Taking My Own Advice

In my recent post, “Impressive Small Presses,” I mentioned some publishers who had caught my eye (thanks to the tip-off from Poets & Writers, of course). Well, here I’ve been sitting on a complete manuscript for almost three months now without bothering to send it round. At first I blamed my procrastination on the move, the easiest of many cop-out options. After further thought I realized that I had no viable excuse at all. I have a wonderfully expensive printer — a wedding present from the in-laws — and had discovered two excellent independent presses. What was I waiting for?, a handout?, a sign from some celestial being? No — it was probably simple laziness that stood in my way. That, and a need to maintain financial stability for my home in “Animal Crossing,” by catching exotic fish, digging up valuable fossils, and selling them to a raccoon named Tom Nook. (For anyone who hasn’t played the real-time RPG on Nintendo’s Gamecube, I offer this warning: Stay away, unless you really feel the need to trade in real life for communing with anamorphic friends and long days of running their petty errands. It might not sound addictive, but it’s surprisingly life-consuming.)

That said, I promptly said goodbye to the fictional town of Norville — I would’ve called it “Northingtown” if they’d allowed for more letters in the name — and set to work in the real world. I developed my synopsis, formatted the sample chapters, and submitted. Hotel St. George Press only accepts manuscripts through snailmail, and I must say I felt more like a real writer at the sight of a fat manila envelope, the

 

Discoveries: A New Imprint

Another perk to the independent bookstore community is that we not only have the option of reading advanced copies of unreleased books, we’re actually encouraged to.  (One could even say it’s a rite of passage at The King’s English.)  An entire box of rough edits and floppy, sloppy books was opened to me with the open-ended invitation to “have at them.”

Long story short, I managed to find two particular titles whose synopses sounded vaguely intriguing.  Both were speculative fiction — and though I only delve into this genre on occasion, I’ve somehow been recruited as the “speculative fiction guy” at the store — and both titles promised to be morbid, bizarre, and, at the very least, odd.  I figured I’d give them a try.

What I found, before even bending the covers, was that the titles had something else in common:  They were both future releases under a new imprint called Discoveries, from the well-known “hobby gaming” publisher, Wizards of the Coast.  You know:  Magic and D&D and all that.  Never having been a “gamer”

 

A Second Look at Chronicle

I just realized that I’d received a comment concerning my recent post on Chronicle Books and Blurb:

Hello,

The information in the Newsweek article was incorrect. Chronicle Books will not receive a referral fee for recommending Blurb.com to aspiring authors or artists.

Just as from time to time our editors refer authors or artists to other publishing houses, Blurb.com presents another option if they consider it an appropriate choice. This option will not be part of our response to every author submission. There are many self-publishing options in the marketplace, though far fewer for illustrated book authors and artists. As an independent illustrated book publisher in San Francisco, Chronicle Books felt an affinity for the locally based Blurb.com and the quality of the product it is offering the public.

Chronicle Books

I greatly appreciate the correction, as I know other aspiring writers will as well.  And I thank Chronicle for taking the time to inform us.

 

Seeing Stars

I’m going to share a dirty secret with you. I worked at Borders for nearly four and a half years. Yes, I was one of those unlucky creatures who did the bidding of corporate overlords. I sold my soul for minimum wage and free coffee. (Or should I say free acerbic sludge?) Nonetheless, I never once saw a famous person. You would think that a major contender in the book world — not to mention one of the longest-standing branches in the entire state of Arizona — could manage to round up some appearances by some well known authors. But no. While the college-town store on Mill Avenue (just a skip and jump from ASU) was hosting an event for Kirk Douglas on the publication of his memoirs, our store’s biggest “star” was instead Jerry “The King” Lawler, signing his own autobiography. Where were the people real readers wanted to see?

Apparently, they’ve been touring the independent circuit. The writers I wanted to meet were at The King’s English all along.

I’ve been working for the company for roughly a month now, and already I’ve met the eminent poet Mark Strand. (He looks less like Clint Eastwood in person.) I’ve bumped into Gordon Campbell, whose debut novel already has already shown promise of making him the next premier mystery writer. (Campbell is possibly the nicest man I’ve met in all my years of shaking hands with published authors.)

It was on just my first or second week at the store, however, that I was able to meet someone whose writing I’ve admired for years: Diane Ackerman. This woman is proof that brains, beauty, and a great sense of humor can indeed go together. She’s also proof that after publishing ten books a person can still manage to be down-to-earth and…well, human.

I recall one of our rare book signings at Borders one day. It was for a local author whose books, for some unknown reason, were quite popular. She called herself “The Queen of Clean.” Her reputation as an unorthodox housewife — using such things as Tang to clean toilets — preceded her; it was a busy night.

 

The Art of Not Reading Philip Roth

I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. First it was The Human Stain, which I rather enjoyed and mistakingly took to be exemplary of Roth’s work. Then I moved on to one of the many Zuckerman books, The Anatomy Lesson. Already my interest was waning. Thirdly, as a sort of last-ditch effort, I picked up The Dying Animal; I was hoping that its diminutive size would assist in the reading, as lengthier Roths can be a chore to plod through. I finished the novel in an afternoon, but instead of feeling a sense of accomplishment I was plagued by foul images concerning menstrual blood and…I’ll stop there, come to think of it.

One would like to say that Roth made a departure from his autobiographical, glaringly solipsistic masturbatory fantasies with The Plot Against America. But the progress, if it could be called such, was short lived.

I unpacked his newest book in a shipment a few days ago. I read the title, Exit Ghost, and was intrigued. Upon reading the sleeve, however, I rolled my eyes and said to a coworker, “Well, good old Roth goes back to his roots.” It appears that Zuckerman is as resilient as his creator. And he’s even more neurotic than before, even more of a codger, even more pissed off about everything he sees around him. Once more Mr. Roth uses his alter ego to tell us all how much he hates us all; and according to this review from Atlantic Monthly’s Christopher Hitchens, the award-winning novelist even finds time to tell his own devoted readers what he thinks of them!

Say what you will about Mr. Hitchens (and some have said more than enough), this review is serrated, but tactful.

In the novelist’s defense, let’s  not forget the true exemplary Philip Roth novel:  The definitive manual of tidying up after autoerotic activities — otherwise known as Portnoy’s Complaint.  With that in mind, who can really say that the 75 year-old novelist isn’t worth his weight in…cloacal substances?

Mr. Roth, with toilet paper roll in hand, we salute you.

 

A Blurb About Chronicle Books

As always, Victoria Strauss has her fingers on the pulse of the publishing industry.  This morning I read her most recent post and was slightly alarmed at what she had to say.  Chronicle Books, one of those rare presses known to accept unagented submissions, is now affiliated with the self-publishing operation called Blurb.  The way Ms. Strauss describes it, this marriage is most certainly not a match made in Heaven — not for a writer looking to get published, anyway.

For the details, I suggest you go directly to the Writers Beware blog.  The primary reason that this particular post struck me is that I receive about a dozen boxes of Chronicle’s books a week at the bookstore.  It’s become a familiar name and their publications are a steady portion of our business at The King’s English.  Who knows?, given enough time and insider correspondences, I may have wooed myself into the idea of submitting to them.  (Though they’re not exactly my key audience.)  Still, I doubt if I’ll be entertaining that idea any time soon.

 

Impressive Small Presses

In the most recent issue of Poets & Writers Magazine there was an entire spread in the center featuring up-and-coming small presses. As an unpublished writer I was drawn to them, but as a novelist I had only a handful to investigate. (Many of the presses were mainly interested in poetry or short works.) For anyone who doesn’t subscribe to this remarkable mag, I figured I’d share some of my favorites here. By the way, if you don’t currently get Poets & Writers, trust me — it’s worth the money. And it beats the hell out of anything the bubblegum Writer’s Market/Digest conglomerate has to offer! (I won’t even bother building a link for them.)

The first of my favorites, owing to their original concept and entertaining website, is The Hotel St. George Press. As you can see from their submission guidelines, they accept primarily unagented material (Hallelujah!), though they do not accept manuscripts via email. So long as you’re motivated to perform the SASE-synopsis-wait-six-months dance, they’ll gratefully accept the first 20-30 pages of your manuscript.

Secondly, there’s Dzanc Books. Their site has a rather coarse, almost graffiti-esque appearance to it, but once again, they make no mention of rejecting unsolicited manuscripts. Plus, they do accept online

 

The Miracle of Moving

The appeal of being a travel writer is not lost on me.  In truth I always thought of travelogue writers as fortunate in that they can get paid to combine their two favorite pastimes.  But following yet another move to yet another state — totaling now at four in a mere three and half years’ time — I think I’ve arrived at a much different conclusion.

It’s no secret that anyone can find themselves enlightened by a change of scenery.  Artists, on the other hand, are not only enlivened by all of the new sights and sounds of a new home, they are inspired.  Why this is such a surprise to me is astounding to say the least.  Having moved so frequently for so long, I suppose I’ve come to discard the sensations that afflict me each and every time my wife and I change towns, houses, or jobs.  (Which has been, until now, quite often; but as we’ve found the Mecca of All Bookstores at The King’s English, we don’t expect to be uprooting ourselves again any time soon.)

Only a month or so after finishing my last manuscript — whose process through the bowels of the publishing industry you will soon be party to — I already find myself roughing the edges of an unwritten novel in my mind.  It won’t be long now before I put my new workspace to use.  Having just watched the entire Sci-Fi Channel series “The Dresden Files,” I’m quite convinced that I’ll be breaking my old precedents and attempting a similar sort of serial.  After all, challenging myself to write the Beat/Magical Realism novel was possibly the best thing to have happened to my writing in years.  And even if I frustrate myself out of the idea, at the very least it’ll have been another odd journey.

Sometimes that’s all that matters.

 

Between a Rock and a Different Place

So, we’re moving from the Rock (Boulder) to a place that neither my wife nor I ever expected to find ourselves: Salt Lake City.  Thus, the blog will inevitably suffer.  But that’s the least of our concerns, as you can well imagine.

We visited SLC a few weeks ago, enticed by a career prospect that was too good to pass up.  As it turns out, the prospect didn’t come through.  However, through the contacts that we unwittingly gained from our visit, we were offered jobs at an independent bookstore called The King’s English.  This is a truly exciting development, as my wife will be the liaison for visiting authors as well as managing all of the events at the bookstore.

Which means that I will be able to, for the first time, kiss some published derriere.

Wish me luck!

 

Spuriosity

I’ve been hearing a lot about a man named David Lassman lately. He’s the most recent in a century-long line of disgruntled writers attempting to “expose” the decrepit state of the publishing industry. Apparently he submitted a number of synopses and queries for Jane Austen novels — not very cunningly disguised under false titles — to a series of publishing houses and agents. Lo and behold, he was rejected out of hand. And this was supposed to prove something.

My favorite writer-blogger, Victoria Strauss, once more says all that needs to be said about this popular borderline plagiarism. You should visit her post entitled “Whoops, They Did it Again” for more information on Lassman’s little experiment. Otherwise, continue reading my own post for a less ordered and more personal account.

I’ve thought of doing the same thing. Never did I expect that I’d have the balls to go through with it, of course. But it was always something I wondered about. I must say in my defense that I had no idea how often it’d been done before. In fact, according to a site called Hoaxipedia, it’s been happening for almost a century! Talk about unoriginal ideas….

I think that the book I wanted to erroneously submit was Mann’s The Magic Mountain. And as Ms. Strauss calmly points out in her blog, there’s no possible way that a modern publisher would ever consider printing a book like that. Modern literature is eons apart from the ornate prose of this particular Nobel Prize winner. Receiving rejection letters for the first chapter of Mann’s work, these days, would be like trying to pass off Stephen King’s work to a household of Edwardian aristocrats. It’s inconceivable.

What irritates me most about these scams is this: A frustrated writer who’s received nothing but rejection letters decides that he’s going to single-handedly reveal to the world just how unfair the publishing industry is. First off, that’s a hell of a lot of hubris. Secondly, if you’ve got the time to cook up a bunch of alternate titles for Dickens’ novels, let alone conjure a seemingly “modern” synopsis for a classic, then shouldn’t you have enough time to work on something of your own? And let’s disregard for the moment that even the most seasoned reader might neglect to recognize the opening paragraph of David Copperfield or East of Eden (though maybe not now that it’s been re-released with an Oprah stamp on it).

My point is, what does this stunt prove? In my mind: Nothing.

And yes, I admitted that I once succumbed to the temptation. But I think that the only way such a prank might work is if you chose a modern template — like a Grisham novel, for example. Even then, what person with any self-worth would rather attempt a dupe than spend the same amount of time writing something of their own?

Let’s face it. We reserve the right to write — they publish what they want. It’s all just a matter of waiting till they see something they like. For some of us, that wait can be maddening. And for others…well…

We’re just waiting.