READ ALL THE STUFF ON MY BLOG. NOT JUST THE NEW. THE OLD IS AS GOOD AS THE NEW.
19th July, 2016
Paul, (literary agent),
What I need is a good publicist. But are there such? He or she would need the following qualifications:
1. They would have to like my stuff. Believe it is worth publicising and worth publishing.
2. They would have to have an in with publishers who would have to know they only promote what is good and worth publishing.
3. They, he or she, would have to believe that what is worth publishing means what will sell.
4. The public are not fools, most of the time. Nor are publishers, most of the time. Not the successful ones. A publicist knows this.
5. There is no point five.
6. I have no money. The publicist would have to work for the future and believe in the future. Then get his or her share.
7. My stuff is all blogged, and more coming. Easily accessible. And removable from the blog if published, or whatever.
8. The publicist needs to be a human being. I only deal with human beings.
9. Does such a creature exist? I don’t want people liking my stuff in quotes, the real thing or nothing. And they do. Real people.
10. That’s all.
How the whatever do I find such a person?
A friend, in the music business, said when you are starting you have to do it all for yourself. Accountancy, legalities, every blooming thing. Even though you know nothing about those. It’s Hell. He didn’t say that, but I do.
Welcome to Hell. All mod cons. Central heating as standard. Air conditioning extra.
Okay, as Samuel Pepys says, and so to bed,
——– Forwarded Message ——–
|Date:||Mon, 18 Jul 2016 20:54:12 +0100|
|From:||David Tich Ennis|
|To:||Paul Thompson, literary agent|
Where are publishers who want to publish stuff people like to read? Ordinary people. They like my stuff. Certainly not only relatives, I am not sure if my relatives are ordinary. Objective, dispassionate outsiders. Disinterested, a misunderstood word. People who would not normally read poetry, certainly not the modern stuff, it would drive them mad. They are sane, and intend to keep it that way. I don’t only write poetry. Some guy whose work was popular said at a conference you are authors, I’m a writer. I echo that.
I keep having false dawns. They are a recurring nightmare. There’s a guy in the U.S., Dave Eggers, article about him in the Sunday Times culture section last Sunday, very highly thought of, won awards, I think. Has or had a publishing house called McSweeney, I think. I looked at that, it appeared only to publish his own stuff.
Then, to get right down to Earth, wherever that is, S*** My Dad Says was very popular and very funny. Even I thought so. I went so far as to buy it. Number one on the N.Y.Times bestseller list can’t be bad. I suppose I could try contacting the publisher of that.
But, Hell, do these people ever (effing, pardon me) listen to or read submissions from nonentities such as my good, or fairly good, self?
I have my blog. People are liking my stuff. I got some followers, entirely without bribery. Whatever I am good at, if anything, I am Hellishly bad at self promotion and the research involved, it makes my head swim. I am also awful at the technical aspects of computing and the internet, this is all Hell to me. I do exist.
I suppose I could go on for about five or ten years as now putting up stuff sometimes several times a day, getting a few likes and less followers, but some, and then, say, Hey, look at me, all those followers, put your money where your mouth is, if you’re not in you can’t win, get your finger out, call yourself a publisher, prove it, nothing ventured, nothing gained, etcetera etcetera until the cows come home, why wait, its on a plate, and so on ad infinitum.
In the long run we’re all dead – John Maynard Keynes, he should know. How do you speed up time? I haven’t long to live. Relatively speaking. Lets see, my grandfather was ninety five, I’m seventy five. And counting. I could die of boredom.
Horses for courses. People are not equal, they are complementary. No, I didn’t say that first. I’m a copycat. Not all of us have all the talents. Possibly modesty is at the same time my greatest failing and my greatest virtue. Or something like that. I am not a fairground barker. That is not my calling.
Anyway, I’m growing a beard, so I have other things to do. Also a pint awaits. Drown my sorrows,
19th July, 2016