Publication...Sort Of

You'll obviously note that I haven't been around much.  I'd like to make some very colorful excuses about this and that, and so on, but the truth is that very few people are reading.  The original purpose of this blog was to promote my self-publishing, which has been a wash.  Maybe, if I see a little pick up over the next year I'll pop in here again for news and updates and so forth, but I've been getting a lot more out an offline journal that I've writing in.

Sorry bizarre public platform where anyone can say anything, it was fun.

Moreover, I'd also like at least plug my story that will soon be appear on digital screens near you.  I've recently discovered Jukepop, an indie publisher for serial fiction that accepts novels published chapter by chapter.  My first book (now currently title Hired Gun) will appear totally free to read in the coming weeks.  Once it's fully revised and ready to be read, I'll go ahead and drop it on Amazon or something.  I've pretty much decided that the big publishers can bugger themselves.  You can't get in unless you're already in.  How the bloody hell does that work?

I read an article today about whether or not you can make money with your novel, and the frank answer was basically "No".  It was very well supported and largely true (at least it coincided with the research that I did).  Agents and publishers are really only seeking books that will sell over 50,000 copies a year.  Most books will only sell about a tenth of that.  Furthermore, they advise you to get your start by publishing short fiction, but guess what?  Those short story magazines want to sign stories from big-name authors that are already published, too.

So, how does a regular Joe Blow writing about magic and dragons get published?  You really just don't.  Or, if you do, you have to wait two to three years for it and you still live in obscurity.  Blows ass, I know.  Anyway, whole reason I came here was to drop a link for Jukepop and show off the new cover, so here goes that.

I'm actually pretty happy with this one.  Not bad for five bucks.  You can find the story on Jukepop here.

How NOT To Find An Agent

Looking for a literary agent is the most ass-backward thing that I've ever done.  It borders between idiotic and insane.  Let me explain how it works.

I'm Chumbo Newauthor.  I have written a book (with all the screaming and crying that goes with that) and now I want to get it published.  I have a couple options.  I can try to publish online, which works well for some people, but you don't make as much money that way.  I can try to send my book to publishers, which very few publishing houses still let you do.  Or I can seek an agent.  Most people start with the last option.

So, you take your shiny new book in hand.  In my case, a gritty crime-oriented urban fantasy novel, and you show it around to every agent you can find, right?  Well, there are a lot of genres and tastes out there, and just regular people, agents have very specific things that they're seeking (sometimes to the point that I'm like, dude, you should write that book you want).  So I start by filtering for folks who like fantasy.  That's a huge genre.  Anything that isn't real life is considered fantasy.  Occasionally, I find someone that says they want urban fantasy and I get excited, but usually, they just say most genres of fantasy (of which there are tons, remember).

Here's an analogy to represent just how dreadfully silly this process is.  Imagine if buying a car worked this way.  Rather than you going to a car lot where you can kick the tires and ask about cup holders, you put up a thing on Craig's list that says you want a car.  You don't leave a lot of details (something with four wheels and a rad stereo).  But, really, you have a very specific idea of what you want.  Now the people who have the cars bring them by your house.  After looking at literally hundreds of cars this way, people showing you what they want to sell rather than what you want to buy, a sale has still not been made.  You still don't have a car, and those poor car engineers still can't get their hunks of shiny metal sold to anyone.

I mention this because an odd thing happened to me while I was looking at agents today.  I saw this:

Chris Lotts
The Lotts Agency

*This agent accepts queries

*I handle adult science fiction and fantasy for the agency, and am currently interested in hard-edged, innovative crime novels and thrillers, paranormal and urban fantasy, and SF; strong commercial writing is the most important criteria.

My heart just about jumped into my throat.  Here was the first agent listing that I'd read (out of about 100 so far) that not only used the words "crime novels and thrillers" with the words "urban fantasy", they're actually in the same sentence!  However, when I clicked on the agent's website, the domain name didn't exist.  No way to tell if this was a real person patiently awaiting a manuscript just like mine, or some ghost of a posting from untold years ago that only leads down the internet's darkest and most forgotten back allies of obscurity.  I sent him an email anyway.

Writing Is Hard

Or rather, it should be hard.  It seems like a lot of people are under the impression that writing is "making up whatever crap you want and putting it down on paper".  Sure, maybe this is how many writers get started, but I would offer that good writers, who write something that sticks with you long after you read it, work really hard.

If you're a good science fiction writer, you might actually research some science (gasp).  If you're a good fantasy writer, you might learn about mythology and mysticism.  The level of work should reflect what your readers get out of it.

I've read stories that were obviously made up on the spot, and although some of them were good, none of them left me with a profound sense of...anything, really.  Let's consider Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein.  It's funny, I actually just read a review of this book that really slammed it, but I suppose that reviewer was an idiot.  What can you do?

The book in question was written back in the 60s and took the author about ten year to write.  Part of this had to do with the political climate and some of the ideas that the book offered (not that they're all that racy these days).  But that's what I think a good book should offer: ideas.  Not necessarily rhetoric or religious in instruction (looking at you C S Lewis) but an idea or a feeling that resonates with its audience.  Is my writing there yet?  Since I'm being so judgy and all?  I don't really know.  I hope that one day it will be.

Coffee and Other Dark Rituals

Lately, I've been doing some research on the things that help one write fiction.  I've been researching them so that I can use them for myself, you see.  Most of the time, I sit down and get work done, but I can't help but think that I could get into that Writing Mode a little faster and more reliably.  My research has led me to a resounding conclusion that I'm sure I've put somewhere else on this blog already.  That is this: there is no perfect thing that works for everyone.

I've read about authors who actually wake up in the middle of the night and write for an hour before going back to bed.  Presumably, this is because the house is quiet and empty at these hours.  Not to mention dark, too.  Another author sits down in his study and works for twelve hours on as many different projects.  I've actually considered doing this.  Well, maybe not twelve books but two would be feasible.  I've definitely heard of authors who drown the surrounding noise with music.  Sometimes, they'll play the same song over and over because it captures a certain mood.

For me, it's coffee and comparable silence throughout the house and absolute solitude.  If I could figure out how to write inside of a black hole, I probably would.  It'd be the perfect place.  Of course, the black hole would draw my coffee in molecule by molecule until it was crushed to oblivion.  That would suck.

Live: From the Batcave

The fortress in the living room worked out really well yesterday.  I think it's going to be part of my daily routine, which, by the way, will be a little different this year because my shift at work is changing.  I'll get to stay at home for a full extra hour in the morning.  What's that mean?  Writing time.  I like it.

So far, my only goal for Broken Promises is to finish it sooner than my last novel.  However, I noticed that last year the more I set myself deadlines, the more I missed them.  So, this year, no deadlines.  Maybe forecasts or tentative finish lines but that's it.

I hate to admit this, but I really need to see something move on my last novel.  So far, no agents are interested.  I know this part of the plan takes time (a lot of time, probably a number of years) but I'm really the kind of person that needs to see some success.  That's not to say that I'd quit writing if it never made me any money, I'd probably just do it a lot less.  I see some of these other books that get published, and they're not bad but they're also not good, and I wonder how they get on the shelf.  I mean, seriously, it's a really competitive market.  Every agent is looking for a huge payday, the next Da Vinci Code (or whatever else has been popular) and I'm not convinced that this book is it.

Yup, just knocked my own stuff.  I like my book, mind you, that's why I wrote it, but I don't see legions of fans in my future.  Maybe just a few sweaty nerds in basements, and I get that it's going to be a tough sell.

Lately, I've been thinking about my writing career in the more abstract sense, what I want it to be rather than I want to do.  I considered crafting a non sci-fi book that was more intended for a mainstream audience, but I came to a realization.  That's just not what I want to make.  If it was solely about success and money, I'd probably be training to do tech support.  Doing what you want is way more important, even if it never takes you anywhere.  I want to write sci-fi/fantasy, and I don't care if it's never that popular.

Absolute Solitude

The time has finally come for me to begin serious work on my second novel.  Nope, the first one hasn't sold yet, but that's fine.  Books don't get published overnight.  This book is tentatively titled: Broken Promises and will (hopefully) see some new characters and some interesting developments on some old ones.  No spoilers here.

The only problem is this: whatever little hamster that runs the wheel in my head has been unresponsive the last few days.  I threw some coffee in there to wake the little guy up, but I think he may be trying to go on strike.  Something about unfair working conditions, I think.  Whatever the cause, when I sit down to put some cool stuff into my word processor, the whole machine stops and fingertips just hover over the keyboard.  It is for this reason that I've built a fort in the living room.

That's right.  My computer is out here, which is cool, but I have little to no privacy.  Particularly from my dog.  Every time I sit on the carpet and grab my keyboard, he thinks its an invite to play.  Puts his nose right in my face until I can't ignore him any longer.  So, with this in mind, I restructured my couch (which is sort of a tetrisy number) to block the little guy out for a while.  Only people with legs and opposable thumbs can enter the small space in front of my computer now.  It seems to be working.

Much like Superman in the Fortress of Solitude--no, wait.  Much like Batman in the Batcave, I will now get some bloody work done.

Head. Hit. Keyboard.

I hate looking for stupid literary agents.  What a pain in the ass.  Just a few days ago, I sent out my second wave of queries to potential agents.  So far, I've sent thirteen queries all together and have received two rejections.  One of those was sent to me the next day.  Gotta give that guy credit for being on it, though.  I know that rejections aren't supposed to be a big deal, I guess I just wish it wasn't so much work.

I did find some suggestions to meet agents at writer's conferences (of which there are several throughout the year), but most of them are on the East Coast or so far south in California that the street names start reading like the menu in a Mexican restaurant.  I did manage to run one down in Portland, the Willamette Writer's Conference in August, but just to go a single day, the admission is 250 bucks.  The whole weekend is about 450.

Still, I carry on.  Just keep working, I tell myself.  Lately, I've been thinking about adding a few more titles to my self-publishing catalog.  Not because I think it would make any money, but because it's something that I could have some control over.  I think that's probably the worst part of the whole agent thing.  Not having any control over the matter.  Having to sit here and bite my fingernails for weeks on end.