Tag Archives: publishing

The Unused Epigraphs (Part 1)

One of the things I was just asked for (at time of writing) was an epigraph for my novel, Falling for the Protagonist. I was also asked for my dedication and acknowledgments. Writing and submitting the acknowledgments was probably the closest I’ve come to being able to internalize the truth of being published. For a very long time, I held up “writing an Acknowledgments page” as some beacon of publishing, the thing that—above all else—would say to me, “Hey, Bex. You did it. You’ve made it.”

Needless to say, that was a big moment for me.

But I didn’t ever plan on putting an epigraph into my book. For those who don’t know:

Epigraph (N) – [in the context of books/literature specifically] A motto or quotation, as at the beginning of a literary composition, setting forth a theme

Still, the very mention of one sent my brain down the path of What If. As I found it fun to think about, I decided to come up with some quotes (and ask my friends as well). Since I never plan to “publish” the quotes we came up with, I decided to post them here for anyone who is interested. First, just the quotes. If you want to stop there, read the book, and decide for yourself what relevance these quotes have—cool. In fact, I’m supposed to encourage you to do that, I guess. I mean… other people buying and/or reading the book is important to me.

In fact, I think I’m going to make this a preorder hype post. Yeah, that’s what I’ve decided. So… go to my Linktree to find links to places to preorder Falling for the Protagonist or feel free to search for the book title (or Bex Goos) on your preferred bookseller’s website. Then preorder it! Support my dream!

But if you don’t care to do that, also cool. Or if you want to read the whole post, including my explanation, before reading the book, also totally cool. In short: Everything is cool. I don’t control you. I don’t even know you. Your autonomy is safe, and I shall never attempt to trample over your right to make choices for yourself!

Here are the quotes I came up with:

“Fiction is the lie that helps us understand the truth.” – Tim O’Brien, author of The Things They Carried

“We are never more creative than when we are at odds with the world and there is nothing so artistically destructive as comfort.” – Excerpt from Nerd Do Well, Simon Pegg’s autobiography

Here are the quotes my friends came up with:

“Truth is a matter of the imagination.” – Ursula K Le Guin, author of The Left Hand of Darkness

“Men are more interesting in books than they are in real life.” – Mary Ann Shaffer, author of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

The rest of this post will be about Quote 1 because this post is so long that I already had to scroll up and add “Part 1” to the title. Part 2 will be about the rest of the quotes. Hopefully. May have to add a Part 3.

Tim O’Brien wrote fiction about the horrors of the Vietnam War. I wrote a satirical romance novel about a woman who falls into a book and sends the main character into an existential crisis. These two things are not the same. But I will always remember my students’ shock, back when I was an (inept) English teacher, and I told them that The Things They Carried was fiction. I believe I told them before we started reading the book, but I felt a reminder was in order after they’d gotten through a chunk of it. They simply could not believe that what they had read was made up. It was so real! It felt like nonfiction! It led to some great discussions about the power that fiction has to help us hold up a mirror to real life. Fiction helps us confront and interact with truth. It’s sort of like how standup comics help people face reality by getting them to laugh at themselves. There are lenses through which we can observe ourselves and others. I wanted to use my work of fiction to do just that.

Just look at the (simplified) definition of satire I used to help my students understand it: Satire is used to highlight a flaw in order to raise awareness and/or incite change.

One of my main goals in writing FFtP was to draw attention to a glaring issue with real life: We are not treated to other people’s internal monologues, but some people still act like their motivations should be crystal clear. Some of the things that men pull off in romance novels would get men a face full of pepper spray in real life. Why? Because, in a book, the narrator is constantly letting us know, “Hey. Don’t worry. Both parties are totally on board with this.”

I am going to write out a summary of a very real novel in my own words. TRIGGER WARNING: Kidnapping, forced imprisonment, threats of sexual violence

After discovering the man she just married is a murderer with a history of criminal dealings, Holly Bardwell flees the marriage and the man in the dead of night. Her car breaks down somewhere in the Colorado Rockies, so she finds herself wandering through the mountains on foot, only to pass out in the snow outside a hunting lodge. One of the owners of the lodge, Adam Colter, discovers Holly and brings her inside. He nurses her back to health and introduces her to the co-owners of the lodge, his younger brothers, Ethan and Ryan. While Holly was unconscious, the three brothers decided that Holly was the one for them. For all of them. When Holly attempts to leave their (otherwise unoccupied) remote mountain lodge, they stop her and carry her back inside while she begs to be let go. Then they tell her the truth—that they all intend to marry the same woman, and they have agreed that she is to be that woman. She will pleasure all of them. Carry their children. Be wife to all of them. It’s okay that they just met her twelve hours ago, because they know in their guts that she is meant to belong to them. She won’t ever have to worry about a thing because they’re gonna take real good care of her. She doesn’t have to leave. They don’t want her to leave. She’s going to belong to them forever.

How’s that going for you? I want you to know that you saw a Trigger Warning at the top of the paragraph that wasn’t there before I wrote the summary. I realized on rereading it that I should go back and add the TW. Because that summary was missing one very important line at the end:

Holly listens to the brothers explain how they want her to be their wife and live with them forever, and she is totally into it.

Yeah, this is the plot of Colters’ Woman by Maya Banks. It’s an erotic romance, not a thriller. Note the apostrophe placement in the title. Their last name is Colter, not Colters. She is all of their woman. And she loves it. She can’t wait to marry these three dudes and bang it out for the rest of their lives.

Changes the cadence a bit, doesn’t it?

Romance gives readers a chance to explore scenarios that would feel unsafe in real life because the narrator is there to say, “Yep. Totally into it.”

But what happens in real life when Person A thinks they’re in a romance and Person B doesn’t? Suddenly, the story is different. Now you’re looking at a person who feels entitled to another person’s attention, maybe even their affection. How the story progresses depends entirely on how Person A takes rejection, if they take it at all. Maybe Person A refuses to believe the rejection. Maybe they believe the rejection, but respond with anger or violence.

When only one person approaches an interaction as romantic, the entire interaction is anything but.

In my book, I wanted to highlight this entitlement, the way that an interaction can take on whole new layers of meaning when there is a disparity in the way the participants are experiencing it.

Yes, I wrote a fictional novel. But I wanted to use that fiction to showcase a piece of reality, namely that women (or anybody, really) can feel unsafe in a situation without ever being overtly threatened. They can feel unsafe even if the other person has absolutely no unsavory intentions at all. Because they are not privy to the inner monologue of this other person.

There are no narrators in real life.

By the way, I’m not the only one who noticed this strangely thin line between romance and horror! Check out this ingenious trailer for Red Eye (2005). Link included because the embedded video might not work.

I never saw the movie, because I’m not into the thriller/slasher/horror genre, but the trailer stuck with me, clearly. It perfectly encapsulates the disparity delineated above.

Nick DiRamio also showcased how easily an interaction in a romantic movie could be changed from romantic to creepy/horrific. All they did was change the background music. That’s all it took. I’m going to link to the video at the timestamp where this happens, but I do highly recommend watching the whole thing. Nick is hilarious.

This all led me to Tim O’Brien. He was my first thought when the idea of epigraphs entered my mind. His quotes about fiction are all top-notch. Yes, the book is made up. But there is reality reflected in the fiction.

I’ll post about the other quotes soon!

Leave a comment

Filed under Humor, publishing, writing

Did they have couches??

When I was in high school, I for some reason had the bright idea to write a Steampunk-ish novel called The Silk Top Hat Society. It was going to be an action/adventure with a touch of magic and mystery in which a group of old-timey people come across several magical silk top hats, each of which would give the wearer a specific otherworldly ability. I believe there was super speed, invisibility, super strength… maybe teleportation or something.

I decided to write this novel… despite not knowing a single damn thing about history other than like… George Washington did exist at one point, but he’s definitely dead now. To give people an idea, I often say, “I’m so bad at history that I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast this morning.” My “research” for this novel was various movies and TV shows I’d seen (historical accuracy unconfirmed, but definitely unlikely) as well as my best friend, Liz. This led to one of the more memorable exchanges I had with her using the relic known as AOL Instant Messenger or AIM during which I type-shouted at her, “Did they wear hats??”

I was thinking about how old-timey people often wore hats as a rule—not just the magical ones they encountered of a summer day, but like… regulation hats and bonnets that people are always wearing in things like The Crucible and Pride & Prejudice. But when did the practice of wearing hats start? When did it end? Did they wear them indoors and outdoors? Was it a hard-and-fast rule, or up to the preference of the individual? Those questions didn’t even take into account that the answers would definitely vary by country, and probably several other factors. I knew none of the answers to these questions, but I’d decided it was a good idea for me to write a novel that was set in a time period that occurred previous to “present day.”

Cut to… well… present day.

I find myself in the privileged position of not knowing what, if anything, I can share about my upcoming works. This has never happened before. I used to vomit my ideas onto this blog with abandon, sharing sample pages and intimate details of my writing process. Now that I AM GOING TO BE PUBLISHED, I’m pretty sure I can’t do that anymore. So I’m going to be really, really vague.

I like satire. The book that IS GOING TO BE PUBLISHED is satire. So was one of the other ideas I pitched to my editor. I had one more idea for a satirical novel beyond the aforementioned two, but I knew I could never write it because it was historical in nature. That, and I was concerned people would think I was cribbing from Nimona and Shrek. I wasn’t. The similarities occurred to me only after I came up with my book idea, but who wants to deal with the headache of smugly and self-righteously saying, “There’s no such thing as an original idea anymore” over and over again? Not me!

Anyway, since I thought it was a good idea, but a touch derivative and also WAY out of my wheelhouse to write (“Did they wear hats?” haunts me to this day), I made myself accept that it was only ever going to exist as a concept in my head.

For reasons I’m pretty sure I cannot get into, things changed, and I am now writing pieces of that book. Just pieces.

And it happened again! I was writing a scene that takes place in a sitting room, and was absolutely stymied by what words to use to describe what the characters were sitting on. Which means, you guessed it, I now have to scream into Google: Did they have couches?? (I suppose I could ask Liz again, but she is very busy opening a book shop and also it just wouldn’t be the same without AIM. RIP AIM.)

NOTE TO MY SISTER: I will absolutely be bothering you about this at some point. You’re just working full time and running after a freshly-walking baby. You’re probably not busy.

When was the couch invented? The sofa? The divan? What did people sit on to eat? To relax? To pray? What were the things they sat on made out of? Did rich people have more cushions than poor people? Did they have some sort of old-timey word for couches and chairs that no one uses anymore?

What the fuck is a settee??

Needless to say, I am not well-equipped to write historical fiction or any form of fantasy novel (fantasy novels always seem to have their roots in historical time periods from the real world). This will likely be my one and only foray into the genre, and I hope I don’t flub it too badly. I also hope that if I do flub it, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go Google the history of couches.

Leave a comment

Filed under books, Humor, writing

Donald Trump is the Wrong Genre

There is a section of the Passover seder that has been circling around in my head called “Dayenu” or (read right to left) דַּיֵּנוּ‎. It translates to, “It would have been enough.” Part song, part call-and-response, a reader lists the miracles and wonders God enacted during the exodus from Egypt. After each item listed, the responders say, “Dayenu” to acknowledge that He had already provided, and they would have been grateful even if He had stopped there.

For example, “If He had taken us from Egypt, but not parted the Red Sea… Dayenu.”

It would have been enough.

I have a different version of Dayenu in my head for Donald Trump, a man I hope never to write about ever again after this.

What can I say about this orange-lacquered sack of fart vapor that hasn’t been said already? The man’s brain is a half-eaten pudding cup that has been left out in the sun for a week. And the most complimentary thing I can say about him is that, at one point, it’s possible his brain was a half-eaten pudding cup that hadn’t yet been left out in the sun.

But he never had a full pudding cup! I’m sure of that!

I’m confident he cannot now, nor could he ever, name the three branches of the U.S. government. I think, if someone wanted to, they could tell him the president is the “Execution Branch” of the government, and he would believe it. He’d probably like it! This just hit me as I was typing, and I feel such… resignation. He’d like the sound of being the “Executioner.” I’m certain of it.

I don’t know how to speak Hebrew, so I don’t know if “It should have been enough” can be translated accurately into one word. But that’s what it is.

In my head, it goes like this:

When he bragged about using his status as a celebrity to sexually assault women…

It should have been enough.

When he mocked a disabled reporter…

It should have been enough.

When he watched hundreds of thousands of Americans die from a highly contagious virus while spouting misinformation, inciting violence against Asians and Asian-Americans, and failing to provide necessary medical supplies and aid to doctors, nurses, and hospitals…

It should have been enough.

When he incited a riot on Capitol Hill…

It should have been enough.

When he was charged and convicted with 34 counts of felony document falsification…

It should have been enough.

When he claimed immigrants were eating people’s cats and dogs, once again blithely stirring up hatred and violence towards a vulnerable population…

It should have been enough.

When he watched a man sieg heil on stage two times at his inauguration, and did nothing…

It should have been enough.

When he began trafficking people to a torture prison in El Salvador, and did not stop when he was ordered to by the courts…

It should have been enough.

When he refused court orders to bring an innocent man back to his family…

It should have been enough.

When he, a man who has made full use of due process of the law time and time again, claimed there wasn’t time to give people due process…

It should have been enough.

When he was told that stores would soon have empty shelves due to tariffs, and responded by saying American children would have to make do with “two dolls instead of thirty”…

It should have been enough.

I could go on. And on. And on. That’s the problem, isn’t it? For all I’ve listed here, there are five hundred things I didn’t list. Children in cages at the border? Saying Kamala Harris “suddenly” became Black? Canada as the 51st state? Thinking “transgenic” mice were transgender??

I would be the proverbial monkey at the typewriter, banging on the keys to infinity, never able to stop because there would always be more. Except I’d never get around to accidentally producing Shakespeare’s plays because I’d be too busy listing crimes and atrocities.

Not to mention stupidities. Donald Trump regularly commits stupidities.

Any one of the things listed above should have been enough. It should have been more than goddamn enough!

This all came about because of a very real question I felt the need to ask my editor a few weeks ago. Before we got into the meat of our um… meeting… homophones are weird… I had to ask her for her opinion on including or excluding politics in the novel. Because Trump’s presidency, his existence, does not work for the Romance genre. And, if I’m being honest, it doesn’t work for reality.

If you met someone who woke up from a ten-year coma today, and listed every major point of Trump’s political career from start to finish, I bet you wouldn’t actually get to finish. I bet they’d stop you pretty quickly. You wouldn’t even be able to get to D.O.G.E. But if you did, that’s where they’d stop you for sure.

“Enough!” they’d yell. “You’re making this up. It doesn’t even sound like good fiction. It sounds like a poor attempt at parody.”

“You’re right, learned ex-coma-patient,” you would respond. “It does sound like the worst kind of parody. Now let’s get you back to bed. I probably should’ve taken your vitals before trying to catch you up on what you missed.” (You are a medical professional in this scenario.)

I mean… can you imagine what would happen if I acknowledged our current reality in the fiction I constructed? It occurred to me that the moment a character brings up Donald Trump, that would be the moment when the book becomes exclusively about Donald Trump. How could they ever talk about anything else?

So I got permission from my editor to not bring up politics. Not anchor the book in any given time period. Not mention who is president. Just not. Full stop.

Because our current president belongs in parody. In farce. In heavy-handed satire.

Like… imagine if you were watching Wall-E, and, instead of the late Fred Willard as the live-action president, you saw Donald Trump. Would you even blink? It feels like he fits there, doesn’t it? It’s so terrifying and sad and ludicrous. It’s… terrsadicrous.

I just needed to get that off my chest. I am so excited to be published and to continue going through this process, but I also feel deeply, tragically, lost. I needed to get the sadness out of me. Now I intend to focus, as much as I can, on the happy. It feels wrong to do that, I’ll admit. I feel a kind of survivor’s guilt maybe? I am (relatively) safe. I am (relatively) secure. So many others aren’t. At time of writing, Kilmar Abrego Garcia still isn’t home with his family. How dare I celebrate at a time like this? But I must. I simply must. It won’t stop me from hurting for all the people who are not safe and secure, but I feel I will truly lose my mind if I can’t also allow myself happiness.

It should have been enough, and enough, and enough. A thousand times over, it should have been enough.

Here’s an art I did of the orange fartsicle:

Leave a comment

Filed under Humor, Politics, writing