Storytellersunplugged

Never tell me the odds, or The Doom Criers, Nay Sayers and a little faith.

It never ceases to amaze me just how many people are delighted to share the bad news. Once again, as is often the case with these articles of mine, I ran across something on a bulletin board recently that went on and on about how incredibly difficult it is to get published. Around the same time, another post talked about the bad news out there for writers. The news is dreadful, it seems. Likely to cause a mass suicide run of hacks, writers, authors and literary masters alike that would shame the lemmings of the world.

Brace yourselves. Apparently less people are reading books these days. According to the statistics (and I’m going off memory here because I’m far too lazy/busy to actually look the damned thing up) over half the adults don’t bother to read novels anymore, and even those that do read novels aren’t reading as many.

Well, after I was done weeping openly and begging the Lord Almighty for an answer as to why he’d forsaken me (and every other writer), I gave that a little thought.

Very little, really. Why? Because maybe one in ten people these days bothers to really look into the craftsmanship of their furniture. Most of them are probably delighted with their discount specials and the ever-so-popular futons and particleboard bookshelves they got at Ikea. Because the same number is probably true for the division between fine dining restaurants and Taco Bell.

It’s a farce to me. It’s telling me the odds and expecting me to give up in defeat. With that sort of mentality, I’d have never made it to where I am now. I’d have remained firmly entrenched in the fine world of retail without any further agendas. And yes, I still work retail, but as we’ve discussed before, that’s for insurance purposes. Trust me, Starbucks doesn’t pay me enough to cover my bills in any given month. The free coffee and health insurance are what keep me going to work and serving your triple vente, non-fat, three-pump sugar free hazelnut, latte with whip cream, with a smile.

To paraphrase Han Solo in THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK (I think), “Never tell me the odds.” They just get in the way of me doing what I’ve set out to do.

I write. On my Myspace page, http://www.myspace.com/jimshorror my quote is, “I’m just a writer.” That’s not meant to be self-effacing; it’s just a fact of life. I write every day. I write most nights. I sit my posterior in front of my PC and I tell stories, write book reviews and the occasional article for this very site. It’s what I do.

Telling me that I don’t have a chance in hell of ever getting published, telling me that no one will buy my book, look at my book or ever know any of the words I’ve written is a bit of a downer for me.

I don’t care that one in every hundred people actually reads fiction any more, or that most of them only buy the names they already recognize, because I’m gonna keep writing either way. It soothes my ragged soul and it brings peace to my otherwise chaotic world, or however you might want to think of it. I write. Sculptors sculpt. Boxers box and that guy over there who was gifted with a golden tongue either works as an award winning car salesman or maybe is slipping into politics on the local level. That’s the way of the world.

So, in the long run, the odds mean nothing. Because I write, I’m going to submit my stories and novels to publishers. Because I apparently don’t suck at it, they’ll even buy them now and again and I will, in turn, mention on my website, LiveJournal and MySpace pages as well as anywhere else that I can think of, that I’ve sold a book and won’t you please support my insane habits by now and then checking one out and thinking about picking it up. Hell, I’ve even done it here a few times and will likely continue that trend. Oh, what the heck, if you’re so inclined, please feel free to swing by http://earthlingpub.com/jmjs_forest.htm and check out THE HAUNTED FOREST TOUR by yours truly and Jeff Strand. It’s a fun time and has lots of pretty pictures by Glenn Chadbourne as an added bonus. Even if you don’t want to buy the book, you should check out the cover art.

Now, not only have I pimped myself, but I’ve made a point. My point being that despite the odds I’ve sold a novel. I’ll do you one better, let’s go over the rest of my schedule for the year real quick, to better illustrate my point.

THE HAUNTED FOREST TOUR, SLICES (my short story collection) and DEEPER, another novel that I haven’t formally announced yet, should all be out before the end of the year. SLICES might be early next year. The Berkley mass-market edition of BLOOD RED hit the shelves formally earlier this month. I’ve got a hush-hush project that is theoretically coming out from another publisher for Halloween (don’t blame me, the small presses like to announce things when they’re ready and not a moment before). I have a 10,000 words short story that I was asked to write. It’s due next week and I’ll be starting it as soon as I’ve written the last 8,000 words of my 30,000 word novella that’s supposed to come out next May. The novella is being done partially to promote my next Jonathan Crowley novel. Number five in the series, if you don’t count the novella and the occasional short story with the character. That’s already written I’m happy to say. I just finished ANOTHER 10,000 word short story about two months ago and i am now going over the final edits. It’s being used to promote and announce one of the aforementioned novels and will be online in the not too distant future as a free serialized tale for your amusement. (See? Just like that another plug!) I’ll let you know when it’s available.

Now, in addition to that stuff, I’ve got two novellas to co-write with Christopher Golden. We’ve sold them, now we need to write them. That’s 60,000 or so more words, so half of October is now taken care of. Before I start those, I need to finish a short story I was asked to write for an anthology I was invited into.

After all of that is done, I really, really want to finish the three novels I’ve got going. Preferably by the end of the year, because I have ideas for another four or so I’d like to work on next year and hopefully sell at some point. Of course, I have articles for Storytellers Unplugged to handle and, oh yeah, the reviews I’m now doing for Bloodletting Books, because Larry Roberts, the publisher of the same company, kind of likes the ones I was doing for his bulletin board and asked me nicely. No pay, but free books. How can I possibly say no? I try to get a review to Larry every two weeks at least, but hey, it’s not a top priority and he’ll understand if I miss a few of my self-imposed deadlines.

Four novels, a short story collection, three novellas, three short stories, articles and reviews. Barring unforeseen catastrophes (always a possibility) they’ll all see print within the next fifteen months.

I’m not bragging. Hell, I’m a little flabbergasted writing all of that down because for the last year or so, there’s been NOTHING of mine coming out in print. Been a dry season if you will. Nice to see a little rain.

I’m making a point. The odds don’t mean a damned thing. The odds are good that if you sit yourself down and start writing a novel, novella or even a short story, you’re not going to finish it. If you decide to beat those odds, then I salute you. Once you’ve finished it, and congratulations on your perseverance, the odds are apparently miserable that you’re ever going to sell it. Once you’ve sold it, according to the latest statistics, one in every hundred people will consider buying it.

And I don’t give a damn.

You want to write? Get to it. Have a little faith in your dreams and a lot of willingness to bust your ass and get it done. Expect to fall down a few hundred times, because I don’t know ANYONE in this industry who has had only success, but I know a lot of successful authors.

You want to get published? Like I told the gent I saw this summer: “You aren’t going to sell it if you don’t submit it.” Said gentleman had three novels sitting at home, finished and edited. What the hell was he thinking? I feel justified for popping him in the shoulder and threatening him with severe bodily injury if I find out the next time we’re together that they have not been submitted somewhere.

The odds of ever selling a novel without an agent are probably astronomical, too, but I’ve done it and so have a lot of other people. Not going off on another rant against agents, just making a point.

The Doom Criers, Nay Sayers and pessimists of the world will always be glad to tell you how likely you are to fail. ALWAYS, because it’s in their nature. It isn’t necessarily meant to be a downer when they make their predictions, but if you take them to heart, you’re only helping them fulfill the prophecies they’ve made.

Want to know a better way to handle it? Roll up those proverbial sleeves, sit your butt down and start writing. Then start selling your wares to any buyers. Then do it again and again.

And then next time you hear the cries of how you can never make it in the writing field and how, oh, poor you, the publishing industry will never give you a chance, you can smile, nod your head and know that you’re listening to the words of a moron who was never willing to try.

A little faith. That’s all.

James A. Moore