Driving home this morning under the threat of heavy rains -they arrived halfway to my destination- had me, for whatever reason, thinking about books I’ve read and authors I’ve enjoyed.

For someone who fancies himself an author, its funny to realize that I don’t tend to “follow” any authors out there, at least not slavishly.  I read what interests me and don’t what doesn’t.  Yet there was a time, up to even quite recently, that there were authors whose works I followed.

The first such author, really a ghost author, was “Franklin W. Dixon”, the pseudonym for the many writers of The Hardy Boys series of books.

These were the first actual “novels” I ever read as up to that time my primary source of reading entertainment was comic books, particularly those written by either Len Wein or Denny O’Neil.

After a few years of devouring every Hardy Boys novel I could get my hand on -and essentially reading the entire line!-, I turned to Nancy Drew and even The Bobbsey Twins books.

It was very shortly after I did so I grew tired of the sameness of the type of story presented in these three series.  I had reached a tipping point and no longer cared to follow what was until that point something so beloved.  (A few years back and if I were talking about TV series, we might have called it the “jump the shark” moment).

Part of what got me off the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew carousel was Vixen O3 by Clive Cussler.

I loved, loved, loved that book when I first read it.  So much so that I searched for and quickly read almost all the other books then available and written by Clive Cussler: Raise The Titanic!, The Mediterranean Caper, and Iceberg.  (I never found a copy of Pacific Vortex and therefore didn’t read it)  I found these books just as intriguing, though not quite as good, as Vixen 03.  I continued following Mr. Cussler’s output, but with diminishing interest.  Night Probe was only “ok” to my mind.  Same with Deep Six and Cyclops.  There was a fundamental “sameness” in the plots of these books, a feeling that Mr. Cussler was re-telling the almost exact same story but with a few minor differences.

And then came Treasure.

Ye Gods…

If I suspected a sameness in terms of plot in Mr. Cussler’s books, Treasure confirmed it.  Mr. Cussler’s novels, I realized, started in some distant (or not so distant) past, where a airplane/ship/train/whathaveyou is on what will turn out to be its final journey.  The doomed vessel’s cargo is something incredibly valuable…and dangerous.  The vessel sinks (usually) and is lost for a number of years.  We then fast forward to the very near future where intrepid Dirk Pitt and his crew uncover the lost item(s) in the lost vessel while battling bad guys intent on getting said cargo for their own nefarious reasons.

After Treasure, all interest in the works of Clive Cussler was gone.  Many, many years have passed since then and I know he’s written (and co-written) a number of books since that time so maybe he’s created some different types of stories.  If he has, I wouldn’t know as I’ve not given any of his books another look.

More recently, I found myself entranced with the works of author Michael Connelly.  His first several novels focused on L.A. detective and Vietnam veteran Hieronymus “Harry” Bosch.  The stories were fascinating in that there was an interesting continuity built in each new book.  We met recurring characters, lovers, and friends all the while our protagonist aged in real time.

Soon other major characters appeared and were featured in their own books.  I was particularly floored with the character of Terry McCaleb, featured in the novel (and Clint Eastwood movie) Blood Work, as well as Harry Bosch’s half brother Mick Haller, featured in several novels including The Lincoln Lawyer.

I was having a grand time reading each and every one of Mr. Connelly’s books until I reached his 2009 novel 9 Dragons.  After producing so many good to great novels, a bad one was to be expected, but 9 Dragons proved to be such a bad novel, in my mind, that it quite literally turned me off of Connelly and I haven’t read a book of his since.

I suppose if there’s a point to all the above it’s obvious: We can tire from things we once enjoyed, sometimes quite abruptly.

I suppose that thought came into my mind because as an author, I’m always trying my best to make sure my next work is as unique and interesting as I can make it.  I try not to stick to story “patterns” yet constantly worry that this could indeed happen.

It’s a balancing act and, despite losing interest in the works of the two people I mention above, I have no doubt they go through similar worries when they write their books.  Despite the romance associated with it, writing is not easy.