The Blog at the Signpost

No post

2009-05-02T16:00:00.002-04:00

I haven't posted anything lately because I haven't done anything. I had plans to send every library in these greater parts a complimentary copy of the book--what other kind would you send a nonprofit organization? But then I counted up the number of copies I have sitting on my shelves. And I realized that the number of libraries far outweighs the number of books. So maybe I'll just narrow it down to my little quadrant.

I also need to restock the book in some bookstores. Yes, one actually ran out of copies. To be fair, it was only carrying one copy in the first place and that copy was purchased by a friend of mine. This is just getting sad.

Have I shared my fantasy yet that one day, I'll be walking through the park, down the street, or otherwise minding my own business and espy a complete stranger reading my book? I'll work up the nerve to say something to the effect of, "Hey that's my book," and start a discussion. I don't even care if they like it. I would just like an honest opinion from someone who does not know me. Fantasy, indeed.

A Reading

2008-11-10T19:29:00.006-05:00

So kids, I had my first official reading on Oct. 29, 2008. And here's the deal: it was OK. I didn't blow it but then again, I knew everyone in the room. But the important thing here is that everyone (including me) seemed to enjoy it.

People asked questions. And they listened to the answers. And, emboldened by my newfound status as a popular cult author (not), I decided to read a few pages from my new novel. Perhaps that I had a short Scotch before my reading helped embolden me. Perhaps not.

But it did give me hope. On the other hand, I have never been so tired of hearing the sound of my own voice in my entire life.

Advertising: It is Not for the Weak

2008-10-16T22:16:00.016-04:00

Skipping ahead quite a bit here ... bringing you up to about the last three weeks. Essentially, as you will learn later, once I start backtracking once again, I was on my own as far as marketing and promoting my book was concerned. I spent exactly one year as a Promotions Associate with a publisher. I knew what I was doing. (Unfortunately, that was almost 20 years ago and the world has changed only slightly since then).

I had a reading scheduled for Oct. 29. So I had some posters and postcards printed up to promote the thing. This ran me somewhere north of $200. Well. So I start tacking up posters, mostly around my neighborhood. If you have never hung posters before, I can assure you that it is a very time-consuming labor intensive process. The first time, I used packing tape and hung about 20 posters, mostly at the bases of lampposts and small utility hubs. They came down within 24 hours.

I upgraded to a homemade glue -- Elmers and water -- a sort of wash that would adhere the posters in the back and I could slap some in front for extra adhesion. I worked my way uptown to where the reading was actually being held. As I squatted and proceeded to pour some of my concoction on the back of a poster, I noticed a cop helping people cross Connecticut Ave., which can be very busy at rush hour. I watched him very carefully and when I thought he was out of sight, carried on with my business.

It was one of those scenes -- almost cliché -- right out of a movie. As I proceeded to stick up my last poster at the base of yet another street lamp, I happened to gaze up and catch sight of Johnnie Law. About three feet from me. Watching me. First his feet, then, as I raised my head ever so slowly, I espied his furrowed brow and petulant eyes. He might as well have been slapping his nightstick into his beefy palm to make the cliché complete.

"What are we hanging?" he said.

I stumbled but finally managed to utter: "Um. I wrote this book. And, I'm, uh, having a reading ... uh .. in there ... uh ... in a couple weeks." I pointed to the library not 20 feet away.

"Uh-huh," he said. He glanced quickly at the poster and said, "Well, I'm not gonna bust your balls over that."

Then, as a sort of afterthought, he said, "What's your book about?"

This is a very tricky question--one I've been struggling with since before its publication. It's not a book you can sum up in a sentence or two. "Well," I said. "It's about a guy ... whose father dies." The cop narrowed his eyes.

"And," I said, "his wife leaves him."

The cop started to cross the street and looked over his shoulder. "Sounds like Life 101," he said.

I swallowed hard and got out of there as quickly as possible.

Hurry Up and Wait

2008-09-23T20:21:00.009-04:00

My book was fully edited, we had a cover, a marketing plan of sorts and a target date for publishing. There was not much to do but wait at this point. I had some very rough sketches of ideas about what I wanted to do once the big day arrived--book signings, readings. Naturally, there would be tons of press to contend with.

Indeed, I had much planning to do. But I was unsure of where to even begin. The bookstores? The critics? (It would only be a matter of time until they had a copy of the book in their sweaty little hands, eager to critique it and expound upon its merits, comparing it with Joyce, Proust, Marquez).

At this point, you will be forgiven for thinking me naive, perhaps even bloated with the most conspicuous case of hubris. But I was also ignorant. And happily so ... .

A Cover

2008-08-26T20:29:00.011-04:00

The time had come to put a cover on this book. Brown Paper Publishing Head Editor and President Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) was hard at work on three cover designs that would capture the essence and very nature of my book. I had a couple visions of my own but because I am not a visual artist, I had nothing very concrete in mind. Just some vague notions.

Before we get into the nitty gritty of these covers, I must say that Juan (not his real name) and his designer worked very hard on each and every design and I applaud their efforts. In fact, I had a hard time choosing.

The first one was my least favorite. At risk of sounding homophobic, I just found it simply too gay. Had the main character actually been gay (or an utter narcissist), it might have worked. (As soon as I can figure out how to convert a PDF to a JPEG or some other acceptable format, I'll show you a copy.) It was a man leaning against a mirror looking very sad.

The third one was just plain depressing. Washed in a sea-green tint, it showed a man seated at the bottom of a long outside stairwell with his head in his hands. (Again, you'll see a copy as soon as I figure out this tech stuff.)

I went with a modified version of the second iteration:

I think it captures the mood and the essence of the book rather nicely. However, when I saw some of the other covers on Brown Paper Publishing's website, I was actually a little jealous. I thought mine looked the least inviting. This one, for instance, simply looked more polished:

But Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) told me that he based the design of my book cover slightly on a classic novel by GK Chesterton:

So perhaps the old cliche is true: you truly cannot judge a book by its cover.

Waiting, Working, Rewriting

2008-08-25T12:05:00.005-04:00

Winter was closing in fast. Agreement signed, schedules made, my publisher (and the head editor of Brown Paper Publishing), Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) told me my page proofs would be on their way soon.

When they finally did arrive, I was shocked at just how terrible my book was: amateurish, sophomoric, rambling, loose and wandering. So I set about not just proofing it but rewriting it. I took three weeks off and told my clients I would be unavailable until after the new year (2008). This was serious business in need of serious attention.

Juan (not his real name) and I had worked out some formatting details whose impact only now were becoming clear to me. For example, Juan (not his real name) did not believe in quotation marks, preferring the dialog to speak for itself, as it were. I bristled at this initially but when I saw the book laid out in print, I quickly changed my mind. It actually was less disruptive and made the text flow better.

We also had a minor skirmish over the size of the font. Granted, The Dog at the Signpost is a relatively lengthy book for a first novel and I understand the publisher probably wanted to cut costs. The font size is a bit small for people with astigmatisms and so forth, but it does work. It was about as small as we could get away with and still be readable.

And so, by the first week of 2008, I had completed my final rewrite of the book, having cut 14 pages or so of needless text. And I felt better about the final result. It was tightre, flowed better and a little more polished.

Gone Fishin'

2008-08-08T13:37:00.002-04:00

To all of my fan (no -- that's not a typo):

I will be away Aug. 9 through Aug. 17. Please try to get along with a posting during that time. The story will pick up soon.

Love,

Moe

An Agreement (Still Fall, Colder Still)

2008-08-06T21:52:00.005-04:00

Less than a month after Brown Paper Publishing agreed to publish The Dog at the Signpost, I received an author's agreement from the company. A straightforward three-page document, I hurriedly read it, sent a copy to a more experienced author friend of mine for advice (he largely approved of it) and signed it. Among other things, BPP promised to send out 25 review copies, set up a website for the book and get some copies out to literary contests.

Now it was official. I was to be published. I couldn't help having the feeling, though, that at any moment it could all go foully wrong. The publisher would fold. It would turn out to be an elaborate hoax. The head editor and publisher Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) would meet with an untimely demise or disappear mysteriously somewhere in the misty foothills of South America. So I was still telling people, but being very cagey. Still analogous to the whole pregnancy thing, it was a very touchy situation. The last thing I wanted to do was to jinx it. Still, the book was to be published in less than four months so it was time to get some promotional plans together.

It has been said that there are essentially five stages to facing one's own death: anger, denial, depression, bargaining and acceptance. I have found that there are at least three stages to writing and publishing a book and each step becomes subsequently more difficult than the last. Writing it is difficult enough. If you've managed to crank out a story with a beginning, a middle and an end (and even if has no plot per se), that's an accomplishment. Getting it published is another huge step. But for me, the most difficult aspect was (and remains) marketing it. How on earth could I compete with already established authors (living and dead) for precious shelf space in brick and mortar stores? I am fortunate to live in the Internet age. And thank Providence for amazon.

A Light Breaks Through (Early Winter)

2008-08-05T20:38:00.011-04:00

It seemed as if I was reaching the depths of my misery at the prospect of becoming a published author. (Part of the problem was feelings of inadequacy ... who am I to get a book deal?) (See another post in another blog.) After some digging, I was finally able to ascertain that the mysterious Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) was indeed a real person and was indeed interested in publishing my novel simply because he liked it.

After many, many emails back and forth between Mr. DeCarlo (not his real name) and myself, we finally set up a time for a face-to-face meeting, as he would be in my very fair city within weeks. However, his schedule became jumbled up and so I settled for a phone meeting. At our appointed time, the telephone rang and I was speaking to the man with whom for the past three months or more I'd only corresponded via electronic mail. (One thing Mr. D. [not his real initial] and I had in common was a predilection to be annoyingly and fastidiously punctual.)

We spoke for an hour. And with each piece of the conversation, much of my angst and anxiety simply melted away. That Mr. DeCarlo (not his real name) was an articulate soul with a smooth smoker's voice did much to help assuage my darkness. It was as if each word he spoke helped part a curtain, then burst a cloud to help reveal the light. It also helped that this guy knew his stuff. He had a business plan and understood the market much better than most upstarts. He wasn't a dreamy-eyed optimist.

Yes, Brown Paper Publishing was small. Yes, they had a limited budget. But the fact was we had a contract and they were obliged to print so many copies and do their best to sell as many copies as possible. My part would come later.

Still the Fall ... but getting colder (and darker)

2008-08-05T10:05:00.001-04:00

Once I was assured that Brown Paper Publishing was legit, I did a lot of waiting. It would be at least a few weeks until my page proofs were ready. So I started telling people that I was getting a book published. I observed the "pregnant rule." That is, you don't tell people you're expecting until you're at least out of your first trimester. I wanted to wait until it was 100 percent official.

Everyone was quite pleased for me. I, however, was trying to take it with a grain of salt. Yes,this was a major achievement, a triumphant culmination of everything I had looked forward to in my career. Still. I had to be honest: This was a small startup publisher, it was my first novel and my expectations were not terribly high.

Perhaps it was seasonal affective disorder, but during this time I became very depressed, almost despondent. What should have been a joyous event, something to celebrate was turning, in my mind, into a nightmare. And I could not figure out why. Perhaps I was comparing myself to other novelists and feeling like small potatoes. Perhaps I felt as if this tiny novel would be lost among a chorus of more highly placed voices. Whatever the reason, I was in a funk.

The Fall ... Not Much Later

2008-08-04T21:14:00.000-04:00

Once the editor at Brown Paper Publishing expressed an interest in publishing my novel, my initial skepticism grew. I started to reach out to other authors who'd been published at this house (there were only two at the time). I did as much research as time (and the Web) would allow. All I could parse was that this was a very, very new company and they were hungry for titles. What I could not ascertain was whether or not Brown Paper Publishing was a vanity press. To my knowledge, they were not. But I had to be sure.

So I wrote the publisher and chief editor, Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) directly. After some back and forth, I asked him point blank: Are you a vanity press? Indeed, my very words were, "Just to put it bluntly -- is there going to be any cost to me for publishing my book?"

Here was the acquisitions editor's response: "Brown Paper Publishing is not a vanity press, we are a literary publisher. In this day and age, as a matter of fact, we feel that the existence of Vanity Presses is something of an outrage, as there is, in our opinion, no legitimate reason to ever charge an artist any sort of fee (whatever language these presses may use to mask that this what they are doing) for the publication of their work. Further, any cost of promoting your work (the brief description of what Brown Paper Publishing does can be found on our website and we will give more Title Specific information later in the production process) falls to us and we work very closely with our authors to maximize exposure to the furthest extent our means allow."

I was soothed for the moment.

The Fall

2008-08-04T20:42:00.000-04:00

In October of 2007, I was wandering around one of my usual haunts, a coffee shop, and noticed a book for sale. I picked it up and started scanning it. The young woman at the counter told me it was free and to take it. Perusing it on my way home, I noted the name of he publisher: Brown Paper Publishing. I read a few more pages and looked up the publisher on the Web. Then I sent them the first third of my novel, The Dog at the Signpost. Within days, Brown Paper Publishing contacted me, interested in reading the rest of the book. I sent it off and within another few weeks, they contacted me telling me that they wanted to publish my novel.

Well. Things like this are unheard of. I wrote this book and put it on a shelf never thinking I would submit it to a publishing house. I had sent it off to a few literary agencies, but got nothing but rejection slips. I simply chalked it up to first novel blues and immersed myself in work that could actually earn me money.

But Brown Paper was adamant. They wanted to publish The Dog at the Signpost. I decided to let them. But I was skeptical. I always followed the Woody Allen maxim (and Woody credits Groucho Marx ... or Freud with saying it first): "I would never belong to a club that would have someone like me as a member."

But sure enough, I was about to become a member of the "published novelists club." For better or worse.