I had to decide at some point: do I want to be a crime writer, or a noir writer?
You say, “You don’t have to decide. You can be both! Everything is hybrid these days, and you can be anything you want all the time.”
Well…
Let me put it this way. I’ve had the good luck to pretty much write exactly what I want with each story and book without concern over making a living doing it. I mean, I’m a professor. I teach undergrads about writing. I like it. But was there a part of me, twenty years ago, looking at the cool noir (real noir) writers getting signed to Big NYC publishers, thinking my books would follow the trend? Yes. Yes there was. It came close, but it didn’t happen.
And that’s okay. Just like bitter coffee, the taste fades after a while.
Anyway, I discovered small presses, enjoyed my time with several of them, wish I’d made a few different “business” choices, moved on to more small presses, and kept on writing stuff I would call noir. I wasn’t trying to kill anyone’s time on a plane, or give them some fun reading on the beach. Unless you’re sicko who like pitch black humor. I write stories I wanted to read, like the authors I’d read who inspired me - Ellroy, Cain, Thompson, Goodis, O’Connor (Flannery was a sly one), Crumley, Mosley, Hendricks, Himes, Gaitskill, so many more. I end up naming different people every time I do this.
I also found out fiction writers don’t make as much money as I thought they did anyway.
I also found out neither did literary writers.
So then you read the bios of noir authors who 1) accidentally get popular, 2) never got popular but never quit trying to find new readers, or 3) had moments of near popularity and tried like hell to keep the ride going, but failed miserably.
I’m gonna be a number 2.
Yes, I know what I said. Shut up.
Now, a lot of what NYC calls noir is, to me, like hot sauce. You dash it on to make bland food taste better. It’s never enough to make you cry from the pain. Kudos to the folks who can pull it off.
In fact, I’d say it’s incredibly hard to write fiction millions of people like. I salute the Pattersons, Connollys, Grishams, Baldaccis, and Cornwells of the world, who found a way to deliver those goods. Doesn’t mean I particularly like reading them.
Why? Because I like fiction that gets under my skin. That’s it. The words, the style, the characters, and the reasons people treat each other as awful as they do, that’s the stuff I like to read. And if it’s funny, even better.
And that’s what I write.
I’ve been lucky to write what I want, have publishers put it out there without worrying about how much it’ll sell, and keep on going for two decades now. I’d like some money, yes please, but I think I’d rather have readers than money.
Also, better buy a guitar and learn how to play.
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Best of luck, man. You've got the goods.