readers!

Wendy, thank you so much for your time. This has been absolutely a golden opportunity, and I really appreciate you sharing your knowledge of the industry with all of us out here in authorland. Before we close, is anything is you want to mention—anything, especially, to send us quick-stepping out right now to get our copies of the Writer’s Digest Guide to Query Letters?

It’s very difficult to find query letters on the Internet that actually resulted in book deals. This book has several examples of good (and bad!) query letters for multiple genres. There’s also a great sample synopsis and a book proposal.

What better way to learn than to read real queries that landed real book deals?

Wendy will be checking in all day today and throughout next week to answer questions. Please feel free to either leave a question for her in a comment or email it to me!

Wendy Burt-Thomas is a full-time freelance writer, editor, and copywriter with more than 1,000 published pieces. The Writer’s Digest Guide to Query Letters is her third book. To learn more about Wendy and her books, visit http://www.GuideToQueryLetters.com and http://AskWendy.wordpress.com.