How to Write a Bestseller
After my last blog entry on Christmas movies, I was gently taken to task by a couple of my correspondents. To quote one: 'you forgot the best [holiday] movie of all time -- A Christmas Story.' Her comments were generously even accompanied by the requisite movie quotation: "You'll shoot your eye out kid. Ho...Ho...Ho." as spoken by a very scary Santa.
And I have to admit, sheepishly, that I *did* forget about it, not having watched it in over a decade. I'm not sure what movie I'd bounce from my top 10 list to shoehorn it in, but it certainly deserved inclusion.
But what made my momentary lapse even more disconcerting is that I've been a big fan of the 'Christmas Story' writer and narrator, Jean Shepherd, since his syndicated 15-minute radio segments in the early 1980's. Even our Festivus muse Jerry Seinfeld says on his Season 6 DVD set: "He really formed my entire comedic sensibility. I learned how to do comedy from Jean Shepherd." And as further proof, please note that the first name of Jerry's third child is -- ta da! -- Shepherd!
This long-winded lead-in gives me the opportunity to relate one of my favorite Shepherd stories. As usual, it touches on one of my recurring subjects -- gullible and / or stupid people. After all, what can I possibly say about Albert Einstein that might be humorous?
In 1956, our hero Shepherd arrived in New York City with nothing but his quick wit and his ability to talk [and talk ... and talk]. He quickly landed a radio talk show gig on WOR but was 'banished' to the overnight, 1-6 am slot. His show had no budget; and therefore no guests and little music, but it gave him the perfect forum to talk about all the things he found odd about New York and its people. Or any other topic that popped into his head. This was a highly unusual format in a pre-Lenny Bruce era; and his anti-establishment sentiments couldn't have flourished in any other timeslot. Controversy didn't exist in what was then a staid and conservative medium.
Shepherd also took his status as a exalted 'Night Person' semi-seriously and railed against the "creeping meatball-ism" of what he called the 'Day People', those armies of identically dressed cemetery plot salesmen, soap opera housewives and others who would simply believe anything, and everything, they were told. In Shepard's diatribes, the chosen 'Night People' were being continually persecuted by the 'Day People'. It was time to turn the tables, he decided!
His show quickly became an underground hit among intellectuals and artists, those creative types who did their best work in the wee morning hours. They even developed their own greeting. If someone spotted a person they thought, or hoped, was a Night Person, they would yell 'Excelsior!'. The proper response of 'Seltzer Bottle!' would identify a kindred spirit. This off-the-wall nonsensical conversation was met with dumbfounded stares by the rigid Day folk, who, naturally, simply ... did ... not ... get ... it!
Shepherd's shtick became an ability to weave humorous stories about the Daytime list makers and the sheep who earnestly believed in such things like The Best Dressed List ... or The Ten Most Eligible Bachelors List.
In April, 1956, The Best Seller List became Shepherd's target. In those days, the lists were compiled by storeowners who counted not only the number of books sold, but also the number of requests received by customers. Illogical, of course, but that’s how the muddled mind of a Day person works.
So over the course of several shows an idea developed. Shepherd went on to describe a non-existent book that fell into a popular genre of the day, the historical romance. Although 'romance' is included in the descriptive, these books were generally written by men, for men, and involved men of high standing and women of low morals.
Both the title and author needed to sound pretentious, Shepherd decided, so "I, Libertine" was born, written by British author Frederick R. Ewing. He even concocted a fictitious background for Ewing, complete with wife and academic credentials. And then the Night People were dispatched to toy with the Day People.
Those that worked in libraries created fake entries in card catalogs for the book. Bookstores were besieged with requests for "I, Libertine". Within weeks it shot to the top of the Best Seller List, which naturally, created even more demand for the title, and it enjoyed a healthy run in the Top 10. Excelsior! The hoax had worked!
But then things began to get out of hand. Information about the book and author reached the frenzy stage and the Day People scrambled. A popular New York Times columnist, wanting to seem in the loop as always, claimed to have had lunch with Ewing and his wife. The Village Voice reviewed the book, calling it a "rousing swashbuckler" and "a must read". A disc jockey in Eastern Pennsylvania even provided a 5-minute taped interview with Ewing. All of these going-ons were dutifully reported by Shepherd every night. And still, the reading public -- aka The Day People -- had no clue and kept requesting the book, keeping it atop the weekly lists!
Finally, a Newsweek reporter decided enough was enough and interviewed Shepard, who had not tried keeping the hoax secret -- at least from 1-6 am.
But first ---
Ian Ballantine of Ballantine Books, himself a Night Person, recognized a golden goose when he saw it, and quickly commissioned writer Ted Sturgeon to work with Shepard and create a parody / pastiche using every known cliche from historical fiction. Sturgeon is well known to Star Trek fans for the episode where its revealed that pointy-eared Spock goes into heat every 7 years, and the 'Live Long and Prosper' slogan.
The book was created virtually overnight and Ian's wife Betty finished the final chapter when Sturgeon fell asleep on the couch.
The book also needed a cover, and that task fell to artist Kelly Freas, probably best known outside science fiction circles as the guy who created Mad Magazine's Alfred E. Neuman ["What, me worry?"]. As shown below, the cover mirrored the book's less than serious writing by including even more in-jokes.
Though my scan isn't detailed enough, you should be able to read the outrageous quote setting the book's tone: "'Gadzooks,' quoth I, 'but here's a saucy bawd!'". The tavern is the 'Fish & Staff', and its shepherd's staff and name reference both Sturgeon and Shepherd. A portion of the word "Excelsior!" is in a triangular area at the extreme left, and the exclamation is also hidden in the ruffles on the dress worn by the woman.
The hardcover and softcover editions of the book beat the Newsweek article to the stands by a few weeks. Predictably, the book was a hit just based on fulfilling past orders alone, but its stay atop the Best Seller List was shorter after publication than before.
Aside from the magazine expose and a brief mention or two in non-New York newspapers, the US press had little to say about how they had been manipulated. The British, on the other hand, had a field day, using it as the prime example of American gullibility.
The New York Times, and others, then wisely changed their method for calculating Best Sellers to cash orders only.
Shepard was eventually fired from WOR, but for low ratings [well, it *was* post midnight radio, after all]. And he deservedly went on to bigger and better things, including, of course, 'A Christmas Story'.
On New Year's Eve, I'll be hoisting a toast [likely papaya juice] to Shepard in honor of his ability to fill 5 hours of air time by just chatting. Which makes him the patron saint of all bloggers.
And I have to admit, sheepishly, that I *did* forget about it, not having watched it in over a decade. I'm not sure what movie I'd bounce from my top 10 list to shoehorn it in, but it certainly deserved inclusion.
But what made my momentary lapse even more disconcerting is that I've been a big fan of the 'Christmas Story' writer and narrator, Jean Shepherd, since his syndicated 15-minute radio segments in the early 1980's. Even our Festivus muse Jerry Seinfeld says on his Season 6 DVD set: "He really formed my entire comedic sensibility. I learned how to do comedy from Jean Shepherd." And as further proof, please note that the first name of Jerry's third child is -- ta da! -- Shepherd!
This long-winded lead-in gives me the opportunity to relate one of my favorite Shepherd stories. As usual, it touches on one of my recurring subjects -- gullible and / or stupid people. After all, what can I possibly say about Albert Einstein that might be humorous?
In 1956, our hero Shepherd arrived in New York City with nothing but his quick wit and his ability to talk [and talk ... and talk]. He quickly landed a radio talk show gig on WOR but was 'banished' to the overnight, 1-6 am slot. His show had no budget; and therefore no guests and little music, but it gave him the perfect forum to talk about all the things he found odd about New York and its people. Or any other topic that popped into his head. This was a highly unusual format in a pre-Lenny Bruce era; and his anti-establishment sentiments couldn't have flourished in any other timeslot. Controversy didn't exist in what was then a staid and conservative medium.
Shepherd also took his status as a exalted 'Night Person' semi-seriously and railed against the "creeping meatball-ism" of what he called the 'Day People', those armies of identically dressed cemetery plot salesmen, soap opera housewives and others who would simply believe anything, and everything, they were told. In Shepard's diatribes, the chosen 'Night People' were being continually persecuted by the 'Day People'. It was time to turn the tables, he decided!
His show quickly became an underground hit among intellectuals and artists, those creative types who did their best work in the wee morning hours. They even developed their own greeting. If someone spotted a person they thought, or hoped, was a Night Person, they would yell 'Excelsior!'. The proper response of 'Seltzer Bottle!' would identify a kindred spirit. This off-the-wall nonsensical conversation was met with dumbfounded stares by the rigid Day folk, who, naturally, simply ... did ... not ... get ... it!
Shepherd's shtick became an ability to weave humorous stories about the Daytime list makers and the sheep who earnestly believed in such things like The Best Dressed List ... or The Ten Most Eligible Bachelors List.
In April, 1956, The Best Seller List became Shepherd's target. In those days, the lists were compiled by storeowners who counted not only the number of books sold, but also the number of requests received by customers. Illogical, of course, but that’s how the muddled mind of a Day person works.
So over the course of several shows an idea developed. Shepherd went on to describe a non-existent book that fell into a popular genre of the day, the historical romance. Although 'romance' is included in the descriptive, these books were generally written by men, for men, and involved men of high standing and women of low morals.
Both the title and author needed to sound pretentious, Shepherd decided, so "I, Libertine" was born, written by British author Frederick R. Ewing. He even concocted a fictitious background for Ewing, complete with wife and academic credentials. And then the Night People were dispatched to toy with the Day People.
Those that worked in libraries created fake entries in card catalogs for the book. Bookstores were besieged with requests for "I, Libertine". Within weeks it shot to the top of the Best Seller List, which naturally, created even more demand for the title, and it enjoyed a healthy run in the Top 10. Excelsior! The hoax had worked!
But then things began to get out of hand. Information about the book and author reached the frenzy stage and the Day People scrambled. A popular New York Times columnist, wanting to seem in the loop as always, claimed to have had lunch with Ewing and his wife. The Village Voice reviewed the book, calling it a "rousing swashbuckler" and "a must read". A disc jockey in Eastern Pennsylvania even provided a 5-minute taped interview with Ewing. All of these going-ons were dutifully reported by Shepherd every night. And still, the reading public -- aka The Day People -- had no clue and kept requesting the book, keeping it atop the weekly lists!
Finally, a Newsweek reporter decided enough was enough and interviewed Shepard, who had not tried keeping the hoax secret -- at least from 1-6 am.
But first ---
Ian Ballantine of Ballantine Books, himself a Night Person, recognized a golden goose when he saw it, and quickly commissioned writer Ted Sturgeon to work with Shepard and create a parody / pastiche using every known cliche from historical fiction. Sturgeon is well known to Star Trek fans for the episode where its revealed that pointy-eared Spock goes into heat every 7 years, and the 'Live Long and Prosper' slogan.
The book was created virtually overnight and Ian's wife Betty finished the final chapter when Sturgeon fell asleep on the couch.
The book also needed a cover, and that task fell to artist Kelly Freas, probably best known outside science fiction circles as the guy who created Mad Magazine's Alfred E. Neuman ["What, me worry?"]. As shown below, the cover mirrored the book's less than serious writing by including even more in-jokes.
Though my scan isn't detailed enough, you should be able to read the outrageous quote setting the book's tone: "'Gadzooks,' quoth I, 'but here's a saucy bawd!'". The tavern is the 'Fish & Staff', and its shepherd's staff and name reference both Sturgeon and Shepherd. A portion of the word "Excelsior!" is in a triangular area at the extreme left, and the exclamation is also hidden in the ruffles on the dress worn by the woman.
The hardcover and softcover editions of the book beat the Newsweek article to the stands by a few weeks. Predictably, the book was a hit just based on fulfilling past orders alone, but its stay atop the Best Seller List was shorter after publication than before.
Aside from the magazine expose and a brief mention or two in non-New York newspapers, the US press had little to say about how they had been manipulated. The British, on the other hand, had a field day, using it as the prime example of American gullibility.
The New York Times, and others, then wisely changed their method for calculating Best Sellers to cash orders only.
Shepard was eventually fired from WOR, but for low ratings [well, it *was* post midnight radio, after all]. And he deservedly went on to bigger and better things, including, of course, 'A Christmas Story'.
On New Year's Eve, I'll be hoisting a toast [likely papaya juice] to Shepard in honor of his ability to fill 5 hours of air time by just chatting. Which makes him the patron saint of all bloggers.
posted by Buddy Lortie at
11:19 AM
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