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Perhaps traditional book publishing shouldn't be regarded as the holy grail for writers anymore

Regular readers of this blog are well aware of our good friend jurassicpork's travels through the publishing industry, and of finding doors slammed in his face.

Most of those of us who write have the dream of someday holding the first bound copy of our first book in our hands. When we hear of others achieving that goal, it's hard not to feel at least a twinge of envy. My supervisor at my last job achieved a publishing deal for his memoir about his garden -- a real, honest-to-goodness book deal, with an agent and a contract and a tour and frontage at Barnes and Noble and a review in the Sunday New York Times book review section. His publisher also picked up the option on his second book as well. If you think I didn't do at least a little bit of teeth-gnashing about it, you're attributing a level of sainthood to me that I lack, for all that my Unfinished Novel In Which I Throw Everything But the Kitchen Sink at my protagonist will probably always be unfinished. The closest thing I'll ever get to a published book is when I compile what used to have a working title of The Drapes are Winning: The Best of Brilliant at Breakfast until I found that Oscar Wilde never said that. And so it goes.

There are those who have done reasonably well with self-publishing. My sister's book, Visioncrafting: A Self-Guided Journey, can be purchased on Amazon.com, just as Donald Rumsfeld's can. We mere mortals can probably sell as many books self-promoting as we're likely to get being buried in the racks at Barnes and Noble. And with Borders going out of business, the idea of Seeing Your Book In The Store doesn't have the same thrill it used to, since Barnes and Noble is going to give most of its prime space to celebrity authors.

The other nasty aspect of book publishing these days, and about one's odds of appearing on the New York Times Bestseller list, is bulk sales. Conservative book clubs often buy tens of thousands of copies of books by right-wing authors. Mitt Romney has exchanged bulk sales for speeches. Right-wing groups bought George W. Bush's memoir in bulk. This makes it next to impossible for nonfiction authors who aren't celebrities to ever make it onto that list. For fiction writers it's worse. For every Jodi Picoult, who cranked out a book every nine months for years before becoming a reliable bestseller, or Fup, a book picked off the slush pile with much fanfare by Morgan Entrekin in 1983 (and which subsequently bombed), there are tens of thousands of people who will never, ever get that first break.

But perhaps it's time to stop revering the publishing industry as the ultimate seal of approval. Celebrity book publishing has always been the cash cow of the industry. When I worked at Simon & Schuster in the 1980's, books like the Jane Fonda Workout Book and Arnold Schwarzenegger's Pumping Iron and the novels of Judith Krantz paid the bills so that Erwin Glikes could publish his neocons.

But now all you need do is be a marginal celebrity and you can be a published author, because name recognition is everything. This is how people like Kim Kardashian and Snooki and that woman who's on one of the Real Housewives show get book contracts.

Or for that matter, the barely 20-year-old Bristol Palin:

The daughter of former Alaska governor Sarah Palin has signed with William Morrow to publish "Not Afraid of Life," to come out this summer. Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins, announced Tuesday that the memoir would provide "an inside look at her life."

"Bristol gives readers an intimate behind-the-scenes look at her life for the first time, from growing up in Alaska to coming of age amid the media and political frenzy surrounding her mother's political rise; from becoming a single mother while still a teenager to coping as her relationship with her baby's father crumbled publicly — not once, but twice," according to Morrow.

A listing for the book briefly appeared last month on Amazon.com and on an online HarperCollins spreadsheet. HarperCollins has published two best-sellers by Sarah Palin, the Republican vice presidential candidate in 2008: "Going Rogue" and "America by Heart."

Bristol Palin, 20, has become a celebrity in her own right, through her broken relationship with her child's father, Levi Johnston, and through her time as a contestant on "Dancing With the Stars."

"Bristol talks about the highs and lows of her appearance on ABC-TV's 'Dancing With the Stars,' including the aching hours of practice, the biting criticisms, and the thrill of getting to the show's finals," Morrow announced. "She speaks candidly of her aspirations for the future and the deep religious faith that gives her strength and inspiration.

"Plainspoken and disarmingly down to earth, Bristol offers new insight and understanding of who she is and what she values most."

It's a fait accompli that this tome will end up on the New York Times bestseller list, because conservative groups will make sure it does.

So if this is the company that book publishers are keeping, perhaps it's time for aspiring authors to stop casting pearls before swine?

Like fetuses, corporations are only people sometimes in the eyes of this Supreme Court

The idea of personhood is clearly somewhat fluid on the right. We know how the right worships not just fetuses, but zygotes; not just zygotes, but fertilized eggs -- to the point that some of them want to make miscarriage a felony. We also know how once fetuses find their way into the world, they're on their own.

Last year the Supreme Court decided in the Citizens United case that corporations are people who can contribute as much as they like to political campaigns without attribution. But yesterday, in a completely inconsistent decision with their lean towards unfettered corporate power, the Court decided that corporate personhood only goes so far, and doesn't include the ability to claim "personal privacy" and bar release of federal documents about corporate activities from Freedom of Information Act requests:

Corporations do not have a right to "personal privacy," the Supreme Court ruled unanimously, at least when it comes to the Freedom of Information Act and the release of documents held by the government.

Last year's ruling giving companies a free-speech right to spend money on campaign ads prompted liberal critics to say the court's conservatives were biased in favor of corporate rights.

While not alluding to the criticism, Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. took a scalpel to a corporate-rights claim from AT&T Inc. that its "personal privacy" deserves to be protected. The ordinary meaning of "personal" does not refer to an impersonal company, he said.

"We do not usually speak of personal characteristics, personal effects, personal correspondence, personal influence or personal tragedy as referring to corporations or other artificial entities," he wrote. "In fact, we often use the word 'personal' to mean precisely the opposite of business-related: We speak of personal expenses and business expenses, personal life and work life, personal opinion and a company's view."

The decision means the Federal Communications Commission may release documents that were compiled during an investigation in 2004 over whether AT&T had overcharged schools and libraries for use of the Internet. The company paid a $500,000 settlement.

No right to privacy for corporations? Perhaps the Court thinks corporations are female.

Get the Fuck Over Yourself

An Open Letter to Literary Agents Who Think They’re All That

OK, OK, we get it. Your job is a tough one and, admittedly there are idiots who aren’t qualified to play with sidewalk chalk who are sending you shit that even Sarah Palin wouldn’t post on her Facebook account even on her laziest day. Between the perfumed, glitter-laden, colored stationary, the bribes of chocolates, coffee cups that say, “World’s Greatest Literary Agent!” and even money, not to mention the dreck that ludicrously tries to pass for evidence of baseline literacy, a literary agent's lot, to paraphrase Gilbert and Sullivan, isn’t a happy one.

These are the peckerheads, pretenders and poseurs who deserve the form rejection letters, the rabble, the 98% that we all try to avoid getting swept into. We get it. They don’t make your job any easier.

But these people who swell the teeming shores of the slush piles of literary agencies from coast to coast don’t make our jobs any easier, either. And by “our”, I mean us serious novelists who take both our craft and research seriously.

You know, the ones who get a size 10 wingtip pasted across our teeth and keisters when it’s established that our names aren’t Sarah Palin, Christine O’Donnell, George W. Bush or some other over-exposed right wing quitter, loser or Third Reich-class war criminal.

But in virtually every instance when I do my research I have to listen to what agents will and won’t represent and in many of those instances, I have to wade through what is avowedly their pet peeves and prejudices.

By this, I’m not talking about those agents who refuse to represent the next Stephanie Meyers and Twilight or a thriller whose title begins with, The Girl Who… Those agents get a firm salute from me, the proud, the few who insist on not being the first to do something second.

I’m talking about the type of all too common literary agent who pointedly refuses to represent a property in a genre or subgenre that they find personally repugnant or who refuse to even look at a first novel once it crosses the 100,000 word threshold.

First of all, get the fuck over yourselves. No one gives a shit what you like or don’t like. You do not represent the book buying public any more than I represent all novelists. Even if you don’t like a certain genre or sub-genre, you still ought to be professional enough to be able to sell a property that certainly meets or exceeds a high standard in originality and execution. When I read, “I do not represent thrillers, especially when children are endangered,” you’re acting and speaking very unprofessionally and does not exactly fill me with confidence that you even belong in the literary representation business.

Any agent that doesn’t represent a book that features child endangerment is speaking as a mother and not as a professional agent. Consider how many modern day classics have featured children in danger: The Shining, It, The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon or virtually every other book by Stephen King. How about Nathan’s Run by John Gilstrap? Hell, virtually everything by Jonathan Kellerman or Andrew Vachss features one child or another in danger. Kellerman and Vachss as well as their respective protagonists Alex Delaware and Burke have made entire careers on endangered children. Are you saying you would’ve turned down John Grisham’s The Client because the juvenile protagonist, Mark Sway, was chased by mobsters? If so, then you are a fucking idiot, a pox and a plague upon our nation’s casual reading public and ought to be tarred, feathered and bombarded with unsold copies of The Bridges of Madison County until you finally take down your shingle.

I actually once had a proposal rejected out of hand by an agent who shall remain nameless (but her initials are Diana Finch) who told me that American Zen was much too long to be a first novel because it exceeded her subjective word count threshhold by 20,000 words. I responded that it was fortunate Leo Tolstoy, Margaret Mitchell and Stieg Larssen didn't have her as an agent (an observation that, typically, never met with a rejoinder).

And, secondly, this is the problem: You literary agents have gotten so arch, so arrogant, so fucking hermetically solipsistic that your own personal tastes have somehow supplanted what editors go crazy looking for every day. You have hijacked what editors want and need to your personal tastes and biases. In a way, they made themselves responsible for this self-centered archness and arrogance when they made you their unpaid weeding out process.

Thirdly, another age-old gripe from writers that also references your professional laziness and cowardice: It’s a given to anyone who’s spent even a minute in this mug’s game that you cannot get a publishing contract unless you have an agent. The problem is, more and more agents are working only by referral or taking on clients with a publishing history, making it increasingly impossible to get an agent without the publisher who won’t talk to you except through an agent. Somewhere up in heaven, Joseph Heller is weeping over this real life mutation of his Catch 22.

Oh, but that’s not my problem, you all say. There are still plenty of literary agencies out there that’ll accept queries and proposals from firsttime authors. We just don’t want to know what they have to say, what they’ve written and otherwise have no interest in hearing of them being alive.

Remember the authors I mentioned above. At some point, proven winners and money makers like King, Grisham, Gilstrap, & Co were once firsttime authors. Same goes for any author currently on the bestseller lists from James Patterson to JK Rowling to Stephanie Meyer. Imagine what their agents would’ve lost if they’d closed their doors to everyone who didn’t have the secret knock or password to the clubhouse?

This displays cowardice on your part, a fatal quality that would be a deal breaker with any but those writers most desperate for representation. I wouldn’t seriously entertain for a second a proposal from any agent or agency that closes its drawbridge to the unwashed rabble at the moat because they say, in essence, “Wah, wah, you’re untried and untested. You’ll make my job too hard.”

Fuck you. So’s ours.

As I’ve said before, you chose to do this for a living. We do this in our spare time in between shifts at the factory or hospital, walking the dog, taking the kids to the dentist or paying bills. That includes, aside from the time it takes to write a manuscript you insist be camera-ready (there’s no such thing in the business, by the way, as all editors have their own ideas of what someone’s else’s vision ought to look like), the time it takes to research the 400-500 agencies appropriate for our material.

And part of that research involves listening to what the agent will or won’t represent which, if it isn’t an overt turnoff to more professional authors like me, ought to be. It is professional cowardice to an unforgivable degree and all we hear back is, “This business turns on feelings and if the feeling isn’t there, if I’m not madly enough in love with your manuscript and don’t want to take it to bed with me and get half the pages stuck together, well, it wasn’t meant to be.”

Again, it is the height of fallacy and an unforgivable slap to our collective intelligence when you insist that the tens of millions of books that have been sold since agents became the necessary evil they are today were madly, impetuously and recklessly loved by every agent who sold them. At some point, there had to be acting involved.

And if you can’t fake enthusiasm for an excellent property with which you’re not subjectively enthralled, then, once again, you need to buy a train ticket to Bumfuck, Wyoming and get the fuck out of the business. Business is run by a bottom line, a fat, healthy profit margin and publishing, while more illogical than most, is still a business. It is not run on “feeling.” Even mood rings don’t run on feelings. Publishing is a business that’s motivated by money and profit. Stop pretending that you’re literary matchmakers who fall in love with your clients. We all know you do not look a manuscript’s actual literary merit but its salability. You work for 15% commission, not so you could match up the next Hemingway with Max Perkins.

And that’s another thing, a problem in perception: I can understand not wishing to be second-guessed by your clients, most of whom not being nearly as pragmatic as you in the art of negotiating contracts and pitching book properties. But stop acting as if you’re the boss. In the real world, the guy who makes 85% of the pelf is the boss. The guy who makes the 15%, he’s the hired help.

Since most writers have, at most, one, maybe two agents and most agents dozens to hundreds of clients, it’s easy to get arrogant and to assume since you’re richer than most of them that you’re more important than any one of your clients. But to us individually, you’re raking in just 15% of our royalties and to us that makes you our employees, limited partners at best. It is a business arrangement. No one ever flocked to a book store because of a literary agent. No one ever rushed to a movie based on a book written by a literary agent. We are the talent, we are the boss and all decisions have to be ultimately made by us, your clients. You are not the leader of a stable of writers. You are someone who has many bosses. You are the glorified help indentured to genteel servitude six months to a year at a time. That is your role and station in life. Know it.

Form rejection letters and outright silence: As proof that we understand the time constraints placed on agencies that often get 300 or more submissions a week, let me say that I understand the need for the boilerplate rejection letter. If you go back to paragraphs one and two, you’ll note that I fully understand the need to summarily reject the circus clowns who masquerade as writers.

But form rejection letters or outright rude silence to people of obvious talent and conscientiousness is also unforgivable, especially after they play your one-sided game and personalize every query letter with a specific agent’s name, sometimes even quoting the agent from their website and did enough research to make it apparent that a lot of work and time was invested in every query letter and proposal. You do not get to ignore or imperiously dismiss through a flunky those who send you letters addressed to you. No time to do your job? Hire college interns who’ll work for free and would jump at the chance to cut their teeth at a top shelf literary agency. Encourage them to take their work home with them. MAKE the fucking time and stop disrespecting our time and effort.

(A true story: I once got a form rejection letter from some clown named Gordon Warnock at the Andrea Hurst Agency from his Blackberry. In order to relate getting shabbier treatment, I have to go back 20 years to when I got a poetry manuscript sent back with a shoe print on the title page.)

Another thing that bugs me is that, like serial killers (only without the sociopathic killer instinct of agents), literary agents often like to relive the Big Deals and often expect us, the writers, to help them relive their crimes against literacy by proving they’d scanned their client list and know what they’ve sold. Again, this is rude and solipsistic and almost completely non-germane. I do not give a shit who you’ve helped publish or who you’ve made rich. That just encourages your already out of control arrogance. Such success has nothing to do with me and, with me, respect and awe need be earned, not deferentially given on command as if it was a birthright or entitlement.

In short, get the fuck over yourself and stop thinking you’re the whole show, that everything devolves around your subjective tastes. They do not nor should they. You are merely jaded and tiresome gatekeepers artificially empowered by other jaded gatekeepers. Your time is limited and if ebook sales continue to skyrocket at the same time dead tree publishing is taking a nosedive, then you will, to the delight of many of us, go the way of blacksmiths and buggy whip makers.

Remember: Virtually all the greatest writers who ever lived, including almost all Nobel laureates, did perfectly fine without literary agents. And, mark my words, the day will come when the literary lions of the not too distant future will be able to say the same thing.

My Own Private Wisconsin

or Why Glenn Beck Ought to be Anally Raped With Edward R. Murrow's Microphone.

Yesterday on his bile delivery system, Glenn Beck called the protesting teachers "useful idiots" and accused the police of having "thrown in with the Socialists."

Wisconsin was spared from this lunacy on WTDY. But setting aside the fact that this is obviously a lot of axe grinding against Wisconsin for dropping Beck for insulting Wisconsin and his shameless plugs for Fox "News", let's concentrate on the phrase "useful idiot."

Everyone who works at Fox "News" is a useful idiot of some sort at some time. For years, Alan Colmes, the token "liberal" on Hannity and Colmes was a mere foil a la Charlie McCarthy. Five nights a week, Hannity's lips moved while conservative America drank the Koolaid as Colmes sat on his lap. Megyn Kelly and the other bubble-headed bleach blonde bimbos in Rupert Murdoch's stable of libertarian lovelies is there merely to fill the horny conservative male 25-55 demographic.

But Glenn Beck's time has come and gone. He's been jettisoned from four states, including Madison, Wisconsin because he's just getting too, well, "out there" even for him. In short, he's been living in his own private Wisconsin.

Now, Glenn Beck makes $33,000,000 a year as a picked scab of the McCarthy era. Like Ann Coulter and that ilk, his job is to stoke fear and panic in people over Obama's Socialism and the impending economic crash, over George Soros, over the Tide Foundation, over the ACLU, over anything more viable than a wet firecracker that can possibly be yeasted up into a conspiracy that will unravel the fabric of this great Republic.

Here's Beck's take on his own private Wisconsin:

We talked today about the police in Seattle. We haven’t talked yet about the police in Wisconsin who are now throwing in with the socialists and the teachers. I mean some of the people who are there are just useful idiots. They don’t know what’s really going on. They don’t know that this is a coordinated effort, and the police, unfortunately in Wisconsin have now thrown in with the protesters in the capitol, and they are not forcing them to leave, which they have to leave. They’re calling this now social justice. No, that is the problem. It is justice for all. Equal justice for all, not special justice. If the Tea Parties were there and they were camped out in the rotunda, they should leave if they’re supposed to, and I’d be the first to say it, obey the law, period, but now the police aren’t forcing them out.

Now, there's about a whole jumbo jet hangar full of bullshit in that one paragraph but what sticks out the most to me is Beck claiming in a way that would make Winston Smith proud that smashing collective bargaining for public unions is "justice for all" seems even more beyond the pale than we're used to from Beck.

Apparently, to Beck and his odious ilk, "justice for all" means justice for the Tea Baggers whose presence was merely theoretical, justice for the Koch Brothers, justice for the Republican Party who wants to butt-fuck public unions and the entire middle class back into the days of Stonehenge.

No, Glenn, if the Tea Baggers were there, they wouldn't have left until they realized they were outgunned. If there was a Democratic Governor in office and he wanted to raise the pay of union workers and actually strengthen collective bargaining rights for the unions, they would've been throwing bricks through his window, they would've been holding up their own misspelled, badly Photoshopped Nazi signs and they would've been screaming like a horde of zombies on fire at the end of a George Romero movie.

We got more than a taste of that in the summer '09 during the health care town halls. What Beck seems to miss is the fact that if the Madison teacher's union and the other protesters acted like typical Tea Baggers, the police wouldn't be siding with them and would've had no choice but to eject them regardless of their private sympathies. But police and civilians are literally lying side by side in the state house every night.

Beck is obviously the useful idiot here. There's a great need for social justice in Wisconsin, as well as in Indiana, Ohio and other states now in the clutches of radical right wing Governors who are engaged, with the Koch Brothers, in their own "coordinated effort" to undermine unions and union support for Democrats in 2012. If there's any "special justice" being screamed for, it's that for union workers, not the right wing industrialists and politicians who want to strip them of their half century-long rights.

Billionaires, Tea Party-backed union busters like Scott Walker and actual useful idiots like Glenn Beck don't need justice. They thrive in the absence of justice with every union they bust, every lie they tell and every time they pollute the air, sea, sky and airwaves.

Now, I say we all march into Beck's office, bend him over his desk and shove Edward R. Murrow's microphone up his blubbery, pasty ass and ram home an unlubed message from Eddie from beyond the grave. Because Murrow wouldn't have had any patience with this fear-stoking, fat fascist any more than have, to date, four radio stations and over 300 of Beck's sponsors.

Joe Papandrea South American butcher, Bossley Park

Entraña
A shopping adventure with Mr and Mrs Pig Flyin last weekend led us to Uruguayan butchery, Joe Papandrea in Bossley Park. We'd made our way there on recommendation of friends, who'd rejoiced when they finally found the South American cuts of meat they'd been missing from home.


Joe Papandrea Wholesale Quality Meats

The Bossley Park Shopping Complex is a strip of shops fronted with

What are they, a bunch of four-year-olds?

Last month Amanda had a bang-up post on Rush Limbaugh kicking and screaming about how he won't, he won't, he WON'T eat his vegetables:

There’s something kind of awesome about listening to Rush Limbaugh kick and scream like a 4-year-old child being told to eat his spinach instead of shovel cookies into his face. This entire bit is hilarious, listening to him whine and cry about how terrible and disgusting it is to put OMG actual plant matter in your mouth. While it’s funny listening to him be a little baby about this, though, there’s more to be concerned about here. Limbaugh has taken to suggesting that the advice to eat fruits and vegetables (and to exercise) is conspiracy organized by scientists that are hiding the truth, for nefarious purposes. It’s hard not to wonder if he’s trying to kill his listeners by ranting at them about how their diet should be nothing but junk food and their physical activity levels shouldn’t exceed picking up the remote control and pressing buttons.

[snip]

My feeling about this is that one of Limbaugh’s talents is to take his own psychological issues and to project them out into political rants that rationalize himself to himself, and this tends to work because a lot of what makes him such a pathetic figure affects members of his audience. 

There's been a petulant child aspect to Republicans that goes back decades. I remember George H.W. Bush ranting about broccoli. The fears and resentments of childhood are part and parcel of right-wing talk radio. The way they talk about terrorists, the resentment of those who are prettier -- it's all part of a very primal mindset that they have that most of us outgrow by the time we reach adulthood. I don't know if people on the right really HAVE stopped developing emotionally at the age of four, or if it's just what you have to do in order to tap into that reptilian brain.

We all know that right-wing Republicans have a serious problem with anything that smacks of conservation or of trying to leave a smaller footprint. It seems to offend their sense of manhood, which demands big gas-guzzling vehicles, big consumption of big food, and leaving huge piles of garbage behind. So it's hardly surprising that as part of the Giant Republican Tantrum that's been thrown ever since January 20, 2010, one of the first things the Republican House is doing is restoring non-biodegradable styrofoam cups to the Capitol cafeteria:

In the first move toward phasing out part of Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi's (D-Calif.) "Green the Capitol" program, polystyrene cups were reintroduced this week as an option for coffee drinkers in the Capitol Carry-Out, the building's mini-cafeteria.

The basement eatery had been part of Pelosi's "Greening" program since 2007, when Democrats took control of the House. The program brought climate-friendly vending machines and compact fluorescent lightbulbs to the Capitol; caused the Capitol Power Plant to switch from burning coal to natural gas; and reduced energy and water consumption in Capitol buildings by 23 percent and 32 percent, respectively, according to an April 2010 report.

But it was the $475,000 composting program in the House-side cafeterias that stirred the most controversy. Designed to cut down on waste, the program instituted the use of biodegradable utensils and trays made of cornstarch -- an idea that may have worked better in theory than in practice, as it led to take-away boxes that leaked, spoons that melted and forks that broke when stuck into so much as a chicken tender.

Bullshit. The company I work for also uses these biodegradable utensils and trays. Yes, the forks can bend if you jab a piece of chicken too hard, but they don't break. But I've eaten chili and stew and some pretty wet foods out of the degradable cardboard containers and they do NOT leak through. Most places that have these things also offer cardboard take-out trays that protect the container even further. The larger picture, though, is that this is a relatively minor inconvenience compared to adding to the massive piles of non-degradable garbage that we produce every year.

I have the sense that this is less about outrage over bent forks and damp food containers than it is about just sticking one of these forks metaphorically into Nancy Pelosi's eye.

And somehow I'll bet that not one Republican puts so much as a pea into those containers -- because Rush Limbaugh thinks vegetables are for sissies.

Wonkette puts it all into perspective:

“Foamed polystyrene” is a miraculous invention that manages to be completely awful through every step of its near-eternal “life cycle” — it is manufactured with petroleum that must be imported from Middle East dictatorships, toxic “styrene oligomers” migrate into the food it holds, it’s highly flammable and produces black poisonous smoke, and most of the 25 billion polystyrene cups tossed every year will take more than half a millennium to degrade. And that’s why the Republican-led House of Representatives made it an immediate priority to cancel the House cafeteria’s four years of biodegradable food and beverage packaging. It’s part of the GOP leadership’s “return to the mid-1990s” program. Nancy Pelosi sure was a yucky woman trying to do some sane environmentally-minded things, wasn’t she? Thank the American Jesus that woman is no longer in charge of anything.

Go read the whole rant.