Thursday, October 22, 2015

Let's Talk About This Sh*t.

     
If I ever get the book published, I'd like this to be the cover. I think it really encapsulates all sides of my personality: from "Clearly doesn't give a shit about what he's wearing," to "Why is he riding a fucking llama?"

     I know. This is the part where I make a lot of excuses about why I haven't posted in so long. (I even thought about saying that I only just this moment sobered up from the reunion. But for that to be true, I'd have to have a real, actual, dangerous relationship with alcohol, instead of the fun, just friends, only-sometimes-dangerous relationship that I really have.) So instead I'm going to skip the excuse part and get right to the post.

     I finished writing a book this year. It's a memoir, which basically means I can't think of anything better to write about than myself, which is either the most pathetic or the most narcissistic thing ever, maybe both. Take your pick. Anyway, I've been trying to get a literary agent, which is, truth be told, not going well. The reason it's not going well, by the way, is not because potential agents think the book sucks. Some of them have actually told me they think it's pretty good, written as it is by a middle-aged child with a depressive disorder and a really healthy relationship with good whiskey. But they won't represent me, because I don't have a platform. I recently learned this term, as it applies to the literary world. Basically, it means that because I'm not a YouTuber or a Viner with a million or more subscribers, or a Class C reality celebrity who already has a built-in "audience," they don't give two shits about the actual literary merit of the book. I had a literary agent tell me - to my face - that publishers are only looking for "sure things." Yeah, probably the YouTuber or the Viner or the Class C reality celebrity can't actually write, but that's what ghost-writers are for, and they can pretty much count on making a calculated amount of profit from a book that is, essentially, not worth wiping your ass with. But it will sell because the "author" has a platform. 

     I thought long and hard about this, and here's what I've concluded: bullshit. I'm probably being super-duper naive, because I know that publishing is a business. Publishing wants to make money, just like the automotive industry and housing construction and porn. I get it. But what I'm learning about publishing - and maybe life in general - is that fewer and fewer people are actually willing to take risks. Let me ask you this: do you think we'd have Hemingway, or any film by Quentin Tarantino, or even this fucking Mac Book I'm typing a little too hard on, if some people hadn't been willing to take some risks? 

     So fuck it. I am about to take a risk. Here's my risk: I'm going to put my memoir right here, on this blog. You heard me. I'm going to post one chapter a week, which means I'll have the whole thing posted in 44 weeks, plus two Epilogues and one P.S. And I'd like to ask a favor of the tiny number of you who have actually followed me from the beginning: if you like what you're reading, please share it with the world. If you don't like it, don't read it. That's fair. But since I'm putting it out here for free, I'm asking you - if you dig it - to pay it forward. (I really don't like that term, because I think it's a little cliche, but I'm kind of drunk and sleepy and can't think of a better line. Probably I will in the morning.) 

     Take a chance with me, y'all. 

     

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