Art Edwards at The Nervous Breakdown

Interesting stuff from Art Edwards at The Nervous Breakdown

“I’ve employed the path of self-publication twice over the past decade. I’ve made sales, read to captive audiences, received fan mail. My first novel was nominated for an award. My second novel was an award winner. And after a few bumps financially, the second edition of my first novel has been profitable. I should be the last person in the world to tell you not to extend your middle finger to traditional publishing and go it alone.”

Only don’t.

You’ve heard it a thousand times, but maybe not like this.

“By the summer of 2012, I’d received answers from every query I could reasonably expect an answer from, and the answer was still no. 122 agents. 16 indie publishers. Six contests. I’d spent six years writing this novel, almost two submitting it, and about fifteen with the novel as the primary focus of my writing life, and with the exception of one finalist slot in a contest, no one wanted anything to do with it.”

Ouch city. Place we’ve all been to.

“So, unless my protagonist suddenly grows a pair of fangs, I need to make it better…Setting your novel aside for six months separates you from your notions of it. It empties your head of all you think your book is and allows you, six months later, to see it for what it really is. There may not be a more useful book revising tool.”

Hear hear. And fangs could be good. Just saying.

Day 1

Subbed four stories this week, sold one so far. So now, everything ‘in progress’ is now outbound and I am in novel mode.
My brain can barely function. Those stories meant a lot to me, they took all I’ve got. I got nothing left. Maybe some yoga. Maybe run for a while. Something. Maybe a new pen.
And in the lull, I’ll get onto updating the site, and I’ve got some posts I’m mulling over… but now some air. The air outside this office. The dog gets it. He’s farting in agreement, yeah it stinks in here. Let’s hit the road.

very Stephen Elliott

I met Stephen Elliott at Tin House and bought his book. Happy Baby. which is searing. I get The Rumpus emails. This was in one from this week. Stephen is like some brilliant wounded muppet. Like a hungry raccoon with dreams of becoming a pole dancer. Or a cute hipster poet Atlantic City DJ. Ginsberg meets Bushnell.

‘I’m especially not going to indulge in nostalgia. I don’t have any patience for that. No wistfulness, no nostalgia, no pining for missed opportunities, no regrets, no entitlement, no entering contests, no take backs. Those are some rules I wrote once for myself in a small notebook I carried in my jacket pocket. There were a few more…Tell the story forward, lack perspective, avoid learning lessons, write magical, don’t make fun of other people’s fashion choices.