Finally.
It took
some doing, but there it is: a publisher with a contract for my book, "The
Zombie Axiom." And not just that one book, all three books in the "In
the Time of the Dead” trilogy.
Imagine
that!
Man, what
a process it was...
- cue
dreamy music, full of harp strings and faraway glances to a starry sky-
It all
started long, long ago in a faraway land...
- needle
scratches across vinyl-
Well, not
really, it was actually only a few years ago in Northern New York, but doesn't,
"long, long ago in a faraway land" sound better? I think so...
-okay,
start the music again, ah screw it, that music sucks-
Anyway,
it all started long, long ago in a faraway land with some great advice from a
learned sage. Now, we've already been over the faraway land stuff and the long,
long ago stuff, so who's this "learned sage" fella? That ladies and
gentlemen, is an easy one...
-drum
roll please-
The guys
name is Murray Tinkelman.
"Ah,"
you say, "I see," you say, "Exactly who is this Tinkelman?"
Right, I
can see for those of you outside of the realm of illustration or art or
coolness, you would probably not know who he is. For those of us into
illustration and art and coolness, we know he is this amazing illustrator,
a wonderful teacher and art historian, and we know that he's excellent at
dispensing short barbs of advice that stick and welter and then grow into
something good.
At least
that's what happened with me.
You see,
I had decided to get my Masters of Fine Arts degree in illustration, and I
started nosing around for programs that would allow me to continue working from
home while I did this because, let's face it, I had a wife, a kid, and a house.
I wasn't about ready to go some university and live in a dorm, go to parties,
and bars, and... waitaminute what was I thinking? That sounds like
fun! But no, no, no, I had responsibilities darn it. I'm an adult!
Ahem.
Finally, after much searching, I had found a program that I thought was a good
fit only to find out it wasn't actually a good fit at all, too much design, too
little illustration, too tight around the waist.
That's
when I found The University of Hartford's Low Residency MFA (link here: The
University of Hartford MFA) , headed by a professor I
had at Syracuse University, the aforementioned Murray Tinkelman. While
there, I busied myself with drawing and painting, painting and drawing- basically
doing all the things you do while taking art classes. In the midst of all this
drawing and painting, there was, of course, the writing of papers. It was here,
in the writing of the papers, where Murray dispensed one of his barbs of
advice in my direction. In this case, it was something like, "You're
really good at writing. I've been teaching for (insert incredible amount of
years) and you're one of the top two or three people I've had who can write so
good. You should keep writing." Something like that. To me that was
huge. In case you haven't guessed it yet, I really respect this guy, and to
have him tell me that was quite startling. I took it seriously.
The barb had stuck.
Shortly
after, it began to welter. I was a good writer? Hmm… I thought about how I’d
always loved books. I love the smell of them, the beauty of the covers, the
feel of the pages, the way they could lift you out of wherever you were and
drop you wherever they were. That love is what got me into creating the art for
them in the first place. So, if I’m good at writing, why don’t I write one! Why
don’t I write my own novels, paint the covers, and throw in a handful of
internal illustrations to round them out.
Why don’t
I?
And then I
did it. I wrote a book. I did a
bunch of illustrations. It took a couple of years, but I did it. When it was
done, I thought, "Now what? I've got this manuscript and these
illustrations, what the hell do I do with all of it?" Excellent question.
From where I stood, I could see two different paths: the self-publishing route
and the traditional route. To me, the traditional route held more appeal. It was
the way I had always seen it done since I was a kid. Why not give that a shot
first? Float my book the traditional way, you know, find an agent, get a
publisher, and then, I don't know... repeat with the next book. If it doesn't fly,
go with self-publishing.
This was
good. I had a plan.
The first
step was getting a literary agent. So I researched, I wrote one page summaries,
I wrote two page summaries, I wrote five hundred word summaries, I even wrote
five sentence summaries. I was so sick of summaries. Then I wrote query
letters, query letters upon query letters. Query. That's a funny word. I said
it to myself so much that it stopped meaning anything. Query. Querying. Query.
Queried. After that, or during that, I got kinda confused with all
that summary writing and repeating of "query" to myself, I sent all
that stuff out.
And I was
rejected.
Repeatedly.
For three
months I was rejected. Don't get me wrong, as an artist I know rejection. I've
received my fair share of, "Thanks, but no thanks" replies. Here,
though, it was different. I mean, since I was a kid I've always drawn pictures,
and I've always had people giving me their opinions on them, be they relatives,
professors, or art directors. I had developed a thick skin from all those
critiques. But this form of expression, this writing business, was new, something
that was still sort of fragile, where if it took on too much water, it would
just sink. In short, getting rejected for my writing seemed to suck way more
than getting rejected for my artwork. Weird, I know, but there it is.
Anyway, I
was rejected. Poor me.
There I
was, thinking I really should stop all this useless writing and querying and
hand-wringing until, one day, I got an email from an agent who wanted to see my
manuscript.
Okay,
what?
That's
right, someone wanted to see my work. How cool is that?! With bated breath, I
sent it out. He read it. He liked it. We signed a contract. Just like that I
had an agent. Wow! How validating is that? It felt great!
Yes, it
felt great. Right up to the point when the rejection started again. A years’
worth of, "Sorry, this isn't the right fit for us." Ugh.
My agent
and I had a conversation at that point. We decided that, because the publishing
market was changing so much, it was no longer a big deal for publishers to take
on a title that had been self-published. In fact, if it's done well, it might
even serve to show them how great the whole package is... the words, the cover,
the images inside, not to mention the marketing end (including the Facebook
page, Twitter account, Amazon Author Page, reviews, all that stuff).
I was
convinced. Plus, I was tired of sitting around on all that work. I wanted to
see the thing done. If I had to do it myself, so be it!
To that
end, I arranged a Kickstarter drive and used the cash from that successful fund
raiser to pay for an editor, a website redo, and marketing expenses. I then put
the book together, did a great big ole opening, complete with a social media
blitz and a kick-ass book launch party, and I stuck that thing up on Amazon for
the world to see.
Tah-dah!
It was
done. It looked great. People bought it! I started to get some reviews in, and
people liked it! It felt great.
Still... I
hate to say it, but anyone can self-publish. Really. Anyone. What I really
wanted, what I really needed to truly feel that my work was professional,
was a company behind me, one that was willing to say that my writing
was so good they would publish it. That’s it, pure and simple.
Then it
happened. A publishing company we queried got back to us and said they wanted
to take me on board. I wrote before how validating it was to get an agent,
remember? This was way better.
And as it
stands now, I’m still sort of there, basking in the joy of feeling like my writing doesn't suck, windmilling
in the sun, in the middle of a field of daisies, arms widespread, head back.
Well, maybe not that last part. That would be… weird. But, dang, it feels like
that. It’s a good thing right now. Of course, ask me six months from this point and you
may get a different answer. I don’t know. Maybe not. I’d like to believe it
would still be that way, that the barb had gone in and had made something good
that lasts. Stay tuned. I’ll tell you if it does.
