Everybody wants to be Terry McMillan. (Cover Story).

Terry McMillan. For readers and writers alike, her name alone conjures up images of multimillion dollar deals, best-selling novels and Hollywood movies. For the woman who many believe single-handedly brought cultural diversity to best-selling fiction, it's been a long, sometimes challenging, but mostly fulfilling journey. "A lot has changed since 1987," McMillan reflected in a recent interview with BIBR. That was the year her first novel, Mama, was published. It was released in hardcover on January 15, 1987, by Houghton Mifflin, with a conservative first printing of 5,000. But before the actual publication date, the run had to be increased by 2,500 more copies.

This year, on January 15, the paperback edition of her latest novel, her fifth, A Day Late and A Dollar Short (Signet, $7.99, ISBN 0-451-20494-8), hits stores. When the novel was first published last January in hardcover, the initial print run was 700,000--nearly a hundredfold increase over her first novel. A Day Late was on the New York Times best-seller list for 12 weeks. "When they told me that the paperback A Day Late was going to be introduced on January 15, I said, `That's a great date.'" It will mark the fifteenth anniversary of the publication of her very first novel.

How does it all feel? "It feels great," the 50-year-old author says. "It feels like a different industry. Publishers are certainly different. It's much better for first-time authors now. The readers are the same though," she says. "There's just a lot more of them," she adds, in something of a mild understatement.

But 1987 wasn't the beginning for McMillan. "I became interested in writing in college," she says, taking us back at least 15 years. "It was quite by accident. I wrote a poem in reaction to something I was going through, and a friend saw it. When he asked if he could include it in his literary magazine, I was floored."

Her friend's interest gave her a bit of confidence. "I thought, maybe I'm a poet and don't know it," says McMillan chuckling.

Still, with the exception of her college term papers, McMillan had done little writing, although she was an avid reader. "In junior college at Los Angeles City College, I took Afro-American literature. That was my first introduction to black writers. I was amazed--Zora Neale Hurston, Frederick Douglass, Langston Hughes--there were a lot of people who inspired me." However, McMillan quickly points out that although Hurston and Hughes were a source of inspiration, she didn't consider trying to emulate them. "I was just reading them at the time, not thinking of myself in any way as a writer. I was just in awe that there were black people who wrote books." But McMillan believes their works had a subconscious effect on her. "Many years later, remembering their works affected me and my writing."

It wasn't until McMillan had enrolled at the University of California at Berkeley that writing began to ease its way into her life. "I was majoring in sociology, but a new magazine, Black Thoughts, was starting up, and they were drafting anyone they could find. So when they approached me, I said, `Sure, I can write a sentence or two.' I began writing editorials--mostly political articles." After that, McMillan was recruited as a writer for the university magazine.

When she had to declare her major in her junior year, it was obvious that sociology wasn't in her blood, but then writing wasn't the obvious choice for her either. "I wasn't clear on what I could do with my sociology major--besides becoming a social worker, and that didn't seem very fulfilling. But I was going to choose sociology anyway." Her advisor had a different point of view: "What about journalism?" he suggested. She was taken aback by his suggestion. "He had been reading my articles," McMillan says. "He pulled out of me that writing gave me a great deal of satisfaction." But even with her admission, McMillan still couldn't see writing as a career. "I only saw it as a hobby because it wasn't difficult for me," she says.

Then, her teacher asked her something that made her think a bit differently. "Whoever said that what you choose to do in life had to be difficult?" he asked her. McMillan thought that was a good question, but still, she was unsure. She confided all her doubts to her advisor: "I don't know many black writers," she argued. "I'm in college, I need a job when I get out." But her advisor had an answer for every one of her objections, and gave her a piece of advice she now gives to her own students, "He said, `You know, many people choose majors because they feel it's the right thing to do, or because it's the most intelligent thing to do, or because it's what their parents want them to do. Think about what you really want to do!'" A few days later, McMillan switched her major to journalism.

It didn't take her long, however, to discover that journalism didn't give her everything she was looking for either. "I found journalistic writing stifling," she says. "And then, in my senior year, I took a fiction class." The instructor was Ishmael Reed, the poet, essayist and satirical novelist. "That's basically how this started. Ishmael triggered a lot in me. He told me that I had a great voice and whatever I do, don't go to graduate school," McMillan recalled, chuckling. "He said the only thing that would make me a writer was to write," she adds, "and read!"

With Reed's advice and a renewed desire, McMillan moved to New York in the late 1970s, was accepted at Columbia University Film School and became a member of the Harlem Writers Guild. "I sat around a table with 25 other writers. One day, I read the beginning of a story I was writing called Mama Take Another Step." When she finished reading, the other members of the group told her that it sounded like the beginning of a novel. Again, McMillan was surprised by the reactions to her writing. "I said, `I don't know how to write a novel.'" But the Guild urged her on, encouraging her to go to an artist's colony, Yaddo, in upstate New York to really concentrate on her writing. "I was working a regular job [as a legal typist], so I could only take two weeks. But I had total solitude and finished my first draft of Mama."

McMillan is quick to add, however, that it took much longer for her to actually complete the novel. "Two weeks was just the draft. I worked nine months to a year rewriting and editing." That's the way McMillan writes all of her books. "I do a draft and that gives me something to work with. Then I write just about everyday, and I don't stop. I don't write a little and then go back and edit, write some more, then edit--I'd never finish that way."

While McMillan was writing Mama, she continued reading even more, expanding her list of authors. "I read Catcher in the Rye, and in that book, J.D. Salinger mentioned another writer, Ring Lardner. I found his book Haircuts and Other Stories, and I just could not believe its tone--it was conversational! And, it was tragic but comedic at the same time." That book helped to confirm McMillan's faith in her own distinctive voice, something Ishmael Reed pointed out to her before. "After reading Lardner, I said, `This is what I do!' It was like Lardner gave me license to write the way I was writing."

But McMillan does not forget the writers who first moved her. "I think Zora did it, and Langston did too. But it had been awhile since I read their work; and when I was first reading them, I wasn't writing, yet. So, I went back and reread Their Eyes Were Watching God, and I said to myself, `Okay.' That's when I saw that I could include humor in my writing. And, that was good, since humor comes naturally to me. I don't try to make my work funny. That's just the way it comes out for my characters," McMillan says. "I'm definitely a character-driven writer, not a plot-driven writer. And I prefer it that way."

She submitted her work to Houghton Mifflin, and to her surprise, the editor found it interesting. McMillan was offered a contract, and the book was scheduled for a 1987 release. "I was excited. I knew a number of other writers who were publishing their first books--many of them I'd gone to school with in California. I couldn't believe it when they told me all the things that were going to happen with their books. They were going on 15-city book tours, they were getting promotional ads in The New York Times, they were going to be on this talk show and that talk show." McMillan excitedly approached her publicity department to find out the plans for her book. "Oh, no," her publicist told her. "We don't have anything like that for you. It's not in the budget." The words stunned McMillan. "I knew it was because I was a black author--it was crystal clear to me that was the reason why." McMillan knew she had to make it happen herself.

"I found out about their plans, or lack of plans, in June, and my book was coming out the following January. So, I did some homework and discovered a book that I already had in my library, How to Get Happily Published by Judith Appelbaum (HarperCollins, April 1998, $14.00, ISBN 0-062-73509-8). One of the chapters in the book talked about how to he your own sales force," says McMillan, who followed just about all the book's advice, including getting other books they recommended. "One book mentioned how to be your own best publicist," she recalls. Then McMillan went to work. She used resource books that listed all the chains and university bookstores. "I must've mailed 3,000 letters introducing myself and my book to stores. I described my book in a short paragraph and then I said, `I'll let you decide if you think my book is worthy of being on your book shelves.' It was a simple one-page letter."

But one of the biggest coups for McMillan was her discovery of the campus literary reading series. "I didn't find this in a book. It was just something that someone put together from the magazine Poets and Writers, I believe. It listed every university by state that had a reading series. I sent another letter--including sample chapters from my novel--and said that I was available to come to the university for a reading." Her marketing efforts proved successful. "I had so many readings that I began to call my publicist to tell her how my schedule was changing. But what was incredible was that I was getting paid for these readings," she says excitedly, remembering those first promotional efforts. "I was getting $500 or $700! I couldn't believe it."

McMillan worked long hours for months in preparation for the release of her first book, and she eagerly admits that she couldn't have done it without the support of others. "I happened to be working at a law firm at the time. There were quite a few black people working in the word processing department, working the Xerox machines, and in the mailroom," she says. "They were very kind to me. With their help, I was able to get those 3,000 letters out there. But it wasn't as hard as it sounds because I was in word processing at the time, and I knew a lot of the tricks. The hard part was licking the envelopes and then sneaking the letters into shopping bags on the subway, taking them back to work and slipping them into the mailroom so that these brothers could mail them for me--which they did."

All of the hard work paid off. "The result of it all was that before my book was even published, the first printing of 5,000 copies was sold out. They had to publish 2,500 additional books for the January pub date." McMillan's publisher was ecstatic with the 10,000 hardcover copies the book eventually sold. "Considering that there was no media and no promotion," McMillan notes.

It is no surprise that McMillan's second book, Disappearing Acts, received promotional backing. "I didn't have to do any of what I did before," McMillan says. "This time, I was sent on a 15-city book tour, and they put other support behind me. I had made my point."

While McMillan is hesitant to take credit, it's obvious that many of the things she did to promote herself as a first-time author have benefitted other black authors today. "Because of the noise that I made, and the embarrassment that my publisher experienced over what I had done on my own, it affected other publishers. There is hardly an author today who doesn't go on a book tour, and 14 years ago that was not true."

Though a lot has changed from Mama to A Day Late, there are some things that are still the same for McMillan--one is her commitment to writing the best novel she can. She does this through her writing process, but also by working closely with her editor. "A good editor doesn't rewrite the book or change your story, but she can help bring your novel into focus. What my editor Carole DeSanti does for me is to ask good questions or make good comments. For example, she might say, `I think that the way you're handling time is too fast or too slow.' Or `I think that this character can be a little more drawn out, so that we can better understand her motivation.' Or `Do you really think this character would say something like that?' After that, I go back to work. That's what any good writer would do," says McMillan. Her advice for aspiring writers and published authors as well: "Remember that a good editor's job is to be objective, to be the cold reader. To look at your story and see what's missing. To see what you need to do to make your story shine. A good writer should be open to all of that."

McMillan believes that there are other words of wisdom she can offer to up-and-coming writers. "Write in your own voice," she says in an almost pleading tone. "Don't try to be Terry McMillan, or Bebe Moore Campbell, or E. Lynn Harris or John Edgar Wideman." She pauses for a moment, then adds a chuckle, "I wish we had more John Edgar Widemans. But I would say that a new writer should learn to write honestly. Don't write for shock value or what you think will sell. I think that's what's going on right now and that's really sad." After a brief pause, she says emphatically, "And, read! A lot of aspiring writers don't read enough!"

How has the journey been for McMillan? There are really two sides of it for her. "One thing that's good now is that there are so many young people now who aspire to be writers. It's wonderful because when I was growing up, I didn't know any black writers. So, the fact that we have this whole reservoir of authors, who young people can look to and say, `I can be a writer too,' is great." However, there is another side that concerns McMillan. "The thing that I find sad is that there are people who are making decisions to be writers because they think they can do it. It's more of an opportunistic decision, and that's unfortunate. With these writers, there's no real sense of conviction in their writing. They're just doing it because they think they can make money," says McMillan. "The irony of it is, when I think back just 15 years ago, writing was what you wouldn't do if you wanted to become rich," says McMillan, laughing aloud before continuing. "That belief certainly has changed. I would just say to young writers that writing must be a passion. And, they must read," she says, "voraciously!"

Everyone wants to be Terry McMillan. But to even come close to achieving her success, writers must understand that it is not just about putting words on paper. The key to McMillan's success is her commitment. In her words, her tone, her mannerisms, there isn't a doubt that Terry McMillan takes what she does very seriously. It is all about the craft, the business of writing, and entertaining her readers. What she has received as a result of her success--million dollar advances, making the best-seller list, Hollywood adaptations of her novels--are just a wonderful by-products that bring in something extra to enrich McMillan's life. And, that's only fair, since her words bring pleasure to so many readers.

Victoria Christopher Murray is author of Temptation (Walk Worthy Press, 2000), originally self-published in 1997. Her second novel, Joy, was released in November 2001. Originally from Queens, New York, Victoria now lives in Los Angeles and is currently working on her third novel. Victoria sits down with the sister who started the fiction boom, Terry McMillan. Find out what it takes to be like Terry on page 36.