Junk Culture: Getting Your * Published - Part 1 (Demons and a reason to write)

This is pretty basic stuff but if you're going to be writing something you better know why you're writing it. (And if you hope to have that something published you should have a really clear idea of why it should be published. I'm not saying you need to present some concise argument like you're trying out for the debate team, but it wouldn't hurt.) So, why are you writing?

There is only one answer: demons.

If you answer anything other than demons, if you say something along the lines of money (you're an idiot) or fame (you're delusional) or it sounds like fun (you're naive) or you like a challenge (you've got too much time on your hands), than you're not going to be writing a novel.

Now, I know there are these people out there (not naming names) who decide on a whim to do something and usually they do it badly. I know more than a few people who woke up one sunny morning with the intention of become a painter. Forget the fancy training and the classes (or even a real drive to create), they were just going to the art supply store (or worse the hobby shop) to get paint to make modern art. What happens with the majority of these people is that 99% of them fail miserably and find something else to tackle -- like books. Then they fail miserably at that. Can I count on one hand how many people I've met who have crummy books in a box in their closet (or tucked into an obscure corner of their hard drive)? Yes, every week.

Demons, my friends.

They can be the horned kind. They can be green and scaly. Or they can have pigtails, glowing red eyes and elongated incisors. Regardless of how they appear to you, if you've got demons you have a reason to write. And most writers find that their demons actually push them to write. It's the same with most artists I've met. There has to be something driving you creatively for you to, well, create.

Demons can trail you from just about anywhere: bad childhood, addiction, sour romance, depression, mania, loneliness, desperation, anger, fear, loss. The trick is taming them and making them do your bidding. If you can take that demon, hoist it up on your shoulder and then have it direct your output you're half way there. Take away the bottle and put a pen in your hand and let all the fear and spite and sadness spill out onto paper. Now, I'm not arguing that all writing is born of strife. No, much of my writing comes from a very happy place. But it's the drive to write -- the need to put down that description of the beautiful landscape of your lover's face -- that is born kicking and screaming from some damaged place. You find me one person who is driven to write because of a wonderful, carefree life and I'll find that person's hidden demon. The conflict is the key.

You also need to be a reader. A fastidious, all encompassing reader. You need to eat, breathe and sleep books. If you're a movie fan who reads a magazine once a year and a novel one a decade you're in for serious hurt. That doesn't mean that all library whores would make excellent writers but it does mean that they can recognize good writing (one would hope). Recognizing good writing is a nice first step, but it tends to fall under that old "eye of the beholder" rule.

Writing can be an addiction. Speaking personally, if I don't take a few hours out of every day and write something -- anything -- than I feel an enormous sense of failure. That sucks and that's my demon. If I don't create every single damned day, then my demon will be riding my ass and whispering sweet nothings like "You suck" in my ear. When I do write, and especially when I have a good run and produce more than five pages a day, then its top-of-the-world time. It's better than Cats. And the demon's patting me on the back and telling me what a swell guy I am.

You need drive to write. You need to be devoted to the craft of it (that sounds like workshop speak and I'll get to that later, say, around part 4) and wrestle with it. If you don't wrestle with your work, if you don't come out of a good writing session either bruised and bloody or sweaty and smiling, then you're missing something. Maybe that's just me, but I really doubt it.

Okay so you've identified your demon and you're spinning words on the page. You've got an amazingly clever plot and fantastically developed characters. What's next?

Junk Culture: Getting Your * Published - Intro

I get a ton of questions about publishing. And I'm hardly an expert, but you people pushed me to this. It seems that whenever someone learns that my novel is being published (and honestly, I don't wear a sign around my neck or carry a banner announcing it) they say, "Oh, I wrote a novel once" or "I'm thinking of doing that" or "My grandma's life would make a great book." The follow up, most often than not, is: "So, how do you do it? Do you mail your idea to a publisher and then get some money?"

Its tough breaking the news to people that getting a book published -- particularly fiction -- is really, really freakin' difficult and getting harder all the time. Fact is, you can't mail an idea to a publisher and expect anything other than your mail going in the trash. I'm not going to talk about non-fiction (that's a different beast and no, you can't mail in an idea there either) but for fiction, you need more than an idea. In fact, you need about 60,000 words more. You need an actual novel. Not part of a novel, not 80% of a novel but a whole novel. And that novel needs to be not only spellchecked but proofread like a forty-five times. No kidding.

Next you need an agent and no, you can't buy one or "hire" one in any traditional sense. "But it must be pretty easy getting an agent, right?" Wrong, bucko. It's the hardest part of this whole crazy scheme. I read a while back (and I've been at this for a good five years) that only 2% (yes, that's two percent) of writers get agents. Of those who get an agent, 50% are published. You can do the math there. The worst...I'm getting ahead of myself here... And as I type this out I can see it's going to take a whole hellovalot of space than a simple entry.

Here's the quick rundown of how you get your novel published, I'll expand on these in the coming weeks.

1) Demons and a reason to write
2) Write for the market but not really
3) Don't buy any books about publishing
4) Don't take any classes and don't go to workshops
5) Write a query and don't mail jack
6) Sign with an agent who gets your work
7) A word of advice on agents: mum
8) Keep writing and don't stop
9) Learning the lay of the editorial land
10) The final step is never final

Jodorowsky

Today marks the release - first ever official - of Alejandro Jodorowsky's films El Topo and Holy Mountain on DVD. But it also marks the first time in over 50 years that Jodo's first film, The Transposed Heads, can be viewed. Shocking is a better word for it. Jodo told me a few years ago there was only one print of the film in existence and it vanished in the late '50s. He had, at the time, given up all hope of ever finding it. Apparently, the short film was discovered in a German attic in '06. I worked on a Jodo bio for a bit. It's sitting on my desktop still and hopefully I'll get around to working on it again. Here's what I wrote about The Transposed Heads:

"Entitled “The Transposed Heads” (but known colloquially as “The Severed Heads”) the film was a fable adapted from Thomas Mann’s short novel “The Transposed Heads” (1941). The entire 40-minute film, shot in color on 16 mm, was done in mime, with an introduction by Jean Cocteau. The key performers were Raymond Devos, Marthe Mercure, Micheline Beauchemin, Saul Gilbert, Jodorowsky and Gilbert’s wife Ruth Michelly, a children’s book illustrator. Jodorowsky describes the film as, “the history of a woman who has an intellectual husband, who is very weak physically. She also has a muscular but idiotic lover. She cuts the heads off of the two men and the interchanges them. She remains with the muscular body and the head of the intellectual. However, after a certain time, the body of the athlete is softened and the body of the intellectual becomes vigorous and muscular. Thomas Mann wanted to thus say that it is the intellect which makes the body.”

"Thomas Mann’s original “The Transposed Heads” (“Die vertauschten Köpfe”) is a retelling of an Indian fable. The story concerns two friends, Nanda and Shridaman. Nanda is the son of a blacksmith, earthly and robust, a man of the earth. Shridaman is the son of a merchant with priestly lineage. Though the boys are polar opposites they build a friendship. While walking one day they spy a bathing beauty named Sita, and thus begins a bizarre love triangle. Sita and Shridaman are married, but Nanda is quietly waiting in the wings and eventually with the help of the goddess Kali, heads are switched.

"The film made its debut at the Cinema Auteur festival in Rome in 1957, where it was awarded first place. Sadly, the film, of which there was only one extant print, was lost. Jodorowsky says that Ruth Michelly took the film with her to Germany after Saul Gilbert died of cancer. Where the film, and Ruth Michelly, is today are mere matters of speculation. It seems quite likely that “The Severed Heads”, shown only once, will never be seen again."

And With the Dots Connected

Vonnegut's *

It's not often that someone asks you to send them an illustration of what you imagine your asshole looks like (unless your social circle is a lot more interesting than mine). Just such a thing happened a few weeks ago and it actually made some sense. The story begins with the late Kurt Vonnegut and "Breakfast of Champions." In the novel Vonnegut draws simple illustrations of all manner of things, one of which is his asshole. It is represented as an asterisk. This got Eric Spitznagel (of Salon, The Believer, McSweeney's, Maxim and the Ron Jeremy bio) thinking and here's what he came up with:

"Not long ago, I was enjoying a post-book reading cocktail with a few writing friends in San Francisco when Vonnegut's asshole (for reasons that still confound me) became a topic of conversation. It was suggested that it might be interesting to find out how other authors would've illustrated their own sphincters. Would it, they wondered, resemble Vonnegut's crudely drawn asterisk, or would they take more creative license and draw something a bit more unique?

Well, word began to spread, and much to my surprise, dozens of authors (some of whom I've never even met) began sending me drawings of their assholes. No two are exactly the same, and some are downright fascinating. It seems that at least one author (who shall, for the time being, remain nameless) believes that her asshole is best represented as a blossoming flower, and another semi-famous author's asshole has an eye, not unlike the pyramid on the back of a dollar bill, that I swear is winking at me.

I've decided to post the entire collection on Vonnegut's Asshole, and I wonder if you'd like to participate. It would require very little time or commitment. Just take out a piece of paper and a handful of pens and draw what YOU think is an accurate portrayal of your asshole. Feel free to be as conceptual and unrealistic as you like. Is your asshole happy or sad? Angry or carefree? What is your asshole's personality?"

So, I drew one and I sent it to Eric and it will up online April 29th at Vonnegut's Asshole. Please check it out and let me know what you think.

Wild Swans - Bible Dreams

1988. Liverpool. From the album, "Music and Talk from Liverpool." Beaut.*

* Jonathan Lethem gave a reading here in Denver a few nights ago. Great performer. I now find myself talking like his character Fancher Autumnbreast (an improbably named L.A. DJ legend who speaks in halting Shatner-ish bullets) from the new novel "You Don't Love Me Yet".

Anyway, Wild Swans were from Liverpool and had a really nice Echo and the Bunnymen-like sound. A lot of fans didn't like the second incarnation of the band (this song is from that era) calling it "hit-minded." Ah, it's still got a good - if slick - sound to it.

Cheers to Brambo for this vidclip.

Vision

I threw Vision's 1982 video for "Lucifer's Friend" on GoogleVideo for your viewing pleasure. They had a few U.K. hits and recorded an album that was never released. Lead singer died in 2000. It's all sorts of Goth/Depeche Mode-styled new romanticism. Dig the Flock styled hair and the groovy ghoulie lyrics. (By the by, they were called U.K. Vision here in the states.)

Batcave

Here's the Riverside Batcave doc, enhanced by h808. Essential viewing.

Cinebomb #5: Brewster McCloud

There are probably better ways to spend your off hours at work than watching Robert Altman's bizarro Brewster McCloud but I can't think of any. You're in luck too, 'cause the entire film (indeed) is posted on YouTube. Thank BrandPiano for that because it's really the only way you can see this film at the moment.

Brewster McCloud (originally titled Brewster McCloud's (Sexy) Flying Machine) is the late Altman's 1970 follow-up to his beloved M*A*S*H (also 1970). The film stars Bud Cort as Brewster, a kid who lives in a fallout shelter beneath the Houston Astrodome and dreams of becoming a bird. Brewster's only real companion is Louise (played by Sally Kellerman) who may be a gaurdian angel or given the long scars on her back and the fact that she sometimes warbles and coos may be a bird. A series of strange murders - all involving bird droppings left on the victims - brings detective Frank Shaft into Brewster's odd orbit. Is he really just a quirky kid building himself a pair of wings or is there something more sinister going on? (Watch for Stacy Keach's hilarious turn as the wheelchair bound Abraham Wright.)


Calling Brewster McCloud odd is stating the obvious, the film is a true cinematic freakout in the grand Bunuel tradition. Perhaps most of the credit for this odd melange of dark comedy and magic realism goes to writer Doran William Cannon who scripted the equally weirdo flop Skidoo (1968) and the seldom seen Hex (1973). (Hex is another Cinebomb classic, the re-imagined folk story of WWI biker vets mixing it up with Native American witches.) Today, Cannon teaches creative writing.

Iron Curtain

It could be debated for months, maybe lifetimes, whether a record is worth $500. When that record is something like Steve Field's obscure minimal synth project Iron Curtain, little heard outside of California, the debate can intensify even further. Why would anyone in their right mind pay half a grand for a 4 track EP of droning synth from 1982? Is it because it's just an incredibly rare but brilliant slice of DIY vinyl or is there something more? Well, you'd actually have to have heard the album to know.

Like most obscure regional vinyl, Iron Curtain's sound requires some patience. At first blush it's childlike. The same chords, the same drum loop, and endless droning. But after about the fourth listen to something like "First Punk Wars" from the Tarantula Screams EP you hear something behind the hypnotic backbeat -- there's an atmosphere that develops over the 6 minutes of the song that's undeniably appealing. Sure, it's cheap and it's dirty synth but it's catchy. Field's is no great musician, he sings like a robot on lithium, but he lulls you into a nice place. A very '80s place that conjures up all sorts of images of arcades and Tron and better tomorrows and neon super highways. Then you listen to his queasy sci-fi lyrics and suddenly you're really loving it. I mean, who envisions Metropolis replayed as a punk apocalypse? Field's sings, "All the workers are slaves... wealthy families/took their sons to universities/in the first punk wars."

The EP opens with the title track, a humming droning combination of bass and clickety-click guitar that's cloaked in an industrial fog. It's reminiscent of Peter Schilling's early work but it's not clean -- it doesn't have that sanitized German slickness. The lyrics are some acid-trip about a screaming tarantula or so I gather (there's also something about a "racing car on fire.") He could be talking about something more important but it's not clear. What is clear is the hypnotic swing of the relentless beat -- it's cold but it's not scary.

"First Punk Wars" is the second track on the A side and like "Tarantula Screams" it's got a rollicking programmed beat that hammers away on auto like a Wesley Willis abomination but hey, this was 1982. It's like Field's just pressed play and then stepped up to the mic and let the accompaniment roll in the background -- the lyrics come and go seemingly without timing, just long interludes of the drone. And there's this feedback-like synth wail (or maybe that's actually a guitar) that blankets the whole song, you only hear it on the third or fourth listen but after you pick it out it's hard to hear past it. While "First Punk Wars" is hobbled musically it's quite compelling lyrically and conjures up all manner of Mad Max-ian images.

"The Condos" is the EP's finest track musically. The programmed beat is sped up but there's more going on besides the chugg-chugg of the bass guitar and the muted synth burbles. The lyrics are further developed, though again I don't really know what's happening other than "going to the condos/me and all my friends/moving to the condos..." and a bunch of futurist talk. The song really works because Field's plays the chorus up; this is certainly the only real "radio friendly" track in the lot. Though that might be stretching it a bit.

Lastly we've got "Love Can Never Die" which starts slowly -- with a simple Casio styled rock II beat -- but builds into a swirl of synth atmospherics and half-whispered vocals. Reminiscent of Pieter Nooten's "Sleeps with Fishes." This is lighter, peppier stuff and possibly the weakest track on the EP.

Fields and crew (Doug Norton (mini-moog) and Bruce Cooper (bass guitar) with the addition of Olga Torres) returned for the superior single "Terror Story" in '83. This one, like all the others, opens with a simple beat and some stabs at keys but Field's drone is gone and replaced by spoken lyrics and a haunting chorus. The song's about a killer -- from the perspective of the killer -- and despite the simplistic beat there's something incredibly evocative here. Disturbing but arty. "Can you feel my stare? / I see you walking by me..."

The flip side is "Anorexia" a traditional Field's track of simplistic programmed beats and synth drones.

The next single was '85's "Like a Family." It's slick and not droning. More a dance record than anything else. The B side "Telephone" is poppy mulch. Field's followed that in '87 with "Shadow" in '87. It continues the dance trend with all manner of New Order-like handclaps and some stringy guitar works. Hell, Field's even tries his chops at some real singing but fails pretty miserably. ("Drifted away/Crossing the state line") The sound isn't bad -- reminds me of the first Clan of Xymox album -- but it doesn't have the tortured obscurity of the EP of "Terror Story" single. It's like Field's threw down some Duran Duran and realized, Aha! that's how it's done.

So, is either one of these worth more than a few dollars? Who can say. What is clear after a good listen is that Steven Fields - whoever the man is - remains a fascinating unknown. A guy with a keyboard and thing for sci-fi who wound up in a Santa Barbara recording studio making records that aren't really easy to classify. Sure, minimal synth works but there's something "brut" about Iron Curtain. It's simple, monotonous and droning. The vocals are buried and obscure. The instruments cheap and fuzzy. But it sinks its claws into you if you've got a soft-spot for music cobbled together in a basement from dreams and hopes and whispers. Field's recordings are the things of record collector's fantasies -- unknown, unheard but fascinating relics from a hidden corner of the world. When you own it, you join a nearly unique club. Perhaps that's worth $500? I wouldn't know -- I just downloaded the ripped tracks.

Thanks to SomebodySomewhere for the rips.

Judy's Tiny Head

Boston has produced it's fair share of bands but nothing quite like Judy's Tiny Head.

Gormenghast

It's incredible how one image can shape a childhood. When I think back to my youth - 1982 in particular, when I was 7 - I think of Ian Miller's illustration of Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast (above). Though I was oblivious to the story surrounding the image, I was dumbstruck by this castle perched so precariously. It fascinated me like no other. Maybe it was the color scheme, the browns and whites resembling the pale Colorado winters. Or maybe the crumbling facade of this city-like castle reminded me of houses I'd explored in my dreams. Scanning the illustration, I would creep over every nook and darkened cranny hoping to spot some semblance of life in this strange place. I think there were even times I held a magnifying glass to the image in an attempt to ferret out some hidden face or animal. Not knowing Peake's story, I made up my own. This was a post-apocalyptic city perched high on some remote mountaintop overlooking a desert valley of desolation. There were only three people who lived on here; a father and his two sons and they warred with mutants who would crawl out of the dusty landscape below. Or sometimes this was a bustling city, a place where people came for enlightenment and riches. Other times it was a city of newts. Ambulatory, intelligent newts. Okay, I was a weird kid.

Today, having read Peake's books, I understand the illustration. It fits perfectly with the tone of Peake's writing and it's now impossible to separate it out from it's intended purpose. I can still look at it with awe, more entranced today by Miller's skill, and every so often - when I stumble across it - I'll scan the page hoping to see something in there I didn't see before. Still, no luck.

ptr svll's lphbt

Sure, it's a bit old hat. Fans of New Order and Factory records have long been aware of Peter Saville's distinctive design work, but here's an opportunity to see the (in)famous "color alphabet" in motion. I'm really not sure what this short clip was designed for but try and see how many words and phrases you can find in these 9 seconds.

Don't know how to decode the color alphabet? Torbjorn Ivarsson (posting on the Ceremony-Digest listserve way back in 1997)explains that you need to look at New Order's "Power Corruption & Lies":

"To decode the wheel, use only the outer two rings. You could divide the outer two rings into full colour, various on green, and various on yellow. The inner segments appear to be meaningless. Start with the full colour sections, the first of which will be the green one... This is 'A'. Work your way clockwise naming each colour the next letter. There are exactly 26 segments around the disc. From 'Z' work back into the full colours, the first of which is '1'. This means that the full green segment is either 'A' or '1', and the colour for 'I' is also that for '9'.

You should be able to decode the squares now. Start with the 5 on the front of Power Corruption & Lies, and you will find (if you have the vinyl) that the first 4 squares spell 'FACT' then next square is divided into two, with the lower half being '7' and the upper half being '5'. Therefore the code is 'FACT 75' which is the Factory number for this release. The code for the CD front cover is 'FACD 75'."

So, bust our your LP and start decoding! What? You don't have one? Do I have to do all the work for you?

The Cardboards

Sandra

Sure, most Sandra fans are Eastern European men with flimsy moustaches and tight Polo shirts, but you've got to admit there is something fascinating about her voice. Buried beneath Micheal Cretu's synth noodlings, when her pixie-like warblings do manage to rise above the drum pad din the effect is, well, magical. Yeah, it's Eurotrash pop. But I like it.

Sandra Cretu (formerly Lauer)is best known stateside for her work with husband, Cretu, on Enigma. She got her start in the German disco band Arabesque before striking out on her own to become a popstar. She had a string of hits in Europe -- "Everlasting Love" and "Heaven Can Wait" -- but it's her very Cretu-ish "Secret Land" that really caught on with the wavers in the late '80s. These videos were directed by Bulle Bernd. (Like that means anything to you.)

You've also heard Sandra on tracks by Peter Schilling & Hubert Kah, among others.

The Scientific Americans

Band from Boston, released some really obscure vinyl in the late '70s and early '80s.Wiel is the one to thank for getting me hooked on their stuff. I would say they sound like early Devo done dub or maybe Cars with a Shriekback inflection but since the Scientific Americans never liked being compared to "pop" bands I won't. The mini-posters (ad art) here came with a 9" (or 10") flexi disc EP "Beyond Fiscal Distress" Wiel got (he posted all this in November on his blog)from the band. Very cool DIY electro punk stuff. You want to hear it, let me know.

Black Light Trap

Shriekback's "Black Light Trap" ( lead track on Big Night Music) this is from the concert video Jungle of the Senses. Barry Andrews described this once as "Gormenghast with a disco ball." As with anything Barry produces, the lyrics are key:

An eliptical Movement
With the attitude of a snake
Then make our incisions
Stand on one leg and deviate
All American action
All lemonade high
Old and cold and going gold

A fanatical schism
As impeccable as a swan
Psychadelic exactions
That lay me down or lead me on
In the ballet of Black-Light
And the agony of the fly
We divide and then collide...

IN THE BLACK-LIGHT-TRAP- We make all our mistakes
IN THE BLACK-LIGHT-TRAP- Go in and out like tiny snakes
IN THE BLACK-LIGHT-TRAP- We fool around but thats ok
IN THE BLACK-LIGHT-TRAP... In the black-light-trap...

Pornographic implosion
Sticky animals on the air
An implaccable suction
That pulls us in and keeps us there
Cryogenic excitement: Dionysian repartee
Creamed and steamed and quite obscene

All chemical all funny-man all belly-flop all dilly dally
All muddy moan all billy bolly all wobble-y all shilly shally
All chemical all funny-man all belly-flop all dilly dally
All muddy moan all billy bolly all wobble-y all shilly shally

IN THE BLACK-LIGHT-TRAP- We make all our mistakes
IN THE BLACK-LIGHT-TRAP- Go in and out like tiny snakes
IN THE BLACK-LIGHT-TRAP- We fool around but thats ok
IN THE BLACK-LIGHT-TRAP... (Watch him go now)... In the black-light-trap...

All chemical all funny-man all belly-flop all dilly dally
All muddy moan all billy bolly all wobble-y all shilly shally
All chemical all funny-man all belly-flop all dilly dally
All muddy moan all billy bolly all wobble-y all shilly shally

IN THE BLACK LIGHT TRAP
IN THE BLACK LIGHT TRAP
IN THE BLACK LIGHT TRAP
IN THE BLACK LIGHT TRAP

IN THE BLACK LIGHT TRAP
IN THE BLACK LIGHT TRAP
IN THE BLACK LIGHT TRAP
IN THE BLACK LIGHT TRAP

Thanks to Cleartrails/Phil Hetherington for the transcription.

Glowing in the Dark: Minimal Synth MP3 Series #3 - Moderne

The ablum is indeed everything the cover suggests and more. Here is the track "Mercenaire Solitaire." From the 1981 Arabella records LP, L'espionne aimait la musique. It's cold. It's synth. It's French. What else could you want?

Freakwave

I'll admit that one of my only true vices is the fact that I like to watch Kevin Costner's mega-flop Waterworld. Seriously, any time it's on. Actually every time it's on. I know, I know.

It's actually not the film itself that's compelling (though it's competently done) -- it’s the idea of the film. The concept is what my pre-pubescent dreams were made of. Post-apocalyptic action a la Mad Max but in the water? Man, I was so there in 1985. In fact, that's practically the only game I played in the pool - the lone survivor in a water wasteland of mutants and my brother… You get the picture.



So it comes as no surprise that I'd love Brendan McCarthy's Freakwave. This is essentially the same story as Waterworld just made ten years earlier. What? Yeah, Waterworld effectively ripped off this comic book series that has its roots in a film proposal circulated in the mid-80s. Alas, it joins the slagheap of other great ideas - Jodorowsky's Dune, the post-apocalyptic Easy Rider 2- that never materialized. At least we have a few comic panels and production art pieces.

Vasilis Lolos

How is Vasilis not in the Pantheon? I mean he's as close to a Greek God as we've got these days. (Not counting my pal Thomas "The Hairy Brows" Mavroudis.) Not only is his work on Pirates of Coney Island slam dancing it's way into my heart but the man continues to spin off strange effulvia like the upcoming Last Call. And he posts his favorite Robert Smith photos on his site! The man's a genius.