Debut2009 LiveJournal comunity is a group of Young Adult (YA) authors getting their first book published in 2009. It was my turn to post the discussion topic of the week (lucky them), so I selected violence in Young Adult fiction. In it, I discard Nathaniel Hawthorne in favor of Stan Lee, and concede that you are not automatically lame just because you like sports.
For some reason embedding isn’t working so just click to go there. Sorry…
In that glorious post in which I announced that my book is getting published, I also mentioned that my employers asked me to be a part of a very small pilot to see how iPhones might work in our network. Free iPhone? How could I say no? Not only would it be fun to play with, think of all the crazy live posting I could do in blog, Twitter, Last.fm, Flickr, Facebook, etc. And true, the power of the iPhone was felt soon enough, when we drove down to Virginia to get our new puppy. It was a long drive and I was bored and fiddling with my iPhone (don’t worry, my wife was driving). I updated my status in Facebook to say we were driving to VA for a puppy. Then on the way back, I snapped a pic and posted immediately to Flickr. By the time we got home, our email inboxes and voicemail were full of friends on both coasts ooing and ahhhing over how cute Dharma is. Pretty sweet.Here’s the thing. I will be on my iPhone anywhere. Yes, anywhere. Checking email, updating Twitter, taking notes on this or that, sometimes just reading my RSS feeds. I am an addict.
Two problems with this:
I’ve blogged before about how important is to be preset in your life. But this cannot happen if you’re constantly stepping back to tweet about it.
The other problem is the lack of creative playtime for your brain. Because there are times when you need to be a GTD productivity monster, and there are other times when you need (at least, a writer does) to stare off into space and daydream.
It’s time I set some limits on the technology, boys and girls, and not let the means become the ends.
Scarlett Johansson + Tom Waits + Dave Sitek (of TV on the Radio) + David Bowie = ultimate geek hipster mash-up?
It doesn’t even have to be good, really.
Although, surprisingly, it’s not terrible…
Stream Scarlett Johansson singing “Falling Down” by Tom Waits
If you download one thing today, it should probably be the thing you really need to download (like your student loan invoice)
But once you finish downloading all the stuff you need to download, you should download Mothers and Other Monsters by Maureen F. McHugh. Because it’s awesome and now it’s free under Creative Commons license.
While you’re there, you may want to download Stranger Things Happen by Kelly Link (one of my all-time favorite writers). And just to be on the safe side, I supposed you’d want to download John Kessel’s The Baum Plan for Financial Independance and Other Stories. I haven’t read that last one, but if it’s published by Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, you can be reasonably sure it’s awesome as well.
And, well, it is free.
I have mixed feelings about the phrase “graphic novel”. I realize that it was invented by publishers to sidestep the somewhat deserved reputation of comics being hack work. But the phrase reeks of pretension and respectability, and those are very dangerous qualities for comics. In an excellent interview with Studio 360’s Kurt Anderson, Neil Gaiman, author of such groundbreaking comics as Sandman, Mr. Punch, and Signal to Noise, talks about the danger of comics becoming respectable. He suggested that it was precisely their fringe nature that allowed comics the freedom to do all the wonderful and daring work that it accomplished in the last two decades. That makes a lot of sense and it’s certainly something to keep in mind now, as comics infiltrate the likes of Virgin, Harper Collins and Del Rey. When Publisher’s Weekly started offering a regular comics column, I knew something had changed. But what, precisely? And was it a good thing or the Death of Comics?
A new magazine (which I will not refer to by their real name) posted a call for submissions. It had a target audience of 18-35 year old English-speaking Latin men. Subjects included movie and television reviews, culture, minimal politics, and scantily clad women. Think of it as Maxim with a Spanish flavor. Culling my brain for material I might be able to contribute to such a publication, I remembered a recent article in the Seattle Times about minorities breaking into the comics medium. It was a nice little article and for someone who knew nothing of comics, it was probably very informative. However, for me it seemed only the beginning of a larger issue about race in pop culture. I thought there might be something in it that would interest this magazine, which for convenience and amusement we will call Caliente Latina. I sent off a query to the editor and it went a little something like this:
Comics were almost completely dominated by white culture until 1982 when the Hernandez Brothers broke in with their award-winning Love n’ Rockets series, published by small press Fantagraphics. It was immensely popular and ran eighteen years. One of the many things that set this comic apart was that it was was set in East LA and featured a predominantly Latin cast of characters. Not only that, but while strange things happened, and magical realism ran rampant at times (in the great Spanish literary tradition of Lorca and Marquez), there were absolutely no superheroes in tights to be found.
Following the long running success of Ln’R, DC Comics’ adult imprint, Vertigo, picked up newcomers Brian Azzarillo and Eduardo Risso to write 100 BULLETS in ‘99, an espionage story that featured Dizzy Cordova, a hot, gun-toting Latina from Chicago. The title won both the Eisner and Harvey awards, and was touted as the freshest comic in years.
After DC’s success with their Latin-focused title, their main competitor, Marvel Comics, created Arana, which featured a Latina teen with Spiderman-like abilities and all the trouble and drama of being a kid in the public schools of the South Bronx.
If you are looking for someone to cover the exciting new developments of Latin culture in the comics medium, I am the perfect writer for you because [lots of horn tooting and please give me a steady paycheck kind of talk, etc].
The editor replied that his Editor-in-Chief did not think that the readership had enough interest in comics for a regular column, but perhaps a single article would be of interest.
I could tell by the tone of the email that interest in even the single article was lukewarm at best. I needed something juicy to sell this puppy. So on a lark, I sent an email to Eduardo Risso (who didn’t know me from Adam) asking if he would be interested in saying a few words on the subject of Latin artists in comics. Quite frankly, I didn’t expect a response and once I hit send, I promptly forgot about it (which is my usual tactic in coping with the emotional stress of the submission/rejection process). A week went by and then low and behold, there was a reply from Mr. Risso! Not only was he interested, but he apologized for taking so long to get back to me. I must admit I was surprised and more than a little star-stuck. This was, after all, the Eduardo Risso, award-winning artist of 100 Bullets and Batman: Broken City. I promptly emailed the editor of Caliente Latina, telling him the good news. I foolishly took his silence as a mark of the same awe and jubilation that I felt.
A few weeks later, Mr. Risso wrote me again, talking about the difficulties he had faced as an Argentinean finding work within the US dominated comics industry. He spoke of his passion for the work and how gratifying it was that his passion was able to communicate itself across borders both political and cultural. He spoke of his hope that his work was in some small way contributing to both the furthering of Latin culture within the comics industry and the development of a new world culture which would some day surpass anything we presently know.
I thanked him profusely and sent another email to the editor of Caliente Latina, telling him briefly what Mr. Risso had to say and if I should begin writing the article straight away. I received a reply that same day saying that, after some consideration, the editorial staff at Caliente Latina had decided that most of their readership had not read a comic since they were children (if ever) and were most likely not interested in any developments within that medium and thank you very much for your time, Mr. Skovron.
Of course, I thanked him politely for both his candor and quick reply because I can’t afford to burn bridges at this stage in my career. But I was both shocked and disgusted. I have nothing against glossy, pin-up T’n'A mags per say, but the fact that the editor considered the readership of such misogynistic smut to be too mature to entertain any interest in comics was quite beyond me. And that was when I realized that in my little literary bubble, things like Spiegelman’s Maus and Ellis’s Transmetropolitan were respected, but in the real world, where people drank MGD because they liked it and still thought Pamela Anderson was hot, comics were not even thought of (much less read) except when the new Batman movie came out. It was then that I realized that comics were not simply trashy pulp. They were elitist trashy pulp. If I had consistently used the phrase “graphic novel” instead of “comic”, would I have gotten a lot farther with the esteemed editor of Caliente Latina? After all, it had worked on Hollywood. But that brought me up short. Because it was that sort of thinking that led to such travesties as the movie versions of Daredevil and Fantastic Four and I wanted no part of such wretched and ill-conceived works.
And so I embrace the fact that I am a low culture snob and though we will never willingly adapt to the mainstream (and will certainly never be accepted as we are), I am grateful that there are enough of us out there to support the careers of such fine artists as Eduardo Risso.
Sorry I didn’t get that article published, Mr. Risso.
I received my contract in the mail last Friday. Concrete evidence that my book is getting published and I am getting money for it. No longer can I lay in bed wondering if I’ve dreamt it or that it’s all just a big mistake. Nope. It’s official and I have the dry legal text to prove it.
When you first start out as a writer, you have to put on a pose of being professional. You’re probably not fooling anyone, but you have to take yourself seriously if you want someone else to take you seriously. And you desperately want to be taken seriously. There are so many wannabe novelists and writers out there. You long for some stamp of approval, some expert to say, “Yes, you are doing the right thing. You are good enough to be a professional writer. You are not wasting your time.” You become a junkie for every meagre scrap a praise an editor might throw at you. Every hand-written rejection is celebrated because at least it’s not another damn form letter. And if they actually suggest that, while this one didn’t quite work for them, they just might be interested in something else from you. And like an addict, after the first rush of that official praise, it leaves you dissatisfied. Wanting more.
And I think this is the period that tests your mettle. Because you generally don’t get much validation and those years of rejection and lack of recognition can really kick your ass. If you are lucky (like me) you have a loving spouse and good friends who encourage you as much as possible. But even their praise sometimes feels hollow, because the longer you wack at this with seemingly no effect, the more the doubt begins to gnaw at you. There are so many other things you could be doing. Perhaps should be doing. How do you know three hours a day for six or seven years are going to pay off into anything? You don’t. And perhaps what’s even more frightening, no one is going to pull you aside some day and say, “Look, Jonny, you’ve given it all you got and that’s great. But don’t you think it’s time to let the dream go and spend time on more practical things like…promotions?” Nobody’s going to put you out of your misery. It’s up to you to decide when you’ve reached that point where you’ve become a farce of yourself.
But the funny thing is, after a while, you slowly stop craving that validation, that confirmation. I used to joke that I’d become a hope monk. Like those guys who trained themselves to live on one tiny sip of water and one grain of rice a day, I trained myself to live on almost no validation. I’m not sure how you go about doing that. Maybe it’s developing confidence in your writing, or maybe it’s just getting weary of fretting about it, but after a while, it occurs to you that sure, you could be doing something else, but why would you? You like doing this. It gives you fulfillment, regardless of whether it ever gets published.
Three months ago, I was telling my friend Zach, over a pint of Guinness, that honestly, I would continue to write, regardless of whether I ever got published and that I didn’t really need it to make me feel like I was a success. And as if the Fates were waiting for that statement, I soon found myself talking to my agent about the very real possibility of having not one, but two publishers interested in buying my novel.
And now I sit here, looking at my contract, and my heart goes pitter pat and I feel all my monk-like training dissipate in a puff of sanctimonious vapor. Because oh god does the validation feel good!
Here sits my older son (age 4.5), quietly examining a collection of X-men comics while wearing the Robin (of Batman and Robin fame) shirt that my wife made for him.There is a strange sort of guilty pleasure in watching your child adopt the subjects you cherished when you were a child. On one hand, it’s simply a joy to go along on their journey, revisiting those things with the fresh perspective of someone discovering them for the first time. On the other hand, you can’t help but wonder if maybe you didn’t push the super heroes a bit harder than other things. That maybe you’re drowning out some other interest simply because you’re so damn supportive of their Spider-man fixation.
But then I remember Thomas the Tank Engine and how much I truly loathe that puritanical clap-trap and how hard I worked to be encouraging when his entire life revolved around it, mainly because I remembered that when I was a kid, most adults took zero interest in anything I was passionate about and I don’t want him to feel that way. And I think of the strong bonds my father and I share over Star Wars, James Bond, and David Eddings novels, as well as the bonds I share with my stepfather over The Marx Brothers, Monty Python, and Pink Floyd, subjects that were undoubtedly their doing. What if my father hadn’t taped the original Star Wars with his brand new VCR when it aired for the first time on network television? What if, at the age of 12, my stepfather hadn’t handed me my very first album, Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. I don’t know who I would have been without those influences, but I certainly wouldn’t have been me.
It is sometimes hard for fathers and sons to have conversations. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s a generational thing that’s going away. Perhaps it’s a gender thing that will always be a challenge. But no matter what, I can always count on sitting down with my father and watching a Bond film, and in some strange way, feel connected.
I do hope that my sons and I have a better time at communication. I work at it every day. But perhaps even so, there will be some days when it will be better to just kick back and watch a Batman movie. And if not,? If they quickly tire of comics? There’s always the day I hand them their first album. Now, what will that be…?
So this is it. My new home…
It’s funny, but it feels really nice to be hosting my own blog. I’m not one of the tinfoil hat types who fear the Almighty Google will one day usurp all my email, online docs, and blog posts (ahem, Scott) and use them for their own dark purposes. So I didn’t have a problem with Blogger per say. Sure, customization was somewhat limited and the service was a bit clunky at times, but all in all, it was a decent online app. It was just one of those things where I realized how little space on my hosted server that I pay for and don’t use, and it just seemed a bit silly. It also looks more professional, I think, to be able to leave out the “blogspot” in the URL.
But ultimately, the reason I switched to Wordpress is the same reason that my wife and I bought a house. There is something satisfying about doing it yourself. Ownership pride? Consumerism? Hard to say. I don’t think consumerism was what inspired me to spend nearly every evening for the last week moving this blog over. There were many problems and gotchas. My hosting company uses an older database, so I could use the latest Wordpress so I couldn’t do the nice and easy import from Blogger. But ultimately, I figured it out, learned a lot about MySQL, file permission, and many other things that most people could care less about. Then, once it was all in there, I was able to dig down into the CSS formating to tweak at will (sometimes with disastrous results) and generally feel like the only real limitation on my blog was me. And it’s nice to feel that limitless possibility.
Plus, I can indulge my recent plain text writing fetish (to be addressed in a future post) and write my posts in a bare bones text editor and post directly without ever opening a browser. Again, most people shrug, but it gives me a little kick.
The only part that’s a little sad is that I wasn’t able to bring the comments over. I tried and tried, but I just couldn’t make it happen. Sure I could copy-paste, then tweak the date/time stamp, but that just seemed a little silly. Especially considering the fact that I get so few comments. I mean, I really want to keep that nasty comment from M John Harrison, but I suppose it’s a little silly to hold on to things like that.
Moving a blog over is a fairly significant event in the life of a blog. It made me realize that I’ve been posting for nearly two years. It also made me realize that jonnyskov.com has been live for about seven years now. It’s come a long way from that godawful Frontpage template. Come to think of it, I’ve come a long way too. Wife, kids, two cross-country moves, picking up one career (tech writing) that got us above the poverty line, finally getting paid for the other (fiction writing) that is the beginning of the fulfillment of a lifelong dream…seven years. It sort of boggles the mind. Especially when I wonder where I’ll be at in 2015…
Now, now. Let’s not get too schmaltzy. It’s just a blog, after all.
My incredibly awesome agent, Emily Sylvan Kim of Prospect Agency, has sold my book Grope 4 Luna to Amulet, the Young Adult imprint at Abrams Books. It’s one of those things I’m having to digest in tiny little bits because when a life-long dream becomes reality, you want to savor it. You also don’t want to die of a heart attack from it.
And as if that wasn’t enough, on the same day, we found out that my son, Logan, has made so much progress in the bast year, that his teachers are compeltely confident he’ll be able to attend mainstream kindergarten next year and he’ll still get services (speech therapy, an aide, etc).
Okay. So you’re thinking that’s enough? How much good news can one man take in a week? Well, as a little chrome cherry on top, my employers have asked me to be part of a pilot testing program for…iPhones.
Jeeze. I should buy a lottery ticket or something….
Obviously, I’m green as they come to the whole book publishing thing, and I’m finding it very interesting, so expect a lot of posts on it. It also motivates me to gussy things up a bit and finally move my blog over to my own site, instead of futzing with Blogger. And yes, I’m thrilled that I’m finally making some good money with my writing. But ultimately, I’m just so excited to have readers. It slowly wears at the soul to feel like you’re shouting into an empty room.
(thanks for the image, Scott)
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