Somewhere Over the Sun

Chuck Klosterman, author of Eating the Dinosaur, Killing Yourself to Live, and other works, picked up a galley copy of his new book and prepared the sharpie for an autograph. He looked up to read the name on my badge. I like to think that he recognized the fact that I was wearing his same author uniform: t-shirt, sneakers, beard growing to its fullest potential (despite how weak my own beard’s potential may be). He wrote one word to accompany his signature, Power. “Do with it what you will,” he said.

I spent last week in New York City, most of that time in the Javits Center attending BookExpo America 2011. For those interested enough to ask, no I did not achieve any of the following: sign with a literary agent, garner the money-throwing interest of a big time publisher, become the object of professional desire of an editor, become famous, pick you up a copy of all the free books I got (but you can borrow mine when I’m done).

What I did achieve: lots of networking, particularly with the Young to Publishing Group as we partied on a boat. Many business cards were exchanged and plenty of “It was nice to meet you” e-mails will soon be sent out. I flung myself/accosted many literary agents patrolling the aisles (easily identified by their red-tinged BEA badges and the rage they expressed at poorly-written queries) and introduced myself. As it turns out, one of the things they were least interested in doing was seeking new writers to acquire. Almost all of them denied a free copy of my book, and only one accepted the little portfolio I compiled full of book reviews for Somewhere Over the Sun and the first chapter of my second book. However, I got their business cards and, after another round of rewrites, I’ll begin querying. I handed out copies to booksellers, librarians and book bloggers, doing whatever I could with the little power I yield in order to get people to notice me.

Here’s the thing about that power that Chuck Klosterman bestowed onto me. It’s still on paper, still just a word. Which isn’t to say it’s a lifeless thing. No, no, after this week, it’s clear that words still yield an extraordinary amount of power, that there can still be rooms full of people moved by language and stories.

But mine is still confined to my writing. It has yet to be unleashed, and that’s something I expect will eventually change. I saw many writers speaking and signing and being sold by their big-six publisher, and I did not feel inferior. Just perhaps a little less lucky. I’m young, talented, dedicated, and despite how little attention I may have received at BEA, I’ve got power.

Power in the emails I’ll be sending to solidify my night of networking on Pier 6. Power in a debut novel that many have already fallen in love with, power in a nearly completed second manuscript, power in the books I am yet to write. For now, that power’s simply a word. But I’ve seen it become unleashed, seen it fill rooms full of people, and I know it can be something real.

BEA’s been, at the very least, a time-occupier.

So I won’t be sharing too much with you for now, but I wanted to remind all my readers of the ongoing writing contest. I’ve only received a couple entries, but I can imagine several of you are waiting until next week’s (May 31st) deadline. Again, the main gist is to write story you wish could come to life, much like my main character Alan does throughout the book. More info here.

Also, I have several postcards that have yet to be claimed. I’ve sent a few waves of them already (and if you haven’t received one yet, don’t fret, I’m on it. They’re stamped and everything, just waiting on my words), and will be continuing to do so until I leave the country at the end of June. If you’d like one sent to you, send me a message along with a writing prompt.

Tomorrow marks the start of BookExpo America 2011. Not much is certain about what will come of it, aside from my earnest attempts to meet people in the book world, get my name out there and garner interest in my writing. I’ll be showing off book reviews from Somewhere Over the Sun, as well as start the process of shopping around (getting in touch with agents) my second book, Bright and Blue. That means I’ll be telling people what it’s about. Which means you get to know what it’s about.

As a writer, I’ve been told to show and not tell, so let me just show you the very beginning of the book, which gives a fairly clear picture of what it is about. Enjoy!

Spout no longer knew anyone left on Earth.

All his remaining acquaintances; an ill-tempered cousin; a  Chinese waitress whose name he couldn’t help but intentionally mispronounce; his very first girlfriend from elementary school, Lucy, whom he hadn’t spoken to in forty-eight years; they had all left on the very last flight twenty-three minutes before Spout woke up. Everyone that remained on the planet, the few of them that did, were all strangers to him. Even his daughter had left.

  He had wanted to wake up early and say goodbye, but had not made it on time. Spout did not oversleep, nor did he intentionally miss the departure. He simply would not allow himself to leave the house without his keys, the habit engrained too deeply into the fibers of his fingers to be forgotten. By the time he finally found them in between the beige, pin-striped couch cushions that his wife had hated so long ago, the sky was already pin-striped by plumes of rocket-fuel smoke.

I have held this information back (the synopsis, in essence) because of something I call the reaction bias. Whenever you tell someone about an artistic idea that is in progress, their reaction will affect how you feel about the idea, and it is inevitable that it will cause some sort of change in your inspiration; it will make the idea less yours. You’ll adjust it to what someone else says, how excited they are or aren’t, and you start trying to please others rather than pleasing yourself until the idea is formed, and then making the necessary improvements.

That’s my theory, anyway. And now that the idea is pretty much done (I’ve finished the second round of edits, with more on the way), I feel comfortable disclosing it to all you lovely readers.

I read somewhere that authors live three books at a time. Promoting the one that came out, editing the one you just wrote, writing the one you’re…um…writing. It was more eloquently express by the guy I’m paraphrasing. Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is: I’m gonna go start writing my third book.

Cheers.