Do you have any idea how hard it is to make someone read a book? Because I didn't until I wrote one.
Now this might be a good time to confess that I know absolutely nothing about the technical nuances concerning the art of writing. No academic training in the field whatsoever. Hell, I went to art school. I'm barely even literate. All my books are filled with pictures. Format and punctuation are a mystery to me. But I can tell a story. And I can tell a joke. And I can tell the most preposterous lies about the most improbable things in perfect deadpan. And because I'm older than the internet, I still know how to spell. More or less.
I like to think of Jack's Inferno--not just Volume One, but the entire trilogy--not so much as genre fiction or literary fiction or fantasy or horror...but simply as an epic anecdote. Just a clever and interesting yarn about some crazy shit that happened. Is it true? Of course not. Okay, maybe some of it. Or a lot of it. But it's fiction. My attourney will attest to that. Any similarities between crimes and sins of the author and that of the protagonist are purely coincidental and none of your goddamned business. It's brutal satire and drunken philosophy. It's horror-comedy for the desensitized.
But getting back to the focus group. Because I have no academic credentials, I felt it would be a good idea to distribute some review copies of earlier drafts of the book to a select group of friends in order to get general feedback and proofreading. Here's how that went:
"I wrote a novel."
"That's awesome! I'd love to read it!"
"Okay, here's a copy. You're in the focus group. Let me know what you think."
ONE MONTH LATER
"So what did you think?"
"Haven't started on it yet."
"Huh."
TWO MONTHS LATER
"So did you ever get around to that book?"
"No, I've been really busy."
"Yeah, I know what that's like. I've been busy trying to publish a novel. Well, good luck on that math test."
THREE MONTHS LATER
"So...about that book I wrote..."
"You wrote a book? Cool! What's it called?"
But I did manage to get a few people to read it.
"I had no idea you could write!"
"Neither did I."
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Yeah yeah they say a good story need only bear slight resemblance to the truth. I'll let the Light Bringer comment on how truthful Jack's tale is, but as for this blog post?
ReplyDeleteThe truth behind this entertaining story is that at least one focuser managed to read the damn manuscript in just a few boozey nights. Maybe even utilized a few other appropriate chemical enhancers as well. YOU might not want to trip in hell, but Jack seemed to have a good time and let's just say I was right there with him. The words literally leapt off the page. No really, they did. I was laughing my ass off trying to put them back on the page so I could get through the mushroom tea party chapter. That was probably about the time I called him with my first...um...focused feedback.
Whatever, point is I read the damned thing. Promptly.
Was I sober? Pfff. Did I have a single "focus group" outside of our bar? No, but this ain't really your typical teahouse fare either. Mike could have written a collection of sonnets on the contemporary American experience and had boorishly sober literati types turn in their book reports on time. Instead he wrote a kick-ass cue the demon voice) "dark comedy about hell" and got a bunch of Jacks and Coalburners to read it. Somebody call the man a Whaaambulance, I'm going to the pub. If Mike makes it out, his first Whineken's on me...
Alright, Jeff (I'm assuming this is Jeff), I already bestowed the title of "best of the worst" upon you. Would you like me to downgrade it to "pretty good of the good enough"? All exceptions to the rule will be in the liner notes. And I'll take that beer tonight.
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