No. 21: God Bless R.L. Stine

An Unlikely Tale of a Big Break

If not for R.L Stine, you might not be reading this diary.

Because if not for R.L. Stine, I may not have had a writing career at all.

Yes, that R.L. Stine.

Here’s how it went down.

When I was writing The School for Good and Evil, my debut novel, I heard again and again — you need a “blurb” to put at the top of the book.

Blurb: a testimonial quote by a famous author, extolling the merits of your work and encouraging people to read it.

Every time I heard this, I asked the same question: “If I am a new author, how am I supposed to get a famous one to read my book?”

Followed by my other frantic questions, answers hurled down from high like lightning bolts.

• Me: Do readers really care about the blurb quotes on top of books?

  • Them: Maybe, but bookstores and gatekeepers care more.

• Me: What if I can’t get a good blurb from a famous enough person?     

  • Them: Not an option. You must find one.

• Me: How do I get in touch with a famous author?

  • Them: Preferably through a direct connection. Definitely not through their agent or manager or publisher, because then they’ll never do it.

• Me: How do I get a direct connection?

  • Them: That’s up to you.

I lay awake at night, pondering this mythical quest for a front-cover blurb and for good reason. First, these were the early days of social media and getting in touch with my favorite authors seemed as unlikely as me playing mini-golf with Madonna. Second, another big middle-grade fantasy book was coming out from my publisher just a few weeks before my debut, meaning our galley copies would hit booksellers and reviewers at the same time, and that rival book had a blurb from… J.K. Rowling.

I suppose this was fitting, given the enormous self-delusion required for a twenty-something to write a magic school novel in the shadow of Harry Potter.  But that didn’t change the situation. I was young and in New York City and spending more time looking for a blurb than a date — a symptom of a larger problem. (Fun fact: As soon as I finished the whole School for Good and Evil series, I found love one month later. You know how in The Devil Wears Prada, the disgruntled beau tells Anne Hathaway: ‘The person whose calls you always take? That’s the relationship you’re in?’ Well, for ten years, those calls were coming from Sophie, Agatha, and Tedros.)

Back to the story —

So I finish writing the book. This is January 2013. I have until February 2013 to find authors to blurb it. Authors plural, now, because I missed the part where I’m told it’s nice to have one famous author’s testimonial, but what you really want is five.

I made a list of authors to blind-send the galley to. My agent at the time made her own list of people to ask. And then… we waited.

No one responded at first. Because why would they? There is something presumptuous in reaching out to a notable author you do not know to, asking to help you on a deadline, when you have absolutely nothing but desperation to offer in return.

With each week’s silence, the chance of The School for Good and Evil finding an audience shrank to the size of a pin. The book was about to go off to press. Bookstore orders were teeny-tiny, we’d heard. No translation rights had been sold. The first printing would barely be a ripple.

Then something unexpected happened.

The most illustrious author on the list wrote back.

The one least likely.

R.L Stine said he’d received the book and read it. And offered a blurb.

“Wow. From the very first sentence, you know you're entering a thrilling world of strange fantasy. I knew I was in for a wild and dangerous fairy tale ride. I loved this book."

4 sentences. 33 words. And yet, enough to change my whole life.

The blurb went on the front cover, just before SGE hit the presses.

Suddenly, Barnes & Noble multiplied its order, betting heavily on the book. Even more, they made a special display for opening week— unheard of for a debut, no-name author — with R.L. Stine’s quote on the header, even bigger than the novel’s title. Other retailers followed suit, featuring the book prominently. Buzz on the book spiked, enticing Universal Studios to acquire the movie rights. A book that might have died quietly not only had a pulse, but strong, vibrant life. All because of R.L. Stine.

A man who did not know me.

A man I’d never met.

And yet, who’d taken the time to read and endorse a stranger’s book.

He became a legend in my own personal fairy tale, the same way he was already a legend in the culture. Case in point: every school visit I went to, kids would raise their hands during the Q&A, the first one always asking: “You know R.L. Stine????”

Ten years later, I’m honored to say yes. I’ve spent time with Bob, as we call him, at various festivals and events, and there are no words to describe the joy, laughs, comfort he brings all those lucky enough to be in his company. Bob is equal parts sober, mischievous, earnest, sarcastic, childlike, and deeply wise. He’s like Buddha with gallows humor.

Each time I see him, I try not to cry as I remind him what he did for me and that he didn’t have to and in fact, was very much expected not to. He always responds the same way: “I know. But I liked the book.”

There is also great fun, I’ve learned, when R.L. Stine does not like something. In Charleston one year, he was slated to join a bunch of us authors for a group event. The hosts cheerfully explained the show to him, which was a combination of teamwork, improvised storytelling, crowd participation, and hammy acting, all of which YA authors are used to, but R.L. Stine has by privilege of his position, been able to avoid. I remember how we all tried to jazz him up for the event, the same way the troupe in Moulin Rouge fluffs up the Duke for the play they’re fleecing him to finance. Bob sat there stonefaced until we’d finished our pitch. He looked at his wife, then back at us, and pronounced: “This sounds like a disaster.” (It was.)

Another indicative R.L. Stine moment — we met at an airport gate in Dallas after a festival. He was carrying a single thin folder that may or may not have had a single piece of paper in it. “Checked your bags, did you?” I noted. “No. Nothing to check,” he said. I blinked at him. Then at the folder. He replied: “I travel light.”   

One more! He was throwing around prognostications of imminent doom, and I was like, come on Bob, you’re still very young. He’s like, “I’m 80 years old!” This was quite astonishing to me, given how youthful and energetic he is, so I just shook my head and said: “If this is what you’re like at 80, you’re going to live a very, very long time.” He looked downright alarmed and said: “Nooooooooooo!”

Image from the Lima Public Library.

I’ve learned a lot of lessons from R.L. Stine. To welcome debut authors to send me their books and blurb them when I can. To get out on the road whenever I feel stuck and reconnect with readers. To face every tough moment with humor because nothing is all that serious. And perhaps, most of all, to enjoy the ups and downs of a long career and to never lose sight of why we do it — the love of telling stories and the love of seeing the faces of those we tell stories to.

At a bookstore in Florida, a few years ago, I came across a monumental display of all R.L. Stine’s books, an altar to his enormous career. I stood there a moment, mentally genuflecting, thanking fortune that once upon a time my book found its way into his hands. The bookseller saw me and smiled. “God bless R.L. Stine,” she said.

 Couldn’t say it better myself.

Have you ever seen a blurb that convinced you to read a book? And have you ever met an author and had a significant interaction you still remember?

Until next week…