The disheartening truth of modern publishing, it seems, is that your social media follower count dictates your probability for success.
I saw a tweet from a writer saying an agent loved the book but declined to take on the author because of too few followers.
I don’t know if this is true, but I’m inclined to believe it. That’s bad news for those of us who don’t like social media and prefer not to be on it because it’s unhealthy and time-consuming. That being said, I understand its importance but fear it’s relied upon too much by the publishing industry.
If a book is solid, people will buy it, and word will spread. Yes, social media helps this, but there was a time when it didn’t exist, and books still sold.
This doesn’t bode well for modern debut authors who might not have any following whatsoever. The way to gain followers is to publish a book that garners readers who want to learn about the author. You don’t need followers for that, just an account for people to find and follow
Regardless, that’s modern publishing, and you must adapt. I’m trying. I’ll follow you if you follow me. But it likely won’t be out of sincere interest on either part, only out of necessity to boost numbers.
The Force Awakens, the fist new SW flick in a decade released in 2015, and it was fine for what it was (almost an exact replica of the original Star Wars). Then things slid downhill.
New (and uninteresting and uninspiring) characters were added. Beloved characters killed off. Millions of childhoods died in the process.
I liked The Mandolorian, and will see the movie involving him this year. But most of the other SW offerings (The Acolyte especially, but also Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, the Book of Boba Fett) lacked. Poor writing, unlikeable characters, and, frankly, too much of it doomed the franchise.
What always made Star Wars special to me was its rarity. Growing up in the 80s, we couldn’t wait for Return of the Jedi! It has been an eternity (3 years is an eternity to a 7-year-old) since Empire. And we got Jabba and all those creatures. It’s still my favorite for that reason.
Then 16 years passed to 1999 and The Phantom Menace. And it was bad. But bad Star Wars is like bad pizza. You’ll still eat it. George wasn’t at his best then, and the subsequent 2 films at least explained things leading to the beginning of A New Hope. We got some animated SW after that, but no more movies. Until the sale. Then awful movies and many cringe-worthy shows. We were saturated with Star Wars shows and movies not worthy of carrying that name.
It’s to the point where new SW shows arrive on Disney+ and I don’t bother watching. It’s not that it’s not the same as the original trilogy, it’s now mass-marketed junk. The original movies had groundbreaking special effects. Everything now is blue screen and motion capture. The magic’s gone.
Maybe Kennedy’s replacement will manage to right the ship, but it’s a tall order. Time will tell. And we’ll get our first glimpse this summer with the new Mandolorian movie.
Until then, the original trilogy’s on bluray and the magic’s still there.
DOHA, Qatar – Conservative raconteur Tucker Carlson declared a fatwa on the nearly 1 million Iranian dissidents protesting the benevolent Islamic theocracy that prioritizes the health and safety of its people.
“Israel and the United States infidels have ginned up malevolence among childlike Iranian protestors who now must be put in their place,” Carlson said from the balcony of his sprawling compound on the outskirts of Doha while waving to a throng of shrieking Islamic supporters and groypers. “To answer the question, ‘what should not be done to rioters?’ The scholars, myself included, decree execution of those who oppose oppression and rigid religious orthodoxy.”
Thousands of unarmed Iranian citizens clogged streets in cities throughout the Islamic Republic that has fostered peace and prosperity since 1979. Carlson said his decision to speak publicly came on the heels of the Iranian mullahs streaming clips of Carlson praising the regime in Persian on the mostly blacked-out internet.
“A bombing campaign against Iran will set off a war, and it will be America’s war,” Carlson said. “Don’t let the propagandists lie to you.”
Carlson then pleaded with the protestors to avoid destroying the three-story black-and-white palatial estate in Tehran’s vibrant Vanak neighborhood.
“I purchased that property last month and plan on hosting the mullahs and my brother, Buckley Carlson, so we can denounce the United States as no better than North Korea,” Carlson said. “Please don’t throw rocks through the window or burn it to the ground. Failure to comply will result in immediate execution.”
Carlson then spent the next five minutes hysterically cackling like a little girl.
Goodfellas is almost out of my system, but I couldn’t resist the following, based on this scene and after reading Nicholas Pileggi’s Wise Guy:
We were wise guys, yes, but gods among men otherwise. It all started when I met Jimmy “The Irishman” O’Houlihan, one of the best hijackers in Queens, who took me under his wing when I was a kid.
“You ever rat me out and I’ll cut your throat from ear to ear,” Jimmy told me when he shook my 10-year-old hand. “Now, drive that semi-truck of stolen cigarettes to Sheepshead Bay so we can unload them.”
“I can’t drive,” I said. “My feet don’t even reach the brakes.”
“Fuckin’ mutt,” Jimmy said in the most endearing way possible. “Let me find some blocks to tie to the brake and gas pedals.”
That’s how it started. A 10-year-old boy steering a multi-ton death machine across the city. Jimmy would’ve been so proud of me had a rival crew not hijacked me and stolen the cigarettes.
Jimmy found out who did it, whacked ’em, and recovered the cigarettes.
“Next time I’ll give you a gun,” Jimmy said. “Now, go inside and watch Sesame Street.”
I was the toughest kid in the mob daycare center. The other kids’ parents gave them extra lunch money so they could buy something to eat after I shook them down. I always kicked some dough back up to Jimmy. The other families knew who I was with and never said a word.
I made book on who’d win the spelling bee, and would beat up anyone who wouldn’t misspell ‘dog’ when I told them to. I organized Uno games, and God help the kid who tried marking the Wild cards. The daycare administrator once asked Joe “The Piano Player” Moscone why all ten of his fingers were broken. He kept his mouth shut and never played Bach the same way again.
Our Monopoly games involved real money. I forced the players to pay protection on their houses and hotels. And if they didn’t, they’d get melted green and red blobs on Boardwalk and Park Place. Anyone who went directly to jail got a black eye for being sloppy.
But those were the guys I grew up with. When we became old enough to drink, which was 18 back then, we met at Paul “the Arsonist” Giglione’s new pub after his old one burned down.
There was Frankie “the Wop” Bugliati, Vinny “the Daigo” Vincense, and Bobby “the Dignified Italian” Pucinni who despised Frankie’s and Vinny’s nicknames.
Tommy “the Snitch” Genovese was a regular until recently. I have no idea why he suddenly disappeared.
Haruki “The Blowfish Poisoner” Ishigawa sought to establish the Yakuza in Queens, but he was the only Japanese gangster in town, so he hung with us. Marco “the Insult Master” Francesa once called Ishigawa “the nipster.” I thought it was kinda lazy, but Ishi took it in stride, chuckled, and asked Marco if he’d ever tried fugu and if he would like to. I’m not sure if Marco enjoyed it. I haven’t had the chance to ask him because he’s been in the hospital for six months.
I don’t think I ever paid for a drink in my life. Paul “Pope Beneficent” Gagliardi took care of me. I always made it a point to go to church for him. Then I’d meet my mistress right afterward at the track.
Nobody ever walked up behind Billy “the Paranoid Schizophrenic” Batty when he was sitting at the bar. The last guy who tapped him on the shoulder ended up with his face chewed off while Billy screamed in between chomps, “The voices! Why are the bunny rabbits so loud!” Yeah, we avoided Billy at all costs.
We always busted “Fat” Andy Ciccio’s balls because he was morbidly obese and practically sweated butter. Then he went and lost 300 pounds, and we started calling him Andy “the Bulimic who Ruined His Teeth” Ciccio. I liked “Fat” Andy better.
We ate chicken parmesan until buttons popped off our shirts and teased the old-school capo Vito “the Wordsmith” Bossonaro, who sipped anisette while doing his crossword puzzle. His days of pounding whiskey ended when he broke too many wooden barrels. We bought him a punching bag soon after.
It was the mafia’s golden age, before the bad times, before mob boss Anthony “the Neocon” Porchetta started a war against the Toscano Crime Family because its boss, Luciano, didn’t pay his Monopoly protection money to me on time. The thing is, he did. I was hungover and forgot to give it to Anthony.
Hey, wait, you’re not recording any of this, are you?
The following post started as a draft more than a decade ago, when I was actively promoting my books. I’ve not asked another author for a blurb in years, but I likely will start that process in the next few months.
I know of a writer who has blindly asked a book signing’s featured author to endorse the writer’s work, resulting in the author agreeing to look at the manuscript. I would imagine this is done after the event concludes and the aspiring writer gets a moment of the author’s time to make the pitch. Maybe they hit it off? If that works, who am I to say don’t do it?
But I take the approach that you don’t want to put an author on the spot to say yes or no. Think about it: when someone asks you out of the blue to do something that takes up your time and that you weren’t expecting, how do you feel? More often than not, you feel put-upon, but you say yes out of a sense of obligation.
I want an established author to read my work because he or she wants to, not because of undue pressure.
That’s why writing a professional pitch (yes, another damned query letter), to me, is more desirable. It allows the recipient author to sit back, ruminate, and make an informed decision. I emailed a blurb request to a New York Times-bestselling author of numerous books. I didn’t expect to even hear back from the author. Not only did I hear back, but the author specifically stated it was my professionalism (and the premise of my book) that initiated the reply. The author told me to check back in a few months to see if there was an opening in the author’s schedule.
(I’m trying not to be gender specific because I don’t want the author to be hit with requests that he/she might not want.)
A few months passed, and I noticed the author was appearing at a book signing not far from where I lived. Rather than simply show up and say, “Hey, remember me?” I again wrote the author, said I knew about the appearance, and that I’d like to attend to officially introduce myself. I heard back almost immediately: attend!
I did. I bought a copy of the author’s book at the appearance, got an autograph, and made a friend (not a buddy-buddy, let’s-drink-beers friend; but I’d like to think a writing friend who couldn’t have been kinder to me). The author said to send the ms. And eventually, I was provided with an excellent blurb. I couldn’t have been happier. The author told me that whatever I was doing, to keep doing it.
Another thing to keep in mind: don’t be a pest. If an author agrees to look at your manuscript, state a deadline for when it would be ideal to receive the blurb, and that you’ll check back at the start of the deadline’s month to see where things stand. (Seeing that my release date was 18 months off at the time of my signing a contract, I had a seven-month window to get blurbs–although there’s always wiggle room, especially if Stephen King manages to get back to you. Dream big, baby!) My point: don’t write the author every month, much less every other week, to see if the author has tackled your manuscript. Just don’t. ###
I wrote that more than 10 years ago and it still makes sense to me, and I’ll be following my own advice soon!
As of right now, I have 51 subscribers on WordPress and fewer than that on Twitter/X/Evil Elon. I have an Insta account, but I don’t post photos of meals I’m about to eat (I like to paint, so I post them on occasion). I have no idea who most of you are, but I thank you sincerely for sticking with me after years of inactivity. There’s a reason I’m poking my head out of my shell: I’m an author who hopes to get a book deal this year. I know, join the club.
I’m previously published through independent presses and even garnered praise from several New York Times bestselling authors and Bram Stoker Award winners. I’m also terrible at publicity, but I would like that to change. I mentioned a book I hope to get published. It’s humor-based, and that’s my calling. I’ve written supernatural thrillers, horror, and straight crime thrillers. Most, if not all, of them had elements of comedy in them, but stayed more along the serious side. This new one, a Krampus novel, is rooted in satire and humor. The sophisticated kind, not the lazy bathroom variety.
My options are as follows:
Query literary agents (which I’m currently doing);
Submit to independent presses that accept unsolicited manuscripts (also in the works);
Go it alone. Take the plunge. Become a true Indie Author and publish it myself.
The third option is the most daunting because I’ve never done it before. Fortunately, though, writers have this option. If you’re an indie filmmaker, you need to buy/rent a bunch of equipment, scout locations, hire actors, and probably a million other things I cannot think of. How do you distribute the film without studio backing? I have no idea, but filmmakers do it because they love it and want to share it with the world. Do they want to make money? Sure, that’s part of it, but not the primary motivator.
That’s where I am. I’ve written a book I love and believe is funny, and I want to share it with the world and give it the best chance to reach readers. The Big 5 publishers are the best way to do this. But like with everything in life, that ain’t easy. You need a literary agent to get your work in front of them. And it’s challenging to get one. But it’s not impossible. I had one years ago for a book I wrote, but we weren’t able to get a deal. That’s fine. It’s called dying on submission. Happens all the time. I ended up getting it published without that agent (who literally vanished on me).
I’ve neglected this blog for years, and it’s my New Year’s Resolution to post something every day. (That’s not difficult, actually. I mean, I could post a sentence that reads “This is my post for the day,” and it would qualify.) But I’d like to share this daunting journey of rejection and hopeful acceptance with readers. And if I go it alone, I will explain what I’m doing and why I hope it works. If you’re an indie author reading this and have thoughts, advice, or suggestions, I’d love to hear from you. Likewise, if you’re an agent reading this, I’ve probably queried you or someone in your agency. Hello.
The one thing you won’t get from me is complaints about the publishing world, like, it’s so unfair!
Grow up!
If you’re endeavoring to succeed in the arts or any competitive field, you will be rejected. Be professional about it. Don’t act like Johnny Fontane.
Please give it a look and feel free to subscribe/follow if it strikes your fancy. And if you’d like me to follow back, please contact me, leave a comment below. I’d be happy to chat. It’s a vast world out there, and I hope to meet a few of you.
