And help support my depraved lifestyle. Think of it as my boutique version of Cash for a Clunker.
What's it about? I suppose it could be classified as Southern Gothic, if by "Southern" you mean Cracker, and if by "Gothic" you mean Sexual behavior of a deviant nature. As in what if Erskine Caldwell had written Huckleberry Finn? I think it's a pretty good read, and cheaper than a case of beer, which, frankly, will only give you the squirts to go with that throbbing headache. And if I must play upon your conscience, you've had enough free content from me over the last six years, fuckers. So buy the book.
Why did I self-publish? Easy: I couldn't find a publisher and wanted to get this off my plate because I'm working on another novel. I'll admit my search wasn't the most intense in the world, however I am aware that publishers are only interested in genre fiction now: sci-fi, romance, thrillers, and young adult (specifically with vampires and/or child wizards in them). There's no real market for my brand of fiction. And as for agents, they couldn't be bothered. Which is fine, because I consider them lazy bastards who want 20% of your blood, sweat, and tears for the privilege of pimping your product to the one or two publishers who won't actually slam the door in their faces. Actually, I have more respect for pimps, because at least at the end of the conversation you know there will be a transaction, and order fulfillment.
And this way I get to control the content, cover art, everything. Although I could of course use a good editor. Any writer who says he doesn't is a damned liar or a fool. But Key, God bless her, was wonderful in this regard. Not only is she brilliant, she was able to turn the cynical eye upon my prose and flog me where necessary.
About Lulu: I cannot speak highly enough about this self publisher. If you need hand holding, or editorial services, I can't speak to that. Don't expect to get someone on the phone, or a prompt reply to picayune emails. But if you're confident in your work product, and can produce your own copy and cover art, etc., they're great. I stubbed my toe a couple of times on formatting issues, PDF conversions, and the like, and their website isn't the most user-friendly, but all the tools are there. You just have to persevere, experiment a little, and it will all come together. Plus, I got the ISBN, upgraded publishing service, and Amazon, all for free. Try that at Book Surge. Also: I made changes twice before approving the final version. Both times, from ordering to publishing to having the proof in my mailbox was 3 or 4 days. Fucking exceptional.
Okay, a teaser:
The drive back to Savannah was quiet, which was not unusual, the Senator being short on small talk, but it was also highly strained, as though a stunned boar lay on the back seat, and both of them felt silence was the best policy, lest they awaken that boar. The Senator was strange like that. Deafening silence suited him, conversation by osmosis the norm, but Jule, or any of his siblings for that matter, could mention a topic that engaged the old man, and he would wax eloquent for eternity.
In desperation Jule tried this engagement tactic, because the silence was maddening, and he wanted to distract his father, or at least see if his initial reaction would mention the eye lock.
“Who was greater, Dad? Genghis Khan or Kublai Khan?” The Senator was quiet, still, but his lips were pursed, and Jule knew he was formulating an answer.
“Why, Genghis Khan, of course, boy. Don’t you see? Genghis was the conqueror. Amassed the largest empire in history. All of Asia save parts of the Indian subcontinent, and was beating on the doors of Europe, right into their fucking privies, ah, pardon me boy, right into their privies when he inexplicably fell back. All accomplished on tiny little furry ponies.” The Senator was silent for a moment.
“That’s skill, son,” he continued. “That’s what we call a warlord. Kublai, on the other hand, inherited this empire, and forced the civilization of the Chinese upon his mongrel peoples. Mongrel, boy, is a word that derives from Mongolian, which is what they were. Savages. But they conquered the Chinee, Jule, and adopted their fancy ways. Kublai is what we call a dilettante, son. Inherits from the fierce ancestors, and then sets himself up as potentate, and the next thing you know he’s sporting long polished fingernails, and concubines he don’t even bother to whip. Then the next thing you know they’re fucking small boys… ah, excuse me, son, they’re engaging in depraved homosexual conduct. Do you know what homosexuality is, son? Sure, no you don’t. Forget I even mentioned it. I’ll explain it to you another day.
“So to this day you’ll see the vestiges of the Mongols all over Russia, son. For instance, did you know that cocksucker, excuse me boy, that rascal Lenin was a damned Mongolian? Sure he was. His eyes were slitted, he had a little hairless goatee like Fu Manchu. What made him so cruel,” the Senator added with a flourish, shaking a balled fist in the air.
You want this book now, don't you? Sure you do. Cheaper than the squirts. And NO, the Senator in the novel is NOT my father the Senator of my posts. But I've had so much fun over the last six years, reminescing about my old man, that I created a character evocative of him, but certainly not him. Everyone needs catharsis at times. For some it's an enema. For me it was this character.
Click on that link above the picture. Buy this book. I never ask for anything. This I want you to do.
Posted by Velociman at August 5, 2009 6:58 PM
Update: Thanks, Jeff!