The Henry Ford of writing…
Once upon a time there was a writer who spun a few good yarns. His name was James Patterson. Along Came a Spider was inspirational—tight plot, interesting main character and secondary characters, and a setting I was familiar with. Nothing earth-shaking, but good storytelling nonetheless. It was a textbook combo of mystery and thriller, I liked that cross-genre idea, and I held it up as something to aim for in my own writing.
Unfortunately, it all went downhill from there. Not only did Patterson become formulaic, he became greedy. He created a book assembly line and hired lesser known authors to do the hard work, signing his name to the final product. Like any good tenured professor, he surrounded himself with acolytes willing to increase and perpetuate his fame in detriment to their own careers. Why bother writing Star Trek knockoffs when you can become a slave for James Patterson?
He is much more than the chief schlockmeister of the publishing world because he’s a factory executive, the CEO of Patterson Inc, with suspense fiction, literary fiction, and children’s lit as that factory’s products. Now his factory is planning another product line, thousands of novellas, short books that target non-readers–let’s call it pulp fiction. He’s the Henry Ford of the writing world, confident that his brand name will sell anything the factory produces. And traditional publishing goes along with it.
It’s ironic that he’s an outspoken critic of Amazon. That company will sell almost anything; Patterson Inc will sell almost any book, but I’m waiting for new product lines like underwear, condoms, children’s toys, guns and ammo, sporting goods, and so forth. He’s not satisfied that Amazon sells huge numbers of books spewed from his assembly line. He wants more royalties and adoration from Jeff Bezos. In fact, Patterson will attack anyone standing in his way, from Bezos to indie writers. He’s the Donald Trump of the book world, a master of the publishing deal.
In abstraction, there’s nothing wrong with that, you say. Free enterprise at work. I call it another example of capitalism without control. He was vocal about the DoJ case against the insidious agency model designed by Apple’s Steve Jobs in collusion with the Big Five publishers. (They soon settled; Apple pursued appeals to the bitter end—for them.) He has supported Writers Guild in their attacks on Amazon; Preston and Patterson led the cavalry on that one, always trumpeting the lie that the Guild represents ALL authors (they don’t).
I won’t be surprised if Patterson Inc will soon be subject to a DoJ investigation about unfair monopolistic practices too. The CEO is clearly on a mission to eliminate the competition—not only indie writers but any writer who bucks the schlockmeister. There aren’t enough readers to go around, so he wants to eliminate anyone who even comes close to establishing a brand as well-known as his. In other words, if you’re not reading a book with Patterson’s name on it, you’re a problem, and the only way he can get at you, the root of the problem, is to make sure you don’t have other books to read.
I actually feel sorry for the guy. First, he embarrasses himself, as well as many other authors, I imagind. Moreover, there must have been a time when his brand was nearly zero. He didn’t become “famous” overnight. He’s forgotten his roots and become a ruthless Chinese capitalist. I feel sorry for anyone who becomes so greedy that he loses human decency. Like many CEOs, Patterson has become a white-collared thug, a person victimized by his own success. He in turn victimizes others. I feel sorry for his co-authors too—for a pittance compared to the CEO’s profits, they have sold their souls to this publishing demon.
Of course, this kind of person could only arise out of the toxic cesspool that’s today’s traditional publishing environment. Think Hitler in collusion with German industrialists. Traditional publishing created this monster, and it’s their choice to continue to support him. No one is trying to rein him in, so he continues with his warped, exploiting program against readers and other authors.
In these pages, I have said many times that an author’s politics shouldn’t matter if s/he can spin a good yarn. Why doesn’t that apply to Patterson? First, he can no longer spin a good yarn—I stopped reading him years ago because he became completely formulaic, even before founding Patterson Inc. Second, he’s no longer an author either—he’s a CEO who, like the Koch brothers, has a nefarious agenda and is sticking to it. Third, he isn’t political. It’s all about greed and power. He has no apparent ideology or religion, unless you call worshiping the almighty dollar a religion.
Becoming formulaic is a lesser sin. Authors like Patterson, Preston, Grafton, Baldacci, Child, Deaver, and so forth can get away with it by riding that brand-name steed to death–they’re the steeds, of course. Some readers succumb to familiarity—“his new book is just as good as the last” often means it’s just a remix of the last—and that’s just reader preference. Readers still rule. And, because you rule, the only tactic remaining for the old stallions in traditional publishing’s stables is Patterson’s: make sure no upstart author becomes successful, or, if successful, licking the hooves of the old stallions, especially if s/he’s indie.
I’ve never met Patterson. He might be a nice man—a quiet, evil Godfather thinking he can control his mafiaso book empire and eliminate any competion, but he has a warped mind. I won’t support Patterson Inc. And the more he monopolizes publishing, the less I’ll support it. ‘Nough said.
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OK, that was pretty heavy. On a lighter note, young adults and adults young-at-heart will enjoy my YA mystery novel, The Secret Lab. Call it a cat mystery too, because a mutant cat is the main sleuth who helps a nerd herd of young kids ferret out secrets aboard the International Space Station in the future. You can also call it fur punk or purrrrfectly entertaining. Available in all ebook furmats. (OK, I overdid the fur references, but you’ll fall in love with Mr. Paws.)
In libris libertas (but not in Patterson’s world)…
