Welcome to Write Wrong: A podcast that talks about writing from the POV of someone who’s been doing it wrong for far too long. I’m Cortney Hamilton, and this is Episode 003. Today I’ll be talking about: 

 

You want to sell your book? Put a dog on the cover!

 

But first, a word for those of you who don’t want to listen to this whole episode but still want helpful advice: 

 

Never wear a turtleneck sweater in public. One of the nicer things about the human form is that it has a neck. It frames the head and gives your face some gravitas. Wearing a turtleneck is like your body threatening your head with suffocation. Plus, it makes your face look like it’s popping out of your shoulders. If your neck is cold, wear a scarf because at least you’ll be respecting the neck with its very own piece of clothing and, if you’re a man, you’ll look debonair. If you’re a woman, you’ll look mysterious and intriguing. For those of you who have no neck, by all means, wear a turtle neck because it might give the illusion of one. Just don’t suffocate yourself. 

 

Moving on: 

 

The most helpful advice I’ve ever received on how to sell a novel was from a published author I once met whose name I can’t remember, whose books I’ve never read, but whose cynicism and jadedness has attached itself to my brain like an impressionable teenager to a religious cult. He said the secret to selling a novel was simple: Put a dog on the cover. Because the rumor out there is people love dogs, despite their deceptive cuddliness and beguiling loyalty. 

 

Why just a cursory search on Goodreads proves my point. All the dog books have great reviews and thousands of them. From Go Dog Go! To Marly and Me to The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, which, spoiler, that dog is dead in the very first paragraph.  

 

 

Now, disclaimer: Do I know what sells? No. But, think about this: does your agent know what’s going to sell? No. How about your publisher? No. 

Think of publishing books like one giant roulette table where the publishers are the croupier, the agents are the gambling addicts, and the public's the ball. And what about you and me? We’re still trying to figure out where the plates are for the all-you-can-eat prime rib buffet. Not to mention what a croupier is.

 

Now, have I taken this unnamed author’s advice and put a dog in my book? If I had, I’d be rolling in those Marly and Me dollars like John Grogan in a Scrooge McDuck costume right now. And maybe you’ve figured all this out. Maybe you’ve written about a dog or a cat, or a cute little ducky who turns into a fowl version of Hannibal Lecter and feeds off the young of his friends because he’s bored. That’s a real thing, by the way. Check out my show notes. But, so far, in my writing journey, I don’t have an animal story in me. 

 

In fact, the novel I’m trying to pitch to agents and publishers is about cadavers, but, you know, with a whimsical take. And there are no dogs in it. Why I could put one in there, but it would be inauthentic. Like streaking at your grandmother’s funeral. “My God, there’s a right time and a right place, Jimmy. Just because you didn’t like Mee-Maw doesn't make it okay.” 

 

I know you’re probably thinking, “Where are you going with this, Hamilton? Get to the point.” And if you’re not thinking that, you probably should be. 

 

My point is that you likely won’t sell your book to as many people as you want to. I won’t sell my book to as many people as I want to. 

 

Not in any numbers that are significant enough to help with rent or groceries. And, unless I’m willing to dedicate my time to writing about animals, I need to make peace with that. Because even if an agent loves my book. Even if the publisher loves my book, it doesn’t mean people will read it. 

 

So, since I’m not gonna put a cuddly animal on the cover, what do I do? I’m glad you asked. 

 

1. Write from the pelvis. 

 

Okay, I was going to say write from the heart. But what is the heart? A muscly organ that has enough on its plate already. I mean, it’s in charge of love, empathy, youth, not to mention pumping all that extra Funyun grease through my bloodstream when I have writer’s block. Do I really need to add writing to its chores? Plus, everyone tells you to write from the heart. That’s a lot of pressure. So then I was going to say write from groin. But groin is a word I save for special occasions like when I’m at the doctor or giving a eulogy. 

 

So I’m recommending that you write from pelvis. Because the pelvis wants something to do. The pelvis longs, nay, yearns, nay, craves rhythm. It wants to be put to work. This is why we dance. Dancing doesn’t make any practical sense. But it feels good. And why? Because it’s the pelvis trying to tell us something. It wants more work. And if you’ve ever let the pelvis take control, then you’ve likely been in the position of quietly picking up your clothes and sneaking out of the apartment before your one-night stand wakes up and asks for your phone number. 

 

So I say: Harness that energy. Dig deep. Because there’s raw, savage honesty there. And what does it mean to write from the pelvis? It means you gotta dance in your own way. It means if you want to write a slice-of-life literary novel, you do it. If you want to write a teenage vampire novel, don’t let Twilight stop you. Because you can do better than Twilight. Let me repeat: you can do better than Twilight. 

 

 

2. Forget about which genre sells. 

 

Let’s face it, despite our best efforts, we all live in linear time. We were young, now we’re older. We were rash-free, now we’re rubbing in ointment to stop the burning, we had a job, and now we’re sleeping on our brother’s couch, emptying his ashtrays, and putting on our headphones when he downloads porn. 

 

And publishing a book traditionally takes a long time. One to three years. And self-publishing, in order to capitalize on the trends, is like trying to ride a dolphin you’ve just met for the first time. Sure, their beady-little eyes and faux smile say, “Let’s go for a swim,” but that dorsal fin says, “Grab me, and I will cut you and leave you for the sharks.”

 

And what sells right now, won’t necessarily be selling six months from now. 

 

Now, let me be clear about this whole forgetting genre thing. Because I don’t mean don’t think about genre at all. If you’re thinking, ‘Look at all these thrillers that have sold. Why, I should write a thriller.’ But you’ve never written a thriller, don’t have an idea for a thriller, and start watching Michael Jackson’s Thriller for inspiration…STOP. 

 

Because it’s more important that you write the story that moves you, and not follow the trends. Why? Because that’s what will motivate you to sit in front of a blank page and actually put words down. Sure, maybe you try to write a thriller, and you start one, and you think, ‘This is great!’ And then you get to page ninety, and you got nothin’. No story. No idea where to go. And no motivation to go there. While in your mind, you keep thinking about a romance story which has a character, not unlike your co-worker Janice, but is totally not her, even though they both have red hair, love turtlenecks, and like to play chubby bunny in dive bars. 

 

And now you’re stuck in the middle of a thriller you have no energy for, thinking you have writer’s block. But you don’t. You have story block. 

Because you’re not writing your story. Even if your story doesn’t fall into any particular genre. And if it doesn’t: welcome to my world. Please, make yourself comfortable and enjoy the elite and unique situation of having no home. Yes, I feel superior about it, but only because what I lack in genre, I gain in a false sense of confidence. 

 

Don’t get me wrong. My novel is written in a genre that one may call dark comedy. One may also call it hilarious drama, if one wanted to be foolish about it. But I defy you to find a bookstore--no, wait, that’s too close to home. I challenge you to go into the few bookstores that are remaining and find a shelf that is labeled dark-comedy. Sure, you have your romance section. Your horror section. Your mysteries, your thrillers, and even comedy shelves. But, look at any comedy shelf, and most of the books are non-fiction. Your Tina Feys, your Amy Poehlers, your Ali Wongs. Your Dad-joke books, etc. Etc. And so on. 

 

And I get why. Comedy is a book genre not known for plot. And publishers tend to love stories with plot.

 

So, even though I knew my genre was a tough one, did I stop writing? No. Because I HAD to write about cadavers. And not just cadavers, but the journey of a woman finding her soul again. Through cadavers. It was something that was calling to me. And if the unidirectional mode of this recording is any indication, I can tell by my inability to hear you, you’re clamoring to get your hands on it. I can tell--no need to shout. 

 

But I suspect this is why the book didn’t sell to publishers. Cadavers. Dark comedy. There’s no shelf. And unless I have a waiting audience or Kim Kardashian picks it up, loves it, and tweets how great it is, I’m kind of screwed. But that didn’t stop me. Because I’m writing from my pelvis. And I will hammer that novel into an uproarious form of mind-blowing fictitious jocundity, until, who knows? One day you might just read it because you’re bored, quarantined, it’s self-published, and free on Amazon. 

 

 

3. Don’t think about genre, but do think about premise, plot, action, and character arc. 

 

Just because I spend an inordinate amount of time staring dumbly at Netflix options only to finally choose something, watch ten minutes and decide I’m not in the mood for that, doesn’t mean my book has to suffer the same fate by potential readers. 

 

Because as long as I have an engaging premise, a plot, some action, character choices, relationships, then I have a chance at keeping your attention.

 

And, quite honestly, I don’t even have to have all of those for a good novel, but it helps because, as I’ve proven repeatedly, I am not a literary genius. It also helps when I get stuck in the dark goo of the second act wishing I had a lifeline, a rope, a jungle vine, water-wings, a floating beer coozy, anything to get me out of this mess. 

 

Now, you might be asking, “Can you be more specific? What exactly are the elements of a dynamic story? What is a premise? How do I write a character arc? Why are you holding back on me?” And I say to you, I will go into greater detail. Later. On a different episode. That’s not what this episode’s about anyway. Stop trying to control it. 

 

But I can tell you this much: 

That while I have a story about cadavers and body parts, something that might seem strange and abnormal if you’re not used to it, it’s essentially a quest story like The Hobbit without hairy feet. Or Heart of Darkness without boats or racism.    

 

My protagonist has to get something. How does she get it? What are the obstacles that get in her way? Who are her helpers? Where does she start emotionally and psychologically, and how does this specific quest help her to be happy in the end? 

 

Because we all want to be happy. Even a serial killer wants to be happy. They just go about it in a poorly-chosen way. Everything we do (and also our characters, but you too) is in order to be happy. And how she gets from the beginning to the end, both physically and emotionally, provides a story that seems very familiar. 

 

So, it’s true, my novel has no genre, or a genre that doesn’t exist in a popular, identifiable way, and yet the story’s framework — a quest, of a character learning and experiencing a journey in order to heal her wounds—is a well-worn road in the history of literature. And that will help keep people’s attention. 

 

4. Promote yourself.

 

I haven’t done this. But I hear it’s great. So I include this one as advice for me.

 

My time harnessing the power of Twitter has been like a lioness tending to her cubs if that lioness was lazy and hated her cubs. 

I get on Twitter. I post a couple of things. I wait. No one responds. I respond to a few tweets with posts I think maybe funny and sometimes encouraging. No one responds. I close my web browser, come back six months later, admonishing myself for not connecting to others on Twitter. I repeat and soon I’m 8 years in with 150 followers most of which have possibly died or were banned because they were bots. 

 

But what I’m realizing is that Twitter is like having a dog. See? It all comes back to dogs. If you aren’t consistent, then your dog doesn’t care who you are. So I have to feed her. Every day. And then I have to take her out to pee. Every day. And then I have give her the cold stare of menace when she eats the toilet paper roll at least three times a week. And of course, I pet her and do some kissy-faces. But what I get in return is her undying love. As long as I definitely feed her. Cause she can turn on me really fast. 

 

What I’m trying to say is, I haven’t been out there on Twitter answering and interacting. I don’t go to conferences. My Instagram photos are a series of plants that I posted when I was intoxicated, and in my ‘nature is trippy’ phase.

 

But I need to promote myself if anyone’s going to give a damn. And even then it’s questionable. 

 

And I’m having a hard time.

 

Because, what promoting myself really means to me is exposing myself. And that’s what's kept me from posting. Because, now you might not be able to tell it from my deep baritone and large brow ridge, but I’m a scared little boy inside. And I don’t like to tell people about my stuff. I never have. Even as a child, I never told my older brother there were monsters under my bed. Because if I had, he would’ve teamed up with those monsters and made me look foolish. Especially, after all the bed-wetting. 

 

And yes, this is a bigger issue. I should get a therapist, blah, blah, blah. But then I thought, why pay for a therapist when I can just start a podcast? Two birds, one stone. Because, at the end of the day, and even at the beginning of the next day, I do know that connection is important. I’ve connected before. I’m actually pretty good at it. I just do it better, you know, with people I’ve already met and feel comfortable with. And let’s face it, my humor is not for everyone, or so my girlfriend tells me.   

 

Still, I’m going to keep exposing myself to the world, whether they want to see it or not. And I’m going to do it as authentically as possible. And sometimes, that means I’m not so rosy, which can be a challenge because Twitter doesn’t capture sarcasm very well. And that’s really my wheelhouse.

 

So I’m taking small bites in social media. One piece of advice that I heard from Seth Godin was find your community. Don’t try to connect with everyone. Just try to connect with YOUR ones. The ones who get you. This makes so much sense, it’s obvious in hindsight. 

 

I’ve been doing it wrong all my life. At parties, I used to go right to the beer keg, grab the spigot, and start filling up cups, and soon I knew everyone in that party by name. But did I really make a connection? I mean, I knew their names, but they only knew me as ‘beer boy.’ “Where’s beer boy?’ they’d say. “I’m empty.” Or “Beer boy, run down to the store and get some more beer.” Sure, it felt like a community at the time. But I often went home feeling empty and dehydrated. And I had a horrible time sleeping. 

 

But that was because I was trying to be friends with everyone instead of just 'some' ones. Maybe the ones who drank wine instead. I never got to meet them. Or maybe the ones who weren’t at those parties at all. 

 

Now I know, it doesn’t have to be that way. Not for me. And not for you. Find what you do and do that. And hopefully, people will come. And if they don’t, then you don’t want them around anyway. And if they do, be nice to them, because you might need someone to grab some beer when you run out.  

 

So, to sum it all up, if you want to sell a book, put a dog on the cover. If you don’t want to write about dogs or lie to your readers about having a dog in your story, then: 

 

1. Forget about what genres are selling, and write what you want.  

 

2. Do think about the elements of story. The character arc. What happens. How your characters change. Whatever you are writing, keep it familiar. Maybe use the structure of a story you love as a template. Maybe follow the 3-act structure to organize it in a way that’s helpful. At the very least, do consider the big picture of your story, so if you aren’t writing in a sellable genre, then you’re at least adhering to a structure familiar enough to be different.

 

3. Promote yourself. Do it authentically. Don’t get people to follow you because you have a book out. Or because you’re trying to prove to your Tinder date you have a rich and complex social life. Engage. Make friends as if you don’t care if they read your book, as if you’d want to meet them anyway. 

 

And 4. Finally, write from your pelvis. Because the heart has enough problems.

 

Today’s quote is from Rollo May an existential psychologist who I’m guessing was named after a popular chocolate candy wrapped in tube form. He says:  

 

“If you do not express your own original ideas, if you do not listen to your own being, you will have betrayed yourself.”  

 

So, don’t betray yourself, my fellow writers, even though everyone else may be doing it, and it sounds completely reasonable at the time. Overcome the peer pressure. And you’ll find your way.     

 

As always, you can tell me how to sell a book by tweeting me, leave an email or voice message on my website Cortwrites.com. That’s C-O-R-T writes.com, where you can also find show notes, links, and transcripts. Also, leave a review on iTunes because if you do, apparently Apple lets me skip to the front of the line when they release the next iPhone. Or maybe I just misread that. Either way, It’d be nice if you did. 

 

And by all means, write, my friends. Write like you’re saving a baby from a burning car. Because that baby is your novel. And that car is time.