File Under “P” in Fiction and Literature

So today was a monumental day, in that I actually went, on purpose, to one of those Big Box Bookstores. Usually I only end up there quite by accident, when one of my sisters or brothers-in-law (i.e., brothers), or one of my nieces demands that I accompany them. Since I am a sucker and quite nice like that, I will always go in when asked.

But I never liked to stay long.

Why?

Because I hadn’t yet finished my first novel and going into a bookstore (especially the Big Box Ones) always made me feel like crying, because I was a failure, because none of my books were yet on those shelves. I’d go in with them, and wander around a bit, and end up in the Kids Section, looking at books I’d long ago read, and having a grand time….when someone I was related to would insist I “come see” the new book by Thus-and-So.

At which point I’d get up, amble over, and pretend to be very, very interested while reading the blurb on the back cover. I’d say something pithy or observant, and wait and pray for the agony to be over.

But those days are gone, and why?

Because today…TODAY I finished my book. Yes, it’s true. For everyone who has been waiting, or never believed it would come, and especially for those who never gave up being supportive during the long, dreary days since I announced my plan, today is the day.

I celebrated typing “The End” by getting up, going to my favorite coffee shop to have an iced coffee, and then driving to the nearest Big Box Bookstore. There, I strolled among the shelves, trailed my fingers along the various spines, and nodded to the staff as if I had a right to be there. Which I did, and do. I have earned my place to be among those books and writers now, I truly believe that.

Finally!

So, in honor of that, I went particularly over to the “P” section in Fiction and Literature, a place I had avoided like the plagues of Egypt for years. And there I was…or rather I wasn’t, but I took a picture anyway.

You can see the space where my book will go, right after Rosamunde Pilcher and before Thomas Pynchon. I have a feeling that since we will be neighbors, I should read their books. Perhaps they will read mine, as well, but since the future is an untrammeled expanse of unknown waters, who can say.

Of course, since I’m going to be self-published, I will probably not be able to acquire a place on any shelf that is owned by a Big Box Bookstore. That is a concern of many self-published writers, and a huge roadblock, since Big Box Bookstores are notoriously concerned about only going through Known Publishing Houses. And for a good long while, it was something I was willing to go abide by.

That is, until a friend of mine pointed me in the direction of Joe Konrath, who was into self-publishing before anybody else had even heard of it.

And, when I heard of self-publishing, I thought it was crazy, and that the only way to publish was through an agent. Which I tried, once, back in the day, only to be ignored for the most part. I did get one response to my standard query letter, a very lovely agent, who took the time to read my manuscript, and to very gently tell me that it wasn’t what they were looking for.

That was long ago, and I’ve been writing since then, and getting better, I hope. At least perfection is there to aim for.

A while ago, I wanted to write a story that had been in my head for years. I began writing it in 2007, and at the time, realized that I would a hard time selling to any agent or publisher, but had no idea why. Later, after reading Joe Konrath’s blog, I realized it was because my story did not fit into any slot, and was not immediately recognizable to any genre that any agent or publisher could care to devise for the purposes of organizing their shelves or selling their books.

For agents and publishers, you see, like a sure bet, and the beginning of that is based upon their ability to categorize the book, so they know it how to market it. If they can’t categorize it, it seems that it’s beyond them to be able to think outside the box and come with something new and original in order to sell it. Ergo, if your story is a little bit of this and a little bit of that and you’ve written what’s in your heart, you will be rejected by the five or six big publishing houses in New York and your story will sit on the slush pile for ever and ever, amen.

Self-publishing avoids all of those gates thrown into place by a few hundred years of a few people determining what the rest of us will read. With self-publishing, a writer has almost complete control over the how and the why of the book, along with the what.

It’s much along the same line of thinking, as can be found in the movie “Pretty Woman.”

One of the call girls, Kit DeLuca, says, “Hey, why don’t you and I join Carlos’ house, and we won’t have to worry so much anymore?”

Being leery of giving up any independence she might have, Julia Robert’s character, Vivian Ward states, in no uncertain terms, “Look, you don’t own me. I decide, okay ? I say who; I say when.”

Which kind of equates book publishing with a kind of prostitution, doesn’t it? Hey. We’re all selling something, it’s just a matter of, as Vivian well knows, of hanging on to as much dignity and self-worth as you can.

But it was only after reading Joe’s Blog, where I read this line, or something like it, that I understood what was at stake:

Do you really need the validation from a Big Box Bookstore before you realize you’re a writer?

That’s not an exact quote, but it’s close, and it doesn’t matter if it wasn’t exact because the meaning was immediately clear to me. In order to be published by a Known Publishing House, I would have to play by their rules. I would have to do what the Big Five want me to do. (Well, it used to be the Big Six, but one of them ate one of their own, so now it’s only Five.)

And in order to do what the Big Five wanted me to do, I would have to compromise on what was the story in my heart that I wanted to tell. And that I could not do. It’s not that I’m not willing to compromise in any case; there’s always a balance between what my friend Amy likes to call Commercial Art and Museum Art. Commercial Art gets sold and makes big bucks. Museum Art hangs in a gallery and gets gawped at by the whole world for being fantastically good and can never be sold because it’s worth a BAZILLION bucks. In other words, it’s priceless.

Anyway, when I figured this out, that I could get around the Big Five by doing it myself, the story took off, and I could finally write it the way it needed to be written, without compromising the story, the characters, or myself.

This blog post was supposed to be about The Book, which, now that it’s finished, I can talk about. Am supposed to talk about. Can’t hardly believe I can talk about. But there you go. The blog post was instead about self-publishing. Which I’m going to do with my book and then the next one after that, and the one after that, and don’t you see how lovely it will be?

I can’t hardly, myself. Which is why I took a picture of the way the world looked on the day I finished my book.