There nothing like driving into Chicago at six-thirty in the morning with a cloudless sky above you, a lot of tall building before you, traffic filled with crazy people around you, and an old Japanese anime soundtrack blasting from your stereo. It puts you in a certain frame of mine–unfortunately, for me, it was sort of the, “Why the hell am I doing this shit?” frame, and please don’t tell me it’s to pay the bills.
Still, there was a certain feeling while I was on the road. I do love driving, if for no other reason that I can be alone with my thoughts, even if I’m accompanied by loud music. When I used to make the weekly trek from and to The Undisclosed Location, I had two and a half hours to drive at 80 MPH, yell at drivers that wouldn’t get out of my way, and think out plot lines, scenes, and character development.
I thought a little about what I’m working on right now, which is editing and formatting Replacements so I can publish the work. I’m getting this out of the way so when my covers arrive–that’s right, I was told I’m getting three covers for the low price of $200, and I can keep them or do some swapping, maybe using one of Smashwords and another on Amazon–I can then see about getting a cover for Replacements while I do a final edit and format on Her Demonic Majesty so I can get it online where it can take its place next to werewolf porn and a series about an eighteen year-old virgin who gets laid in about thirty stories–which means she must have regenerative abilities.
This morning I spoke with a friend about a story I’d submitted to a publishing house last May, and have heard nothing in return after they requested, and received, the full manuscript. I’d mentioned that I’d sent two follow ups to the publishing house requesting an update on my novel, with none forthcoming from their end. My friend’s comment was short and to the point: “Fuck ’em, publish it yourself.” This has pretty much been my attitude as well, since I’m getting antsy to find out what’s going on with that particular story. If you want it, fine: if you don’t want it, fine as well. Just let me know, ‘kay?
This seems to be a common occurrence these days, where people send things out and sometimes never hear a thing back. Or maybe it’s jut me: maybe I’m stuck on this one with a lost in the aether and constantly waiting for it to return from the hinterlands. Though I’m coming up on a year with it being out, so it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what I’m going to do with the story–
I’ll fix it up and I’ll publish it.
There’s no guaranty I’ll make any sales if I do this, but then there was no guaranty I’d make any sales by selling it, either. Just as once I pay a couple of hundred scoots for a book cover there’s no guaranty I’ll get any sales from Her Demonic Majesty. I do know this, however:
It will be out–and, with the right cover, it will be noticed.
The question then becomes: by whom?