The original photo. It was just a quiet night in Napoli. What could go wrong?
A monster has been loosed on the world. Formerly contained, it now has a much broader range, free to roam about as it wishes. To be sure, it still returns to bite me on my unsuspecting ass. It remains a monster; it has to bite. But now it has other interests.
My monster seems a pint-sized demon to everyone save myself. The scaly and taloned thing is a passing apparition to most folks, probably unseen. The monster is, after all, only a first novel. It is not worth even the briefest groan in an otherwise untroubled sleep. Unless you are me. In my eyes, the damn thing is eight feet tall (2.43 meters), with dripping fangs and burning eyes.
The novel, viewed as a fiend, is no invention of mine. Spalding Gray used it in the title of his one-man play "Monster in a Box." In his wonderful, crazy monologue, Gray's first novel lives in a box, travels everywhere he does, and tortures him unceasingly. The novel is titled Impossible Vacation, and was "due to be published two years ago." The thing, this horrible book, becomes a monster living in a box. It is brooding and biting, trapped in the limbo of not-quite-published, gnawing to get out.
And Then Things Changed
Sometimes the monster becomes very real, very dangerous. A Confederacy of Dunces was published eleven years after its author, John Kennedy Toole, committed suicide. Toole's mother found a carbon copy of the manuscript when cleaning out his house following his suicide. Thelma Toole carried the monster around with her until she managed to land it on the desk of Walker Percy, a professor at Loyola University. The story of how A Confederacy of Dunces became published is now a miracle tale, a mantra intoned by the ignored scribblers of the world. We all know the story. We whisper it around secret campfires in hidden forest groves. The book killed Toole, but it went on to become an iconic American novel, a monster freed.
The Monster Morphs
Am I comparing my writing to that of John Kennedy Toole or Spalding Gray? Of course not.
Well, you are actually, by implication.
Okay, maybe a little tiny bit.
But they were both suicides. Are you sure you want to use that comparison?
Hmmmm, good point. But both were great writers; insightful, funny, very weird.
Yeah, but look what happened.
I know but...
Pssst! Hey, people are reading this!!!
Ahem. Apologies.
The world has changed. (Don't you love vague, stupid statements??) For example, did you know that one is no longer required to double-space between sentences in the same paragraph? Where was that memo? I recently read some articles on the subject and, sure enough, one person wrote "Nothing says Over-Forty like double-spaced sentences." Ouch. Note that the sentences in this blog post are double-spaced. I'm old. Get over it.
Not only has the world changed, publishing has changed. In the halcyon days of my youth, back when double-spaced sentences were the norm, things were different. A writer toiled away on a book, sent it off to publishers, waited, fretted, waited, and was finally rejected. This process was repeated with different publishers until one was either published or, barring other options, offed oneself.
Those were the years of the golden myth, the Big Contract. Advances! Royalties! Talk-Shows! And for the very lucky, and the very few, it actually happened. Those writers at the sharp tip of the iceberg, they had publicists and agents, marketing gurus and hotshot editors. Hand in a manuscript, get the advance on the next book, let someone else deal with editing, proofing, setting the galleys. Not anymore, Bucko!
Its Final Feeding Form
I must ask you to forgive my delusions. I admit to having some notion that, once published, my little monster would easier to be a manage. I believed that it would become what it was intended to be: A Novel. But this is not the case, because the world of publishing has changed.
Gone are the days when authors wrote and publicists publicized. It is now the authors who must do the selling, the trench work, the pimping. Publishing houses and agents want authors who have the "Platform" of an online presence, social media marketing, author websites, and the like. This is the new mantra: "We are all in Sales." And for ones efforts, the publishing house will dole out 7-15% of the gross. Ones agent then gets 10-15% of the net cut. Bookstores return the printed books that do not sell, the cost of which comes off of future earnings. For their pains in writing a little monster, many authors see only the first advance check and nothing more.
Stay tuned for the next blog installment: Pimping the Work
Hey, speaking of pimping the work, here is Rule #1: Always include the link.
