Independent Publishing.
December 9, 2008 at 6:44 pm | Posted in writing | 17 CommentsTags: Add new tag, independent publishing, memoirs, writing, writing as time travel
Squirrels hoard apparently. We don’t have squirrels, we have possums. Sorry, little in-joke there. Independent publishing, as in independent films and independent music, at some point every writer of anything other than cookbooks will consider it. Especially these days. It’s free. You can get a high quality book out on the market very quickly.
The only problem is that people who were schmoozing their way up the food chain will sneer at you without having read your work or your blog. The first thing they will do, is check your publisher and if it is Lulu, they will ignore you or steal from you. Can you believe there are still people in the world who call it ‘vanity’ publishing? Vanity is holding on to it because it might be worth something someday.
Personally I didn’t want to wait and I don’t care how many copies I sell. Just opening that package and holding in my hands something about which I had fantasised for twenty years was reward enough for me.
I’m hopeless at social networking. The chances of me getting published before the day I told some over-educated young ‘editor’ with an MFA that I know better than they do because I spent twenty years writing it? The limit approaching zero degrees.
That’s cool. Have a simply fantabulous day full of tiny miracles like unexpected fields of tulips bursting into joyous spontaneous splendour. I am off to the post office to check for a package.
Sorry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(a big one)
May 6, 2008 at 7:12 pm | Posted in music, poetry, writing | 15 CommentsTags: Add new tag, Art Tatum, Gary Moore, Mamu, orchid room, poetry, Pretty Woman, three card, writing
opens the lid, takes a deep breath, in the spirit of Randallian hangin’ honesty, and a tip of the hat to the mighty F.G. Franklin, listening to Albert King very loud thru the headphones,
woooooo, hahaha, i dare you
underneath that powder and paint,
pretty woman, what’s the matter with you,
i already apologised, twice i think,
(Three Card, slicks his hand into his pocket,
Mamu flinches almost into a grin,
i keep my eyes on the piano, i am telling you,
i am remembering the first time i actually saw Art
Tatum play,
by the way, you can find me Monday Nights, at the Orchid Room,
and Saturday afternoon,
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