I don’t know about you, but if I encounter one more horror writer (in most cases, this would be a new writer) who prefaces his or her name with:
- “The New Bad Boy/Bad Girl of Horror”
- “The New Queen of Terror”
- “The New Prince of Dark Fiction”
- “The New Court Second-Scribe in Charge of Queasy Sensations at The Pit Of Your Tummy”
… or some-such other b.s. handle designed to draw attention to the writer rather than the work, I’m going to climb a tower with a rifle, I swear it.
(Wouldn’t it be interesting to have someone call themselves “The Nice Guy Of Horror” or “The Courteous Queen Of Terror” or “The Really Swell Dude of Dark Fiction”? I’d actually remember that, and would probably seek out their work to read just because they were clever enough to do it.)
Sometimes — dash, repeat, italicize — sometime these monikers are created not by the writers themselves, but, rather, by reviewers.
One case of a writer who’s employed a moniker he or she didn’t create her- or himself is that of John Paul Allen, one helluva nice guy and author of the novel Gifted Trust. A reviewer for that novel dubbed Allen “…the father of nightmares.”
An interviewer who read that review used the phrase to introduce Allen, so it comes as no suprise that Allen has used that phrase in publicity releases — and why the hell shouldn’t he? It’s an eye-catching, memorable phrase that is going to go a long way in helping potential readers remember his name. He didn’t come up with it and decide to label himself, and any writer who’s handed an unsolicited blurb like that is a fool not to get as much mileage as he can out of it. Yes, writing a strong novel is damned important, but once the work is published, it all boils down to bidness and marketing, and anything that draws attention to your work can and should be used to your advantage. So, good for John Paul.
I have come across (or been introduced to, unsolicited) a number of writers who, both on-line and at conventions, assume a “persona” not only for the benefit of their readers (assuming they actually have any, as they claim), but for that of other writers and editors, as well.
When asked why they insist on assuming these personae, every last one of them (at least, to whom I have spoken) have answered with something like: “Because I want readers/editors/other writers to remember me. It’s a way of making a strong impression.”
On the surface, it might be seem like a good answer, but it reminds me of a snippet from a Bill Cosby routine wherein two guys are talking about cocaine usage; the first guy asks the second one, “What’s the attraction?”, and the second guys answers, “Well, cocaine intensifies your personality.” To which the first guy responds: “Yes, but what if you’re an asshole?”
If you focus the majority of your energy on perfecting a “persona” so that other writers/readers/editors/artists will remember you, then I guaran-flippin’-tee you that you’ll succeed; they’ll remember you.
But ask them to name a piece of your work and see what happens; you could probably hear a gnat fart in the silence that will follow. Which is precisely what you’ll merit; if you choose to make it all about you rather than the work, then you richly deserve the disdain and/or obscurity that is coming your way.
I can say this without fear of reprisal because I do not have a persona; I barely have a personality. Trust me on this.