Great Expectations

One of my cousins recently declared she is going to be a writer (or Madonna, she's still figuring it out).  I know I should be wildly supportive of anyone who wants to pursue their artistic dreams, but my first instinct was to say "It's really hard to make a living as a writer."  (And then I felt guilty for the impulse to rain on her parade.)

Being a big shot professional writer is kind of like growing up to be a professional baseball player - though the odds of making the major leagues may actually be better than making a workable living in writing fiction.  Thirty teams with 40-man rosters... as opposed to the "Big Six" publishers with only a handful of A-listers each?  I know there are indies striking it big now, but most of us are just scratching by (if that).  Even some people who've made best seller lists aren't rolling in it the way you might think.  Think I'm exaggerating?  Check out this article.

But see the thing is, none of that will matter if writing is your passion.  If it's that thing you can't imagine not doing.  Like Sinclair Lewis said:

It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write.

Truer words never spoken - but you notice he doesn't say anything about fame or fortune.  As a get rich quick scheme, writing is not so awesome.  As a lifelong passion for people with a thousand stories inside them screaming to get out?  Can't be beat.  Just sayin'.

Chuck the Wise

For the record, I kinda love Chuck of Terrible Minds. So now, I send you forth to be educated by the awesomeness that is his view on Social Media for Writers. (Probably not safe for work and intended for adults and all that type disclaimery stuff.) Just don't forget to "Engage with the 3-D fleshy meatbags" occasionally.

...and also, for the super-secret-author-handshake-inside-scoop on how to write a book. Kindly refer to This Post by Chuck. (Hint: You just write it.)

...or really all of his posts. I really love that brain of his.

The Correlation of Copyright and Creativity

A while back I tripped across this Op Ed piece by Scott Turow and some of the Author's Guild Boys. It introduces the idea that the rise of Shakespeare and his Renaissance playwriting cohorts depended on the establishment of tickets being sold for the shows they wrote. Now, I think that particular premise is pretty much bull - Michelangelo didn't get paid per view of the Sistine Chapel and artists are no less creative when they are pleasing wealthy patrons than when they are pleasing the masses. I, personally, think Shakespeare and his contemporaries are in our current lexicon more because our record-keeping improved with the Guttenberg press than because they were getting paid by the public for the fruits of their intellectual labor. I honestly don't know what the payment structure was for the ancient Greek poets, but I'm inclined to think the rise of literary awesomeness depends more on a civilization that allows leisure to appreciate art as much as a civilization that monetarily rewards it.

But the correlation between creativity and reimbursement is an interesting idea nonetheless.

Why is this topical? Well, there's this Bill in Congress about copyright protection as it applies to the internet... and I'm currently in China where copyright protection does not exist. A threat to the protection of intellectual property raises interesting questions.

Would I be an author if I knew I couldn't make a living? If I knew there was no hope of it because the things I had created would be taken from me with no promise of reimbursement? I don't know. I like to be able to eat, so I'd have a lot less time for writing if it couldn't put food on the table. I'd still write. But would I bother to put my work into the public eye?

I don't think Shakespeare wrote because he was getting paid per ticket, but if there hadn't been the promise of a living - in any form, whether a patron or theater-goers - it's entirely possible he would have stayed in Stratford-upon-Avon and been a carpenter who wrote dirty limericks in his spare time.

I'm already in this, and I don't want to give it up, so I hope that regardless of what changes occur in intellectual property in the next few decades, that there are still opportunities for making money in some way, shape, or form with a pen. I'm versatile.

It's an interesting concept to consider. Does the fact that you can make a living as a writer create the atmosphere in which great minds can grow? Or are the two completely unrelated beyond the most general coincidence? Your thoughts?

Editorial Adjustments

There's an interesting post over at the Ruby blog today about the editorial process. In this business, it's only natural for editors to move from publishing house to publishing house, get promoted, or decide to retire/change careers/etc. When that happens, the Great Author Shuffle occurs and many, if not all, of their authors are reassigned to new editors.

There is a lot of trust and cooperation required in the editor-author relationship. You are both working together to make the book as good as it can possibly be, and that can be a challenge if you have different visions for what the book should be. I've been very lucky in my first few years in this publishing biz. I've worked with four editors who have all been fabulous and delightful to work with - though they all have their own distinct working styles. They've helped me make my books better and occassionally even laughed at the corny jokes I tend to sneak into the margins during the editorial process.

I got to thinking recently, though, about the psychological imprinting aspect of an editorial relationship. (Cuz I'm a total nerd.) When an editor is the one who buys your book, the one who says "Yes, you are awesome!" you automatically have a wealth of warm fuzzies to start off that relationship. However, when the editor is handed you and your manuscript and assigned the task of editing you, even if they say "Hey, wow, this is awesome!" there is still an element of would they have bought this if it was their call? (Which, I realize, is kind of ridiculous because editors are not, to my knowledge, forced to work on books they don't like and there are other editors at these houses who can take over in case of major artistic differences, but still the thought lingers. Ridiculous though it may be.)

Gratitude is a powerful thing. I feel a particular attachment to my first editor (who has since left the company). Is that because she discovered me? Or because we just had such similar styles and tastes that we clicked wonderfully? Does "clicking" with your editor make the book better? I don't know, but if there is a difference, I'm betting it's slight. Can readers even tell when I've changed editors? I doubt it. (But if you want to guess in the comments section, just for fun, I'll confirm any correct answers.)

It's possible that too agreeable a relationship could even make a book worse - like the rockstar authors who seem to be edited less and less as they achieve greater and greater success, to the detriment of the final product. We need editors to be rigorous, but we also have to trust them enough to accept their input. It's a balancing act of ruthlessness and appreciation. I certainly don't envy editors having to walk that tightrope with headcases like us authors all the time. (Though I flatter myself that I'm a very well-adjusted headcase.)

I think it's important not to discount the touchy-feely side of the editor-agent relationship. It builds a sense of loyalty that extends to the publishing house. You know that saying they always throw around on The Apprentice (I think it's The Apprentice, I haven't watched that show since I lived in Chicago with a roommate who was obsessed with The Donald) where they say It isn't personal, it's just business. The thing is, with most businesses, it is personal. There is a personal element that can't be discounted. Not to say money and contract terms aren't important, but the peace of mind of a good working relationship can be a powerful draw when an author is considering where to target that next manuscript.

They're fascinating things, the editor-author relationships. No two alike. Intriguing in their diversity and nuance. And I do love me some nuance. Your thoughts?

Q&A with Wanda Ottewell

Today Wanda Ottewell, the Senior Editor of Harlequin's Superromance line, is answering questions at the Ruby blog. This is a don't-miss for aspiring scribes contemplating category romance. Check it out!

Booksignings: The Untold Story

We laugh because it's soooo true.

Slogging Through

I'm about to tell you something that will blow your mind. It's a truism that runs counter to instinct. Ready? Are you sure? Braced? Are you sitting down?

Writing a whole entire book takes dedication.

Oh my god, right? You're totally blown away, yeah? Okay, I'm being a bit of a sarcastic brat right now, but there are days when it is really freaking hard not to scream hysterically and then curl up in the fetal position when I'm having the "yes, I'm a writer" conversation and the friend/acquaintance/stranger says to me "I could write a book."

Yep. You could. But you know what? You haven't. And I bet I can tell you why. You either lack the drive or the discipline. Or both. Ideas are great. Ideas are necessary. Books, however, are more than ideas.

I absolutely adore Pride and Prejudice. There is this fabulous line (dozens of fabulous lines, actually, but this one in particular) when Lady Catherine says, "If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient."

Lady Catherine is talking about music, but the sentiment can be easily paraphrased as "If I ever bothered to write my masterpiece, I would be a best-seller with a Pulitzer in one pocket and Nobel Prize for Literature in the other."

The thing is, that might be absolutely true. You might be the Mozart of the written word. I'm not going to tell you that you aren't. If you tell me you have a genius idea, I believe you. So instead of screaming and curling, when people say this to me (and people have said things eerily close to that exact sentence), I say, "Writing takes discipline."

I had a conversation along these lines last week with a fellow guest at the wedding festivities. It went something like this:

Him: How long did you write before you were published? (Translation: It's really not as hard as everyone says it is, is it?)

Me: I wrote for fifteen years, but I was only seriously submitting with the intention of becoming a published author for about two.

Him: Does it take you a long time to write a book? (Translation: It's really not as hard as everyone says it is, is it?)

Me: It varies a lot depending on the book.

Him: Oh... because I've sometimes thought I could write a book. (Ahh, now we're getting to the point.)

Me: It takes a lot of discipline and dedication.

Him: Do you write at the same time every day? (Translation: Set schedule = dedication.)

Me: Nope.

Him: More when the muse strikes you, then. I get that. (Translation: Excellent! I can write a book whenever I feel like it and become a published author!)

Me: Nope.

Then his girlfriend interrupted us. But I've been thinking about that conversation ever since. The assumption that my comment about dedication meant scheduling has been tweaking at my brain. And the idea that the only alternative to a fixed schedule was the muse seemed like a total cop out.

Here's the thing: Discipline is about personality, not scheduling. The discipline of being a writer is doing it when it sucks and when it rocks your socks off. The discipline of being a writer is writing all the way through to The End, pushing through insecurity and overconfidence, mania and doubt. And then starting all over again with revisions, the next book, etc.

Writing isn't always a magical flow of words from the Muses. Yeah, sometimes it is. But if I only wrote when "the muse" struck me, I would never have a whole book. I would have brilliant little bits and pieces that never added up to a complete anything. The Muse can be a real bitch and she doesn't really like writing certain parts of the book - like the tying-up-all-the-loose-ends parts.

I don't write at the same time every day, but I have deadlines. I have goals and I bust my butt to meet them - even if the only person I'm accountable to is myself. That self-motivation is no easy skill to pick up. How many people would spend an afternoon strolling along the procrastinatory pathways of the internet or playing solitaire if their boss was out of the office and there was no one holding them accountable for their productivity? That is why I say dedication is a mindset. There is no boss to keep you in line. You gotta want it badly enough that you keep yourself on track - even as the temptation of a new (better!) story pops up in your brain. Even when it isn't fun and bright and easy. Dedication is slogging through.

You think you could right a book? You're right. You can. Will you? That's between you and your mental whipwielder.

(And if you need help wielding the whip, might I suggest National Novel Writing Month? Here's an interesting blog about NaNo pep talks and the elusive muse.)

Vibration: Occupational Hazard

I'm talking today about the giant vibrating machine I spent most of yesterday with.

My snow blower. The machine that throws the snow around in my driveway. (You people all have filthy minds, you know that?) Ahem.

Yesterday I woke up to a lovely blanket of freshly fallen snow. *Cue the sleigh bells.* After an appropriate amount of time spent gazing at the picturesque vista, I decided that I did, in fact, want to be able to leave the house at some point before April, and therefore would have to break out the snow-blower to clear the driveway.

I dragged that big monster out of the garage. Throttle, choke, and away we go. With my iPod cranked up to top volume to compete with the engine noise, I bopped up and down the driveway, snow flying merrily in all directions (and then I figured out how to work the thingy that turns the chute the snow flies out of - the first big snowfall of the year is always a re-learning experience).

Hours later, after I'd reached the point of cursing the fact that the driveway is so darn big (do we really need that circle cleared? What about the spot where my sister always parks? Does she really need a parking space?), I shut off the blower. Pleased with a job well done, I rolled that puppy back into the garage.

That's when I noticed it. My hands weren't working properly.

Apparently, clinging to a giant vibrating machine for extended periods of time can really mess with your fine motor skills. My hands were numb, achy and stiff. Which, usually, wouldn't be a problem. But, see, I had this great plan for yesterday. Step One: Snowblow the driveway. Step Two: Complete Edits and return them to my editor.

Step Two became a lot harder to accomplish when I couldn't type. Even my mouse-clicking ability was distinctly sub-par.

It's funny the things you take for granted. I don't often think about how much I love my hands, and being able to use them. It hadn't even occurred to me that snow-blowing the driveway was something I should probably do after completing my necessary computer tasks for the day.

My usual light-speed typing was a fond memory. I stumbled clumsily along making typo after typo, where normally my fingers would fly lightly across the keys, easily keeping pace with my thoughts. (As an experiment, I then sat down at the piano for a bit - it wasn't pretty, folks.)

Thankfully, my hands are back to normal. It only took an hour or so before I was back to my usual fleet-fingered self. But it was a fun lesson to remember: don't overlook the little stuff. Manual dexterity is something to be grateful for. And stay away from giant vibrating machines.

Under Pressure

So you've quit your day job to be a writer. Which means you've either negotiated with your significant author about the terms of your new unemployment, OR you've retired and are collecting social security even as you scribble madly, OR you are a single person with few expenses (no kids and no jigundus mortgage) who has saved your little pennies until you had enough savings to break away from the corporate machine (like me).

Or you've already struck it rich with the ginormous contract we all dream about. Six figures... or numbers that include "point" in the middle. Something just jaw-droppingly disgusting. If that's the case, you don't need to read this. Go back to your pool and sip your mimosa.

Not that anyone needs to read this. I just wanted to talk a little bit about one of the less often discussed side effects of quitting your job. (Or maybe it's discussed all over the place and I just haven't been paying attention.) This one has nothing to do with money (so maybe you mimosa sippers should stick around) and everything to do with state of mind.

When I quit my job in April, I was ecstatic. I was going to fly to Hawaii, visit my family, lounge on the lanai and write brilliant prose whenever I felt like it. A pretty idea, isn't it? But when I got to Hawaii, the reality was somewhat different.

I freaked out.

It was like I had dropped a two ton weight on myself. Suddenly I was under constant pressure to write. I had no more excuses. Why didn't I get five thousand words written each day? I wasn't working at my day job, so there was nothing holding me back. Nothing keeping me from writing a full novel every week, right? I needed to spend every waking hour on writing tasks! No going to the beach! No going to the movies! Drafts, edits, query letters, promo materials. There is work to be done!

I was my own boss and I'd just turned into the boss from hell. Overtime! No weekends! You will work from the second you wake until you fall asleep at your computer! Breaks? We don't need no stinkin' breaks!

I've since calmed down and remembered how to use my time well without turning myself into a basketcase... but that initial pressure to write, when I suddenly removed the Day Job Excuse, was tremendous. I just didn't see it coming. A psychological blindside. All of my inate drive to succeed came back to bite me on the ass. The more I wanted to be a writer, the more pressure I was under, and the harder it was to do.

So maybe when people tell you not to quit your dayjob, they aren't being such bastards after all. Maybe they just know that having all the time in the world to achieve your dreams isn't always as perfect as we imagine it would be.

That said, I'm still gonna avoid going back to the workforce as long as I can. Now that I've wrestled my overachiever-ism into submission, I'm loving having all the time in the world to write and I'm not going to trade it in until I'm reduced to living on ramen noodles and Spam.

Writer: A Job Description

The other day I was blog-wandering, as I have been known to do when I am desperately trying to avoid anything resembling productivity (oh, yeah, like you never procrastinate? then what are you doing reading this, huh?), and I stumbled across something that struck me as so jaw-droppingly flat-out wrong that it smacked my gob bigtime.

An aspiring writer posted on her blog that if you have dialogue running through your head and find your lips moving as you drive, do the dishes, etc, then you are a writer even if you've never written a word. My reaction was succinct: "The f*ck you are."

There were more words following those, which perhaps can be best quoted as follows: "#%&#*%^&)#$(*%!?!"

After I calmed down a bit, I got to thinking about why that proclamation had flipped my switches so thoroughly. And, because I am quite fond of lists, I made a nice little list of all the ways this statement pissed me off.

#1: Writing is work. The process of getting the dialogue from my head onto the page is not magical and effortless. There is skill involved, believe it or not, and a heck of a lot of time. A heck of a lot of time. I cannot tell you how many times I have told someone I am a writer only to have them inform me that they are as well. When I express interest and inquire after their writing, I am often stunned to discover they have never written a word. They have this great idea for a book. They are sure they would be brilliant writers. All they have to do is write it. I'm not saying those people won't someday be writers, but until you put your ass in the chair and write the damn book, you are not a writer. And it is an insult to people who put in the work to call yourself one. (Note: I am not talking about "authors", a title which, to me at least, implies publication and profit. This is just about whether or not you can call yourself a writer, aspiring or otherwise.) To me, a writer is one who writes, so unless you've written something, you need to find another word.

#2: Writing is not just storytelling. You may be an entertainer, a talent, a gifted storyteller with oodles of ideas, but the mechanics of writing - the craft, if you will - are not handed out by God on high. Just because you have an idea doesn't mean you have the ability to write it. (Neither does it mean you lack the ability, but I'm just saying, voices in your head might be a symptom of a writerly disposition, but they do not a writer make.)

#3: Writing is work. It can also be a beloved hobby, a passion, or a dream. For many of us, it is something we cannot imagine our lives without. It is an intrinsic ingredient in our happiness. It is part of who we are. We make sacrifices for it. Marriages have been known to suffer and even dissolve when a spouse does not understand the writer's dedication. To assign the term "writer" to anyone who has ever taken a trip into their own imagination is to mock that dedication and the sacrifices we make.

If you are a writer, you write. And you don't need anyone to tell you that. You don't write? Not a writer. Sorry. If you want to be a writer, put your ass in that chair and write. What's stopping you?

Writers Behaving Badly... AKA Epic Twitter Freak-Out

Writing is an emotional business. Like most creative individuals, we writers are very sensitive to criticisms of our "art". I actually ask my beta readers to write down their comments rather than giving them to me verbally, because I need to read them twice before I can process them rationally. My first reaction is always emotional and defensive, no matter how valid the criticism (and the criticisms are usually spot on - my beta readers kick ass). But I know this about myself and I try to keep that first knee-jerk reflex private.

That is one of the dangers of Twitter - people posting when they are in the throws of an emotionally-fueled, rationally-devoid temper-tantrum. They say things publicly that are so epically stupid there really are no words to describe that level of idiocy.

Like posting the name, phone number, and email address of someone who gave you a negative review in a major newspaper. Like this Twit.

Bad reviews sting, but it's someone's opinion! You do not start a hate-mail campaign over someone not liking you! What was she thinking? I actually like a couple of the movies made from her books and probably would have checked out her writing if I had tripped across her name in a more positive way. Now? Sorry. I have books to read from people who aren't having meltdowns in public places and sending their readers off on hate-missions. (Though I do feel a little sorry for her that the backlash from her Twitter diatribe is going to be so harsh.)

Just a couple days ago, I got a less-than-stellar review from Mrs. Giggles. Now, I didn't agree with the review, because I think she said a couple things about the book that weren't entirely accurate - she didn't like it, no problem, but what I felt was her misportrayal of the story bugged me, as I mentioned here on the blog. But I would still recommend her site (as I have done before) to those who like a little snark with their reviews (as I do). And I urge you not to send her hate mail, not to call her, and not to try to change her mind. Her review is her review. I'm grateful she took the time to review me at all. She's a busy woman. (Dude, have you seen how many books she reviews each week? She must be reading constantly.)

So yeah, just to be clear, we like Mrs. Giggles, lukewarm review and all. I'd probably like her less if she were less opinionated, so I can't exactly bitch about falling on the wrong side of her preferences without being a total hypocrite. And I try to avoid hypocrisy when possible. Just as I try to avoid knee-jerk emotional reactions that spill out into public forums. That is just never a good thing.

Bummer

I have been to writing conferences where big name authors hold up stacks of hundreds of rejection letters. Many a bestseller wear their rejection merit badge with pride. They came through the trenches. They've been there, man.

Writers love those stories to a freakish degree. Because (a) it makes us think we are on the right track - in spite of the tide of "No"s coming at us. "If she got rejected seven gazillion times, then I might be just as freakishly successful someday! After all, I've only been rejected four gazillion times! There's hope for me! Three gazillion to go!"

And (b) it brings the demi-gods of publishing down to our level. "She got rejected! She's just like me!"

I honestly don't know how many times my stories have been rejected. (More than ten, less than a hundred.) I don't think about my rejections after the fact. I jot them down in my little spreadsheet where I keep track of dangling submissions, and then I forget about them.

I have yet to have a rejection crush my soul (and hopefully never will), but each one is disappointing in its own way. Why am I talking about this? Well, I've had a pretty disappointing week on the rejection front.

Following the Golden Heart brou-ha-ha, I sent out a trickling stream of agent queries. I'm not a "blanket the market, submit to everyone" kinda girl, so I carefully selected agents I thought suited my needs who'd also expressed an interest in the genres I write. I researched, I queried, I submitted requested partial manuscripts for consideration... then I waited.

In the last week, I've received rejections from four of them. Which, honestly, has bummed me out a little. However, I'm still going great guns on my new WIP. I'm jazzed about my shifter release (less than two weeks!) and I have about a dozen other very pleasant things to distract me. So the sting of rejection? Pretty mild. In the karmic balance of things, I think I'm still on the plus side. And I've got a lot of rejections to go before I get to seven gazillion.

Money, Honey

So we've all know about J.K. Rowling and Dan Brown, the gold-rush phenoms who struck it rich seemingly overnight (emphasis on seemingly). Some of us have sat in workshops or attended signings at which the presenter was introduced as having X million books in print and done a little royalty math in our heads. There are success stories out there and, oh, what successes they are. We hear them and our agile imaginations place us on our private yacht in the South Pacific, plunking idly away at a book we certainly don't need to write for financial reasons and generally having a smashing good time.

But the reality for most of us is more accurately represented by the immortal words of Macaulay Connor, the struggling writer turned reporter from The Philadelphia Story (arguably the best movie of all time, and by arguably, I mean that you can argue with me, but you would be wrong). Connor, in a moment of brilliance says, "You know, that book of mine represents two solid years' work and it netted Connor something under six hundred dollars." Tracy's reaction to those words couldn't be truer: "But that shouldn't be!" And yet, it is. Allowing for inflation over the last seventy or so years, those numbers seem about right.

Don't believe me? Brenda Hiatt debunks the Publishing Your Book = Winning the Lottery myth on her website by posting anonymous information on how much authors in the romance genre are really making these days. There is a wide variety, but the average numbers might surprise you. http://www.brendahiatt.com/id2.html

Think it's only the debut or midlist authors who are rubbing pennies together? New York Times Bestselling author Lynn Viehl demystifies the earnings of a bestselling novel in this blog post: http://www.genreality.net/the-reality-of-a-times-bestseller. (And I cannot thank her enough for being so forthcoming. Where did this stigma against copping to the financial realities of life as an author come from? Are we trying to foster an illusion of wild success in some misplaced positive thinking? Or is it that they - whoever they are - think we won't put ourselves through the emotional rollercoaster of publishing if we don't have the mega-millions dreams to spur us on? Trust me; most of us would write anyway. We are writing junkies. We don't do it for the money. Which isn't to say we would turn down money...)

So how is a writer to make a living at this nasty biz?

One alternative to starvation is to be fiendishly prolific. Write like a mad thing (maintaining a high quality, of course) and publish enough books a year to wallpaper the palace at Versailles.

Option two is to marry well - I am in a small minority of romance writers who are not also loving wives and carpool mommies. And I am wildly jealous of them for their bringing-home-the-bacon-hubbies (although admittedly, I have exponentially more time to devote to my writing since I am not tasked with taking care of anyone but myself).

The third tried-and-true technique is to be lucky. Really, really lucky. And talented. And determined. And lucky. And skilled. And... did I mention luck?

Option four... well, I'm still looking for a fourth option that doesn't include a forty hour week in the accounting department. That is where I am stuck at least until my “patron lady bountiful” comes along. Suggestions?

Ignorance is *!@#)$*!

I've said in the past that I hate the waiting that is so much a part of the publishing biz. I'd like to retract that statement. I don't actually hate waiting. I don't have a problem with waiting at all. What I have a problem with is not knowing. Ignorance sucks. As soon as I know what to expect, I can anticipate the good and plan for the bad. I'm a big planner. One might even say I am a compulsive planner. Unfortunately, you can't make plans if you don't know what's coming at you. The not knowing drives me nuts.

I got a rejection today from an agent I queried last April. Just your standard, "Thanks for submitting... careful consideration... no thanks." I can't say I'm traumatized by the rejection. After eleven months, I'm just grateful I got a response at all. Now I know. (Yay!) I get to tick that one off my list of dangling submissions, polish up my proposal, and send another soldier out into the fray. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!

I don't know who said Ignorance is bliss, but I beg to differ. Knowledge is bliss. Ignorance is annoying as hell.

But I suppose I can see the other side of the argument. If you don't know that you've been rejected yet, you can still entertain the fantasy that the agent loves you beyond all reason, they will sell your manuscript for a bazillion dollars in the largest publishing deal in the history of the world and you will be given an express pass to wealth and fame. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous will do a feature on your private yacht and George Clooney will get down on his knees and beg to meet you - and wouldn't he be just perfect to play your hero in the blockbuster smash film-adaptation of your book?

It's a pretty thought, but I think I'd still rather know. What about you? Ignorance is bliss? Or ignorance is agony?