My novel The Sun Singer will be four years old on June 24th. To celebrate, I'll be giving away several free books from the following list:
People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks
Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin
Quantum Wellness by Kathy Freston
Unplugged by Nancy Whitney-Reiter
Love the One You're With by Emily Griffin
Odd Hours by Dean Koontz
Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri
The Sun Singer
To enter, go to my web site page and watch the video. Answer an easy question. Select your first and second book choices from the list, and then send me an e-mail with your name, address and choices.
The first three names drawn out of the hat with the question answered correctly on June 24th will win a book, maybe two.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Experiencing the Hero Path
On June 24, my hero path novel The Sun Singer will be four years old.
The novel, structured after Joseph Campbell’s heropath scheme tells the story of a young man who goes into an unknown land to finish a task left undone by his avatar grandfather.
During the past four years, I’ve been lucky to receive decent reviews on Amazon and BarnesandNoble along with many kind words on various blog sites. The book hasn’t become an “underground cult favorite” yet, but I’m still hoping.
Mythic stories such as The Sun Singer are only tangentially “about” the characters within the story. Sure, my story focuses on a young man named Robert Adams who has been running from his psychic talents. When a family member dies, he treks off into the unknown, a fictionalised version of Glacier National Park, to finish a dangerous task. While doing so, he is changed.
In myths, becoming changed is more important than completing the task. But there’s more to it than that. The trappings of mythic stories are less important that the “inner work” accomplished by the hero or the seeker. The Sun Singer could have been set anywhere at any time because, truth be told, it’s about you.
Myths are catalysts for readers. Yes, we hope there’s an engaging story there to keep people reading to the last page. But really, it’s a road map, a means through which the reader will find ways to listen to the call of adventure, head off into the unknown, and become transformed in the process.
It’s your story. It always has been.
So, as the book’s fourth anniversary approaches, I’m hoping that many of my beloved readers have discovered that the novel, figuratively speaking, is their story. If you haven’t experienced the novel, I invite you to do so and then write me and tell me in you found yourself and/or your path within the text.
Copyright (c) 2008 by Malcolm R. Campbell
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Denying Lady Luck
Janice Harayda, in her One-Minute Book Reviews weblog, recently took issue with a "Newsweek" article that said luck had nothing to do with Junot Diaz' success.
Her comment, "To say that luck has nothing to do with literary success is an example of the American denial of luck, a romantic myth. Díaz has talent, a lot of it. But he was also lucky" reminds us of the ever-present wild card in the publishing business.
We deny luck because we want to believe the "system" works, that the best writers and the best books are always those that are published, with the cream going on to big sales, movie deals, and literary rewards. Instead, Harayda suggests that making "noise" as a writer is more apt to represent one's odds of getting on Oprah's show as opposed to demonstrating talent.
In fact, we have chaos. Sipping Scotch this afternoon as I contemplate the difficulty of finding agents or publishers who will spend more than a New York minute contemplating a manuscript that took years of an author's work, I wonder how other businesses could possibly operate with such poor business models that it took luck to remain remotely profitable.
On any given day, thousands of queries and manucripts are sent to agents and publishers. Only a fraction of these will be given the time of day. Read about any successful book, and you'll hear that 10, 15, or even 50 publishers rejected the manuscript before it finally found a home. If a doctor were to admit that 50 of his peers made an incorrect diagnosis before the patient was finally treated properly, there'd be hell to pay. But we expect things to be that way in publishing.
Luck trumps merit. Not always, for those of us who like to read find merit enough to satisfy our addition. If publishers ever bow to lady luck, they speak of luck in the marketplace where a novel suddenly caught on and found a following. But they deny it plays into their own work for it would be very difficult to justify one's paycheck if one admitted that rolling the dice or casting the Tarot cards would end up producing the same or better results.
Her comment, "To say that luck has nothing to do with literary success is an example of the American denial of luck, a romantic myth. Díaz has talent, a lot of it. But he was also lucky" reminds us of the ever-present wild card in the publishing business.
We deny luck because we want to believe the "system" works, that the best writers and the best books are always those that are published, with the cream going on to big sales, movie deals, and literary rewards. Instead, Harayda suggests that making "noise" as a writer is more apt to represent one's odds of getting on Oprah's show as opposed to demonstrating talent.
In fact, we have chaos. Sipping Scotch this afternoon as I contemplate the difficulty of finding agents or publishers who will spend more than a New York minute contemplating a manuscript that took years of an author's work, I wonder how other businesses could possibly operate with such poor business models that it took luck to remain remotely profitable.
On any given day, thousands of queries and manucripts are sent to agents and publishers. Only a fraction of these will be given the time of day. Read about any successful book, and you'll hear that 10, 15, or even 50 publishers rejected the manuscript before it finally found a home. If a doctor were to admit that 50 of his peers made an incorrect diagnosis before the patient was finally treated properly, there'd be hell to pay. But we expect things to be that way in publishing.
Luck trumps merit. Not always, for those of us who like to read find merit enough to satisfy our addition. If publishers ever bow to lady luck, they speak of luck in the marketplace where a novel suddenly caught on and found a following. But they deny it plays into their own work for it would be very difficult to justify one's paycheck if one admitted that rolling the dice or casting the Tarot cards would end up producing the same or better results.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Is the Arrogance Necessary?
If you chance upon the manuscript submissions page of one well-known literary agency that no longer accepts queries or manuscripts without a recommendation from somebody the agents know, you'll find this advice:
Our advice to writers seeking representation is to search out writing groups or writing teachers that can give support to your work and can provide recommendations to agents when they feel your work is ready for submission to a professional publishing person.
This advice is absurd on its face: what are the odds that the writing teacher one selects is going to be a trusted friend or colleague of anyone at this agency?
More importantly, why does the person who wrote these words presume that because the prospective client doesn't know anyone at the agency, s/he needs to enroll in a writing course?
My guess is that the agency believes the following: 98.6% of the people reading our submission guidelines are unwashed wannabees who, after a misspent life of drinking and grave robbery, sobered up one day and said, 'Dang, i think i wannabee a riter.'"
Otherwise, presuming that everyone you don't know needs to go back to school is at best arrogant.
Why not just say: We don't accept unsolicited queries or manuscripts without insulting the many long-time writers and other professionals who might have found your site?
Fortunately, most of the agents' websites I've seen, while equally firm, have a great deal more finesse and occasionally some very helpful resources.
While I am sometimes deluged with mail and e-mail requests that I can't possible handle, I can't possibly imagine what it would be like to be a literary agent with a ton of unsolicited manuscripts arriving on my doorstep each week.
But guys, I have to say that you caused this problem. You have worked diligently for years convincing publishers that they will have more time to do what they do best if agents are permitted to screen ALL manuscripts first.
You asked to be the sole keepers of the sacred gates. The least you can do is smile sweetly when somebody knocks.
Our advice to writers seeking representation is to search out writing groups or writing teachers that can give support to your work and can provide recommendations to agents when they feel your work is ready for submission to a professional publishing person.
This advice is absurd on its face: what are the odds that the writing teacher one selects is going to be a trusted friend or colleague of anyone at this agency?
More importantly, why does the person who wrote these words presume that because the prospective client doesn't know anyone at the agency, s/he needs to enroll in a writing course?
My guess is that the agency believes the following: 98.6% of the people reading our submission guidelines are unwashed wannabees who, after a misspent life of drinking and grave robbery, sobered up one day and said, 'Dang, i think i wannabee a riter.'"
Otherwise, presuming that everyone you don't know needs to go back to school is at best arrogant.
Why not just say: We don't accept unsolicited queries or manuscripts without insulting the many long-time writers and other professionals who might have found your site?
Fortunately, most of the agents' websites I've seen, while equally firm, have a great deal more finesse and occasionally some very helpful resources.
While I am sometimes deluged with mail and e-mail requests that I can't possible handle, I can't possibly imagine what it would be like to be a literary agent with a ton of unsolicited manuscripts arriving on my doorstep each week.
But guys, I have to say that you caused this problem. You have worked diligently for years convincing publishers that they will have more time to do what they do best if agents are permitted to screen ALL manuscripts first.
You asked to be the sole keepers of the sacred gates. The least you can do is smile sweetly when somebody knocks.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mother's Day Seance
At high noon on Mother's Day, I hire a happy medium who comes over to my house with various spooky trinkets and incense to conduct my yearly Mother's Day Seance.
My mother passed away in 1986 and in all the years since then, even Google and Yahoo haven't figured out how to create the connectivity required for a heaven website or a profile on MySpace or Facebook. Heaven doesn't even have e-mail since Outlook can't look that far.
Five minutes into the seance, the medium says, "if you're not Malcolm, please sign in." "I am," I said.
Your mother wants to know if you're still remembering to brush your teeth after every meal.
"It's too late, Mom, they all fell out."
"But you soak your dentures like that guy on TV used to show us. What's the stuff, Sani-Flush?"
"No, I brushed my teeth with Sani-Flush and then had no more teeth to brush." The medium chokes on her herbal tea when I say that. "It's Efferdent, Mom."
"Don't forget because a pretty smile makes a good impression."
"I won't."
"You're keeping up with your writing, I hope."
Now, finally, I think my real mother is coming through. And, on Mother's Day, or any day, I remember her more for her absolute certainty about the value of my writing than anything else. No matter how hard I worked at practical jobs, she always hoped I'd never turn my back on the kind of writing that mattered to me.
She saw a rough draft of "The Sun Singer" years before it was ever published and I think it pleased her that I had written it, in spite of all the disappointments I brought upon the family.
On Mother's Day, of all days, I remember my biggest fan and the future she hoped I would one day discover.
"You're not drinking are you?" she asks, and I can even hear the hopefulness of her question in the medium's voice.
"Only a little bit, Mom."
"Now there's a good boy."
My mother passed away in 1986 and in all the years since then, even Google and Yahoo haven't figured out how to create the connectivity required for a heaven website or a profile on MySpace or Facebook. Heaven doesn't even have e-mail since Outlook can't look that far.
Five minutes into the seance, the medium says, "if you're not Malcolm, please sign in." "I am," I said.
Your mother wants to know if you're still remembering to brush your teeth after every meal.
"It's too late, Mom, they all fell out."
"But you soak your dentures like that guy on TV used to show us. What's the stuff, Sani-Flush?"
"No, I brushed my teeth with Sani-Flush and then had no more teeth to brush." The medium chokes on her herbal tea when I say that. "It's Efferdent, Mom."
"Don't forget because a pretty smile makes a good impression."
"I won't."
"You're keeping up with your writing, I hope."
Now, finally, I think my real mother is coming through. And, on Mother's Day, or any day, I remember her more for her absolute certainty about the value of my writing than anything else. No matter how hard I worked at practical jobs, she always hoped I'd never turn my back on the kind of writing that mattered to me.
She saw a rough draft of "The Sun Singer" years before it was ever published and I think it pleased her that I had written it, in spite of all the disappointments I brought upon the family.
On Mother's Day, of all days, I remember my biggest fan and the future she hoped I would one day discover.
"You're not drinking are you?" she asks, and I can even hear the hopefulness of her question in the medium's voice.
"Only a little bit, Mom."
"Now there's a good boy."
Monday, May 05, 2008
Commentary: 'Capote in Kansas' by Kim Powers
Kim Powers has crossed the line in Capote in Kansas: A Ghost Story by inserting the made-up actions, thoughts and conversations of a living author into a work of fiction. And instead of being lambasted for the unmitigated gaul of it by Publishers Weekly, the author is praised for thrusting a pulp fiction-style invasion of privacy into the very private world of Harper Lee because the author's fans "will welcome" it.
Hardly. If Harper Lee were less private, this matter might very well have already ended up in court.
Had Powers written about two fictional authors, or authors both long dead, this book might be worthy of praise. But of course, without the names "Capote" and "Lee" attached to it, there would be lower sales. Kim Powers knows how to write well in spite of the sagging end of this novel.
Were the novel perfect in its prose and construction, the abomination of this work would be even greater for more would read it and more would praise it, thinking, I suppose, that we have a right to peer through the windows--fictional or otherwise--of living people simply because doing so will help us understand them better.
Neither the re-imagined moments in the life of Capote nor the fictional gestimates about what Lee may or may not have done within the plot of the novel advance our understanding of these very real people. The novel has discounted them by making them characters in a novel.
Copyright (c) 2008 by Malcolm R. Campbell
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