from book to film: adaptations

People often ask me when the movie version of Faking It will be released. Some are joking, while others are dead serious. I confess that there's a rough draft of a screenplay (very rough) sitting in a drawer in my apartment. It was the first collaboration between my writing partner and me, almost four years ago (four years? geez, how the hell did that happen?). In addition to my aspirations of getting an agent and reaching a wider audience with my novels, having my books turned into films would be pretty neat.

My fear, however (and yes, I do think of these things) would be that it wouldn't be done well. That the characters would be miscast, or the jokes would be delivered poorly, or that they'd film in Wilmington and pass it off as Long Island to save money (take that, Dawson's Creek!). I wonder what novelists think of film interpretations of their work? What did Stephen King think of Carrie, or The Green Mile, or Shawshank Redemption (which was actually a short story), or any of his other novels-turned-movies? What did Jennifer Weiner think of In her Shoes?

Then there's the issue of preference. My experience is that whichever you encounter first is the one you prefer. I much prefer the movie version of Chocolat to the book (which I read years after seeing the film, one of my favorites), and not just because Johnny Depp was much sweeter to look at than the novel description of Roux. I preferred Redford's The Natural. And it was the film All the President's Men that sparked my ongoing fascination with Watergate.

The Social Network is based on the book The Accidental Billionaires. Apollo 13 was based on Jim Lovell's book Lost Moon. I enjoyed the former to the later in the second example, and chances are that even if I read The Accidental Billionaires first, I'll still enjoy the film more.

Didn't care for the Harry Potter films as much as the books (and I refused to see them until I read the books). Haven't even seen Twilight. No desire to see Lord of the Rings. Prefer Bridget Jones books to the films (although how can you not fall in love with Colin Firth?)

So, here's my question (more than one, actually): What are your favorite film adaptations of books? Are there any film adaptations that completely ruined the book experience for you? Are there any you would refuse to see? Are there any films that you prefer to the book? Which did you see first? Are there any favorite books that you would love to see made into a film or even a tv series? If so, why? And who would you want to see cast in those films? Are there any films you would love to see made into novels (for example, would I love When Harry Met Sally as a novel)?

wombmates

I missed family relationships blogging day. I had wanted to participate in it, but then I completely forgot about it. When Tuesday rolled around, I wrote about swine flu instead. You can blame my absentmindedness on said swine flu, if it makes you feel better. It does me.

I cribbed the following from Writers Inspired:

WOW! Women On Writing has gathered a group of blogging buddies to write about family relationships. Why family relationships? We’re celebrating the release of Therese Walsh’s debut novel today. The Last Will of Moira Leahy , (Random House, October 13, 2009) is about a mysterious journey that helps a woman learn more about herself and her twin, whom she lost when they were teenagers. Visit The Muffin (http://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/blog.html) to read what Therese has to say about family relationships

So, here's my post anyway, even though the moment is over.

Last night my twin brother called me just as I was falling asleep, around 10:45.

Him: I'm sorry, did I wake you?
Me: Well, um, kind of. What's up?
Him: What's the name of that soap, the blue and white one, with the commercials where the people were all bright-eyed after taking a shower?
Me: (after a couple of seconds) Coast.
(Yes, I'm ashamed to say I knew exactly what he was talking about. No, it's not a twin thing, it's my sad attention to soap commercials.)
Him: (yelling to his girlfriend) It's Coast!!
Me: You woke me up for that?
Him: It was an emergency.

This is the way our phone conversations usually go. This, or some West Wing trivia (I'm sorry to say he's better than me), or a debate over the best Pop Tart flavor, or some other recital of something requiring cartoonish voices. Regardless, we end up in laughter. I end up in tears, grabbing my side, sometimes literally falling over.

But my twin brother also often asks me what I'm reading. He's always reading something impressive. Something on a recommendation from Ray Bradbury or Dan Simmons. Those conversations are much more serious, more passionate. I always learn something from him when we talk about reading. And I learn something about him, too.

We always called ourselves the yin and yang twins: He's tall, I'm short. He's right-handed, I'm left-handed. He's straight hair, I'm curly hair. He's got brown eyes, I've got blue eyes. He's smart, I'm beautiful (ok, so I'm smart too...). And so on. We're both writers. He writes literary science fiction, the likes of Harlan Ellison and Theodore Sturgeon and Jorge Luis Borges, guys way over my head. I'm more commercial, a completely different prosaic style. He's downright elegant, poetic in his prose. Mine just is. He learned to write by reading. He absorbs what he reads, and he reads voraciously. I was much more academic in my learning. But we even complement each other there. I think rhetorcially. He thinks literary.

He taught himself to play Keith Emerson solos by ear. By ear, the rat-bastard. I can draw portraits by copying from photographs.

Stephen King talks about the writer's Intended Reader (for him, it's his wife, Tabitha). Aside from my writing partner, the reader whose opinion I value most is my wombmate's. I have learned just as much (if not more) about writing from him as from King or Aaron Sorkin or Andre Dubus III or Nora Ephron or anyone else.

I love each of my siblings, each one for special reasons. But my twin brother is probably my most favorite person in the world. I cannot imagine a day, an hour, a minute without him in my life. I can't even begin to conceptualize life as a non-twin. Nor do I want to. It doesn't matter that we're both readers and writers, or that we're as different as can be. We don't believe in twin telepathy, and we don't live down the street from each other. But when it comes down to the real important things -- soap, pop tarts, Toby Zeigler impersonations, cats -- we're right there. We get it.

I've already written a protagonist w/ a twin brother. I doubt the manuscript will ever get finished, much less published, but it's one of my favorite character relationships. I'm drawn to characters w/ chemistry. But I love those two because I understand them so well. And I love that they understand each other.

So, this post is for you, dear wombmate. You fill me w/ joy.
And check out Therese Walsh when you can.

oink oink

Readers, you may have thought I escaped to the beach, or went pumpkin picking and got caught in a vine; or, perhaps you thought I succumbed to the insanity known as mid semester. Or, perhaps you thought I was going deep and quiet before launching the Ordinary World missle.

Sadly, it was none of the above. I had the swine flu.

Yes, that awfully named H1N1 virus that has nothing to do with swine but everything to do with the flu. I am now a statistic.

It was spreading around campus faster than gossip (a recent memo from my university approximated 900 reported student cases, "presumably" H1N1, since the beginning of the fall semester), and several of my students had already missed class as a result of it. Faculty had also been issued a memo that students with swine flu were to be given special consideration regarding attendance, catching up, etc. I frowned, thinking that they were simply riding on the paranoia bandwagon.

And then I got a tickle in my throat.

I'd dismissed it because it was at night, after a day in which I lectured for three hours straight (which I normally don't do). When I woke up the next morning with a cough and feeling a little bit woozy, however, I thought that maybe it wasn't from all the talking.

I went into school anyway, but by the time I got there I was pretty certain that I should probably turn around and go home (feeling more woozy and throat sore), that maybe I should take advantage of the bandwagon, especially given that in 24 hours I would be on fall break, a break I was looking forward to so I could start planning the Ordinary World launch, line up some readings, etc. (not to mention just relaxing).

Besides, the department secretary said I didn't look too good.

By the time I got home, I was running a slight temperature. Very slight. I made a doctor's appointment for the next day. Even apologized for jumping on the H1N1 bandwagon.

I'll spare you the details of the H1N1 test (other than to say "snout test" might coincide well w/ "swine flu"), but 10 minutes later, my results came back: positive.

That's not what upset me, however. What upset me was the doctor reminding me that I hadn't been there for a physical in quite some time, and now that I'm almost 40, these things have to become regular.

Damn, I'm almost 40??

It turned out that I was too late for Tamiflu, and the doctor told me to stay home for one week exactly and take OTC meds, which I did. No contact with others.

For the next three days, I was sicker than I've been in a long time. The fever was the worst. At some point I finally lost it and burst into tears when my mom called. It was also the first in a long time that I felt lonely. I wondered if this was payback for my criticism of the "special consideration" memo. Had I not already been on vacation (and a sucky vacation it was), I would have had to cancel even more classes. This is not a curl-up-under-the-blanket-and-catch-up-on-soap-operas-or-reality-shows kind of flu. You start to think of ways to put yourself out of your misery: drop an anvil on your head, drink the entire bottle of Dimetapp, suck on the exhaust pipe of a bus, you name it. I had very little appetite for anything other than toast or soup. (I did, however, have the foresight to buy a bag of peanut M&Ms on my way home from school earlier in the week.)

By Saturday, my fever finally broke, but was still 99. On Sunday, I relapsed just a little, but my appetite returned (as did my single-serving instant cake recipe). Yesterday was my first full day w/ a normal temp and w/out needing meds of any kind. Today was my last day off from school. I even got some work done today.

So even though my vacation was shot to hell and the Ordinary World release has been delayed, there are more things for which to be grateful: having a job in which to call in sick; having health insurance to cover my doctor visits; having family close by to deliver orange juice to me; having a mom to call me each day and make sure I'm ok, and a wombmate who made me laugh until I couldn't stop coughing; and lots and lots of dear friends and colleagues and loved ones via Facebook who let me know they were thinking of me, sending me love and healing energy, and simply wishing me well. Besides, better sick now than at Christmastime, when I'm back in Sag Harbor with my writing partner working on our manuscript.

Not only that, but this past week, Faking It climbed very high in the Kindle Store rankings yet again (and, last I checked, is still in the Top 100 for special categories), got its first UK paperback sale (woohoo!), and is a semifinalist in the Best of the Best ebook contest (its Kindle status qualified it).

I have a lot to catch up on, and am looking forward to getting my energy levels up. I'll say this: don't take this flu lightly. I still think there's a lot of hoopla about it; but, it's not something I wish on anyone. I certainly have more empathy for my students now (not that I had none before), and perhaps that's another good thing to come out of this as well. And I'm bringing a can of Lysol to my office on Thursday. That and some Halloween candy. I would've baked cookies for my students, but I don't think they'd really want anything that my hands touched this week.

readers before royalties

I just had a great month of Kindle sales for Faking It; setting the price at 99 cents has attracted more readers and occasionally put me into the Top 100 special categories rankings (makes for good bragging rights for my parents and strangers, but Amazon rankings are a little tricky; still, it's nothing to frown at, either...).

When it comes to Kindle and e-book sales, however, I kind of feel like I'm both biting the hand that feeds me and selling myself short. I've discussed on this blog how I feel about tactile books and how much I love and support independent booksellers. I know they lose business to the Kindle, and I don't want to see them go away. But as a self-published author, I'm not only a writer, I'm a businessperson, and the bottom line is that I sell books on Kindle and am building a following. Am I underselling my talent by charging so little? Many might say yes. But I look at the bigger picture; I think from the end. Guys like Ray Bradbury and Stephen King used to sell stories to magazines that paid a penny per word, and that was after numerous rejections. Heck, the Beatles weren't exactly staying at Hamburg's version of The Plaza when they first started out.

The money will come -- it already is coming. So are the readers, and the reviews. So far, so good. Most important, I'm having fun.

There's a saying: "Do what you love; the money will follow." Don't listen to those that say there's no money to be made as an author, and don't ever sell yourself short, literally and metaphorically. Know what you want, make a plan, and visualize your plan manifesting itself. Most of all, love what you do, and do it as if it's already raking in the bucks. Do it for your readers, and remember: you're one of 'em.

One more thing: more than any other time, self-published authors have several channels of distribution and communication to get their books into the hands of readers. Take advantage of as many as possible, but be patient.

is this what's known as a "pregnant pause"?

A week? It's been a week since I posted? Sheesh...

We're at the time of the semester where things are getting really hectic. Mid-term is fast approaching; papers are coming in left and right, and one-on-one conferences will soon occupy my every waking moment.

We're also at that point in the pregnancy of Ordinary World where we're just waiting for the moment to come. There still needs to be one or two details to smooth over. Hard to find the time, but it's gotta be done, and I can hardly wait.

All this leaves me at a loss for something to write about, however. I've not done much physical composing other than personal, private writing. I've not made any appearances or had any wild stories to tell (truth be told, my character lead far more exciting lives than I). I haven't even heard any good jokes lately.

So I'll divert the attention away from me and on to you, dear readers: What do you write when there's seemingly nothing to write about?

are you giving what you're getting?

Recently I've been reading in various comment sections of blogs and on forums that writers are very competitive and don't wish to see other writers gain success. I've also read things about writers getting burned by more successful professionals in the business, be it television/film or publishing.

I gotta tell ya, I'm confused.

My experience of writers and potential mentors is completely different. I find writers--at any stage of success--to be nothing but supportive, encouraging, and complimentary. They will buy your book just to give you your royalty (even when it's practically pennies); they'll plug your book even when they're too poor to buy it themselves; they'll refer you to a store or a website or a person that could possibly benefit you and your pursuit of publication and/or sales. They'll offer honest, critical feedback, and help you find your talent when it disappears in the middle of the night. And they'll praise you when you've found it and you're in the zone.

Professionals in the business, the ones who have achieved the success you're striving for, are not much different. They want to help you be the best writer you can be. They want your success as much as you do, whether they have a stake in it or not.

I once got my book into the hands of a big-time editor at a major publishing company. In the end, he decided that the book wasn't a right match. But he gave me excellent feedback and assured me that it had nothing to do w/ the quality of the writing. Wished me well.

I know of another highly successful writer who offers help to his fans -- he's no pushover, mind you. But he freely dispenses advice, and I have no doubt that he'd pick up the phone and use his influence if the writer was really talented and those other factors were clicked into place.

I'm sure there are exceptions to these fabulous people -- there always are -- but my point is this: What is your attitude towards writers, towards success, towards yourself?

I concede that it is a tough business (and we published authors have to remind ourselves about the business part constantly), but if all you ever focus on is the tough part, how do you expect to be break through? How do you expect to be received? Rejections happen, and some of them are so disappointing they downright suck, but there's always something to be gained by them (a reminder that you can't please everyone, for starters; and many agents say that they turn down good writing all the time). The really golden ones are the ones that come with feedback.

The "show me the money" days are over. Of course I want to sell books and make money. But I'll never do it if I maintain the attitude that I deserve it, dammit, after all, I'm a professional, and who the hell do those people think they are... Entitlement is not becoming.

This may seem to contradict what I've said in previous posts about writing being a rather selfish act. In that context, I'm talking about the process and even the purpose. But I don't think it should be in this context. Don't buy into the lie that writers are pitted against each other, and that when it comes to agents and publishing, it's them against us. If that's your experience, then I suggest you need to do some serious introspection before you point the finger outward. What goes around comes around.

You can't support every single author out there. You can't buy every book and plug every single one of 'em. But wish 'em well. Write down their name -- maybe down the line things will change. Congratulate them when they get a win, big or small (writing 1000 words is a win). Pay forward the kindness a fellow writer has bestowed on you. We're all in this together, after all.

a little lovin'

I got my proof copy of Ordinary World last week and have been busy reading it looking for typos, etc. I'm not sick of it yet, which is a good thing. Quite the contrary, actually. I love this book. I love it for entirely different reasons than why I love Faking It. Even though it's a sequel, it has so much more depth and complexity than Faking It. These characters have grown. Andi has a lot more to worry about than what she's wearing or what people think of her. And while it's not as lighthearted as Faking It, it's got its funny moments. I hate to be so cliche, but it's an "I laughed, I cried" novel.

It's a great thing to be pleased w/ one's writing. Mind you, there are parts of Faking It that I read and think I could've done better, but it was my first novel, and given that I think it still came out great. But dare I say, Ordinary World is better.

Be proud of the work you do, writers. The awards and accolades may not come your way as quickly as you'd like, but your biggest fan needs to be you. If you don't like what you write or why you write, you can't ask anyone else to.

I can't wait for you all to read Ordinary World. I hope you'll like it as much as I do.

P.S. Check out my good friend Roberto Scarlato's new book For What It's Worth!