Deb!

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1 The Famous Flower of Serving Men

Cool, eh?

Poem/prose drabble thang:

Warhol Days

In the days of the pop stardom draft, your fifteen minutes of fame are mandatory. There will be no notification by mail or Instant Messenger. The paparazzi will simply sprout like the first crop of spring, trampling the lawn and displacing garden gnomes. The animated corpse of Ed McMahon will hand you a cartoon check worth the cardboard it’s printed on, and the weight of effervescence will hit you in the forehead like a pebble in the hands of a paste-eating third-grade bully. Smile for the cameras, lest their microphones transform into switchblades, quick as sound bites. Give them something worth remembering—the lullaby your mother sang to you in the crib, set against the rhythm of the cereal beat box; The bit of Plath you memorized in high school, with a little soft shoe thrown in. Replicate yourself like language, changing color with each inflection. Do not offer the reporters coffee. They’ll be gone before its brewed.

WOOT on shipping!

ANd Victor - that killed.

Oh, that's amazing, Victor. What a great rhythm it's got.

Victor, have you ever considered this writing thing?

Victor, have you ever considered this writing thing?

I've heard of it. Figure I should give it a try some day.

Cereal: Just realized the titles not there. It's called "Warhol Days." Will go back and edit it in.

Victor, wow. That's--closer to the surface than one realizes on first reading. Um. Yeah, wow.

OK. I am going to vent. I've been reading erika's stuff, and Susan's stuff, and I've read Allyson's stuff and Bev's stuff. The people in here are writers.

Now. Check this out.

A musician friend of Joanna's dad wrote a novel about ten years ago (he's in London). Scifi fantasy or something; I haven't checked the URL yet because, frankly, if he writes fiction the way he writes email ("I admire the alacrity with which you are pursuing the publicity angle..."), it's going to set my teeth on edge. Dude, no one talks like that. Get real.

But what's driving me crazy is the rationale I'm getting here: "Hey, I wrote a novel! You're published! Can you read my book and make your agent read it?"

I mean, for fuck's sake:

...whether you had any good contacts you might be able to share in the publishing world.

I finished a rather weird novel some time back and I can't get any publishers or agents interested. [um, CLUE HERE, dude] I think I need an agent, and that's the area I was looking for help in.

Um, hello? You and the known universe. Has it occurred to you that maybe the book isn't very good? Or interesting? or well-written?

The book is based around a narrator who gets sucked, via the Internet, into a mysterious organisation that turns out, in the end, to be an Artificial Intelligence entity that got created by software malfunction in the Mormon church's database of souls. The narrator is a songwriter/composer who achieves success by writing soundtracks for violent video games. There's mystery, contemporary culture, a plethora of satirical irony and original ideas. A lot of the original music mentioned in the story actually exists - I made it over the years. Like I said - weird, but with cult potential...

(banging head against wall)

Why do these people do this to me? I did suggest that, between Otherland and The War of the Flowers, Tad's done it and done it before and done it better, but no - that isn't what he wants to hear.

Dude, if you can't get any interest from an agent, and you've been sending it out for ten years, maybe you should stick with music.

Gah. "A plethora of satirical irony and original ideas." Pardon me while I retch.

The narrator is a songwriter/composer who achieves success by writing soundtracks for violent video games.

Ooh, a book about Trent Reznor!

I have yet to read the Otherland books since they're fifty thousand pages long and I don't have that kind of time right now.

Ten years is a long time.