The book business has changed dramatically in recent years due to the internet, ebooks and Amazon. Book publishing has always been a business, but now all of the big houses are subsidiaries of major corporations, and there’s even a greater emphasis on publishing books that turn large profits. They focus on celebrity books, often written by ghostwriters, and books by established authors. But you now have the option of self-publishing. Amazon, for instance, will sell your book so long as it’s in the proper format, and if you don’t know how to do that, there are people who will do it for you for a reasonable fee. You can find book covers for reasonable fees, too. Amazon will sell both an ebook version and a print-on-demand version of your book. You don’t have to pay them anything up front. They make their money by taking a percentage of sales.
You might think that you’ll never become a well known and popular writer if you self-publish. Well, some have, but the truth is, only a few writers have ever become widely known celebrity authors. Few writers have ever been able to support themselves with their writing. Writing isn’t about making lots of money or being interviewed on TV chat shows. It’s about wanting to tell your story.
Even if a traditional publishing house agreed to publish your manuscript, they would likely only agree to a first run of maybe 500, 1000 or 1500 copies. Very few books make it to a second printing. If you’re a writer who sells a few hundred copies, even in the old-fashioned traditional way, then you can consider yourself a successful writer.
You might think a traditional publisher will promote your novel, but the truth is they probably wouldn’t. They use their publicity budgets to push those celebrity books and books by established authors. It’s up to everyone else to promote their own books the best way they know how.
The greatest thing a traditional publishing house will do for you is to provide you with a highly qualified editor. You might think your book doesn’t need any editing, and you might pride yourself on being a grammar Nazi who would never let a mistake slip by you. Well, my advice on that score is to get over yourself. The creative aspect of writing is hard work, but so is the physical process of writing out the words. If you write a book that’s 300 pages long, you’re going to make mistakes and a lot of them. And you’re not going to see half of them no matter if you self-edit a thousand times. But if you don’t publish in the traditional way, and you can’t afford the services of a professional editor, there are things you can do to improve your manuscript. You can have friends read your manuscript. It’s great to have a friend who notices typos, errors and inconsistencies. You don’t want a blue shirt mysteriously turning red, and if your protagonist breaks down outside of Albuquerque, you don’t want the tow truck to pick her up outside of Phoenix. A friend might ask you if you meant to tell your reader four times that your protagonist’s mother had an extra toe. There are programs available that look for mistakes, but they’re likely to miss your inconsistencies and redundancies. They look for typos and grammar errors and overused words. That can be highly valuable. You should self-edit over and over again, run your manuscript through one of these automated systems, and then give the manuscript to a few trusted friends. If you really want to do your story justice, and you can afford to spend several thousand dollars on a professional edit, my advice is to go for it. You might not recover that money, but storytelling is about storytelling, not making money.
My dream of being a writer began when I was in my teens. I imagined that I’d finish school, have a career, and then retire at age 35 or 40 after my first book was published. Well, that didn’t happen. But I have written three novels, and I’ve sold well over 1500 copies so far. For years, I tried to find an agent and get published the old-fashioned way, but no one was interested. Several agents told me my stories sounded interesting, but gay characters aren’t moneymakers, so stories about gay characters are a hard sell. Well, okay then. I want to tell my stories, the ones that burn inside my imagination. I don’t want to make up shit that will sell just for the sake of being popular or marketable.
Putting your stuff out there can be scary. There are always going to be people who don’t like your stories, and they won’t be shy about saying so. If you agree with their criticism, you can use what they say to become a better storyteller, but if they’re looking for stories about giraffes, and you write stories about goats, what can you do? You can’t please everybody, and some will take delight in knocking you no matter what you write. Those people need to feel superior, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to write a nasty review. But if you put forth an effort to tell your story well, some will appreciate it and tell you.
If you have a story to tell, I urge you to do it. And don’t hold back. I came across a good bit of advice from a writer a few years ago; write as though your parents were dead. That sounds harsh, and it is, but what he was getting at is you should be honest about your story. Try to be truthful about the story in your head, not respectable. Respectable is flat and tedious. Good luck!
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Friday, March 17, 2017
The Need For Solitude
The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit by Michael Finkel tells us about Christopher Knight, a man who lived alone in the woods of central Maine for 27 years. If you look up Christopher on the internet, be sure to add the word “hermit” in your search, or you’ll be swamped with links about another famous Christopher Knight, Peter from the Brady Bunch.
Christopher was born on December 7, 1965. I was born on Sept. 28 of the same year, so I’m about 10 weeks older than he is. Just as I suspected when I discovered the book, I identify with Christopher’s need for solitude. I found him to be a bit prickly and sometimes judgy in a way I don’t like, but he admitted to Finkel toward the end of the book that some find him to be arrogant, and he doesn’t mean to come across that way. Maybe he states his opinions a little too strongly due to a lack of social skills. If that’s the case, I can relate to that, too.
Christopher was a shy, nerdy boy, but according to classmates, he wasn’t in any way freakish. He was simply quiet. He was smart, but he kept to himself. A few recall that he had a sense of humor. He grew up in rural Maine, and nearly everyone in his family was pretty quiet.
He got a job after graduating high school, and he bought a car, a Subaru Brat. But in 1986 when he was 20 years old, something snapped. He abruptly quit his job and drove his Brat all the way to Florida, and then he turned around and drove all the way back to Maine. He claims he didn’t have any kind of master plan. It all happened spontaneously. He drove the Brat along narrow, disserted roads until he was almost out of gas. Then he stopped, threw the keys down and walked into the woods with nothing other than the clothes on his back.
He ended up at North Pond, which was only about 30 miles from his home, but he didn’t know where he was. He felt comfortable there, so he stayed. He camped at various locations over the next several months, but then he found the perfect hiding spot. It was a small clearing surrounded by dense undergrowth, and the area around his camp was rocky, so it was unwelcoming to hikers and hunters. His camp was only a three-minute walk from a driveway, and yet he was able to live in this spot undetected for 27 years. He claims he only spoke to one person in all that time. He passed a hiker on a trail in the ‘90s, and the two men said hi to each other. His family never reported him missing, and no one ever reported finding the car. He was little more than a kid. He had no close friends. He was still a virgin, and he had never been on a date.
Even though he was taught how to hunt and fish as a boy, he did not attempt to live off of the land. He didn’t plant vegetables at his camp. He survived by stealing food and supplies. North Pond is surrounded by about 100 small cabins. These aren’t luxury vacation homes, but humble, rustic dwellings owned by ordinary people, teachers and plumbers. Many of the cabins have been in the family for generations. Christopher avoided breaking into cabins when they were occupied, and he never smashed panes of glass or broke down doors. He jimmied locks and climbed through windows, and he tried to cover up any trace that he had been there. He stole food, camping equipment, clothing, propane tanks, batteries, bedding and books. He never stole anything expensive.
He made his supply runs in the middle of the night, and he only went out when it was icy or about to rain or snow so that he wouldn’t leave any tracks. He was always freshly shaven, and he wore clean clothes when he left his hiding spot so that if anyone saw him, they wouldn’t find his appearance unusual. Once he was snowed in for winter in November, he stayed at his camp until the spring thaw. He nearly died every winter, but he was determined to stay in his little clearing by himself.
He kept up with current events by listening to the radio, and for a time, he had a small, portable TV that he powered with car batteries.
The cabin owners eventually noticed that things were disappearing. At first, some thought they were losing their minds, but they started talking to each other, and they realized someone was breaking in. It’s estimated that Christopher committed over 1,000 burglaries. Many cabins were broken into dozens of times. The legend of the North Pond hermit grew.
Since Christopher never threatened anyone or stole anything of great value, authorities didn’t spend a lot of resources trying to catch him. But one game warden became obsessed with the case. He borrowed some sophisticated equipment from border patrol and finally nabbed Christopher one night as he was pillaging the pantry of a camp for disabled children. Christopher surrendered without putting up a fight, and he readily admitted to his crimes. He never defended himself or offered any excuses. He was remorseful and claimed he felt great shame. He also said he was scared to death every time he broke into a cabin.
Many of the cabin owners despised Christopher, and they wanted him to be sent to prison for the rest of his life. It wasn’t what he took that was the problem. It was the sense of violation that upset them. The cabins were supposed to be retreats from the troubles of the world, but some say they never felt secure or safe at North Pond. No one had ever seen Christopher, so he could have been a psycho armed to the teeth for all they knew. Some of the children were terrified of him. Some were afraid to sleep in their cabins alone. Christopher scared the crap out of one young man. He decided to go up to his parents’ cabin one weekend, but he drove a large truck for his work. The truck wouldn’t fit in the cabin’s driveway, so the boy parked it about a half mile away. Assuming the cabin was empty since the place was dark and quiet and there wasn’t a car around, Christopher broke in when the boy was sleeping. The boy didn’t have a weapon, and he was afraid the intruder meant to harm him. He reacted by screaming threats and obscenities at the unseen stranger in the house. Christopher quickly withdrew without saying a word. I can understand why the cabin owners would hate Christopher.
Christopher was sent to jail. He wasn’t granted bail because he was a flight risk. He was in jail for 7 months while the case was being sorted out. Finkel interviewed him several times while he was in jail. The judge decided not to send him to prison. His punishment was a fine, probation, therapy and time served. His mother was still alive, and he moved back in with her. His brother gave him a solitary mechanic’s job.
Some have speculated that Christopher might have a mild form of autism. Others thought he might have a schizoid personality disorder or that he might suffer from depression. Finkel talked to several mental health professionals, and they agreed that Christopher displayed some symptoms of all of those things, but he didn’t neatly fit into any category.
Christopher told Finkel that he simply felt out of place and uncomfortable around other people. Christopher followed all of the court’s directions to the letter, and he appeared to be reintegrating back into society about as well as could be expected. But the last time Finkel spoke to Christopher at his mother’s house, Christopher admitted that he wasn’t doing well. He said everyone treated him like a child. He couldn’t stand it, and he wanted nothing more than to return to the woods. Christopher cried, and that made Finkel cry. He asked Finkel if he thought he was crazy. Finkel said he didn’t think so. I don’t either.
Christopher was born on December 7, 1965. I was born on Sept. 28 of the same year, so I’m about 10 weeks older than he is. Just as I suspected when I discovered the book, I identify with Christopher’s need for solitude. I found him to be a bit prickly and sometimes judgy in a way I don’t like, but he admitted to Finkel toward the end of the book that some find him to be arrogant, and he doesn’t mean to come across that way. Maybe he states his opinions a little too strongly due to a lack of social skills. If that’s the case, I can relate to that, too.
Christopher was a shy, nerdy boy, but according to classmates, he wasn’t in any way freakish. He was simply quiet. He was smart, but he kept to himself. A few recall that he had a sense of humor. He grew up in rural Maine, and nearly everyone in his family was pretty quiet.
He got a job after graduating high school, and he bought a car, a Subaru Brat. But in 1986 when he was 20 years old, something snapped. He abruptly quit his job and drove his Brat all the way to Florida, and then he turned around and drove all the way back to Maine. He claims he didn’t have any kind of master plan. It all happened spontaneously. He drove the Brat along narrow, disserted roads until he was almost out of gas. Then he stopped, threw the keys down and walked into the woods with nothing other than the clothes on his back.
He ended up at North Pond, which was only about 30 miles from his home, but he didn’t know where he was. He felt comfortable there, so he stayed. He camped at various locations over the next several months, but then he found the perfect hiding spot. It was a small clearing surrounded by dense undergrowth, and the area around his camp was rocky, so it was unwelcoming to hikers and hunters. His camp was only a three-minute walk from a driveway, and yet he was able to live in this spot undetected for 27 years. He claims he only spoke to one person in all that time. He passed a hiker on a trail in the ‘90s, and the two men said hi to each other. His family never reported him missing, and no one ever reported finding the car. He was little more than a kid. He had no close friends. He was still a virgin, and he had never been on a date.
Even though he was taught how to hunt and fish as a boy, he did not attempt to live off of the land. He didn’t plant vegetables at his camp. He survived by stealing food and supplies. North Pond is surrounded by about 100 small cabins. These aren’t luxury vacation homes, but humble, rustic dwellings owned by ordinary people, teachers and plumbers. Many of the cabins have been in the family for generations. Christopher avoided breaking into cabins when they were occupied, and he never smashed panes of glass or broke down doors. He jimmied locks and climbed through windows, and he tried to cover up any trace that he had been there. He stole food, camping equipment, clothing, propane tanks, batteries, bedding and books. He never stole anything expensive.
He made his supply runs in the middle of the night, and he only went out when it was icy or about to rain or snow so that he wouldn’t leave any tracks. He was always freshly shaven, and he wore clean clothes when he left his hiding spot so that if anyone saw him, they wouldn’t find his appearance unusual. Once he was snowed in for winter in November, he stayed at his camp until the spring thaw. He nearly died every winter, but he was determined to stay in his little clearing by himself.
He kept up with current events by listening to the radio, and for a time, he had a small, portable TV that he powered with car batteries.
The cabin owners eventually noticed that things were disappearing. At first, some thought they were losing their minds, but they started talking to each other, and they realized someone was breaking in. It’s estimated that Christopher committed over 1,000 burglaries. Many cabins were broken into dozens of times. The legend of the North Pond hermit grew.
Since Christopher never threatened anyone or stole anything of great value, authorities didn’t spend a lot of resources trying to catch him. But one game warden became obsessed with the case. He borrowed some sophisticated equipment from border patrol and finally nabbed Christopher one night as he was pillaging the pantry of a camp for disabled children. Christopher surrendered without putting up a fight, and he readily admitted to his crimes. He never defended himself or offered any excuses. He was remorseful and claimed he felt great shame. He also said he was scared to death every time he broke into a cabin.
Many of the cabin owners despised Christopher, and they wanted him to be sent to prison for the rest of his life. It wasn’t what he took that was the problem. It was the sense of violation that upset them. The cabins were supposed to be retreats from the troubles of the world, but some say they never felt secure or safe at North Pond. No one had ever seen Christopher, so he could have been a psycho armed to the teeth for all they knew. Some of the children were terrified of him. Some were afraid to sleep in their cabins alone. Christopher scared the crap out of one young man. He decided to go up to his parents’ cabin one weekend, but he drove a large truck for his work. The truck wouldn’t fit in the cabin’s driveway, so the boy parked it about a half mile away. Assuming the cabin was empty since the place was dark and quiet and there wasn’t a car around, Christopher broke in when the boy was sleeping. The boy didn’t have a weapon, and he was afraid the intruder meant to harm him. He reacted by screaming threats and obscenities at the unseen stranger in the house. Christopher quickly withdrew without saying a word. I can understand why the cabin owners would hate Christopher.
Christopher was sent to jail. He wasn’t granted bail because he was a flight risk. He was in jail for 7 months while the case was being sorted out. Finkel interviewed him several times while he was in jail. The judge decided not to send him to prison. His punishment was a fine, probation, therapy and time served. His mother was still alive, and he moved back in with her. His brother gave him a solitary mechanic’s job.
Some have speculated that Christopher might have a mild form of autism. Others thought he might have a schizoid personality disorder or that he might suffer from depression. Finkel talked to several mental health professionals, and they agreed that Christopher displayed some symptoms of all of those things, but he didn’t neatly fit into any category.
Christopher told Finkel that he simply felt out of place and uncomfortable around other people. Christopher followed all of the court’s directions to the letter, and he appeared to be reintegrating back into society about as well as could be expected. But the last time Finkel spoke to Christopher at his mother’s house, Christopher admitted that he wasn’t doing well. He said everyone treated him like a child. He couldn’t stand it, and he wanted nothing more than to return to the woods. Christopher cried, and that made Finkel cry. He asked Finkel if he thought he was crazy. Finkel said he didn’t think so. I don’t either.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)