Dog Ear
Literary Setbacks (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 24 May 2012 13:31

I’ll always remember the scene in The Muppet Movie (the first one, kiddies) where producer Orson Wells casts an imperial glare over the bedraggled muppets who have forced their way into his office, then intercoms his receptionist. “Bring me the ‘Rich and Famous’ contract.” Yeah, that’s what we want.

Then there is the movie moment from Sideways where a would-be author stands on the empty loading dock behind a winery and listens as his agent tells him that “Some books can’t find a home”. Yes, after thinking he was going to be published, he’s getting dropped by his agency. And you can see, in the line of his shoulders and the quiver in his voice, what this means to him. And that’s what we usually get.

I will admit I was upset and depressed when I got home Saturday after pulling only ONE person into my unadvertised, unlisted, and unheralded speech in a library room you had to find down in the cellar, with a flashlight, inside a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying 'Beware of the Leopard'." I just got home and thought of all the effort and money and time and pride that’s gone into this effort of writing, and what I’ve gotten back, and I came this close (since this ain’t a podcast, I’m showing the distance between finger and thumb) to chucking it.

No more writing.

Never never never.

And it isn’t just me. Look no further than Herman Melville or John Kennedy Toole, writers who put their heart and soul into their efforts and died without ever knowing the fame that would come after they were long buried. And think of all those writers who never get published. Out in the world are thousands of books that would bring joy and perspective and insight, deflected by agents and publishers. It is likely that in some packet or on some disk lies a book more powerful than the bible, a guide to living one’s life in a just and dignified manner, a world-changer that would alter humankind. But these are rejected for whatever reasons, and thus remain dead to us.

The world of publishing is a hard place, where dreamers labor and accountants select. We write our hearts and souls into our words, only to be rejected by the Potter-head masses. And where we can stand on the stage of our creation and be ready to speak about our imagined wonders, and yet nobody comes.

That’s the world we face, fellow writers.

So I came home and played a computer game. Then my wife and I went out to see a movie where a bitter man shoots assholes who deserve it. Then I came home, read a stupid book and went to bed.

The next morning, I work up and posted three blog entries.

Yeah, I’m still writing.

And that’s the thing. We write because of who we are (not who they are). Writing for the passing titillation of the unwashed is a day-job. I’ve got one of those. But writing about Phoenician queens, of gigantic catapults, of formations of crows tearing into each other in a hurricane’s eye, that’s what I do. And that’s what I’ve got to hold on the tip of my metaphoric quill, to compose and post and remember, that is why I write.


Last Updated on Monday, 11 June 2012 18:40
AdSpace (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 17 May 2012 17:45

Even at the time of my second book (Fire and Bronze), I still had this idyllic vision of writers doing nothing more than writing their carefree novels in vine-covered cottages, and perhaps answering a fan letter or two following their afternoon walk.

Recent experiences have put paid to that.

Now that I have to do everything myself, I’m learning what my sister knows about self-promotion, self-marketing and personal shilling. It’s hard. Humans are by-in-large modest; our culture wires us that way. Villains brag, heroes don’t. And now that I’ve had to set up my appearances, to gussy myself up and sell and sell and sell til I can’t sells no more, it’s evident that the marketing side is not at all fun.

It even shows up in our writing. The first sentence of our novels, the “hook”, has to be carefully crafted so that the browsing public (and agent!) will be sold. Remember those ideas of the gradual building of character and situation, of careful plot development, of settling the reader into the novel’s world? Gone. In the back of his mind, the writer knows he’s got to snare a flighty, distracted, and amusement-saturated reader. For Indigo, I knew that the magic of flight and the introduction of crowish concepts would only go so far. I needed a dogfight by chapter four, something to throw the reader into. Through the book, I’d constantly remind myself that I’ve moved the plot for three or four chapters – time for something gory, stupendous, fantastic.

Even this blog is an example. Sure, I like passing on what I’m doing, what I’m thinking, and what’s going on in my life. But this blog is a marketing tool, first and foremost. It’s linked to my Facebook effort, and to my book links. And so I write interesting articles and keyword them to lure potential readers into my “shop”, to dazzle them with my writing and perhaps sell them more.

And it’s not just me. The more I sank into promotion, with every talk and table, the more I realized how much it exists in the world around us. Every time someone appears on TV, it’s a mutual orgy of projection, with the broadcaster grasping for viewership and the guest flogging their product or POV. Everything in our society is layered desperation. Look at your car. Every part was pitched and sold to the manufacturer, who in turn assembled a product with every line and every component considered, with multilevel marketing hurtling their image into every facet of media. Superbowl commercials are purposely leaked and then the story about this leakage is spun up. Ten political lies are launched; the one that “floats” becomes the accepted truth. Nothing is done by chance, not products, not politics, not art. Nothing. Everything is spun to sell priced to move.

It’s why I wake up at 3AM, look at the ceiling and think, “Am I doing enough?”

A few weeks ago, after blogging and facebooking, after considering my next book’s presentation and my current book’s status, I went out into the garden to weed. Sitting on my knees in the mulch, surrounded by bright flowers and spreading foliage, I realized that the Darwinist struggle was taking place even here, with plants advertising and crowding and positioning and struggling.

Just like writers.



Last Updated on Monday, 11 June 2012 18:40
Book of Agentical Lore (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 10 May 2012 19:36

We’ll assume you have a sharp cover letter, a synopsis and chapter samples at the ready (but if not, we’ll be discussing these in future). But the big question people ask a lot is “How do you find an agent?”

The best method I’ve found is to trot down to your local bookstore (don’t buy online – you gotta do this “live”) and find the “Publishing” section – usually it’s in the back, just past “sexual help”. Ignore all the writing guide books – if you are ready to publish, you are beyond that. You need the thicker books – “So-n-so’s guide to the publishing market 2012” or such-what. Usually there is picture of a pen and a cup of coffee or something literaturary on them.

Flip through them. Ignore all the rubbish on how to write a book – filler – and find the section on AGENTS. The thicker the better. Look down through these listings. You want all the details on each agency, more the better. Whichever has the most listings, with the most details, that should be your choice. Now buy it and take it home.

So let’s assume you have three packets ready (I will explain the reason behind three simultaneous agent submissions in a later blog). Set them aside and open your new book. Go to the agents. Go to the “A” section. Keep going (everyone starts in the “A”s). As the old man said in a famous movie, “Find hungry Samurai.” Perhaps you want to start in the “Z”s? Or maybe mid-list? Hint – the agency who placed Fire and Bronze  was “Weiser & Weiser” . See?

Examine the listings. Look for agencies that represent your class of book. Usually they will have brief interviews with the agents, a paragraph or two. You might use these to determine just who in the agency you will approach. Also you should note any requirements towards submission – try to stick as close to these as possible. I once had an agency that asked for twenty pages. I sent them twenty-two because that’s where the logical chapter break was. They sent me an angry reply that if I couldn’t follow simple instructions, they couldn’t represent me. I figured if they were that thin-skinned, I wouldn’t want them as an agent either. But take note – agents are pushy, sniffy individuals and prone to bullying fits (against those lower on the food chain (i.e. writers)). So confirm you are close to their requirements and place their name atop a cover letter, find two more victims, and your packets are ready to go.

Now here’s the organizational part – your reference book will only last you so long. With all the dynamic changes in the publishing fields, agencies are merging and changing. In a year or so (if you are still on your quest – it can take time), this book will be out of date. So use it as your records system. Stick a paperclip on that agent’s page and with a big pen, circle the name of the agency you posted to. Above this, write the date (so you can tell when a submission has gone beyond its shelf life (three months or so – count that as a rejection)). If you get a rejection letter back (oh, those slender SASE’s that appear in the mailbox…), open your book, note the denial (a big “X”, a checkmark, or a frowny face, whatever) and remove the paperclip. You might note any reasons stated for the rejection for later revisions to your packet. But noting the rejection is good information – two years from now, you’ll need to check your earlier books to make sure you haven’t posted to them already. Don’t waste their time and your postage on them if you have. Move along.

Once two of the paperclips have been removed, it’s time to get the next set of packets ready.

Using this method, you’ll have an ongoing record of submissions, organized around your current packets, with a fixed cue for launching the next spread out. That and a bucket of luck and you’ll be in covers in no time!


Last Updated on Monday, 11 June 2012 18:40
Effort (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 03 May 2012 17:24

It always seems like a strange question (especially from wanna-be writers): “How do you make the time for writing?”

My answer (which I picked up someplace along my life) is “Butt glue”. That’s what it takes to make myself write – establishing a time and metaphorically gluing my ass to the chair, and forcing myself to write. Some of my best writing came from times when I really didn’t want to, but had to.

But that’s not the real crux of the question.

See, it’s not just about finding time (and passion) to write. That’s the easy part. I’m always listening to internal narratives (mine, others, or fictional) all day. Writing them down clears my soul. But there are other things about writing, worse things, which you are going to have to do in pursuit of your endeavor. Trust me – you aren’t going to want to do any of these things.

Right now, I’m putting together 3x5 cards for a speech at the library. This is a love/hate thing – I’m looking forward to the engagement and I really want to give a good talk but I’m a mediocre speaker. Do I really want to sit in my chair at night, timer running on the computer, speechifying through my eleven cards and tuning what works? Is that why I write? No.

I’m also trying to lure the artist I used (so successfully) in Early ReTyrement to do my map in Indigo (as part of my agent submission packet). Do I like getting dozens of submissions and having to pick a winner in this creativity Hunger Games? And then forking out cash? Not really.

And there is the entertainment lawyer I’ve contracted in LA for a few issues I’m dealing with. Nothing major. But dealing with LA people is like dealing with hyperactive children – when I hang up the phone, I’m exhausted. And our progress is so slow. Is this the tart taste of creativity? Not really.

Even this website you are viewing right now was put together by me. I had to spend a month or so fumbling around with a Jumla book to figure how this all went together. I’m not a web designer so all that had to come from researching and tinkering and fumbling. It all came out of writing time (or sitting in front of the TV, numb, time).

There is a popular trope the involves successful writers groaning about all the book groups they need to speak before, of their tiresome dealings with Hollywood and the wearisome signings. And every wishful-writer who considers that concept secretly thinks, “I’d sign up for those troubles in a second”. But remember that there is truth in this – that as a writer, you’re going to have to do a lot of things you’d rather not do. You are going to have to spellcheck hundreds of pages. You are going to have to learn every detail of Microsoft Word (how do I turn off this goddam paperclip guy!). You are going to have to write (and later revise) cover letters to agents. You are going to have to spend evenings assembling submission packets (complete with SASEs for those rejection letters). You are going to have to learn how to deal with agents, or, conversely, how to work in eLance, CreateSpace, and Smashwords. You are going to have to hone your sales pitch. You are going to have to learn to smile when readers tell you where your book failed (and which parts were boring, silly, misguided, or why they didn’t get through it in the first place). There are thousand things you are going to have to force yourself to do if you are ever going to see your book in print, in any format.

But, on the plus side, you get to write.

I always find time for that.

(see how that works?)


Last Updated on Monday, 11 June 2012 18:39

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