Monday – The Writer
Sep. 13th, 2010 02:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
My local, independently-owned, new-and-used bookseller had a book signing on Saturday. At our monthly book club meeting a week ago, the owner of the store begged us all to come to it. The main reason I went was to buy the selection for next month’s book club meeting, which was not available the night of the meeting the way it usually is. She really wanted the event to be a success, even though she was less than enthusiastic about the author after having met him.
"Yeah, the d.b. came in yesterday to drop off copies of the book and make sure everything was a go."
"D.b.?" I asked.
"Yeah, you know: douche bag. When you meet him you’ll know what I mean." If you knew Kristen, you would know that it is very out of character to have her talk about someone this way. I met the author myself on Saturday. Sure, there are other, less icky ways to describe a person like him: twit, dweeb, jackass, and goober, to name a few. But the phrase that sums him up best is: “a total douche bag.”
”So, is this a real book being published by a real publishing house, or is it a vanity press?” I asked Kristen.
"I think it’s a real press. I mean, it looks like it’s from a real press. How do you tell?"
I Googled the title of the book and found the name of the press. It’s a vanity, a.k.a. print-on-demand, press. Not that great books arne't ever published this way. The point is, though, is that as long as the credit card payment goes though, your manuscript will get published. Quality control is non part of the process. From what it looks like, this 24-year old kid’s daddy paid for the $4100 dollar package, which not only provided a nice-looking book but also included “professional” reviews to say how wonderful the book is. The reviews on all the websites that sell book gave it 5 stars and used words like brilliant, breathtaking, and masterpiece to describe it. I’m not sure if the kid’s old man paid them to lay it on extra thick or not, but they certainly did.
“Please?” Kristen begged me while I was in the store.
"I’m poor right now," I whispered, "And I don't get paid until Wednesday. If I do this, it’s only because I like you." She sold it to me at cost. I turned around, smiled at the young douche bag, and asked him to sign it for me. He was a serious young man who may like to write words, but not care to speak them much. He tended to answer in monosyllables. He answered the compliments bestowed on him by the locals impressed to be in the presense of a real, live published author with phrases like, "Uhm, Cool."
I told Jeff about it on the phone that evening.
"You actually bought it?"
“As a favor to a friend,” I said, “It might be fun to read, though. It’s so incredibly bad, it might be funny. You can tell that just by reading the back.”
“Why, what does the back say?”
I put on my best narrator voice and began to read: "His restless heart beat to a rhythm of its own - a rhythm that had once been so prevalent in the core of a man’s soul, but has long been lost under the thick layers of routine, expectation, and responsibility created by the quiet, civilized life."
"Oh, you’re kidding me."
"Nope, that’s what it says."
"What’s it called again?”
"Restless Heart."
Jeff groaned. "It even sounds bad."
“I think it might possibly the worst book ever written. But the cover art is nice. Wait, there’s more: Konrad Quintero de Leon, a young American man, having just returned home to New York after his schooling at Oxford University, decides to venture west to rediscover that lost rhythm and peel off the layers that have muffled it for so long. Oh, and that’s Konrad with a ‘K.’”
"Stop!" my husband begged, "My ears are bleeding."
I continued anyway, just to torment him. "Set in the 1840s, America’s most restless years, Konrad begins an endless journey in search of his own ‘manifest destiny.’ He embarks on a westward expedition with the famous explorer, John C. Fremont, and legendary mountain man, Kit Carson. "
"Wait!" Jeff exclaimed, “He uses real historical figures in this piece of tripe? That’s it, now I want to punch him.” Using real historical figures in works of bad fiction is one of the things that irks my husband to no end.
"Actually, I think this would be fun to read, but not on your own," I said, "I think it would be great drinking game. You could sit around in a group reading it, and any time he used the word restless or heart, everyone could take a drink.” I skimmed the first page. "Looks like we all should have a pretty good buzz by the end of chapter 1."
I flipped though some of the rest of the book and read a bit of the dialog to myself. "Then, whenever one of the villains said something worthy of Snidely Whiplash, everyone would have to say 'Curses!' and whoever didn’t would have to drink. In turn, when the hero says something really lame in response, we could all say Stop right there! Or drink. Whichever."
"So how long is this piece of crap, anyway?"
I turned to the back."Right about 500 pages. Yikes! My liver’s gonna be shot. Maybe a drinking game isn’t such a great idea."
"Probably not."
"Hey, you want to see the author? His picture is on the back cover. Go to his homepage, you can see it there, too. Take a look and tell me what you think."
I heard the keyboard clicks as my husband Googled the book and the author’s website, followed by a contemplative silence. I could picture him looked at the young man in the photo, who sat in an effected pose while grasping a book in one hand and staring off into space trying to look very hard like he was thinking deep thoughts. He also looked kind of like he was trying very hard to look like Alexander Skarsgård, who plays Eric Northman on True Blood, but only succeeding in the way of creating an unintended parody.
"My God," Jeff said, "Look at him! What a douche bag."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
My local, independently-owned, new-and-used bookseller had a book signing on Saturday. At our monthly book club meeting a week ago, the owner of the store begged us all to come to it. The main reason I went was to buy the selection for next month’s book club meeting, which was not available the night of the meeting the way it usually is. She really wanted the event to be a success, even though she was less than enthusiastic about the author after having met him.
"Yeah, the d.b. came in yesterday to drop off copies of the book and make sure everything was a go."
"D.b.?" I asked.
"Yeah, you know: douche bag. When you meet him you’ll know what I mean." If you knew Kristen, you would know that it is very out of character to have her talk about someone this way. I met the author myself on Saturday. Sure, there are other, less icky ways to describe a person like him: twit, dweeb, jackass, and goober, to name a few. But the phrase that sums him up best is: “a total douche bag.”
”So, is this a real book being published by a real publishing house, or is it a vanity press?” I asked Kristen.
"I think it’s a real press. I mean, it looks like it’s from a real press. How do you tell?"
I Googled the title of the book and found the name of the press. It’s a vanity, a.k.a. print-on-demand, press. Not that great books arne't ever published this way. The point is, though, is that as long as the credit card payment goes though, your manuscript will get published. Quality control is non part of the process. From what it looks like, this 24-year old kid’s daddy paid for the $4100 dollar package, which not only provided a nice-looking book but also included “professional” reviews to say how wonderful the book is. The reviews on all the websites that sell book gave it 5 stars and used words like brilliant, breathtaking, and masterpiece to describe it. I’m not sure if the kid’s old man paid them to lay it on extra thick or not, but they certainly did.
“Please?” Kristen begged me while I was in the store.
"I’m poor right now," I whispered, "And I don't get paid until Wednesday. If I do this, it’s only because I like you." She sold it to me at cost. I turned around, smiled at the young douche bag, and asked him to sign it for me. He was a serious young man who may like to write words, but not care to speak them much. He tended to answer in monosyllables. He answered the compliments bestowed on him by the locals impressed to be in the presense of a real, live published author with phrases like, "Uhm, Cool."
I told Jeff about it on the phone that evening.
"You actually bought it?"
“As a favor to a friend,” I said, “It might be fun to read, though. It’s so incredibly bad, it might be funny. You can tell that just by reading the back.”
“Why, what does the back say?”
I put on my best narrator voice and began to read: "His restless heart beat to a rhythm of its own - a rhythm that had once been so prevalent in the core of a man’s soul, but has long been lost under the thick layers of routine, expectation, and responsibility created by the quiet, civilized life."
"Oh, you’re kidding me."
"Nope, that’s what it says."
"What’s it called again?”
"Restless Heart."
Jeff groaned. "It even sounds bad."
“I think it might possibly the worst book ever written. But the cover art is nice. Wait, there’s more: Konrad Quintero de Leon, a young American man, having just returned home to New York after his schooling at Oxford University, decides to venture west to rediscover that lost rhythm and peel off the layers that have muffled it for so long. Oh, and that’s Konrad with a ‘K.’”
"Stop!" my husband begged, "My ears are bleeding."
I continued anyway, just to torment him. "Set in the 1840s, America’s most restless years, Konrad begins an endless journey in search of his own ‘manifest destiny.’ He embarks on a westward expedition with the famous explorer, John C. Fremont, and legendary mountain man, Kit Carson. "
"Wait!" Jeff exclaimed, “He uses real historical figures in this piece of tripe? That’s it, now I want to punch him.” Using real historical figures in works of bad fiction is one of the things that irks my husband to no end.
"Actually, I think this would be fun to read, but not on your own," I said, "I think it would be great drinking game. You could sit around in a group reading it, and any time he used the word restless or heart, everyone could take a drink.” I skimmed the first page. "Looks like we all should have a pretty good buzz by the end of chapter 1."
I flipped though some of the rest of the book and read a bit of the dialog to myself. "Then, whenever one of the villains said something worthy of Snidely Whiplash, everyone would have to say 'Curses!' and whoever didn’t would have to drink. In turn, when the hero says something really lame in response, we could all say Stop right there! Or drink. Whichever."
"So how long is this piece of crap, anyway?"
I turned to the back."Right about 500 pages. Yikes! My liver’s gonna be shot. Maybe a drinking game isn’t such a great idea."
"Probably not."
"Hey, you want to see the author? His picture is on the back cover. Go to his homepage, you can see it there, too. Take a look and tell me what you think."
I heard the keyboard clicks as my husband Googled the book and the author’s website, followed by a contemplative silence. I could picture him looked at the young man in the photo, who sat in an effected pose while grasping a book in one hand and staring off into space trying to look very hard like he was thinking deep thoughts. He also looked kind of like he was trying very hard to look like Alexander Skarsgård, who plays Eric Northman on True Blood, but only succeeding in the way of creating an unintended parody.
"My God," Jeff said, "Look at him! What a douche bag."
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no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 07:50 pm (UTC)And one review I found compared it to "Great Expectations"?!?!??!
I love your drinking game idea, LOL
no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 08:27 pm (UTC)My daddy offered to pay for me to have a book published, too. I had too much pride to take him up on it. :P
The kid didn't thank me for buying the book, but as I was getting into my car out in the parking lot, his father did. I found that kind of touching.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 09:41 pm (UTC)I'll give the man the benefit of the doubt that he tried his best to instill good values and common sense in the boy, and that they just didn't take.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 10:15 pm (UTC)