The author as publicist

Oh man, this is so me.

Thanks to Dennis Cass for fearlessly putting himself out there.

Too much of a good thing? Nah.

Sure, gas is getting priced out of purchasability, wheat stores are at a thirty year low, and polar bears should be extinct any day now. But there are more copies of Shelf Monkey coming! That should alleviate your crippling depression about the aforementioned catastophies, right?

Yes, Shelf Monkey is officially in its second printing, a rarity for a first-time author with a small publisher. Whoo! Raise the roof!

And Shelf Monkey is currently in contention for nomination in a number of prizes at the Manitoba Book Awards, so cross your fingers.

Shelf Monkey - final proof that it wasn't all an elaborate joke

It came in the mail.
What could it be, I wondered.
The tension was electric.
Could it be...?
YES!
The fabled final published version of Shelf Monkey!!
Ah, 'tis a glorious thing indeed!
And the monkeys seem to like them.

Statistical proof of your novel's bestseller possibilities

I absolutely love this.

Lulu.com, that Internet bastion of delusional self-publishers everywhere, has a feature where you can enter the title of any novel, and it will figure out the probability of it being a best-seller, based on the titles of past books. No longer will we have to suffer the indignity of having our novels rejected out of hand because of unappealing combinations of nouns, verbs, and prepositions.

Let me provide you with an example:

Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code = 10.2% chance of becoming a bestseller.

Corey Redekop's Shelf Monkey = 63.7% chance of becoming a bestseller.

Eat it, Brown, you hack!

Waste oodles of time with this here.

My first official blurbs

Just a quick note here. Governor General Award-nominated author Eric McCormack has read the book, and heartily enjoyed it. Now, getting my name on a book is a kick, but getting the approval of one of my literary heroes is beyond awesome!

Eric has written several terrific novels, my favourite of which is the spectacularly-titled First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women. Eric writes dark, gothic tales of madness, obsession, love, and horror, and if you haven't read him, go! Now!

[update] I just received word, award-winning author Paul Quarrington (Whale Music, Galveston) is also assenting to providing a blurb. Again...beyond awesome!

Why I hate the funny pages

I cannot claim to ever consider the comics in my local newspaper (or, more recently, online) to be a representation of 'real life.' There are liberties that must be taken for the sake of entertainment. Even Doonesbury (still the greatest, most incisive comic strip of all time), while holding to a semblance of reality, has toyed with talking plants, zombies, and trash-talking robots.

But For Better or For Worse was different. Lynn Johnston aged the characters over the decades, rarely strived for cheap jokes, and created an empathy for her cartoon family that cannot be compared to any other comic strip out there. Johnston courted controversy when a secondary player came out, toyed with fate when the family's beloved dog Farley died, created righteous anger when daughter Elizabeth was attacked by a co-worker, and has always maintained a fairly strict adherence to the realities of everyday life.

But this...this will not stand. Even more than her recent statements that she will no longer age the family, this is something completely ridiculous:

Michael, the eldest, has recently finished his first novel (and by recently, I mean last month). Now, suddenly, he receives an unexpected contract in the mail, offering him an advance of $25,000.00

WHAT?

I accept that there are liberties that must be taken. Perhaps he already had a firm promise from this publisher (although this is never mentioned). Perhaps the publisher had a relatively small slush pile, and was somehow able to give Michael's manuscript more than a cursory once-over.

But, c'mon! $25,000? Without so much as a phone call beforehand? Out of the blue? Johnston has always flirted with treacle, but this plot twist, coming as it does as Michael and his family are enduring the hardship of losing their belongings to a fire, doesn't hold to a single element of realism. If a single publisher is willing to put $25,000 on the line for an unproven talent, Michael should hold out for more money, for he is truly the second coming of Hemingway (or Robert James Waller, if the glimpses into his prose style over the years can be trusted).

It's agony to be jealous of a fictional character, but there it is. Lynn, you have always, always sought to present a reality in line with our own. You stood out from the pack of Beetle Baileys, Lockhorns, and Born Losers with a sharp understanding of character relationships and plot development. Don't stop now. If we can't relate to your characters, then For Better or for Worse may take a disastrous turn towards the abomination that is Family Circus. Consider yourself warned.

The galleys have arrived!

I just received the galleys of Shelf Monkey, still warm from the hands of a loving courier.

Galleys, for those of you not in the know, are the almost-finalized pre-publication pages of a book. This is the last chance to go through the novel for any errors in spelling (a few), punctuation (a few more), and continuity (a lot - even in Winnipeg, people don't wear parkas in July. Oops.). It's also the last chance for the author to read the book, to see if there's any lingering doubts, and perhaps it would just be best for everyone if the freaking thing were to be destroyed.

So, last page read, pencils down. Thoughts?

I don't hate it as much as I thought I would. I've lived with it for over three years now, and despite its constant presence in my life, I kind of like it. Oh, it has its flaws, and I seriously doubt teachers will be adding it to their curriculums any time soon, but it's not bad. It makes me laugh. The ending works great (for me). It's not horrible, or even worse, horeckian.

The strangest thing? I don't recall writing a lot of it. Oh, the plot is exactly as I remember, but individual sentences jump out at me. Did I write that? Damn, that's a good sentence. I mean, it's no David Foster Wallace (whose novel Infinite Jest contained one sentence that surpassed eight hundred words in length), but some of these sentences, their construction, their humour - I can't believe I actually wrote them.

Is this common for authors, or is it just me? Did I steal the novel, a la Hal Jam, finding it in the woods and appropriating it as my own? Did I really put pen to paper and create the whole damn beast that sits before me?

Another fascinating bit of minutiae

Yes, I know I've bothered all three of my faithful readers with dull, intensely uninteresting bits of trivia as it relates to the ultimate publishing of my novel Shelf Monkey.

Too bad for you.

That off my chest, I reveal to you now, the official Shelf Monkey Library of Congress classification number!

PS8635.E338S54 2007

Oooooohh, chills!

The Awful Truth - the continuing story of the evolution of Shelf Monkey

As London is currently under six feet of snow, I've found myself snowbound, with nothing to do but cruise the Internet and rewatch my Futurama DVDs for the trillionth time. Time to continue the epic tale of getting my novel published.

SO...

The manuscript had been sent, the publisher was impressed, and Shelf Monkey was pretty much accepted. Or so I thought. My editor Jen asked to meet with me, to go over some plot points (minor, I was sure), and so I packed up my copy of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell, and set out on the next available train to the wondrous playland know as Toronto, or T.O., or now, T-Dot. Don't ask, it's just not worth it.

In my mind, I expected pomp, circumstance, and acclaim, envisioning the Hollywood publishing companies I'd drooled over in films such as Wolf and...well, that's the only one I could think of, but if it was good enough for Jack Nicholson, it would suit me fine. Of course, reality has a nasty habit of crushing my expectations, and while I love ECW Press, and knew it was a small independent publisher, somehow I expected something...grander.

But Jen was warm and welcoming, and she and I sat down to hammer out what she viewed as possible areas for improvement. Now, I love criticism, I crave it like some crave salt, I never feel fully at ease when I'm singled out for praise, but I felt certain that Shelf Monkey was perfect. There might be some surface changes, but on the whole, a solid piece of literature. Yes, I'm delusional, don't go there, okay? But as Jen laid out her thoughts, and as I smiled broadly, I felt a sinking feeling in my colon: she didn't think it was perfect. And she was right.

After a few hours of talk, and a lunch that consisted of the single finest omelette I have ever eaten (wish I could remember the name of the restaurant), I headed home, my notepad brimming with ideas and suggestions, and my ego bruised but already healing. I got home and set to work on the rewrite, sure it would take only a few days, two weeks, tops.

Four months later...

The original manuscript was 60,000 words, by no means a Neal Stephenson-sized epic, but not something to be ashamed of. The new rewrite? 85,000 words. Somehow, without meaning to do anything but add a line here, a word there, I increased Shelf Monkey's length by 25,000 words. But now it was ready, now it was done.

Right?

Tune in next week, same bat-time, same bat-channel, for - The Contract.

How it all began

Like many people, I'm extremely lazy, which does not bode well for my future as a writer. While I jealously read of Stephen King's obsessive need to write for a least four hours per day, I also know myself well enough to admit that I am simply not that anal. What I need are deadlines.

Which is where the International 3-Day Novel Writing Contest comes in. Held every September long weekend, it is a caffeine-fueled 72 hours of fun, fun, fun. For those of you itching to get an idea down on paper, I don't believe there's any finer method. You pay $50, you write like a maniac, and if you win, you get published. Now that's entertainment!

Unfortunately (or fortunately), I did not win the last time I entered. However, what I did write was strong enough (to my mind) to merit a revisitation down the road. So it sat on my hard-drive for a few months, until I had worked up enough gumption to show it to someone else. Someone more established.

Who did I show it to? What was the response?

Stay tuned. I'm still trying to work out all the bugs on this damn blog.