The Delicate Art of Media Tie-Ins

The Delicate* Art of Media Tie-Ins

(* Some might say Dubious.)

The novelisation or media tie-in novel is a much benighted phenomenon. I find this quite strange, and not just because I once devoured them by the handful. They account for a large proportion of speculative book sales (walk into any book shop, stand before the metres of rack space devoted to Star Wars novels, and feel yourself turn as green as Greebo with envy) yet they are not reviewed, they are ignored by academia, and their very existence is regarded as anathema by many people in the industry. The complaint that tie-in novels "steal" readers from more "serious" works is a common and, I think, fallacious one. How many people reading tie-ins would read at all if books related to their favourite movie weren't available? How many of them go on to read other books after growing out of the tie-ins? Even if the answer to the first question is "none" and to the second, only "some", then the net return from tie-ins is still positive. They bring new readers to the field, in other words--and that's always a good thing.

Let's take a step back. What is a media tie-in novel? Where do they come from? The "media" part of the term refers to the source material on which the novel is based. This could be a movie (Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica), a TV show (Star Trek, Doctor Who, Buffy), a graphic novel or comic (Batman, Superman), or increasingly these days a computer game (Halo, The Legend of Zelda). Novels, too, spin-off tie-ins of their own: just look at all the publications surrounding the Harry Potter series and The Lord of the Rings. Anything that generates a demand for product above and beyond the existing work has the potential to generate tie-ins. We see it happen every day when novels become movies, movies become TV series, TV series become comics, comics become computer games, and so on. The permutations are endless.

When I was a wee lad, my franchise of choice was Doctor Who, and my appetite was insatiable. Video players were newfangled commodities in the 70s, so the only way I could revisit a favourite series was by reading the novelisation based on it, literally taken word for word from the script with exposition added to turn it into a proper book. Such novelisations were, for me, a sort of playback system--one with full colour, perfect sound, and much better special effects.

These days, video players are commonplace, and we have DVD and cable TV as well. Who reads the book of the show when the show itself is right at your fingertips? Novelisations are still being written, but they tend to be of blockbuster movies and by blockbuster authors: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace by Terry Brooks is a perfect example. Or they are marketed as souvenirs, no different to t-shirts, soundtracks, action figures and the like.

That still leaves the tie-in novel, though, and sales of those are booming. A tie-in is a novel set in the universe of a popular franchise, usually featuring the same characters and situations. Want to know what happened to Han and Leia's romance after the credits rolled on Return of the Jedi? Read The Courtship of Princess Leia by Dave Wolverton. Want to know more about the history of Buffy's two favourite vampires? Read Cursed by Mel Odom. Want to know how Brian Kinney and Michael Novotney formed such a strong bond, then read Every Nine Seconds: A Queer As Folk Novel by Joseph Brockton.

I mention the latter to demonstrate that novelisations and tie-ins do not belong solely to the realm of science fiction and fantasy. While a lot of them certainly do, there are many exceptions, ranging from the Home Alone and Mary-Kate & Ashley franchises to the continuing adventures of Jackie Chan. Many of these are for young adult or child readers, but plenty of adults read them too.

There's obviously money in them thar hills. So how do you go about getting some? The first thing to know is that distance is not necessarily an obstacle. Shows may be made in Hollywood but the books can be written anywhere. Several Australians have managed it in recent times: husband and wife team Jonathon Blum and Kate Orman have written several novels between them for the Doctor Who franchise (their co-written novel Fallen Gods was nominated for an Aurealis and Ditmar Award this year); Russell Blackford is the author of The New John Connor Chronicles set in the Terminator universe; Garth Nix wrote a YA novelisation of the X-Files episode "The Calusari"; Shane Dix and I penned the Force Heretic Trilogy in The Star Wars: New Jedi Order series.

Some of these writers were already established novelists before writing for their respective franchises and secured their deals as a result of that work. For others, these books were their first published novels. If forced to generalize about their methods, I would have to say that the same principles apply to writing fiction for a franchise as apply to any other sort of fiction. Here are just some:

1) You're writing for a specific market. Knowing that market is crucial.

2) There are certain rules of genre you simply can't break.

Every genre from romance to high lit has its established readership and its conventions. Not knowing either is courting disaster, or at least inviting disappointment home for dinner. The immediate advantage of writing for a franchise is that both are laid on the table right at the very start. You can't swear in Star Wars novels just as you can't have the Doctor sweep his assistant off on a romantic weekend in Tuscany. Trying will only end in tears.

3) You must be professional.

By this I mean more than just coming across as [.1] an obsessed fan, although that too is important.

4) You need a good agent.

Franchise deals are very complicated, since they involve pre-existing properties, and their royalty rates (if any) vary. Best to have someone watching over your shoulder.

5) Be true to yourself.

I loved Star Wars when I was teenager, so I'm happy to write in that franchise. I never watched more than a few episodes of Star Trek, so to write a Star Trek novel would require a degree of research that I don't have the time, energy, or interest to muster. That, to me, would qualify as Selling Out.

On a similar note: although I am a big fan of Buffy and Angel, I don't believe I can write in the style required for that franchise. It's not that I wouldn't like to. I just know my limitations.

6) Know your market.

Certain publishers license certain franchises, and certain franchises have a use-by date. There's no point writing the best Tomorrow People tie-in novel ever when few people today remember the show.

7) Expect to work hard. Very hard.

All commonsense stuff, in other words. Writing tie-in novels or novelisations is not for everyone, but it can be lucrative and satisfying work; it can generate enormous amounts of publicity; it can expose other work you have written to an entirely new audience. These are all good reasons for pursuing such a deal. The downsides are that you're working with someone else's core ideas, which you might find stifling, and that someone else has the final say on what appears in print; you retain no copyright over your work, and it will probably never be reviewed, except on Amazon.com and fan websites; the deadlines can be tight and the readership merciless.

With three Star Wars novels behind me, I can honestly say that my career hasn’t suffered for it, my bank account definitely enjoyed it, and best of all: I got a real rush out of it. If you'd told me twenty years ago that I'd be putting words in the mouths of Luke Skywalker and C-3PO, I would've said you were joking--but my eyes would've lit up at the thought. That light is still there--and at the end of that day, for every writer, however it got there, that's what counts.