Your Literary Estate, Part Two: Managing Your Work

When you pass from this life, your literary executor will be hard at work. (see Your Literary Estate, Part One: Assigning a Literary Executor) A literary executor with full power will manage your work for the benefit of your heirs and receive some form of payment as a result. Some of your literary executor’s duties will include

  • overseeing existing work and contracts,
  • negotiating contracts for published and unpublished works,
  • perhaps canceling contracts or activating contract options,
  • managing your letters and papers, including perhaps disposing of portions,
  • filing the proper papers regarding rights and copyright,
  • evaluating your literary estate for various assessment purposes, and
  • assigning a successor to his duties if he/she cannot perform them.

Your literary executor will not have control of your work’s copyright (i.e. ownership). That will belong to your heirs. However, a literary executor with full power will not have to consult your heirs during negotiation of those rights. If you do not want your literary executor to manage certain work or have specific powers, including exclusive negotiation rights or the assignment of a successor, these aspects should be specifically outlined in the document that assigns your literary executor. One compromise is to have your literary executor act as an experienced advisor to your heirs, consulting with them on all decisions and then implementing agreed upon terms.

Assigning a literary executor is not all about contract negotiation and oversight. It also involves handling your literary papers and letters. Robert Gover had told me that some of his manuscripts and letters were already stored at the Boston University’s Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center, and so it made sense to move his remaining papers to that institute—a process that took over a year to bring to fruition. Otherwise, I would have had to locate a respectful archive for his papers.

For the Eric Hoffer estate, his papers had already been stored at the Hoover Institute, but with regular rights inquiries, it was important to have access to existing contracts in order to help avoid copyright conflicts. I began collecting contracts before his initial heir died. (I was not there when Hoffer died, but brought on by his initial heir.) Obtaining copies of existing contracts is a protracted process. In my experience, publishers will be intentionally unhelpful. They have a long history of hiding royalties from authors, as well as assuming rights that they had never obtained. Make sure your literary executor knows everything you do, so he/she can make the best decisions. Slapping a firm letter on a publisher with the power of an informed literary executor is better on any day than filing a lawsuit. The big publishers will out-wait and out-lawyer you every time.

Unless something unusual happens like a late surge in the popularity of your work, managing your literary estate requires the most work immediately following your death. First, there are your papers to deal with. Also, your literary executor might be called upon to assess the value of your literary estate. During probate or later financial inquiries, your literary estate might be measured regarding worth and potential earnings.

Perhaps one of the most important factors of managing your literary estate is maintaining the integrity and control of your work. Try to have your literary executor understand you and your work as much as possible, and inform your literary executor as much in advance about your literary state of affairs. Provide copies of all literary contracts and letters of concern. Specify where you want your papers stored and when they can be viewed by family and the public. (Sometimes a hold on access for a period after your death is appropriate.)

Your literary executor might even have to destroy portions of your papers in order to preserve your legacy. If you trust your literary executor, and you should, give him/her that right. He/She will be looking out for you in your absence. As authors, we sometimes hold onto early, inferior manuscripts that we should have burned a long time before our passing. Do you think Emily Dickinson wishes she had a literary executor who might have destroyed the so-so novel of a legendary poet and kept it from being published? From what I’ve learned about her demanding and independent personality, I would guess the answer is yes.

Considering the effort that might be in store for your literary executor, a 10% to 20% payment on royalties is reasonable. (Again, your state laws may limit/specify executor payments.) Your literary executor likely will be doing all of the work, while your heirs cash checks. For Gover, I do it as a labor of love. For the Hoffer estate, I field regular rights and usage inquiries that must be investigated, negotiated, and perhaps declined. It is a nontrivial effort, which the earnings percentage that I receive helps salve.

As I write this article, I realize that I have not yet considered my own literary executor. I have published several books and scripts, and there are various contracts, royalties, and projects in the works at stake. Furthermore, I have specific desires about how I’d like my work to be managed in perpetuity, and I also need to consider the succession for the literary estates that I handle. While I hope to be around for some time yet, I plan on lining up my literary executor and successors well in advance. Many of those people are already obvious to me. I imagine your potential literary executor will be obvious to you. Don’t wait too long. Solidify your literary legacy now.

The above article is practical advice for authors, not legal advice for individuals setting up a will. Probate laws and requirements vary from state to state. Seek professional advice where necessary.

Christopher Klim is the author of several books including and the novel, Idiot!, and the short collection, True Surrealism. He is currently working on a novel trilogy about the space program past, present, and future.

When Writing, Know Your Control System

Like the cockpit of the space shuttle or even the thermostat in your residence, a written piece has specific parameters to guide it successfully. If a cockpit needs airspeed and attitude controls to maintain flight, then a written piece requires unique methodology to garner truth. Not only does the terminology need to be established, it also needs to be consistent and replete throughout the piece. Careless, mixed, or wandering terminology undermines the entire work.

The concept of a control system in writing inevitably drills down to word choice. A writer must be aware of the words, phrasing, and cadence associated with a specific passage, as well as the entire piece. If the passage involves quick action or comedy, the sentence structure tends to be short, even blunt. If the scene takes place inside a military installation, acronyms will flow through both the dialogue and exposition. If the scene takes place in history, the words selected will match the time period.

Consider the following passage from a prehistoric age genre novel: The clan leader leapt from the bushes and came down upon the beast like a bus at rush hour. This type of metaphor happens more often than one might imagine and in subtle, less obvious ways. When digesting the aforementioned sentence, the reader understands that the clan leader was moving quickly and heavily upon the beast, but the reader is also jarred from the time period by the writer’s unfortunate out-of-time-period metaphor. If the clan leader were waiting for a bus at rush hour, he’d be waiting a very long time.

The control system selected for a piece will be pervasive, extending beyond the obvious passages. One of the joys of reading is to enter the mind of the characters on the page. If that character is a professional diver, his/her actions and viewpoint on life will be reflective of the sea and perhaps the constant dangers he’s exposed to. Even in relationships with others, that character will measure people against what he knows—brooding dark waters, a relentless shark, or the fanciful circus of a coral reef—otherwise that character will be acting out of his/her own control system. Even if that character is a mad, unpredictable genius, he will be guided, and therefore described, by a specific set of parameters using the precise words to delineate his actions or speech. And all of this will be moderated by the overarching terminology of the entire work.

Establishing and employing the proper control system establishes both authenticity and confidence in writing, and it requires a level of detail that many journeyman writers either overlook or fail to do the research and editing required. Study any master writer—a real master writer, not a self-proclaimed master bestseller on the Internet—and uncover the details of the control system established for a specific work. Once you’ve put in the effort, you’ll find yourself reaching for the correct dialogue and descriptions that fit the piece.

Christopher Klim is the author of several books including and the novel, Idiot!, and the short collection, True Surrealism. He is currently working on a novel trilogy about the space program past, present, and future—and his control system for each will be firmly established.

 

 

In Defense of the Comma

While recently speaking with a fellow author, we commiserated about the lackadaisical syntax employed by many so-called professional writers. One glaring error was the misuse of commas when employing clauses or phrases. These writers have forgotten a basic principle of writing: A writer writes for someone else to receive a facsimile of the original meaning.

Many aspects go into building a cogent sentence, but the comma supplies proper syntax and meaning. When the meaning is vague or the reader must double-back to interpret a sentence, the writer has failed as a communicator. For example, the following sentence can be interpreted in a variety of ways.

When the shipment approaches westward transportation vehicles will execute directives providing increased security and necessary functions as mandated by headquarters.

Let’s employ commas in different configurations to see how the meaning changes.

When the shipment approaches, westward transportation vehicles will execute directives providing increased security and necessary functions as mandated by headquarters. [1]

When the shipment approaches westward, transportation vehicles will execute directives providing increased security and necessary functions as mandated by headquarters. [2]

When the shipment approaches westward transportation, vehicles will execute directives providing increased security and necessary functions as mandated by headquarters. [3]

When the shipment approaches westward, transportation vehicles will execute directives providing increased security and necessary functions as mandated by headquarters. [4]

When the shipment approaches westward, transportation vehicles will execute directives, providing increased security and necessary functions as mandated by headquarters. [5]

When the shipment approaches westward, transportation vehicles will execute directives, providing increased security, and necessary functions as mandated by headquarters. [6]

When the shipment approaches westward, transportation vehicles will execute directives providing increased security and necessary functions, as mandated by headquarters. [7]

[1] Suggests only an approaching shipment.

[2] Suggests a shipment approaching in a westward direction.

[3] Suggests a shipment approaching westward moving or positioned transportation.

[4] Suggests transportation will execute only the directives that provide increased security and necessary functions.

[5] Suggests directives will provide increased security and necessary functions.

[6] Suggests directives will provide increased security and that necessary functions were mandated by headquarters.

[7] Suggests directives and functions were both mandated by headquarters.

When proofing your work, it’s a good idea to consider the eventual reader and if he or she will receive the intended meaning. The reader will not be able to ask questions and shouldn’t have to. Precise meaning, wrought through proper syntax, builds confidence in the reader and a superior reputation as a professional.

Christopher Klim is the author of several books including and the novel, Idiot!, and the short collection, True Surrealism. He is currently working on a novel trilogy about the space program past, present, and future.

Choosing the Writer’s Subject

It’s a fact that an author tends to write about only two or three subjects during their career. No matter how veiled or reinterpreted the narrative, an author will continue to converge on the same concepts.

In a recent review of Milan Kundera’s The Festival of Insignificance , I discovered yet again his references to the old Cold War Communist Party. Kundera is an escapee from Iron Curtain Czechoslovakia, but has been a longtime resident of free Paris. Meanwhile, his communist party collapsed decades ago and has reformulated twice into its present day pseudo-dictatorship under Vladimir Putin, but Kundera is still fascinated with old-Communist thinking. In contrast, he’s also writes about the smallness of life, sourcing various tributaries in each literary venture as well.  It’s another consistent theme for the author. At 86 years of age after an illustrious career, he probably isn’t going to dip his literary spade into fresh soil.

A writer will never be condemned for his choice of subject matter (or at least he shouldn’t be), but he will be admonished (or at least ignored) for not being focused on it. He uses all of his literary strength to dig at the root of his subject, helping to bring it to light for the reader. Like a painter, an author will present her subject, depending on her particular style, in a range from the absurdly surreal to the cuttingly real. This presentation often determines the desired emotion or effect of the material, but nevertheless the author has not strayed from her core subject matter. Kundera has used various forms, from magical realism to straight storytelling to evoke the dehumanization of communism and the horror of man’s inhumanity against man.

What the author chooses to write about isn’t always a conscious decision. It’s akin to understanding the self. While a student, Kundera was rumored to have been an informant to the Czech secret police, but later escaped to the west and became an outspoken agent against communism. The author has refused these allegations, but they persist with credible testimony  exposed during the fall of the Soviet Union. In regard to Kundera the author, it is easy to see how this potential change of conscience (or at least the oppression of living within a communist system) might become a driving force inside his literary expression.

Kundera is a singular example of how great authors circle around a mere handful of concepts during their lifetimes. Research your favorite authors to see not only how each draw from place and experience as subject matter, but to recognize your own core concepts through your attraction to theirs.

Christopher Klim is the author of several books including and the novel, Idiot!, and the short collection, True Surrealism. He is currently working on a novel trilogy about the space program past, present, and future.

The Book Killers: Stilted Writing

In this ongoing series, Christopher Klim, author and senior editor of the US Review of Books, takes a look at common errors that undermine books.

The word stilted is defined as stiff, self-conscious, and/or unnatural. In a book, this concept is just as unwelcomed. For example…

It was a starry night. An owl flew low beneath the moon. Joe loved Jane so much that he thought his heart might burst. But nothing would stand in their way now. He swept her off her feet and carried her through the threshold of their lives together.

“Stop right there,” said the shadowy figure coming from behind the light post.

“No, not you!” Jane gasped.

“Have you forgotten about your husband?” the stranger barked.

“Sir, you must reconsider your approach,” Joe said.

The above passage forms a parade of clichés, passive verbs, hackneyed concepts, repetitions, invariable sentence structure, overly formal speech, and talking heads. Neither entertaining nor enlightening, these issues combine to stultify the reader. Let’s discuss a few of these problems.

Clichés, passive verbs, repetitions, overly formal speech, and even hackneyed concepts boil down to laziness on part of the writer. To complicate their existence, writers may become comfortable with these phrases and scenes during multiple readings to the point where a false sense of confidence in the prose arises. This is why cooling off periods—days or weeks if allowable between revisions—are vital to identifying problematic writing. Try to think of these issues as placeholders that will be replaced with stronger phrasing and construction. If the writer is not surprised or energized by his/her words, then no one else will be.

Talking head syndrome occurs when the characters provide information that either they should already know (i.e. “Hello, I’m Bob, your uncle.”) or barely relates to the conversation. This happens when the writer tries to relate narrative information through the character’s mouths. It is always obvious, and it saps momentum and authenticity from the work. In the example above, the entire dialogue should be replaced.

Invariable sentence structure, which is typically a repetition of subject-verb sentences without changes in presentation or structure, reveals the writer’s skill level or lack thereof. Fluctuations stimulate the reader’s mind. Changing sentence structure also is used in relation to the tone of the story. For example, short and quick sentences work for action scenes and humor, especially punch lines. Longer sentences can be found in romantic prose. Leading and trailing phrases form a variety of transitions. The list here is long and can be observed in any good literature and nonfiction narrative.

Many early writers are so eager to get their ideas on paper that they overlook the words themselves. On face value, that statement seems like a paradox, but it is only the normal course of a writer’s development. Skilled writers won’t accept stilted writing in their work, and during the revision process, they learn to identify their particular bad habits and eliminate them.

Here’s a cliché: All writing is rewriting. It also happens to be an axiom of the process.

Next in the The Book Killers series: Unfocused Openings

Previously in The Book Killers series: Inferior Word Choice 

The Importance of Finding a Mentor

Two decades ago, years before my first novel was published, I discovered the man who would change my writing life. I’d been thrashing around with a few novel submissions, limited short story success, and a pile of neatly printed form rejections from Manhattan. I was in the pool with a million wannabe writers, who talked the talk and walked the walk but got virtually nowhere.

Then I made a fateful decision. With my latest rejection, I had received a handwritten note of encouragement from a New York editor. He didn’t want my bad novel, but everything I’d been told in writing groups, conferences, and the endless volumes of guidebooks was that a personal note was unusual. I shot back a letter of thanks for the feedback and asked one simple question: Any suggestions?

Weeks later, that editor wrote that there was an author/friend in Delaware who occasionally took on emerging writers. He was moderately expensive, and I had to audition first. No promises were made, but I was excited. I felt like I was finally getting somewhere. The author took me on and eventually dropped the per page charge. He became the most influential person in my life—the writing mentor who coached me to publishing my first novel and guided my career for decades.

My mentor began by showing me what I did well and how to feature it within my writing. That understanding still effects my work today. He also pointed out my deficiencies and showed me ways to strengthen them. As a sounding board, he shaped every one of my novel concepts. I’m not sure I even understood what a novel was before I met him. I was too much raw talent, rolling around aimlessly through words. With my mentor, I discovered both the joy and responsibility of writing a novel. He taught me how to focus and raise my profile as a writer.

At some point in your career, you’ll seek a mentor to get you to the next level. A mentor is someone who has gone ahead of you on the journey, knows the pitfalls, and can provide timely advice. You have to find a mentor. He won’t find you. In my case, I’d experimented with writing teachers and groups, hoping to make a helpful connection. For the most part, it was a waste of time when I should have been reading or writing, but I was putting myself out there and asked questions. Eventually the right mentor crossed my path—a bestselling author at the end of his career who wrote the kind of books I’d like write and had accumulated priceless wisdom.

Today the world is bigger than hit or miss hometown connections and the cruel realities of pub row in Manhattan. There are industry-specific mentor groups, which are accessible on-line through a variety of social media platforms. In the writing world, don’t be a pest. Don’t send unsolicited manuscripts to authors. Don’t corner them at conferences. Connect with them on-line. Ask a question. Offer to buy them a cup of coffee. The majority of the time, you will be ignored. Everyone is busy. But eventually you will connect with the right person who will help you in unimaginable ways.