Ramblings of Jeff Somers, author
Jeff Somers (www.jeffreysomers.com) was born in Jersey City, New Jersey and regrets nothing. He is the author of Lifers, the Avery Cates series published by Orbit Books, Chum from Tyrus Books, and We Are Not Good People from Pocket Books. He sold his first novel at age 16 to a tiny publisher in California which quickly went out of business and has spent the last two decades assuring potential publishers that this was a coincidence. Jeff publishes a zine called The Inner Swine and has also published a few dozen short stories; his story “Sift, Almost Invisible, Through” appeared in the anthology Crimes by Moonlight, published by Berkley Hardcover and edited by Charlaine Harris. His guitar playing is a plague upon his household and his lovely wife The Duchess is convinced he would wither and die if left to his own devices.
Hola,
Just a quick note for anyone interested that GUD Magazine #2, containing my story closer in my heart to thee, is out and you – yes you! – can buy a copy.
Check out their site here. Then buy a few copies so’s Jeff can get some liquor monies, and stop this nagging shake that’s been making my handwriting so unreadable recently.
You know what the problem with me trying to post on this blog every day? Nothing ever happens to me. Nothing, seriously. I also have very few thoughts which would qualify as “blog-able”. I am sure this surprises no one, especially those who actually read my zine The Inner Swine. The poor souls. If I were to somehow summon the energy to blog every day, the posts would read something like this:
Woke up, still tired. Sat and stared at day-job work for some time while cats batted my ears with their paws, painfully. Finally fed cats to much purring and rejoicing. Wife called me “little man” again while threatening to beat me if the house wasn’t cleaned by the time she got home. Napped some. Had bourbon for lunch again, no regrets.
I don’t think anyone wants something like that.
I do have some news today, though! It’s the Second Annual Fantasy Bookspot Book Tournament! Check out the explanation of what’s going on and note, dearest readers, that The Electric Church has been nominated. If you’re inclined and able, vote the heck out of it. Please. If nothing else, defend it against theBlue Meanies who will call it names and make me cry.
Finally, the ARCs of The Digital Plague are in, and they are gorgeous. Orbit sure knows how to make me look like a genius.
Whew! Gotta start trying to post more often, but as far as writing goes I’m being pulled in a dozen different ways and getting to the blog has fallen down the list. This is probably bad as no one wants to come back to a blog that’s never updated, but something’s got to be sacrificed, and no one is paying me to write this blog. Any takers?
I spent some time over the weekend organizing and re-filing the masses of hardcopy manuscripts I have. Not only do I keep everything – I have stories and novels written when I was 13 and in dire need of a kick in the ass – but I keep everything on paper, too. Not to say I don’t have electronic backups; everything written pretty much after 1996 I have on disk somewhere and even the old HC has been scanned to PDF files, er most of it anyway. But I still print out a hard copy of everything and file it the old-fashioned way, because, you know, no one has ever made that file format obsolete, and no one has ever stopped making paper, dig? If you ask which is more likely to be readable by our alien overlords in 2000 years, paper or PDF, I’ll go with paper.
In fact, if the house burned down and I was able to only save the backup DVDs, the first thing I’d do is print everything out again.
I mean, looking back, electronic files have a shitty record for me. When I was a kid writing short stories on my Commodore 64, I used something called KWrite (I think that was its name–no relation to the KDE word processor used in Linux these days). I still have 5.25″ disks with KWrite files on them, unreadable by any modern computer. Sure, assuming those disks are still viable I might hook up my old C64 (yes, I still have it) and somehow extract those files, but it wouldn’t be easy. And what would I extract them to? Paper, probably. Maybe I could convert them to something usable by modern PCs, but it probably wouldn’t be worth it. Thank goodness I *do* have a HC of those early, awful stories.
Then, a few years later I got my first PC, second hand from a friend, a creaky old 386 model. I installed Word Perfect on it and have a ton of files from that era as well. WordPerfect still exists, of course, so those files aren’t lost, but they might as well be since I won’t dish out the $$$ to buy a copy. Then there was the brief, hellish tour of duty with MS Word, and now I’m comfortable in my Linux dotage, using Open Office and loving it. Chances any of those file formats will be usable in 500 years, assuming my hard disks and DVD backups survive? Approximately zero, I think.
Chances the paper will still be readable? Pretty good.
Anyway, part of the reason I am pressed for time is these damn cats. I have four of them, and this is what they think of me working:
Translation: not much.
Finally, for those of you who have read through this whole post: I need a title for Avery Cates #3. For some reason, I’m halfway through this one and a title eludes me, which rarely happens. It needs to be punchy like its predecessors – The Electric Church and The Digital Plague. A three word phrase with an adjective vaguely connected to science etc. How hard can it be?
Damn hard. If anyone has a suggestion, feel free, though note that I will shamelessly steal it from you if it’s any good and offer absolutely no credit, so be warned.
I called my Corporate Masters the other day and was put on hold for seventeen hours while their Muzak played “MacArthur Park” softly into my ear until I was convinced that I’d never have that recipe again. Every few minutes someone would pick up and ask if I was still there, and every time I said “Yes,” as politely as I could, I heard raucous laughter in the background and then I was unceremoniously put on hold again.
I’m in that strange first-book twilight zone, where I don’t know anything. I won’t get sales figures on The Electric Church until next summer, probably, and in the mean time I’m in the Vacuum of Doom, where I have no information to go on and therefore am free to imagine the worst possible scenarios, like Doom Scenario #1: Not only have sales been too low to measure, but people are actually returning it for angry refunds.
Okay, maybe a little paranoid. Part of the problem is that damned Amazon Sales Rank, which has been swelling of late into larger and more frightening numbers. On the one hand, Amazon is one of the few metrics I have to judge sales by. On the other hand, it is famously useless, as Amazon has invented its own New Math to calculate it and Amazon is less than 10% of the total sales market for a book like mine. Still, it’s all I have to go by, and as it grows it looms large in my paranoid fantasies.
My shelves here in the Compound, you see, are stocked with a lot of 1980s SF/F paperbacks by people who have completely disappeared. Some have died, of course, which is a good excuse for not publishing anything since 1987, of course, but some you can find on the Internets, sadly wondering why they haven’t sold a book in 20 years. So I glance at my shelves and think, damn, that could be me. Damn, maybe that is me. And then you pour yourself another drink.
Of course, then you read about something like this: an author defying his own publisher and helping to pirate copies of his own book by way of marketing, and as a result seeing a huge surge in sales. This reminds me of another recent story here, where a self-published author spent $50,000 or so of her own money promoting her self-published book and eventually got a $2-million deal for it. It all starts to make you wonder.
On the one hand, I’ve heard from a lot of people who believe fervently that giving away your art actually results in more sales, and the first story I linked to seems to be another proof of that concept. But I don’t buy it, personally. This is probably because I’ve been trained too well in the education system, but I think about my own experience, and the simple fact is that when someone gives me something for free, I tend to not buy it. Simple truth. I regard free shit as a sucker’s gift and I run away with it clutched in my hands to gloat over it and call it precious and then sleep the sleep of the just later on.
Now, if you give me a part of a book or album of movie – a sample – that will, naturally enough, sometimes inspire me to buy the whole thing. But if you give me the whole thing, I simply never even consider buying it. I don’t steal books or music either, I want to point out – I’m talking about a freely given copy of something. Maybe I am just an evil little bastard. It’s always possible. Certainly my imaginary double, Mr. Evil, tells me that all the time, generally while he’s advising me to burn down buildings and build homemade pipe bombs.
And one thing I definitely am is ignorant and slightly foolish, so it’s always possible I’m totally missing the damn point with this theory.
None of which helps me with my paranoid fantasies, of course. Oh well.
My sainted wife, The Duchess, is an inveterate and unapologetic fan of American Idol. Me, not so much, though I admit it has a certain gonzo freakshow entertainment factor. The other night she was watching and wondered aloud how it is that people who are so obviously untalented could delude themselves into thinking they are undiscovered geniuses. I mean, its one thing to be modestly talented and think you’re better than you are; at least there’s some toehold in reality to grab hold of. But some of these people are fucking dreadful, how do they imagine they’re good?
Ah, but I understand. I’m a writer.
It does take a certain amount of arrogance to be a writer. I’d imagine it takes some arrogance to be any kind of artist. You have to push past negative criticism, rejection letters, heavy-handed editors who get angry if you resist some of their suggestions, and the mockery and disdain of your friends and the shame of admitting that you earned $12.34 last year from your writing. If you’re not 100% sure you’re hot shit, how in the world do you push past that?
A lot of people don’t, of course. I know a lot of writers who haven’t written in years, or who still write for themselves but who have given up trying to publish or sell what they’ve written. Some of them have talent, some of them suck and the world breathes a sigh of heady relief at their surrender, but I think they all lacked the sort of psychotic conviction that their work is some of the best work ever written. Like the one guy on American Idol said last night before launching into some of the craziest crazy mousic a crazy man has ever sung a-cappella in the history of crazies singing unaccompanied: “These songs need to be on the radio.”
Get it? Not “I think I’m pretty good” or “some folks at my job say I could be the next Meatloaf”. These songs need to be on the radio. Like the history of culture won’t graduate to the next level unless we hear this guy’s wacked-out stylings. That kind of arrogance I’m familiar with, because it’s what I’ve been saying about my writing since I was about twelve. Back then, everyone pelted me with trash and called me Writer Boy. Or worse things. But now? Well. . .now it’s actually kind of the same, but at least I can whip out my Amazon rankings to prove I actually have a book on sale.
That’s what it takes, I think–that sort of crazy certainty that you have talent, even in the absence of any actual evidence to that effect. That sort of arrogance is absolutely necessary for what we do. And also damned entertaining for you, considering how often the dying Pac Man sound goes off around me, signalling yet anothe rterrible failure. Enjoy!
My wife The Duchess, our friend Karen, and I traveled to Upper Saddle River, New Jersey last night to attend a meeting of the Science Fiction Association of Bergen County. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it turned out to be a great experience. Our friend Karen proofreads The Inner Swine and barely tolerates her association with me, but she lives in the area so volunteered to be part of my traveling audience. Of course, as readers of TIS already know, having Karen along as your traveling audience is a mixed blessing, as she thinks shouting rude things at you from the seats is “funny”.
This was easily one of the best experiences I’ve ever had promoting a book – there were a lot of interested, cool people there, I got to jabber on and on for a long time about myself which is always enjoyable, we sold and signed a few books, and Karen had us over her place afterwards for delicious cake – what more can a dessicated, aging hipster doofus of an author want? Nothing, that’s what.
The evening started off with the three of us locked out of the building where the meeting was held, pounding on the door and wondering if this was all some sort of meta-joke on me – I admit I looked askance at Karen, wondering if this was a plot of hers to humiliate me, which would amuse her. When we finally found our way in, there was a little informal chat session ahead of the actual meeting where I got to circulate a bit and meet a few of the members, who were all shockingly interested in what I had to say. My wife and Karen spent this time setting up books on the display table while I tried to look authorly – which, thank goodness, I define as “somewhat drunk and wrinkly”.
After a few announcements, I was put on the stage where I started rambling on about my life and writing The Electric Church. Nothing beats talking about yourself, but eventually I stammered to a stopping point as people began checking their watches and glaring at me – subtle signs I’ve learned over the years that I have been talking too much about my plans to enslave Helper Monkeys and teach them to mix me cocktails.
Then there was an extended question-and-answer period, with a lot of really great questions. We took a break to sing Happy Birthday to one of the members – any appearance I make where I get to sing Happy Birthday and am offered cake is a good appearance – and then a few more questions. I managed to not be completely incoherent, I think, though there were a few moments of incoherency. I did suddenly regain consciousness on the stage at one point and everyone was huddled around me, looking worried, but I sprang to my feet, shouted “TA-DA!” and that seemed to smooth over the awkwardness. In the end, my pants did not fall down around my ankles while I was talking, and that’s always a triumph.
My hat’s off to SFABC Director Phil De Parto for running a tight ship – he kept things moving, asked a bunch of really great questions himself, and was extremely friendly and helpful. All in all I’m jazzed I went. Here’re some pictures for ya:
Jeff Discussing The Electric Church with SFABC Member.
Jeff Signing Books at the End of the Meeting.
Jeff and Karen in a Rare Pose Where Karen is Not Assaulting the Author.
Robert over at Fantasy Book Critic asked me (among many other writers) to list our favorite SF/F books from 2007, and I was honored to comply, though compiling the list was difficult. Surf on over and see what I and other luminaries had to say!
Hey there hi there ho there. Just a reminder that I’ll be rocking out at The Saddle River Valley Cultural Center with The Science Fiction Association of Bergen County on Saturday at 8pm. Come on by if you’re in the area and want to tell me I’m a (1) genius or (2) jackass. Everyone’s welcome.
What will I do there? I don’t know, actually. Maybe read, maybe just answer questions, maybe a little dance, depending on how much I’ve had to drink. I’ll take requests if you want to hear a torch song. I’ll sign books and body parts and generally try to charm the hell out of anyone who cares to say hey to me. And if you offer me a few bucks I’m happy to entertain whatever weird stunts you’d like to see me perform.
So come on down, bring your friends and your recording equipment and let’s make some history! Or something.
Over at the Blog Spontaneous Derivation, there’s a short essay about how serial writing/publishing is an excellent way to force yourself to complete a project, and The Electric Church gets used as a positive example of how it can lead to good work. The idea being that sometimes our interior editor keeps us revising endlessly, never satisfied, even though the first draft might have been 90% ready for prime time.
I’m a big believer in this, obviously. I’ve already covered how TEC got written and how I enjoyed and learned from the process, but to be honest I’ve never been a perfectionist when it comes to writing. I hate revising. I always think the first draft is the punchiest, the most passionate, and the most fun – while I acknowledge that my first drafts are also in dire need of a copy-edit and a plot scan, I don’t think any book or story improves much from simply re-writing the same thoughts in supposedly superior language. I always just do a rough draft, then a revision just for typos and glaring problems with plot where I obviously changed my mind or forgot something I did in chapter 4, and a small amount of line-fixing. Then I show it around to people I trust, ignore their heartfelt advice, and maybe do a final revision just to work out some kinks. In other words, I don’t ever re-write chunks of text simply because I’m dissatisfied. Whatever it says about me as an artist or whatever, I more or less like my first drafts.
This is especially true about the actual language. If you point out plot holes, or give me a grand idea about how to resolve plot things more elegantly or more explosively – better, in other words – I’m happy to tinker. But if you say “Your line here about the drunken elephant is kind of awkward” I’m more likely to smile politely, tell you I’ll take a look at it, and then grouse all the way home about how I like the drunk elephant line. And then ignore you.
Of course, this may be hubris, and history may mark me down as a lazy man who refused to revise his writing because he was, as scientists term it, “not smart”. My rampage across the (semi) literary world continues, unabated!
Ah, these rare moments of joy: SF Signal has The Electric Church to a best-of 2007 list:
http://www.sfsignal.com/archives/006068.html
This sho’ is fun.