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What I'm Writing
The Popularity of "More of the Same"
The fact that I was once an economic market research analyst still plagues me, because it's become clear that I ask questions about writing that probably are better left unasked, at least in public forums. But then, when I was an economic analyst I also asked those questions, and they were part of the reason why I didn't remain an employed analyst. As the most junior economist in the company, you don't question the vice-president of marketing's brand-new and very expensive product, no matter how bad an idea it is, or express doubt about fancy economic models, not if you want to keep your job, no matter how correct posterity proves you -- because if you do, you won't be working at most companies long enough to experience that posterity. I wasn't the first economic type to learn this first hand, and I was far from the last. More than a few analysts and economists did in fact question the long-term effects of derivatives, and most of those who questioned were not exactly rewarded. A few were fortunate enough to be ignored; the rest fared worse.

With that as background, I'm going to observe that the vast majority of the very most commercially successful authors write "more of the same." By this I mean, for example, that while the events in subsequent books may change, the feel and structure of each "new" book tends to mirror closely the feel of previous books. I'm not saying that all authors do this by any means, just that a large percentage of those who sell millions of copies of their books. This practice, from what I can tell, emerged first in the mystery/thriller field, followed closely in what I'd call the "high glamour" type novel by writers such as Danielle Steel, Judith Krantz, Sidney Sheldon, and others, but now it seems to be everywhere.


Some authors [or their agents] are so sensitive to the commercial aspects of the "more of the same" that the author uses a different pen name when writing something even slightly different, so that Nora Roberts also writes as J.D. Robb, and by noting that she is writing as J.D. Robb, she gets to cash in on her fame as Nora Roberts while announcing to readers that the J.D. Robb books are a different "more of the same." In F&SF, Dave Wolverton became David Farland to write fantasy, and perhaps to also make clear that he wasn't writing Star Wars books about Princess Leia, Jedi apprentices, and the like.


Who knows? Maybe I should have adopted a pen name, say Exton Land, for all my fantasies when I started writing them and saved the L.E. Modesitt, Jr., moniker for my science fiction. But then, which name would I have used for the "Ghosts of Columbia" books? And The Hammer of Darkness really isn't either. By strict logic, then, to maximize commercial success, I shouldn't have written any of those... or even The Lord-Protector's Daughter, because it has a "different" feel.


And in some ways, I may be in the worst of both worlds, because the Recluce books have enough of a similar feel that I'm often criticized for being formulaic there, but I'm clearly not formulaic enough to replicate the success of Harry Potter or The Wheel of Time, etc.


At the same time, when I do something different, such as in Archform:Beauty or Haze, those readers who were expecting a faster book, such as Flash or The Parafaith War, feel that I haven't met their expectations.


Then again, at least I'm not totally captive to "more of the same." That would be almost as bad as having been successful as an industrial economist.


Comments:
I had similar bad job experiences. Unless you work at an exceptional place with excellent bosses, the following rules apply:

1. Being smart is a detriment.
2. Being right is more of a detriment.
3. Being outspoken about your good ideas leads to termination.
4. Criticizing your boss's idea, even if it is so bad that the company will lose millions, leads to termination.
5. Regardless of how well you do your job, being unsuited to office or academic politics leads to termination.
6. If you somehow become indispensible, you will keep your job but be disliked by your boss and most co-workers. They will try to wreck whatever makes you indespensible (even if the company gets hurt).

In my experience, these rules apply in private corporations, academia, and government. My siblings, who have all worked for small businesses, confirm that the above rules apply. People, for the most part, do not put aside their petty feelings and act for the good of the company. If Joe always has good ideas they aren't pleased because the ideas help the company. Instead, they are envious that Joe gets attention or scared because Joe might get their job. So, Joe gets stuck with the crappiest tasks or he gets unfair evaluations and gets fired. Welcome to the modern workplace.
 
In academia the problems that Dr. T has elaborated are, as far as I can tell, even worse; because not only do these rules apply within a single institution, but between institutions as well--at least as far as the arts and letters divisions are concerned.

This is because even once you've gotten a supposedly secure tenured position, you're going to be dependent on lecture invitations and prominently placed reviews of your books if you want to get your ideas heard. And how do you get lecture invitations? Generally by first inviting a professor at another university to lecture in your own department, and then patting him on the back no matter what he says. (Yes, I've repeatedly seen the most unquestionably shoddy efforts applauded by the faculty just to preserve connections with this or that school.) Then you go to his department and say something he wants to hear, and he'll invite you back in a year or two. And you can always get the ball rolling by going to a conference and... telling well-placed academics what they want to hear.

The consequence of all this is a self-perpetuating back-patting circle--a comic image with an unfortunate basis in reality. If you tell the members of this circle that their research is off the mark, or even that you disagree with their political angle, you're simply going to get shut out of the circle of invitations. The end result? A system that rewards more of the same. You can observe a similar effect in artistic awards with academic juries, and this is how the avant-garde has lasted so long in the face of total public disdain.

The advantage that novelists have, as far as I can tell from the outside, is that they can deliver books that are in some structural aspects simply more of the same, but in other aspects are quite different. Robert Jordan readers who pick up the Magic of Recluce will probably feel at home, at least initially, because there are a quite a few similarities between The Wheel of Time's first book and Recluce's first book. But the overall effect of each novel is quite different.
 
I've been fortunate enough not have worked at companies where that is an issue. There is always some 'burying the head in the sand' aspects in any company but never once have I felt my job would be threatened for speaking my mind. Perhaps that is the difference between Canada and the US or maybe I have just been lucky.

In regards to pen names, I'm not a big fan of them. My name doesn't roll of the tongue but never once have I considered using a pen name.

I actually like the fact that you use your name on all the work that you write. It allows me to purchase a book knowing something about the author and his writing skills. The fact that your work crosses genres is a bonus as far as I'm concerned.
 
I'm going to follow your example in going against what will curry favor and point out some contentions I have with this blog entry. I hope you don't mind.

This line really stood out to me.

"the Recluce books have enough of a similar feel that I'm often criticized for being formulaic there, but I'm clearly not formulaic enough to replicate the success of Harry Potter or The Wheel of Time, etc."

Those were poor examples of formulaic books because they are volumes of an overarching storyline. If you want an example of a popular f/sf author taking a formulaic approach to an ongoing story, I'd have used someone like R. A. Salvatore or Terry Goodkind. They have self-contained stories about the same characters that span multiple books.

Your career as an author is reminiscent of Orson Scott Card's. He has written both fantasy and science fiction. He has a very popular series that could be described as formulaic (the Ender books). When he goes away from that series, his books don't sell nearly as well. And both of you try to write thought-provoking novels rather than just write whatever sells the best.

The fact that neither of you will ever make as much money as Stephenie Meyer or J.K. Rowling is just an unfortunate turn of events. I will never be as acclaimed a software engineer as Bill Gates or the founders of Google. I am grateful to have employment doing something I love though, as I'm sure you are grateful to be a published author when so many aspiring writers can't even get a publisher to glance at their work.
 
Point made and taken.
 
Two comments:

1. Agree with Dr T and j on the academy. At best, today's colleges/universities are in a position akin to that of the British economically/geopolitically right before Suez in '53. We may survive, but not as major players in the education game. And at worst, we're on life support without a clue we're sick.

2. I remember a fellow grad student once describing Steven Brust as a "hack". Then, I brushed it off as typical academic snobbery.

But labels like "hack" and "formulaic" bother me to this day. Not because I consider their books as "good" as others I read. I don't pretend that the Jhereg books are "great lit". But writing fiction -- even writing formulaic fiction -- is hard work. And takes a skill level that, despite having purported to "grade" thousands of examples of "writing" over the years, I know *I* simply don't have.

To be sure, I understand why someone with greater skill would be concerned when he sees "more of the saming." You who are masters of a craft should worry about the quality of its practice. But I can't help thinking that we who read would be even worse were the formula writing to disappear.

My science fiction/fantasy collection now numbers over 3000 volumes. In it, no shortage of "formula" fiction. (Only two Robert Jordans, but the complete Horseclans series. Ahem.) But I've also read, I think, every book you have written; every book C J Cherryh has written; almost every Heinlein; every William Gibson; and a dozen or four other great writers. Without the "junk," would I have stayed on that reading path?

Or would I be even more of a useless academic, just another snob reading self-referential "workshop"-inspired books?

Best regards,
Wade Shilts
 
re Iron Sparrow's comment:
let me use an example away from F/SF altogether: two of Andrew Greeley's fiction series. Both are arguably sermons (homilies) in deep disguise as well-enough written and researched novels. The formula for one is that there are two mysteries to solve: one past, one present. The formula for another is that the character solves locked room mysteries. But in both cases, that's just a framework; the locale and other details add color. The real message is played out in the interactions of the characters and their circumstances.

Now, while I wouldn't care to characterize the specific themes of say the Ecolitan series or the Recluce series, it's obvious enough that they have themes, if not _quite_ so narrowly defined. But isn't that why series work at all? People want the assurance of the expected, but with new characters, situations, and perhaps even just a very few new ideas (if it won't explode their heads) to keep it interesting.

So I don't really mind that in novels that particularly deal with characters growing in power and responsibility, practically every chapter ends with one or more questions. :)
 
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