Publication in a Published World
In case you haven't heard, there is a book in the works. The re-plot/re-write is almost half-way done, and it's coming out like melted butter. It might be behind schedule (June 30, you say? Yeah, okay.), but I'm infinitely more happy with it now than I was, so I'm not about to complain. The richness and depth and reality of it has continued to increase both for myself and those who have (perhaps inadvertantly) come into contact with it. So, it's on it's way.
Now, let me warn you. Don't go and get your hopes up too much. You may never see this book in the sort of conventional press you are used to. You may never see it, at all (unless you request one from me directly, in such case). In fact, I probably won't be publishing this thing nationally, and I'm considering not even attempting to do so.
You will, inevitably, have a problem with this (or I am paranoid). Or else, if you are kinder, you may simply be wondering what exactly my course of action will be. So, consider this my apology.
So: Why, Rali, would you truncate yourself as an author and choose not to even attempt to put your book on the main market, on as many bookshelves in as many stores as possible?
Because I do not write for money. I have no intention of writing for money. I write because the story is there and the telling must be done. I write because, perhaps, at some point, a word here and a word there may connect and spark something wild, something unexpected, something revolutionary.
Revolutions don't happen in dollars or in Borders and Barnes & Nobles.
If this revolution is going to happen at all, it'll be in the back of tiny cafes and the corner of someone's living room. It'll be in the back of our minds and the back of our hearts and the tips of our tongues. And someone somewhere sipping tea will stand up and say something opaque that strikes a chord. And someone somewhere else will write a card and someone else will write a song and someone else will play a guitar in the dim lighting of a bar off the main drag.
If this revolution is going to happen, it'll have to be in the heat of the moment, in the flick of our wrists, in the bat of our eyes.
It will not come from following the status quo, from towing the line, from reproducing more and more of the mainstream muck that we are already saturated with.
It will come from the ground under our feet and it will rise from the dirt in a heavy rain and it will sink into our skin and drift in through our noses until we are forced to acknowledge that something has infected us. Then, maybe then, will any of us be able to move.
Until then, I don't have the postage to pay for a stack of publishing houses telling me that my book won't sell very well on the current market.
Because I already knew that.
Now, let me warn you. Don't go and get your hopes up too much. You may never see this book in the sort of conventional press you are used to. You may never see it, at all (unless you request one from me directly, in such case). In fact, I probably won't be publishing this thing nationally, and I'm considering not even attempting to do so.
You will, inevitably, have a problem with this (or I am paranoid). Or else, if you are kinder, you may simply be wondering what exactly my course of action will be. So, consider this my apology.
So: Why, Rali, would you truncate yourself as an author and choose not to even attempt to put your book on the main market, on as many bookshelves in as many stores as possible?
Because I do not write for money. I have no intention of writing for money. I write because the story is there and the telling must be done. I write because, perhaps, at some point, a word here and a word there may connect and spark something wild, something unexpected, something revolutionary.
Revolutions don't happen in dollars or in Borders and Barnes & Nobles.
If this revolution is going to happen at all, it'll be in the back of tiny cafes and the corner of someone's living room. It'll be in the back of our minds and the back of our hearts and the tips of our tongues. And someone somewhere sipping tea will stand up and say something opaque that strikes a chord. And someone somewhere else will write a card and someone else will write a song and someone else will play a guitar in the dim lighting of a bar off the main drag.
If this revolution is going to happen, it'll have to be in the heat of the moment, in the flick of our wrists, in the bat of our eyes.
It will not come from following the status quo, from towing the line, from reproducing more and more of the mainstream muck that we are already saturated with.
It will come from the ground under our feet and it will rise from the dirt in a heavy rain and it will sink into our skin and drift in through our noses until we are forced to acknowledge that something has infected us. Then, maybe then, will any of us be able to move.
Until then, I don't have the postage to pay for a stack of publishing houses telling me that my book won't sell very well on the current market.
Because I already knew that.
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