brianrayfiction.com Blog

Wrapping up another major revision of my new top secret novel. Book touring. Watching weird movies (Eraserhead, anyone?) What a summer. The latest cult film, Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, has got me thinking a lot about constraints, audience expectations, and creativity. No easy answers here, but I was stunned to find out how badly that film flopped in the US despite considerable success abroad. And, about fifteen years later, not even JK Rowling could convince Warner Bros to give the cult auteur a chance at the Harry Potter franchise. Of course, having swum the depths of Tim Burton’s career, the fact that big movie companies give creative directors a hard time doesn’t come as a surprise.

I’m of the mind Brazil’s US flop had nothing to do with Gilliam and everything to do with terrible decisions aimed at mainstreaming the film. They cut out the best parts, glued on a cheesy happy ending, trashed the original symphonic score, and then to top things off they tossed in a bunch or “rock music” to “attract teenagers.” It so happens that Warner Bros. tried to do the same thing with Burton’s Batman back in ‘89, foisting the hipster god Prince onto Burton who miraculously managed to ditch most of the corny 80s music for Elfman’s now-unforgettable motion picture score. (Ever wonder why there were two soundtracks to that film? Now you know.) Really, people. Imagine watching this film with “Purple Rain” playing in the back ground. It’s like eating a peanut butter and shrimp sandwich. Both good but the idea of them combined triggers your gag reflex.

What’s this got to do with writing? Way ahead of you. I’ve given a lot of thought to the love-hate relationship between creativity and marketability. When and where they meet, how they fall in love, and what do their kids look like? On one side of the spectrum we have terrible works like LA Candy. On the other we have DeLillo’s The Names (my favorite novel but not a big seller). And then we have miracle writers like Pynchon, Marquez, Rowling, Gaiman, and others who do more than straddle two worlds. Writers like these folks take the biggest risks. They break the most rules, in some ways. And they wind up legends in their own time. And now for me to reference my own novel and compare myself to the pantheon. (What’s that, you say? Stick my foot in my mouth? No problem.) My own first novel, Through the Pale Door, takes significant risks that seem to be paying off when it comes to sales.

What has this got to do with Southern Lit and reality? Way ahead of you. Over the past few months I’ve heard many writers, editors, readers, and agents say the word “reality,” speaking to me or about me or about Southern Lit. I’ve heard the old adage that asserts the “it really happened that way” argument holds no water for creative writers. I beg to disagree. Yes. Credulity can be strained. Stories need a degree of verisimilitude. But the “it really happened that way” case means, to me, that writers, et al need to open their minds to what constitutes reality. For example: a friend recently told me the story of how a distant relative was obliged to attend a friend’s funeral with a knife in his back pocket and a bodyguard in tow because he feared some attendees would try to settle an old score. I recently heard a somewhat famous (and true) story of a town in Tennessee that spent an entire day trying to inflict capital punishment on an elephant for killing its owner – they finally had to hang the thing with a construction crane. Many writers, et al would tell me that none of these events could make a decent story. But they certainly could. If you can tell it over a table, you can write it down. It’s a matter of how confident your voice is. (Marquez has said the same thing, but I guess nobody remembers.)

All right. Taste is subjective, but mine’s less so. I promise. The End. Been writing for 12 hours a day the past two or three days. Now it’s time to rejoin the world.

At a birthday party, a friend handed me the latest in paranormal classics. You’ve heard of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. You’ve heard of Emma The Vampyre Slayer. Now get a load of Mr. Darcy, Vampyre:

More vampires. Sourcebooks Landmark announced a major new release by the popular author of Mr. Darcy’s Diary, Amanda Grange entitled Mr. Darcy, Vampyre, available August 11th. It is a continuation of Pride and Prejudice after the wedding, and may explain some of Mr. Darcy’s cold and distant noble mien in the original novel.

Revamping the classics is all fine and good. But I predict the next big wave in publishing will take us all by surprise. So far authors have taken conventional, even mundane characters and given them a supernatural thrust. Consider instead if we take exciting characters and dull them down a bit. Or a lot. Batman needs to stop fighting crime and spend 24-hours walking aimlessly around Gotham. Like this:

Solemnly The Joker came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Batman, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Batman, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

The Joker peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

–Back to the batcave?, he said sternly.

He added in a preacher’s tone:

–For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

–Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

Perhaps Achilles doesn’t battle Hector. Instead they square off in a round of subtle satiric comments and insults that nobody could understand without thorough knowledge of Ancient Greek culture. Perhaps they can also spend a great deal of time thinking about the meaning of language and trying to come to terms without their childhoods.

Odysseus should give up on trying to find his way home. He should abandon his crew and spend a year isolated on an island, reflecting on the purpose of civilization and, well, coming to terms with his childhood.

Tomorrow I read from my novel, Through the Pale Door, in Spartanburg. Hoping for a big crowd.

Hate to say it, but this dude was asking for trouble:

A Florida man has been sued by DC Comics for selling figurines that resemble Batman characters — though he says they’re meant to portray actors from the 1960s “Batman” television series. In a lawsuit filed in federal court in Tampa, DC Comics accuses John Stacks of committing copyright and trademark infringement, among other violations, with his resin composite figurines. The characters in question include Batman, Robin, Catwoman, the Joker, Batgirl, the Penguin, the Riddler, Egghead and King Tut.

Read the full story from the AJC here.

Now the question for me is this. How much did this guy make off these less-than-impressive looking toys? I could buy, like, a real batman action figure on Ebay for around five bucks. In fact, I wouldn’t buy Mr. Stacks’ figures for my worst enemies. I wouldn’t even try to hide them in happy meals or stuff them inside cracker-jacks boxes. I’ll bet you could make more money off selling the resin these things are made from. DC must simply enjoy making this man’s life miserable. To be fair, of course, they did send Stacks a letter asking him to stop marketing these knockoffs. So did Warner Bros, who also owns rights to Batman. Here’s an excerpt:

Dear John Stacks,

I’m going to kick your f*&king ass. I want these f@^king little toys off this market, you prick! I mean, what don’t you f&^*king understand about copyright laws? Don’t just be sorry. Think, for one f^uc@ing second. Seriously. What. Are. You. Doing! Do you have any f&#*ing idea about, hey, it’s dishonest and illegal to go around like “la-la-la-la-la, hey, I’m a huge jerk who makes cheap Batman figurines out of home-made plastic, and I don’t give a crap about intellectual property.”

You want me to trash your resin molds? Huh? You want me to f*&^king trash ‘em!? Then why the f&*^k are you trashing my image with your dinky little collector’s items? Good God, man, you’re amateur. Look, just stay off our turf. You can make little figurines of Harry Potter or that vampire show, or movie, or whatever it is. Stay away from Batman. That’s my scene.

None of us can work properly with you contaminating our PR. Yeah, that’s right. You don’t understand what it’s like working with super heroes or actors or lawyers, do you? DO. YOU?

Seriously, dude. Just stop making the figures. We’re the ones making the figures. Yeah, man, like seven figures. As in seven-figure salaries. What you need to do is stop making the figures.

Christian Bailout
Warner Bros, Inc