Diary of a Mad Editor

Archive for January, 2008

Only the Names Change — the Game Remains the Same

Recently, there was an interesting albeit fruitless discussion on the Outsider Writers website. The gist of the discussion was what we, as small press people, can do to distinguish ourselves from the Big media conglomerates which dominate the publishing industry. There were a variety of opinions offered — some of which I agree with and some I do not.

A big part of the problem I have with the whole discussion is that what we think of as the small press isn’t really a single unified community to begin with. It is, rather, a collection of communities, writers and presses — all with different interests and agendas.

While all small presses are independent publishers, not all independent publishers are small press. Some small presses make the right moves and grow beyond the small press. Most fail, falter and die or just remain mired in the gutter. Take Black Sparrow or Soft Skull Press. Black Sparrow started in John Martin’s garage and is now a boutique imprint owned by Rupert Murdoch’s publishing empire. Soft Skull does seven figures in sales every year. Are they small press? Not to my way of thinking. Yet, I think Soft Skull and other successful independents are what we in the small press should aspire to. But it ain’t gonna happen for most small presses. And the vast majority of small press writers and publishers won’t rise from the gutters of the small press. Many don’t even want to.

A couple of people involved in the Outsider Writers discussion hit the nail on the head when they mentioned cronyism and the lack of professionalism among small pressers. I agree with that whole-heartedly and as my regular readers know, I’ve criticized both aspects of the small press scene on this blog in the past. But how do you combat this when it’s been part of the small press since the beginning? One member of the discussion group suggested forming a “world-wide alliance”. Sure, that’ll work. I wonder if that guy even knows just how many of these “alliances” are currently operating at this very moment. The answer: too damn many. Through a series of cheap stunts and empty rhetoric these groups all claim to be fighting the big dogs of the establishment media, but really they never accomplish anything except maybe in a few cases getting their names in the newspaper — usually portrayed as the joke they are.

Those of us who’ve been involved in the small press for a long time like to kid ourselves that there was once this golden age where everything made sense and the small press was this glad happy happening scene that was a force to be reckoned with, but not really. Truth is, the small press has always pretty much been a dead-end for writers. The writers who want to be a part of the big mainstream press will continue to delude themselves that it will happen if they keep getting their name out there in small press publications, and the hardcore rebels who want nothing to do with the big dogs will continue to delude themselves that what they do matters to anyone outside their small clique of cronies. The technology has changed and the names of the players, but the game remains the same as it ever was. I’m fairly confident that the small press as we know it will continue to limp along much as it always has no better and no worse. And talking about it doesn’t change anything.

That being said, I do think small press publishers and writer can improve their odds of making a dent in the literary world if they:

Writing is a Game of Inches Played on a 8 1/2 X 11″ Piece of Paper

Yesterday, while watching the NFL Playoffs and seeing Brett Farve and Tom Brady handily win their respective games, I was reminded of that very cool Owen Wilson catchphrase from that otherwise lame movie You Me & Dupree. You know the one: “Throwing seven different kinds of smoke.” Brett Farve and Tom Brady were magic yesterday as they have been all season. They were definitely throwing some serious smoke. But look at how their opponents struggled! This reminded me of yet another, better movie, Any Given Sunday, in which Al Pacino delivered another famous line that “football is a game of inches.” I couldn’t help thinking how being a writer is not unlike being a quarterback. Some days, you have to fight with the empty page, inch by inch until you grind the fucker out. Then there are those magic times when you are throwing seven different kinds of smoke, when the words just gracefully flow out of you and you are unstoppable.

I don’t know why this is. I haven’t the faintest clue why some things come easy and some things you have to dig in and fight for. Maybe its just like football — perhaps, as writers, we sometimes bite off more than we can chew. Maybe we are trying too hard or overthinking the creative process. Whatever the reason for this unfortunate struggle with the word, I tell you this: when you do find your groove, your sweet spot, and the words fly out of you, it is fun. Writing doesn’t feel like hard work. It doesn’t feel like work at all. It is one of the most fun things to do in the world. Tom Brady and Brett Favre certainly looked like they were having fun yesterday and I know I’ve often felt that same sensation of euphoria and satisfaction while writing.

So, dear writers, when the blank page has got you down, take a lesson from two great football players and remember that it’s all just a game and like all games, it’s all about having a good time while you’re moving down the field.

You Can’t Get Up A Hill By Running in Place

I have this friend. He’s a good friend and a good guy. An Iraqi war veteran and one of the few postal workers I’ve met who actually seems to enjoy his job. Tony likes to read books about writing and talk about writing. Tony is not a writer. He says he wants to write “someday”. I indulge him in conversations about writing because he’s been good to me and I don’t want to insult him by seeming like some kind of elitist prima donna. So, I nod my head and compliment him on the choice of writing books he shows me.

There is always the question posed to and about writers as to whether writers are born or made. I’ve always been of the opinion that all writers are born with the tools but don’t know how to use them and must grow into the use of those tools the way one grows into one’s own skin. The key difference between a writer and a non-writer has less to do with talent (although talent marks the difference between a great writer and a good one or more likely, a good writer and a bad one) than it does with the simple incontrovertible fact that writers write and non-writers don’t.

Reading books about writing is all well and good. Can’t hurt. When one is starting out it can certainly help. But, writers must read more than books about writing and, more importantly, they must write — sit their asses in a chair, damn the torpedoes, the voices in their heads telling them not to and write. Write like mad. Write as if their very lives depended on it. As if there’s a man dressed in a black trenchcoat holding a gun to their head. Write as if they actually have something to say anyone else even gives a good goddamn about. Write until they get as good at writing as they are ever likely to get . . . and then write some more.

Now I don’t know if Tony will ever write anything. Maybe he will. Maybe there will be a moment when it all just starts pouring out of him. Maybe, but I doubt it. The drive just isn’t there. He’s too satisfied with not writing. And maybe that, finally, is the surest test as to whether or not you are a writer — the engine, the fire, the desire to write and the dissatisfaction with the state of not writing.