cinemabon
04-21-2009, 09:24 AM
*(not connected to any site of the same name)
Bringing a fresh original novel to market is not simply an exercise in futility, you might as well masurbate with sandpaper. Why do I feel my situation is so similar to what others have experienced.
To borrow a phrase, I am reminded of the woman from “Casablanca” who pulls from her purse a fabulous wide bracelet with huge diamonds on it. She offers it to the merchant. He take out his jeweler’s glass and quickly inspects it. “Sorry madam,” he says to her, “Diamonds, diamonds, diamonds… everybody has diamonds.” He knows he has her at a disadvantage. She is begging for help. “I’ll take what I can get…” she says with her face. End scene.
In trying to bring a novel to market, I feel like that woman. Here are these diamond merchants with so many books pumped out daily from mindless wackos who only want their voices heard on the big stage. However, there are ugly people out there who possess amazing talent. Having someone listen is another matter.
I walked into Raleigh’s premiere independent book store yesterday. I didn’t know where to begin. I walked around and looked at books similar to mine (condition-wise, not subject-wise). “I went to your website,” I began when I addressed an older clerk. “Is it possible to have my book sold here?” I asked. “Well…” she began and went into a long “spiel” believing she was going to dismiss this bothersome person. How dare I try to publish a novel on my own. Did I have it professionally edited? Did I have it reviewed professionally? Did I meet their long list of criteria? Where is this novel? (I had it in the car. I didn’t know what to expect…) “I’ve published a novel,” I said. “Oh,” she replied. “Well, you’ll have to leave it with us. The person involved with handling that part will get back with you,” she said. “How long will take?” I asked her. “It can take weeks…” “Weeks?” I wondered. “We get dozens of books each week,” she claimed. “What do you expect?”
What do I expect? Courtesy? Kindness? Consideration? Sympathy? Forget it. The world is a cold and cynical place full of heartless people who care nothing for strangers. The New York cop… “move along buddy” to the homeless man. “Oh, look at those poor children…” the housewife who observes starving children on television and then rushes out to spend $150 dollars on pampering herself for the day. “… global warming…” the radio blares as the businessman ignores its daily blah while his Cadillac Escalade V8 runs in the parking lot while he speaks on his iphone to clients about meeting them for lunch at the country club. The Republican politician more interested in slamming a democratic president than helping his own country… even if our country is in desperate straits. They don’t care about anyone else. They only care about themselves. That’s it, isn’t it. That's all that really matters. Take care of yourself. Forget everyone else. I’m all that matters. Me... me... me... feed me... love me... make me laugh... give me a hard on... give me a car... give me a house... give me new things everyday. Take all you can as fast as you can before someone else tries to take it from you.
We are losing the war. The battles are being waged all around us. Religion used to fill that role. Religion doesn’t get it. They’ve disillusioned the public for the last time. We’re tired of ministers who screw the choir boy or prostitutes or steal their parishioner’s coffers. We're tired of religion that preaches of helping the poor while they speak from expensive pulpits and drink wine from golden goblets. We are losing the moral war on all fronts. We’re on the slippery slope of moral decline. It’s the Roman Empire… It’s the British Empire… and now the American Empire with the sun setting all around us. My little novel seems a trivial period to a footnote in comparison. Yet I care enough to bring to this market of mindless neverending rehashed plots some originality and insightful into fictional storytelling. Perhaps some day someone will listen. I only hope I’m still alive when it happens. Look at the author of "Conan."
Meanwhile I fight the battle... the battle wages on... for decency... for consideration... for kindness... for understanding... I'm lonely for reinforcements.
Bringing a fresh original novel to market is not simply an exercise in futility, you might as well masurbate with sandpaper. Why do I feel my situation is so similar to what others have experienced.
To borrow a phrase, I am reminded of the woman from “Casablanca” who pulls from her purse a fabulous wide bracelet with huge diamonds on it. She offers it to the merchant. He take out his jeweler’s glass and quickly inspects it. “Sorry madam,” he says to her, “Diamonds, diamonds, diamonds… everybody has diamonds.” He knows he has her at a disadvantage. She is begging for help. “I’ll take what I can get…” she says with her face. End scene.
In trying to bring a novel to market, I feel like that woman. Here are these diamond merchants with so many books pumped out daily from mindless wackos who only want their voices heard on the big stage. However, there are ugly people out there who possess amazing talent. Having someone listen is another matter.
I walked into Raleigh’s premiere independent book store yesterday. I didn’t know where to begin. I walked around and looked at books similar to mine (condition-wise, not subject-wise). “I went to your website,” I began when I addressed an older clerk. “Is it possible to have my book sold here?” I asked. “Well…” she began and went into a long “spiel” believing she was going to dismiss this bothersome person. How dare I try to publish a novel on my own. Did I have it professionally edited? Did I have it reviewed professionally? Did I meet their long list of criteria? Where is this novel? (I had it in the car. I didn’t know what to expect…) “I’ve published a novel,” I said. “Oh,” she replied. “Well, you’ll have to leave it with us. The person involved with handling that part will get back with you,” she said. “How long will take?” I asked her. “It can take weeks…” “Weeks?” I wondered. “We get dozens of books each week,” she claimed. “What do you expect?”
What do I expect? Courtesy? Kindness? Consideration? Sympathy? Forget it. The world is a cold and cynical place full of heartless people who care nothing for strangers. The New York cop… “move along buddy” to the homeless man. “Oh, look at those poor children…” the housewife who observes starving children on television and then rushes out to spend $150 dollars on pampering herself for the day. “… global warming…” the radio blares as the businessman ignores its daily blah while his Cadillac Escalade V8 runs in the parking lot while he speaks on his iphone to clients about meeting them for lunch at the country club. The Republican politician more interested in slamming a democratic president than helping his own country… even if our country is in desperate straits. They don’t care about anyone else. They only care about themselves. That’s it, isn’t it. That's all that really matters. Take care of yourself. Forget everyone else. I’m all that matters. Me... me... me... feed me... love me... make me laugh... give me a hard on... give me a car... give me a house... give me new things everyday. Take all you can as fast as you can before someone else tries to take it from you.
We are losing the war. The battles are being waged all around us. Religion used to fill that role. Religion doesn’t get it. They’ve disillusioned the public for the last time. We’re tired of ministers who screw the choir boy or prostitutes or steal their parishioner’s coffers. We're tired of religion that preaches of helping the poor while they speak from expensive pulpits and drink wine from golden goblets. We are losing the moral war on all fronts. We’re on the slippery slope of moral decline. It’s the Roman Empire… It’s the British Empire… and now the American Empire with the sun setting all around us. My little novel seems a trivial period to a footnote in comparison. Yet I care enough to bring to this market of mindless neverending rehashed plots some originality and insightful into fictional storytelling. Perhaps some day someone will listen. I only hope I’m still alive when it happens. Look at the author of "Conan."
Meanwhile I fight the battle... the battle wages on... for decency... for consideration... for kindness... for understanding... I'm lonely for reinforcements.