Blast from the Past # 14 - September 20, 2005
Hey y'all,
I have seen the future I could have had and it just scared the shit out of me. I never, ever thought I would say I am, with great humility, profoundly grateful for the eight years I spent slinging booze, cussing out drunks, throwing grown men out of bars, and sighing helplessly while at the mercy of women in the throes of alcoholic switch-bitch psychosis, but goddamn! Tonight has shown me that my time spent as a bartender were not only years not wasted, but they saved me from possibly becoming one of the people I just met at a workshop on self-publishing.
Been holed up in an accidental cabin behind the Brown Bear Saloon in Indian, Alaska - population 85 - a spit away from Anchorage, but with its own itty bitty town vibe. The owner of the place said he learned everything about what not to do in constructing a cabin while he was building mine. I had to have it for the loft and the windows, but what he said about the wiring made me a tad nervous. One of the disadvantages of being on the road, sleeping in the Brown Beast, in hostels, in my tent, etc. is that the creative juices really start to pump and there's no place to spill them. Since what I'm doing does qualify as a business trip - hee-hee, haw-haw - I could write it off on my taxes to give myself that precious writer's space while fulfilling my storytelling/bookpeddling commitments in the greater Anchorage area.
Well, last night at the Oasis was especially demoralizing; been a while since I've hit a low, and I know it's all part of the process, but it still sucks. So, tonight I went to Border's to go to a workshop on self-publishing.
Incidentally, Border's here in Anchorage is pretty right-on. Jess French found a way around the corporate structure to give me a reading/signing. Since the critical mass was narrowed down to those who liked to read, I had no problem approaching the people my gut instinct told me would be open to it and introducing myself and what I was doing. My gut was on the ball that night. Every person/couple I picked listened to a story, and except the respite provider with her client, all bought a book. One couple bought two.
Since the weather's been stunning and I was on a writing roll, I almost didn't go. But I managed to finish the rough draft of a new story and headed to the workshop. I was surprised to see several people at the table and apparently, they had already started even though it was not yet six o'clock. The guy giving the talk about self-publishing his book - a PrintOnDemand project - had eyes that seemed to swim inside his sockets. The fifty year old New Yorker with dyed black, slicked back hair in ponytail and eyebrows Anton LaVey would have envied introduced himself and I could just hear the tension in his voice. Looking around at the others as the workshop dude did his talk, I could tell that everybody else was on the New Yorker's page. This was one serious, tight-assed group of people and apparently there was a core writer's group that had workshops at Border's on a regular basis.
Oh, Chicks with Bics - how I miss you so. We actually have fun when we get together. I don't think any of these people have laughed in years.
This was the most joyless group of intellectual idiots I've met in years. The kind of people who give intelligence a bad name. Even though you haven't asked me to guess, I'm going to tell you anyway...
Most of the people there were in their fifties and sixties and I had the impression that they had done most of their living inside their minds, and not enough outside of them. Not only that, they probably don't understand the value of living for the sake of enjoying yourself. The pursed lips, the fidgets, the jerks and the insistence on sticking with the program - apparently they write and share at these things - even the workshop dude felt the need to get on with it and wrap it up. At least it only took a half an hour of my life because no way was I writing with these folks.
Every single shmoo - male and female, young and old, plain and pretty, gay and straight - that came to this workshop (except for me, of course) brought to mind the maxim: "You need to get laid." You need to get laid really, really badly.
The men need to cut loose and be so obnoxious they get 86ed from a bar. The women need to get so shnockered they end up sobbing hysterically in the ladies room of the local karaoke bar, struggling to get into their painfully tight shorts while their string bikini panties get tangled around their crotch. All the while testing the patience of the female bartender who has to babysit the embarassment to womanhood who can't remember her name much less her address.
For the record, I was the bartender in that sordid little scene, not the drunk bitch. But that's not the point, the point is that those people need to actually have some experiences that would inspire stories readers may actually want to read.
For instance, the workshop dude was telling the tale of his self-publishing through a small print on demand publisher that charged him for their services but got him distribution on Amazon.com and his one year contract. It cost him more than he made and in one year he sold 300 copies.
"And I didn't have to lift a finger to do it," he smirked.
Since he got some reviews from total strangers on the Barnes and Noble site, a bigger small publisher(at least I think so) who had formerly rejected his work has picked up his book and he's moved on the greener pastures, but I guess that depends on how you want to look at things.
Well, I received my books in early July, it's now late September. I've probably given away about 80 books, lost 20 by mail (my mother said she can sell them), but I've sold just under 200 books in less than three months. I have spent way more money this way, and I've lifted many fingers, some in obscene gestures, but the experiences I've had doing my little grass-roots book tour have been the stuff of dreams at their best and the content of my emails at their worst. And I don't know if I'll sell or give away all 1100 copies, but I'm sure I'll outsell 300 in 9 more months. And I'll have more fun doing it.
Maybe I'm out of my mind.
Don't forget to check out www.juneaumusic.com for all your social butterfly needs. And while I'm plugging Jason's site, I'll plug myself. "Ella Bandita and other stories," is sold at Rainy Day Books and Hearthside Books for 10 bucks. I'll be in town for a few days in October, call me and I'll sign it for you.
By the way, would anybody like to review my book for the local paper?
Montgomery
It's amazing the memories that came back while rereading these. I think it was around this time that I started to feel really tired and lonely. I think that might have been the real reason I stopped at that cabin at the Brown Bear. A lot of the staff that worked at the saloon also lived in cabins in the back and it was just nice to have some temporary community. Around two months, I was in the groove of temporary and there was a disconnection between me and the people I met. They were settled and I was moving on. After a point, the only people I felt were on my wavelength were folks I met in hostels, because they were temporary too.
I now regret not being more honest about some of the more down sides of what I was doing. Writing to a bunch of people I knew and one I was trying to woo through my writing skills made me show off more. I didn't want to write about the grayness of being so solitary. There were days, even weeks, I didn't feel connected to the people around me. The cabin was a good respite and I had some surprising good experiences there. I sold a book to a weekend warrior biker who got it for his daughter, and then met her when I got back to Juneau. Ashley had become friends with Evan - that I also knew through ODS - and they worked at Eaglecrest. Since Evan and I went snowboarding whenever he had a break, I got to know her quite well. One day, the subject of the road trip came up and Ashley asked me questions about the book. When I told her the name of it: "Ella Bandita and other stories," she got this weird look on her face and said she had it. There was some confusion over where I sold it to him, because her parents lived in Girdwood, but I had a flash memory of meeting him in the Brown Bear talking about his daughter who lived in Sitka and managed the book store there. That was one of the cool things about that trip - especially when I was in Alaska - were all the connections I made that came back later. It happens fast in a state like that.
Those were some good times.
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