One topic I have avoided over three years of blogging is self publishing. Here is a link to the 2011 self-published bestsellers. Has anyone read any of these? Has anyone self-published? I’m all for it, even if it cuts out the middle man, ahem. Getting your work out there is all that matters. Finding readers. And it looks like at least these folks have figured out a way to monetize. Other things this blog endorses: self-love, self-loathing, selfishness, self-centeredness, Will Self, self-cleaning, self- absorption and self-satisfaction
Are you tempted to self-publish? How do you want it to go down?
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For me it was under the stairs. With a satin-edged blanket, a chenille throw pillow, and an abandoned lamp with a makeshift shade. I first stole away from the world to write in that crawlspace beneath the stairs in a faux leather diary with gold stamping and a small lock. I mostly recorded things I hated: mustard, hebrew school, my friend Carolyn’s father, sharing a bedroom with my sister etc. From there I went on to headier subjects like my love of hotdogs or to recount the latest advance or retreat in the acorn wars against the Frankel brothers. For some reason that I couldn’t begin to understand, I needed to write stuff down. And needed to keep secret.
I’m in Miami and I’ve been skateboarding all day in my silver lyrcra unitard, so forgive me if this post is brief but I’m really tired. I went up and down the beach and people are reading. They’re reading Steve Jobs bio and Girl in a Dragon Hairdo. I love watching people read. If I had bigger balls, I’d go up to each one and ask what they are reading and why. And I would assemble the most amazing body of research that helped explain why it is that people need stories so desperately and why certain stories draw them in.
Hi, I’m Jeremiah Walton. I am 16 and live and in New England. I am manager of Nostrovia! Poetry (
Free fall. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Finishing something and getting first reads. I’ve given my script to the young turk from my film class, my literary agent, my writing partner and bff, and a former film executive. What’s that on my shirt? Oh, did I throw up? What is the biggest fear? It sucks. Duh. But more than that it’s the strong possibility that people will see things about me that are humiliating and that I thought I had successfully concealed or transformed. I think that’s why I was drawn to poetry as a depressed teenager. I thought that writing things that people couldn’t understand would protect me and allow me to express yourself at the same time.
Saw my psychopharmacologist today for my tune-up. He actually referred to himself as a mechanic, said he looks under hoods all day. I can forgive the crappy metaphor given that he’s the only medical professional to correctly rewire my engine. Of all the chapters in The Forest for the Trees, the one people never talk about or write to me about is the one called “Touching Fire,” about depression, alcoholism, drug addiction and bi-polar illness in writers. THe chapter is largely drawn from Kay Redfield Jamison’s brilliant book on mental illness in writers in which she documents a disproportionately high rate of bi-polar illness in writers, in people with an artistic temperament. THough I struggled for the better part of fifteen years with manic depression, the last twenty years have been depression-free, free of manic episodes. The floor and the ceiling have remained fixed. I’m too smart to say I miss it.
When you sit down to write, to start something new, have you made a host of decisions such as point of view, tense, style, etc. or do you start writing and see what happens, see how it comes out? After all you can always revise. Do you plan your story, outline it, make index cards, jot notes on napkins, or do you set out into the forest and see what you find, hope for crumbs. Is the creative process enhanced or compromised by planning.
Well, you know I like to end the year on a high note of pain and suffering, so please enjoy the last post of 2012 from our beloved west coast correspondent, the ever sunny Shanna Mahin . What can I say? This writing business can really kick your ass. Most people quit. And they might be on to something. But for those of us who need to keep scratching at the great wall of being and nothingness, you are not alone. At least not here at Mr. Roger’s neighborhood where the punch is spiked and the language is too. Have your self a merry fucking Christmas and survive the god damn new year. I hope I’ll see you back on January 2, 2012. Love, Betsy
Look who came down the chimney for the penultimate guest post: our very own prince of darkness, quiet of late, but back in fine form to spread some of that special love that only August knows how to serve up piping hot and with a side of bile. Enjoy!
Betsy Lerner 