Castle Freak

This past February, I pitched St. Martin's two new novels. My original two-book deal (which included The Wheelman and The Blonde) was up, and I wanted to write more books for them. My version of a book pitch is a one-page teaser, which is written in the style of back cover copy on a mass market paperback. This is how I've started every book I've ever written. I imagine the book is done, and I want to tell the reader what's inside. This helps me fix the book in my mind. It also helps the editor see the book as a finished product, ready to foist upon unsuspecting readers everywhere.

So I sent my editor, Marc Resnick, one-page teasers for two novels. Stand-alones. The edit folks at St. Martin's liked the first one, and were a little lukewarm on the second. That was fine with me--in the words of Meatloaf, one out of two ain't bad. (Or something like that.) And I ended up turning the second idea into an original screenplay. But that's another post.

St. Martin's offered me a new two-book deal, which included the novel they liked and an untitled second novel.

Which was awesome. I could come up with the second novel later.

And then I set to work on the first novel.

And then, after a while, I hit a wall.

For some reason, I couldn't find the right way into the novel. Stephen King once described this perfectly. He imagines novels as castles, and believes that there is often only one right way into the castle. You might sneak in a side window, only to fall on a bed of nails. You might leap over the moat, only to have an alligator lunge up and chomp you on the butt. You might scale a wall, only to have Bea Arthur pour a vat of boiling oil on you. (Bea Arthur scares me.)

But there is one right way into the castle, and once you find it, you can conquer the castle.

Well, this particular castle--the one St. Martin's liked? It's a motherfucker. I've tried attacking it every way I know, using techniques that had served me well with the first three novels. Nothing doin'. And even though I know the castle (i.e., the story ) is there, I'll be damned if I know how to get in.

Meanwhile, just for fun, I set my sights on another castle. A vision of this castle came to me like a gift from the gods. Not only did I know how to break into the castle, I knew every room up in that bitch--every secret corridor, every torture chamber, every wet bar. (In my world, castles have wet bars.) Everything that was going wrong with the first castle was going oh-so-beautifully-right with the second.

I'd pitched this other castle to Marc in late April. Marc liked the castle--a lot. We both agreed it would work as book #2 in this new two-book deal. I drank my little sissy drink (see earlier post), we toasted, we clapped each other on the back.

So whenever my attack on the original castle was going badly, I'd walk over to the second castle and kick its ass. Beat my chest. Gloat. Smack Bea Arthur around a little. (In my world, every castle has a Bea Arthur.) I ruled this fucking castle.

But eventually, I'd have to slog back over to the first castle and, like Wile E. Coyote, try to cook up another harebrained scheme to bust into this impregnable mother. It was starting to drive me more than a little nuts.

I'm Polish, so I'm not exactly a quick study. But at a certain point... oh, say, this past weekend... I thought that maybe I was better off focusing my energies on the second castle.

Which is what I'm doing now. Officially.

It's not that I don't think I can beat that first castle. I know I can. (Shaking my fist at you, first castle.) But right now, I think the second castle is the one I'm supposed to conquer. And with any luck, this second castle will be in fine bookstores everywhere sometime in fall 2007.

Writing: It's a screwy gig, ain't it?

(Postscript: While riding on the train home from work yesterday, an idea popped into my head. An idea of how to totally conquer the first castle. Sometimes, I think my own brain is out to get me.)