How to Write a Contrived Novel
by French Hammond and Teddy Eddie Blister 

Verbs. Nouns. Direct objects. Pro-Nouns. Indirect objects. These are friend to the aspiring contrived novelist.

But writing is more than a mish-mash of words formed into sentences, then into paragraphs, then back into sentences for dialogue. All culminating in “The End.” It is more than an exploration of language, of culture, of self, a fascinating journey through your own self-conscience meant to make you a better person. More than all this, even more than an intriguing story and fresh characters. Writing is a short ride to a big fat check.

For centuries authors existed entirely by the good graces of the wealthy—patrons of the rich, writing exactly what they wanted for one particular audience. Writing was an act of compromise to satisfy the whim of a demanding and imbecilic blueblood. That was a sweet deal. But that time has gone by, and to make a fortune in the modern age the modern novelist mustn’t compromise himself for any single individual, but bunches of them. The book-buying public.

The beginning to every good book is a winning idea. An idea someone thinks is worth publishing. People ask us all the time, “Where do you get ideas?” Screw you, hobo, we’re not telling you the source of our goldmine. Get a job already. But if you have a place to get ideas from, especially ideas you could turn into a book, even better a bestselling book idea, jump on it!

It’s not as hard as you might think. You see authors all the time who are struck by the muse, punched in the balls and thrown by the stairs by inspiration, and they come up with a brilliant can’t-miss idea people find genuinely interesting. We hate these people. Luckily, people also by books with lame, repetitive stories and paper-thin characters you can toss out in ten seconds. In fact, most of the publishing world exists entirely on these books. And you can easily be one of their authors.

One good way of finding the perfect idea for your trite novel is to take your favorite book and re-write it with your own disappointing characters. Love Jane Eyre? Write your own historical romance and diatribe on the role of women in Victorian England! Make her an exciting well-read debutante instead of a frumpy governess, and turn that subtle discourse on feminism into modern catchphrases and moralizing. People will eat it up. Or maybe you’re a fan of 1984, but you find it horribly depressing. What would happen if Winston Smith got tired of taking orders from Big Brother and started kicking some major butt? Hmm? Now you’ve got a bestseller!

It doesn’t have to be stealing someone else’s creative idea, if that’s not your style. It doesn’t have to be creative at all. Take a familiar literary situation, like a neurotic thinly-disguised version of yourself returning home to your dysfunctional family. Not only is it a critical favorite, but you can delude yourself into thinking it’s therapeutic. Save on shrink bills and throw in some psycho-babble you found on the web and you’ve written one smart—if trite—book!

Don’t think it’s easy to write a novel just because it’s crap, though. It’s still hard work. You have to write hundreds of sentences, one after the other, and when you think you’ve written enough you still have to write the easiest ending you can think of, or borrow it from someone else. Then we get into the next part of it all—publishing! That’ll take up the remaining 287 pages of this book.

For more of this great non-fiction, buy French Hammond and Teddy Eddie Blister’s
How to Write a Contrived Novel Murder in the Toolshed
It was at this time I, his loyal assistant Cap’n Trails, called upon his abode. The sound of nipple-exciting music filled the abode.

Timefuck
Being plugged into the timeline creates an unusual distortion affect we call time fucking. What it means, scientifically speaking, is that a being’s experience of time as a linear creation is destroyed and time afterward becomes moments lived randomly, in one or two minute spans so as to be less confusing to mentally challenged readers, much like pieces of a puzzle being picked up arbitrarily instead of in order of which piece they’re connected to.

The Bitcher in the City (Part 2)
What a big fat fake. A useless tool that ought to have his head popped by God’s very own fingers. I got to feeling a little nauseous in the stupid club so I went outside. By the time I was at the door I heard Mervin yelling that I looked familiar again, but I didn’t want to talk to him no more.

So Cold Blooded
Their first victim was Mary Ann “Carrot-Top” Cooper, a striking brunette cashier at a local burlesque house. Cooper had stayed late on June 5, 1963, taking inventory on the tassles, and was abducted from the parking lot out back by Knotts and Wilpott.

The Shoeshine Exemption
You had two kinds of people in the joint: The guys who took what life dealt them and the ones who didn’t. I was one of those guys who took what life dealt them. It was a pair of eights, a five, a four, and a two. Almost like it could be a decent hand, but not quite, enh, you know? I’m not complaining.