Author Photos, Part Two

Why do people want to see a photo of whatever slightly deranged human wrote the book they’re reading—or thinking about reading? Vulgar curiosity? A search for insight into the psyche that produced the story?

I’ll admit that sometimes when I’m reading a book, I’ll flip to the author photo and spend several moments contemplating it and wondering, What is this person really like? Can we actually get that from a picture? Yes and no.

Ironically, despite the publishing industry’s recent fixation on the young and the beautiful, I find the craggier, more individualistic authors the most interesting. There is a certain sameness in youth and beauty (my own two beautiful young daughters being the exceptions, of course) that is far less evocative then the rugged individualism of someone like, say, James Lee Burke.

Yet I once shared a chatty elevator ride with JLB on my way up to listen to him talk at the Louisiana Book Festival and didn’t even recognize him. He looked as if he’d been ill; he was pale, he’d lost weight, and he was wearing a business suit and a tie, of all things. Does this mean I think JLB should redo his author photo to save future fans from a similar embarrassment? No. Because the photo that typically appears in the backs of his books beautifully encapsulates the man and the experiences that shaped his books, even if that photo is twenty years old.

At one of my book signings several years ago, a reader came up to me and said in a decidedly annoyed, accusatory manner: “You don’t look like your picture. You have short hair in your picture.” I just blinked at her and said, “Uh…yes.” The Author Photo was less than five years old at the time and I really hadn’t aged much; I’d simply grown my hair out a few inches (I went through a short-short hair phase at one point). Yet this was enough of a change that the reader seemed to feel I had cheated her in some way, as if authors are supposed to change our photos every time we change our hairstyle or gain or lose a few pounds.

That said, I’ve definitely known some authors who let too many years pass between photo shoots. I once met a romance author who in her author photo was elfin thin and had long dark hair. When I met her, she had short gray hair and weighed about 250 pounds. I would never, ever have recognized her. Does she sell more books because her younger, prettier self is on them? Probably. Do I blame her for not changing her photo? No. I can understand, just as I try to understand those who’ve succumbed to the pressure and joined the Nick and Tuck Crowd.

I remember one time when I was in high school I went dress shopping with my mother. My mother turns ninety this Saturday, so she was already middle aged when she had me. I remember saying to her, “Why do you always make that funny face when you try on clothes and look in the mirror?” And she said, “Because I can’t believe that fat old woman in the mirror is me.”

Who among us over a certain age doesn’t suffer a shock whenever they look in a mirror? I suspect most people have a “set” age inside. Inside, I’m thirty-five. So when I look in the mirror, I do a double take. Whoa! Who put all those smile lines there? How can that woman be me?

The photo that will go on the back of my books is just a tiny slice of me in time. But as I was floating on that raft out in the middle of the lake the other day, it occurred to me that if I again wait eleven years before I redo my author photo, by that time I’ll be….Eeek!

Author Photos, Part One

Why is Candy making this funny face? Because Candy is standing on a raft in the middle of a lake, and the raft is starting to tip. Why is Candy standing on a raft in the middle of a lake?

She’s having her Author Photos taken.

I hate having my picture taken. I hate it so much that I haven’t had an Author Photo done since I sold my first book eleven years ago. I detested that photo so much (professional photographer, two separate shoots, a desperate call from New York saying, “We need your photo NOW.”) that I swore I’d get a new, better photo taken for Book Number Two. Never happened.

The photograph NAL uses in my Sebastian St. Cyr mysteries was actually taken by my daughter, Samantha, on my old Minolta SLR. She was eleven years old at the time. I set and focused the camera, told her where to stand, and said, “Tell me if I’m making a funny face.” The results were much better than the ones for which I’d paid a horrific price, mainly because she didn’t hesitate to say, “You’re making a dorky face.” or “Your hair is sticking out funny.”

The problem with Author Photos is that as the years pass, they resemble the author less and less. At the same time, our author knows that, due to the passing of those years, she/he will look infinitely worse in any new photo she/he has taken. This is not an incentive.

Nevertheless, after putting off my fate for all the usual reasons (“I want to lose ten pounds first.”) and a few unusual ones (Katrina), I finally sucked it up this week and charged forth to humiliation. And near drowning.

I promise, Part Two will be a serious discussion of this very, very serious topic.

Synopses for Pantsers

I received some great answers to the question I posed last Thursday, so if you haven't read the comments on that entry, do. Steve Malley contributed a great riff on what a synopsis should do. It's one of the reasons the things are so scary--they are so important.

One of the reasons I asked this question is that in a few months I'm going to be teaching an all-day writing workshop. I am trying to be sensitive to the differences in the way people write and to suggest alternatives, so I appreciate everyone's input.

A Question for Pantsers

I have a question for any writers out there who write by the seat of their pants.

Once writers become published, standard publishing practice calls for them to submit a proposal to their editor for each subsequent book. This proposal typically consists of 35-50 pages and a synopsis. On the basis of this partial, editors offer the writer a contract (or knock back the proposal and say, “We don’t like it. Submit something else.”) Obviously it is much safer for a writer to have their novel idea approved—or rejected—at the proposal stage, and it helps financially when a big chunk of the advance comes before the book is actually written.

So my question is, If you don't plot your story out ahead, how do you come up with a synopsis for your proposal?

The Graceful Art of Fudging

I spent last weekend laying flooring in the upstairs hall and writing the synopsis for my next thriller proposal. If you’re thinking, “Didn’t she already do that last February?” you’re right. Someday, when I’m calmer, I’ll explain. But for now I’m going to talk about synopses.

It’s called “the dreaded synopsis” for a good reason. Most writers suffer all kinds of torturous spasms at the mere thought of having to produce one of the suckers. Everything from your book contract and your career to your mortgage and your kids’ college tuition can ride on your ability to create a brilliant synopsis, yet they are notoriously difficult to do well.

Synopses for romance novels can be troublesome, but because you’re dealing largely with emotions and interpersonal relationships, it’s comparatively easy to slide over huge chunks of your story and still have the synopsis make sense. All you romance writers out there sputtering indignantly please note that I said “comparatively.” Compared to what? Thrillers and mysteries.

The problem with synopses for thrillers and mysteries is that those genres are very tightly plotted. That makes them very, very difficult to simplify. And simplify you must. Editors are busy people who tend to read proposals—even proposals from writers they like—very quickly. If you try to follow every twist and turn of your story, you’ll both bore and confuse your editor. And bored, confused editors have a nasty tendency to decide they don’t like your proposal and turn it down. So what’s a writer to do?

Lie.

Well, maybe not lie, exactly. Just sort of bend and twist things so that they fit into an exciting storyline that’s easy to follow despite the fact you’ve left out suspects, characters, huge chunks of motivation, clues, etc, etc. The fact is, writers actually have two stories to tell—the longer story that is our novel, and the shorter story that is our synopsis. Both need to be gripping, both need to flow, both need to make sense. Maybe some writers are such gifted synopses-crafters that they don’t need to fudge a few details. But the fact is, if you’re writing a proposal for a book that isn’t written yet, the finished product is probably going to differ in significant ways from your outline anyway. So you’re not exactly being dishonest just because you don’t slavishly follow an outline your editor is never going to see anyway.

I’m not talking about making major changes here. I’m talking about combining two minor characters into one, or shifting sequences, or simplifying explanations–no more than it takes to keep from tying yourself into knots and getting bogged down in details. And who knows? In the process of telling your story in synopsis form, you may actually find ways to improve your novel.