Q. When did you start writing?

I actually wrote my first short story when I was in a second grade. The teacher kept getting annoyed with me for asking for more paper . . . And I wrote a play in the third grade, and I actually staged it and sold tickets. And in high school I had my own little advertising agency. I did all the announcements over the PA system for school events. I finally got into it as an adult when I played a truly awful children's concert and I told the people producing it that anybody could write a better show than that. They said, "You're so smart, let's see you do it." The rest, as they say, is history. By selecting a very bizarre little niche market, I achieved instant success, and I preach this to anybody who wants to be a writer, or anything else for that matter. I succeed, not by being competitive, but by avoiding competition. If you're the only one in the contest, you win.

Q. How long did it take you to write your first book?

Ha– my first book or my first successful book? Before Real Men Don't Rehearse, I wrote several books which were magnificent failures. One was a cookbook for single people (each recipe "served one."). Then I tried my hand at a spoof of relationship books that went over like a lead balloon (it was a great therapy for me though!). Then I did a "chicken soup for the soul" kind of book. That did not sell either (if any agents are reading this, it's really good). But I have to say, that series of failures was a very successful "how to write a book" education, as there is no way I would have the success I have now without having gone through that process – which would best be expressed as my unlearning what everyone tells you about how to write and publish a book.

Anyway, to answer your question, once I decided to write Real Men Don't Rehearse (fyi, its original title was On Stage Please, as that was the phrase used by the personnel managers to tell us to drag ourselves out on stage no matter how tired we were), well, this was an unusual situation . . . Some 25 years' worth of performance angst needed airing out, and I typed like a demon. I think I wrote 90,000 words in three weeks. About half of that was therapy, and I cut that out, thank goodness. I think I spent at least a year or more editing the book. Then I wasted well over a year trying to sell it through agents. It was bizarre; every agent who read it said the same thing: "Justin, this book is very funny and very well written, and no one will buy it." When I asked why they said that, they said "nobody wants to read a book about orchestras. Orchestras are boring."
But I responded by saying, "there are at least 2000 orchestras in the United States alone. When you add in their paying audiences, there is a potential market of at least a million people who are actively involved in orchestras in one way or another. I think you are wrong." What I discovered from that experience was that, agents are human beings, they are looking for broad market books, not niche market books, and for the most part they only know what sold last year, and that's what they are looking for, only maybe slightly different.

In my experience, agents and editors are gatekeepers for what I call the "literary industrial complex." They are under pressure to come up with books that will sell in high-volume in a very narrow time frame. I like to say that they grow corn, and I grow trees.

This may sound like I'm meandering off the question, but the thing is, writing a book and marketing the book are, to me, all part of the same process. I am now in year three of marketing "Real Men Don't Rehearse," and I am selling more than ever. It's important to think of the process of writing a book as a multi-year relationship. As long as people are willing to order it on line or write me a check to come and tell these stories at their association meeting, I will continue to do so into infinity.
All too often, wannabe writers assume that the book writing process terminates when they send a final draft off to the publisher, and all that remains is cashing royalty checks. This puts you in a very vulnerable position of needing an awful lot of help and recognition from people who may not care all that much about you.

Q. What is your writing process like? Did you start with an outline? How long do you write every day? Do you write on a computer? How many drafts do you do? How much do you usually write every day?

Well let's take this one question at a time. I don't really have a "process" per se. In fact, I take exception with the implication here that one must have a process. In the creative world, in my opinion anyway, process is evil, as many new ideas have no known process to grow through.

For me, a book must first start with an idea that is attention-grabbing. (I truly hate book titles that don't tell me anything re: what the book is about). Then I either imagine talking to a group of people, or I will actually go in front of a group of people, and present that idea, and I see how they react to it. If they laugh, or are intrigued, or if they get stone quiet, then I know I have something. If they get bored and walked away, I have to suspect that it stinks. I don't necessarily give up just because one person doesn't like it though, because sometimes that means I've got a really nice controversial issue on my hands. That was certainly true of Principles of Applied Stupidity. I mean, some people became emotionally violent in response to the title itself. That told me I needed to pursue it, even if it was at my own peril.

I don't start with outlines, although I sometimes use them later on in the editing process to organize the form of the book a little better. I write mostly on my laptop at my kitchen table, but I prefer to edit on printed out hard copy. I do believe that writing with a pen in hand versus writing on a keyboard uses a slightly different part of your brain, so shifting media sometimes give you a different perspective, which can be very helpful.

I don't necessarily write every day. The writing is really just a reaction to a burst of thought that comes to me. And that burst of thought very often comes to me very inconveniently just as I'm falling asleep. I finally figured out to keep a little voice recorder near my bed so I can just dictate it and not have to get up and type it all right then and there. I am very inconsistent with my writing output. It all depends on what my subconscious mind is throwing out at me today. I like to say I'm not really a writer, I'm more like a court reporter, writing down what my subconscious mind is dictating to me– sometimes that is text, sometimes those are lyrics, sometimes that is stage action. I see it (or hear it) in my head and I'm just taking dictation from that voice when I write.

Q. Do you ever get blocks and if so what do you do to get out of them?

 I have to say, I have never had a writer's block, anymore than I have ever had a talking block. I mean, sometimes, if I'm trying to come up with a big idea for a new show, that is not automatic. What I do is, I will load up my subconscious mind with as much information as I can find about whatever it is I'm trying to do. Then I wait. There's no point in trying to force these ideas because they grow at a certain rate and that's it. Then one day (usually 3 days later) I will just wake up out of bed, and not only will I have the idea for what it is I want to do, but I will hear all of the text being stated in my mind, like it's on television or something. And other than the flailing of fingers on the keyboard, it's virtually effortless at that point. Of course the editing is not so effortless...

Q. Your writing is very natural and funny. Many naturally funny actors and comedians seem to harbor a secret desire to be tragedians. Do you?

Haha. Well, there is a theory out there that people who are really funny are generally harboring a real tragedy . . . Although Jerry Seinfeld kind of debunked that myth. I did not have a particularly wonderful childhood, and my siblings and I certainly developed humor as a survival mechanism, so I think that has had a major influence on how I speak and write. In my house when I was growing up, every night was like open mike night at the comedy club. Whoever was the funniest got the most attention from the parents . . . And yeah, I guess that is kind of tragic, but not as bad as some.

Q. You were a musician before you were a writer and your first book is all about your experiences in orchestras. Did your music help prepare you for your writing career?

It's really rather astonishing just how much I learned from playing Boston Pops concerts with people like Arthur Fiedler. In fact, more and more, in my speaking appearances, as well as in my latest book, I try to explain how Arthur Fiedler did what he did. If you think for a moment about Arthur Fiedler . . . here is a guy who was not all that talented, not all that good looking, not very well connected, and yet he sold more records than anyone else in the classical music industry. He sold more records than the three tenors, or Charlotte Church, or Leonard Bernstein. And this really begs the question: why doesn't anyone emulate Arthur Fielder? I mean, his whole history and all of his programming ideas are right there for anyone to see, and there are at least 80,000 conductors out there who I <i>think</i> want to be famous and successful. So why don't they do what Arthur did? I suppose what I just said may have seemed like a non sequitur, but what I learned from working with the really big stars was to have the guts to step out of the usual standard processes. 99% of the music industry is focused on ever greater conformity, and narcissistic self absorption and fascination with being totally correct. The book business is very similar. What I learned from Arthur and other great conductors and performers, was that it was not about perfection, it was about connection. Performing night after night directly for an audience in Symphony Hall or the Wang Center was a fantastic learning experience. I sometimes think I want to write a book about "audience-ology." Too many people try to learn to perform or communicate in an abstract academic theoretical environment. They get stage fright– and stage fright, which is the fear of other people disapproving of you, manifests itself in all sorts of situations. Obviously, I could talk for hours about this, but that gives you a little hint of what I try to impart to my audiences when I talk about what one learns in a major symphony orchestra environment. As I think about it, trying to answer that question is like trying to answer "what did you learn in 8 years of medical school" . . .

Q. What is your most satisfying aspect of writing?

I hate to say it, but the very best and most satisfying part of it is when I get those e-mails from Amazon and Paypal with the subject line "SOLD --SHIP NOW."

Back when I still believed in the literary industrial complex, I used to send out dozens and dozens of letters to literary agents in the hope that they would lovingly take me to their literary breast. Instead, every day I would get a terse impersonal photocopied form letter back, telling me that they didn't want to see my book . . . so I think I've earned the right to enjoy this now.

I hate to admit to this in public, but I actually got somewhat addicted to these e-mails last Christmas. Real Men Don't Rehearse got a lot of press in some music trade magazines, and for the Christmas season I was selling five or six books every day. And I got addicted to the rush that I'd get from that "Sold Ship Now" e-mail . . . It was kind of like that science experiment with the chicken hitting the pedal and getting a little pellet of food . . . I found myself checking my e-mail every three minutes hoping for yet another "Sold Ship Now" rush. Please, help me doctor . . . I am addicted to selling my book . . .

Q. Your first book, Real Men Don't Rehearse, was more biographical in the sense that it was anecdotes from your life as a musician. Your second book, Principles of Applied Stupidity, has left the world of music and is kind of a self-help spoof. Had that been germinating for a while? Why did you decide on that topic?

Well it sort of happened this way: I was talking to a guy at a speaker bureau about my hopefully getting some paid gigs as a corporate speaker. And he said, "Justin, Real Men Don't Rehearse is very funny- but it doesn't have a <i>message</i>. You need to talk about leadership, because that's what people want to hear." Of course my response to this was, "Well if I talk about the exact same thing that everyone else talks about, how is that leadership?" I didn't get much of a response back . . . But anyway, whenever I gave a talk about my Pops experience, people would always ask me, "Just exactly what does the conductor <i>do</i>?" So I decided I should try and explain to people who only hear the press office's version of things just what it is that a conductor really does, and what distinguishes a mediocre conductor from a great one . . . And that would also be my corporate/leadership talk. (Conductors are often used as metaphors for managers, so I thought this might appeal to a corporate audience to hear this directly from the bass player's mouth.)

Of course, to be honest, at first, I had no absolutely no idea what it was that made a great conductor great. It was kind of like the Supreme Court and obscenity . . . I couldn't define it, but I knew it when I saw it.

Then there was another idea going on at the same time, which was trying to explain to people how I, as an ignorant kid from a dirt farm in Ohio, managed to get into the most famous orchestra in the world at age 20. I used to tell people, "Because I was too dumb to know that it was impossible."

So anyway, again, thinking in terms of the speaking appearances that would accompany the book’s sales campaign, I thought, "Wouldn't it be funny to do a management book and do the exact opposite of what everyone else does, and emphasize having less education, and thinking less, etc.?" So I started out okay, I thought this would be strictly a humor book. It had a great snake oil salesman tone to it. But once I got into the third chapter, it suddenly dawned on me that I was on to something. (Principle of Applied Stupidity #22: For Every Goal that You Can See, There is One that you Don't).

I realized that many people are constricted and limited by their education, because they constantly conform to the conventional wisdom. And– big epiphany here– this also explained what it was that made Arthur Fiedler so much more successful, because he was not afraid to go against the norm.

I also came across a very interesting little factoid: four of the five richest men in America, and that includes Bill Gates and Michael Dell, are college dropouts.

When I started to talk to friends about this idea, it was amazing how many people had issues with the words smart and stupid . . . And I knew I had to go about this very carefully, but I wanted the book to be something that was fun and entertaining . . . And it has gotten just fantastic reactions from the majority of readers. For example, and I get a lot of emails from people about this, I advise putting obvious mistakes in your work for your boss to find. This is because your boss always feels feel compelled to critique your work, and this way, once the obvious errors are found and "fixed," no major rewrites will be needed. Your boss feels superior. Everyone is happy. I do this all the time now, I include obvious errors, and when people point them out, I thank them for their input. It makes them feel like they're helping and invested . . . and they end up recommending the book <i>because they helped</i>.

Obviously I could talk about this book a lot, and I am at fault for perhaps being too flippant about that whole thing, because most people think the book is just a gag joke book, and it really isn't . . . but that's part of the joy of this kind of work. It’s having people discover you. I would encourage people to visit my website (www.justinlocke.com), there are several sample chapters as well as a podcast of a talk I gave on the book to a very enthusiastic crowd.

Q. You've adapted Peter and the Wolf for orchestras. What exactly is that about and how did you come up with the concept?

I tell that whole story in Real Men Don't Rehearse. The whole thing was really a big misunderstanding. Instead of writing the great American novel, I got paid for writing in a medium that no one else writes in. Here is the market I recognized: every orchestra in the world has to do a kiddie concert once a year. The assistant conductor has to come up with something with virtually no money. Everyone hates playing children's concerts because they're generally just so boring and unpleasant for all concerned. So I addressed that market need. To my knowledge, I'm the only person who creates this kind of programming and successfully markets and exports it internationally. Why should I write a novel, when everybody and their aunt Sarah is writing a novel too? I put my kid shows up on my web site and customers come to me. In my opinion, most people fail, as writers or creatives in general, because they aren't doing anything new or unusual. It's not lack of ability or opportunity. It's the internal fear of "looking stupid" . . . i.e. doing something really odd because it's "different." If you have this problem, I suggest buying my book

Q. Some people say good writing is good editing—do you agree? Do you edit your books a lot?

Yes and no– one must define "good editing." For some people, "good writing" is synonymous with "correct writing." No dangling participles, etc. . . . but correct English by itself has no real market value. Good editing, as I define it, makes the text agreeable and easier to read for the customer, i.e., the person who bought your book. My first editions all have typos galore, but I have yet to hear someone say, "There's a misprint on page 43, I want my money back." I used to worry about being "caught" making an error, now I don't worry about it. This is a Principle of Applied Stupidity at work: when people see a typo in my book, it makes them feel superior for having found a mistake. This is a good thing. I want my customers to feel good. <b>What is not taught in music school or writing school is understanding your audience, and knowing what they want</b>. Instead, you are taught to make yourself perfect and unassailable from judges and critics. Nice idea, but not very profitable.

There is way too much emphasis in editing for the purpose of conforming to a preset standard that may have nothing to do with a book's appeal to potential buyers. It can be a form of stage fright.

Having said that, yes, I DO edit my books, rather severely, partly to make them better, partly because I am such a perfectionist sometimes. But I generally find that there is a point where I am no longer improving things, I am just venting stage fright. There is a point where you just have to put your book out there and hope people will like it. It takes real guts to upload that file and send that check to the printer. Another Principle of Applied Stupidity: "Occasional failure is essential to ultimate success, therefore . . . Failure is Good."

I think it was Norman Mailer who said, "Writing a book is like being a prize fighter. Win or lose, you're going to take a beating."

Q. What humorists do you like?

I guess have pretty standard tastes. I do think a lot of comedians these days are about venting anger, and getting people to laugh in reaction to internal anxiety. That has a certain appeal I guess, but I am partial to more subtle comedy. I am a big fan of Jerry Seinfeld and Steven Wright. Cartoons have had a huge influence on me– especially those by Tex Avery and Chuck Jones (I actually met Chuck Jones once! I shook the hand that drew Bugs Bunny). I like to think of my orchestra kid shows as staged cartoons. If you have never seen Tex Avery's "Red Hot Riding Hood" or "King Size Canary," you are really missing something.
I am also partial to some of the old time comedians, like Johnny Carson, Jack Benny, and Groucho Marx. Those guys were masters at timing, and also at getting laughs by just reacting and doing nothing at all. That takes real guts and artistry.

Right now I am reading "The Complete Far Side" and my neighbors must think I am going insane as I sit here laughing out loud every night.

 Q. How do you know if a bit is funny enough? Do you run chapters by friends? Do you just go by your own judgment?

If it's written, I just go by my own reaction. If I think it's funny, well, that's generally good enough for me. In my talks, that's a whole different ball game. I am often surprised at what an audience will laugh at. Sometimes minor details get (unexpected) huge laughs. And other lines that I think are funny get nothing. As a speaker, I am constantly learning how to deal with that audience response energy. It's a big adrenaline rush, and if I go for a while without doing a talk, I really start to miss it.
Oddly enough, one of the hardest things to do is to let the laugh go and not interrupt it. But I am getting better as I go along.

Q. Are most of the people who read your first book musicians or non-musicians or a mix?

The way the marketing has gone, people who are interested in music see the book more. It's being reviewed in music magazines, and stocked in music stores. But it was always meant for a general (i.e., non-musical) audience. When I do a talk at a non-musical crowd I always sell a pile of them, so it's hard to say.

Q. I know you also do a lot of speaking and people find your talks very funny. Do you write out your talks? Are you just spontaneously funny?

Some people say the best way to write is just to write as you speak. Since you are such a good talker is that what you do?
I never write out the talks. (I hate going to book readings. It’s so dry to me.) I find when I tell my Pops stories that I am in a sort of trance where I am re-living the experience and I am taking the audience along with me, and I feel the same anxiety I had when my stand light caught on fire, etc. etc . . . But make no mistake, I actually rehearse my talks (I am sure there are people who think I'm a crazy guy walking past them in the park, talking to myself) and I plot and plan broad outlines of which stories I will tell, etc etc. And though I am saying it myself, yes, apparently I am spontaneously funny.
And yes, what you see on the page is pretty much word for word how I would speak. (I get into big trouble with proofreaders with my rather creative use of punctuation in trying to mirror my speaking style.)

Q. What other projects have you got going?

Well I am putting a bunch of music on Itunes that has been lying about here for years. Part of it is the music from J.S. Bach, Superstar, and another is a children's fitness program I tried to launch back in 1993. It's called Fitness Fairy Tales, and you'll be able to see/hear it on Itunes in a few weeks I hope.
I am doing mostly marketing of the two books and my speaking these days, and doing some creative consulting, mostly making promotional videos, to pay the rent here and there. I have a new book in mind but that's at least a year away. I am hoping to travel down to Bahamas again soon for another performance of Peter VS the Wolf  in Nassau. And I am creating a line of merchandise, mostly t-shirts and whatnot, that is already partially available at cafepress.com/justinlocke. That all started with one customer asking for a Real Men Don't Rehearse  t-shirt. I am creating a whole line of "bass player with an attitude problem" wear.