Here’s what I have been up to lately. My focus has been on various tasks related to release of my novel, The Pursuit of Cool, and getting ready for The Launch.

First, I had the great fortune to find graphic artist and book cover designer Lee Libro. I described an initial concept to her and she used her considerable creative skills to come up with a cover I am excited about. Lee uses a “team approach” to designing covers which welcomes client input. I recommend her as versatile, talented, and highly professional. As an artist myself, I am particular about visuals and the cover is everything I hoped it would be. I will be releasing the cover closer to my launch date. To release it now might produce an unbearable desire to read. I won’t torture you that way.

I finished approving the final copy edits on my 420 page manuscript. Really glad I hired a pro because I had no idea how many tiny things needed cleaning up. My copy editor, Marcia Trahan, is another person I must recommend. She is meticulous and highly professional, as well as a good editor-in-general.

I am doing more stuff on Photoshop, which might be my favorite app. Some of it is related to launching my novel, and some of it is TMiK art. TMiK Press now has an official logo, also thanks to Lee Libro.

As far as the The Replacements lyrics I was hoping to include in Part III, chapter 15 of my novel, I have made no progress with Paul Westerberg’s manager, nor his publishing company in getting a copyright license to include lyrics from the song “Sixteen Blue.” Where are you Paul Westerberg? Do you not hear my anguished cries? Do you not realize how I worshipped your music and how the youthful angst in your music so perfectly matches the angst of the novel’s protagonist, Lance Rally? Unless there is an 11th hour reprieve (maybe if we all believe with all our might…), you will only be able to read the lyrics here:

Drive yourself right up the wall

no one hears and no one calls

it’s a boring state

it’s a useless wait, I know

It has been on my to do list forever, and I have finally joined the Independent Author Network (#IAN1). I know some of you guys at IAN and I look forward to getting to know everyone else. I look forward to spreading the Indie spirit. I noticed the USA Today report that of the 150 top selling authors of 2011, 15 were indie writers. This will only increase as the indie/ebook revolution grows and matures. The rising tide lifts all boats!

My launch will offer ebook and paperpack versions of The Pursuit of Cool (can’t wait until you see the full spread cover of the paperback edition!) I am in the process of getting PDF’s to my print publisher. Then I will send paperback Advanced Review Copies to reviewers and select readers. Reviewers and bloggers are welcome to contact me if you are interested in The Pursuit of Cool. I must give them some time to read, so launch will probably be next month. More then…

The story originally was much longer and more complex. The long version was narrated by a boy who suffered from a severe stutter. Also, a dwarf lived in the suburb. This bearded little man, named Harley Peoples, was mysterious and feared, but ultimately a heroic character (a big scene involved his diminutive barbecue skills as witnessed through a divider fence). Sounds pretty awesome, right? But they had to go, they just didn’t work with the true heart of the story (the stutter kid lives on in a sequel). Stories sort of write themselves, or at least, with each revision it is important to clear your expectations and old notions and consider: In its present form, what is this story really about? What is the core? Is all directed at that core?

Good art has a lot to do with editing, taking things away. Once I chopped the extraneous characters the story in its most potent form emerged.  So check out and enjoy WE WERE GODS.

Music has been incredibly important in my life. A huge source of joy. It showed me how to deal with the world, showed me a path, and gave me some answers. My novel, The Pursuit of Cool, has a protagonist named Lance Rally who has a similar relationship with music.

Every young man in America goes through a sports car phase. It’s required. And because they are broke and foolish, they buy aging sports cars with problematic engines, but with decent paint jobs and enough remaining animal luster to impress girls.

I was at a music venue in Atlanta called The Masquerade the week before an unknown band named Nirvana was to play there. I was there to see a band called The Grinning Plowman. They were mediocre. I picked up a flyer and said to myself: Nirvana? Who the hell is Nirvana?

The first time I saw “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on MTV, I thought: This is new, this is great, this will change things.

I was obsessed with listening to Nevermind for about six months. My favorite song on Nevermind is “In Bloom.” I can never get enough of that crunchy guitar hook. I like the musical changes from soft to loud, and the way Kurt’s vocals change from subdued to screaming. I also like that the lyrics refer to and gently make fun of their pre Dave Grohl drummer.

My sports car phase involved a used 1985 Toyota Supra (An extremely temperamental and expensive vehicle to operate; it chewed new tires bald in 20,000 miles). It’s a kind of badass Japanese Trans Am: V-6 overhead engine, sunroof, and a sport muffler that made the car unnecessarily loud. Clutch fluid was forever leaking onto the driver side floor mat, and this corrosive liquid dissolved the heels of an entire generation of my footwear. It never occurred to me fix the leak. I just kept pouring more Dot 3 fluid into the cylinder.

My first real job I hated with more vehemence and dread and loathing than you could imagine. I had a portable CD player hooked up in my Supra and every afternoon when I left work I cranked up “In Bloom” and shouted the lyrics while I ripped off my tie.

As a kid, Kurt Cobain was a Beatles fan. His idea with Nirvana was to take catchy melodic Beatles-style pop and give it heavy metal chords. I have an abstract writing goal. I always aspire to write short stories and novels like they are Beatles songs, meaning I want them to satisfy both the heart and mind. Beatles songs always have this combination. I want my fiction to be accessible and enjoyable, but leave something in your head.

At this job, in lieu of doing the work I was supposed to do, I wrote short stories on a secret file on my computer, feeling panic when people stepped into my office. The first short story I published was one of these stories.

I remember when I heard Kurt Cobain had died. I had just pulled my Supra into a parking spot in front of my apartment, listening to 99X, the “alternative” radio station in Atlanta. The DJ said they had a special announcement. Kurt Cobain had been found dead of an apparent suicide. Something dropped inside me. I sat in the car awhile, and shed a few tears. This was partly thinking about Kurt: as a human being, he didn’t make it. And also about his music, which I associated with irreverent youthful energy, with wild, carefree joy. I knew this music would forever be associated much differently.

Enjoy.

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Dear Lady OF My Dreams,

I know you lead a busy life. How do I know this? Because there is no other explanation for your lack of reply. But I suspect you are also shy and likely intimidated by myself.  That is completely understandable. You see me sporting cutting edge casual clothing in the J. Crew catalog and you think…that lifestyle, that fashion bravado, that kind of media profile is probably unattainable for me (and it is, but you can kinda have it via myself!) I’m busy too. So I get it. My god, between the shoot for the Fall catalog, the Winter shoot, the Spring shoot, and then, the one which escapes my mind… I mean, my life is constant insanity. Inner tubing at Steamboat Springs, clambakes on Martha’s Vineyard. It’s like touring with Ozzy freaking Osbourne, while wearing wool herringbone trousers and garment-dyed cotton poplin shirts (and as a theoretical aside, what a nightmare to keep this ensemble stain free if Ozzy and his road crew were vomitting Wild Turkey around me. Jeez!)

Are you still with that guy with the poufy hair? Have you trained him to take regular showers yet? Just curious. Talk about flaky, writers are the drawstring cargo pants of human beings. Wow, talk about a mistake on your part…

Perhaps you require some academic bona fides (like that scribbler probably has).  I can report I have either applied to or attended many leading academic institutions, and my studies, were they to have been fully completed, and perhaps they have, would involve several notable degrees. Maybe you have branded me with a hot curling iron of judgment: the empty headed model stereotype is my cross to bear. Ending this perception is the next step of the civil rights movement, and I am ready to march over bridges and carry placards and whatnot.

Let me tell you, you need Einstein level social smarts to negotiate my world or Mandy in the toboggan jeans will cut you off at the knees and kick you in the crotch as soon as the lens cap comes off. Do not think a clambake shoot is for dummies. The stakes are high because it’s a real clambake going down, with all of its social treachery! Real clams, real canoodling, real inappropriate boasting, real excessive drinking, real backstabbing, and real feigned interest in other people’s boring stories. All under the ruthless eye of a camera. You cannot phone in clambake bonhomie. A rascally snowshoe romp can’t be fabricated. Don’t even try faking the marshmallow snuggling. And don’t think J. Crew hasn’t flunked out legions of faker models who were not up to the task!

It also takes genius level dedication to stay humble amidst the hoopla and media circus which is my life. When you are constantly being photographed by very smart and powerful people, it can so easily go to your head.

So… I’m sure I will hear from you real soon. I’m waiting. There is only so long I can wait between takes.

–J. Crew Dude

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(months later)

Dear Lady of My Dreams,

Obviously, you have an acute shortage of paper, envelopes and stamps in your area. Phone lines must be dead also. That’s just fine with me. I heard it through the grapevine you’re engaged to that guy. Is there also a shortage of guys in your area?

The only reason I am writing now is that I thought you might want to know about Lorrine. Gosh I’m nervous, but here it goes…I’m engaged too! Nothing at all to do with your engagement. Pure coincidence. Lorrine and I were doing the Fall J. Crew shoot on Cape Cod and a little something besides photos developed. We were barefoot, sliding down a dune. I was sporting a summer check cotton shirt and relaxed fit aqua chinos. She was wearing a lightweight rib tee and jersey knit pants and we came racing down the dune and our shirt tails took air perfectly. When you achieve photographic perfection on a first take, it can mean only one thing: pure love.

Lorrine and I are so often in this position, our foreheads gently touching, that we are developing zits. Is that love or what? It’s like our love physically manifests as a tractor beam and rivets our heads together into a powerful seam, as though they’ve been super glued together. Then we share our thoughts directly, without talking, which is something not even David Copperfield can do. Are you jealous?

She’s got lots of great qualities you don’t have. Is your complexion going green? I can’t get enough of her scent. It drives me nuts. Whoops… actually that’s me I’m smelling. And it’s a turn on. This whole woman-in-the-foreground thing can be taken too far. I’m feeling a bit backgroundy here, like Mount Rushmore. With some spectacles I could pass for Teddy Roosevelt.

OK, Sebastian the photographer, Mr. Second Banana no like. I’m basically a supportive chair in this one. I’m like a haunted pirate cave back here. And apparently I’ve been shrunken by cannibals. Do I even get paid for this one? But whatever, the point is I’m really really just insanely in love with Lorrine.

And the super keen thing is she likes collecting insects too! She grills up the best dang sausage in the whole world. My life is basically perfect. Every night Lorrine and I watch the Blooper video show on TBS and laugh our faces off.

Oh dammit to hell, my tears betray me. Enough of this farce! Lorrine is engaged to a realtor and won’t return my calls. In fact, she owes me $500. Damn her lies about repayment! This was a pathetic attempt at getting your attention and provoking jealousy. For god sakes rethink being engaged to a man who has an entire drawer devoted to old concert t-shirts. It’s not hygenic! And frankly, writers are anti-social. Know why you will never find them canoodling at clambakes? They are incapable of such things. Sad, but true. They would rather be alone and write about imaginary people at clambakes — troubled, unhappy people who are not photogenic. Ugly people with ugly problems who would stab each other with knives rather than snuggle.

I swear upon my positive Q score I will get you.

–J Crew Dude

In the nineties, when I had just started dating my wife, she went with some girlfriends to a bar in midtown called The Beer Mug. She met a tall guy who claimed in a friendly way to be a model. “Oh, I’m a model too,” she replied with a generous sarcasm. “No, really I am,” he said. He was  innocuous, so she continued talking to him, but still didn’t believe the model stuff. A week later, flipping through one of my J. Crew catalogues, she said,  “Oh my God. I just met that guy!” and realized he had been telling the truth.

That my wife had met an actual J. Crew person seemed to me a wonderful and meaningful coincidence. Studying him carousing with other models he seemed a cheeky fellow, vain, and mischievous. I was inspired to write a series of  imaginary letters from him to my wife (with cutouts of the actual J. Crew Dude) based on the premise that after briefly meeting my future wife, he becomes infatuated with her and deeply resentful of me.

The first letter is below. Enjoy.

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Dear Mystery Lady,

It’s me again. I have been thinking of you every second — your eye brows, your sturdy legs, your…and that whole thing you did claiming you were a model too, and doubting I was a model…Well, all kidding aside, I have a feeling you actually did realize, looking at me, that I was a model, and probably a highly paid one, but that sense of humor in a gal just drives me wild!

And, in fact, now you have proof of my profession, and the fact that I am part of (frankly, an integral factor) in a multi-billion dollar industry. It’s more than just selling clothes for J.Crew, it’s about lifestyle, it’s about image and magic and fantasy, and not everyone has the talent and innate appeal to create on camera… Oh boy, I got off track there. 

I understand there is “someone in your life.” That guy with the poofy hair, with the vague profession who has ideas about being a writer. And what is up with that? Off track again. Suffice it to say it seems kind of obvious you would be better served with a high profile professional like myself. When it comes to myself and J. Crew, I don’t want to use words like franchise, or indispensable, or reallyfuckingimportant, so I won’t. What I will say is that a fine lady like yourself deserves to be treated right– note I use the term “lady” because I noticed your refined choice of wine, rather than beer, and your crisp laundered socks. You deserve the spotlight on you. A close up shot, as it were.

I know a thing or two about beauty. And you’ve totally got it (don’t necessarily take that as my opinion of your chances of being a model too, however!). That’s why we need to be together. Frankly I can’t just be with anyone. Take Dena there, in the powder blue zip sweater. She’s got nice teeth, sure. Skin is good, et cetera. But, when we talk overall impact…the word that comes to mind is bland. There, I’ve said it. Bland. Sorry, Dena. Also, she’s a damn cheater at Scrabble.

Now, note the toboggan picture. Three hours of work. I kept telling Sebastian, my photographer: Nope! we gotta do it again. Because with the wrong body language it’s just a Stooges goofathon that sells zip. The context is FUN, and obviously the risk is connotations of some sort of sexual pile-on involving incestuous dry humping. And frankly, that is kinda gross. So it takes a real pro on top of the pyramid to give it innocent family abandon, to create that wholesome jovial spirit of the holidays…. That’s what sells sweaters!

OK, check out me and Ingemar. Do you want his sweater? Perhaps. Do you want to be him? No freaking
way. Not unless you like eating raw caribou meat or watching your dead toes fall off. Whereas with myself it goes beyond mere interest in the merino wool snowflake sweater: it’s about lifestyle, longing, expensive German automobiles, designer eyeglasses, magic trolls… it’s ultimately about happiness because I am clearly a happy, balanced human being who has achieved serenity with the help of a J. Crew sweater. That’s what I’m talking about! 

Reason #9 to be with me: lovability. The kids love me. They are attracted to me like lint to a belly button. Like this little jean jacket scamp on my shoulders. He smelled a bit like piss and cat food. Go figure. Frankly, this one I could do without because he stuck something sharp into my ear. Not professional, at all. I placed little man in the snow and had a word with his caretaker.  

I know, you’re probably overwhelmed at my letter. Take some breaths. So let’s get together soon. How about a shoot with just me and you?

–The J. Crew Dude

But there is hope, because people are starting to walk around with digital bookshelves. In 2010 a tipping point was reached: Amazon, the biggest bookseller in the world, sold more ebooks than it did paperback books. The digital future which had swept the music, movie and television worlds, had finally kicked in the door to publishing.

Also in 2010, I inventoried the fiction I hadn’t published yet and found The Surfer, a favorite story I had lovingly revised and rethought and rewritten in drafts over the years. It was inspired by a near drowning experience I had in Hawaii. It progressed in a winding, circuitous way: some stories and characters are weirdly tenacious. They glow with a peculiar energy and you just keep coming back to them. But it’s a longish story (almost a novella) and it’s nearly impossible to publish anything over 5,000 words these days; most magazines won’t even consider it. Printing costs are high, space is limited.  I’m a maximalist at heart, a natural novelist, but I’d edited The Surfer down to its final shape. Cutting further was out of the question.

But it was perfect for an ebook — that unit of digital publishing.  I decided to go for it, to use the internet and unleash it on the world. That I could go for it is one of the advantages of being a writer today. This method of delivery potentially reaches well beyond the print run of a struggling lit mag. An ebook is a click away from anyone in the world with a Kindle, an Ipad, a Nook, a Palm, a Mac or PC.

Also, I was driven by the sense we are entering a new digital era of writing and publishing. I wanted to wade into the swamp and explore. Welcome to the DIY Social Media Era: where each writer (like it or not), from the highest to the most obscure, is primarily responsible for their promotion and marketing. And to succeed you must use digital tools to promote and engage, far and wide, with the depth and width of your exposure playing a role in your ultimate success.

Of the epublishing websites I used, Smashwords came with a 65 page PDF guide to formatting by CEO Mark Coker (illegal paragraph indents are illustrated as BAD! in blood red letters), but I give Mark credit for clarity, necessary since their source files must be compatible with 10 different formats. Amazon takes Word docs to magically turn into their Mobipocket format. An ePub version of my story went up seamlessly on Barnes & Noble.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m pro real books too, and pro independent bookstores. My disintegrating hardback of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test I will cherish forever. But I want reading, and all the amazing writers out there, to compete and thrive in the world as it is, and it is a digital world.

Reading as a pastime has mightily suffered in the last twenty years. It’s suffered from the competition of broadband television, the internet, video games, ipods, virtual role playing, and Facebook. The time suck of digital rabbit holes is limitless. There are some of the youngest generation who are only engaged when a device, a blinking screen or a console is involved. But along come the eReaders to champion reading! Kindlers and Nookers will tell you, the download accessibility of ebooks is encouraging them to read more than ever. eBooks, as accessible as an iTunes song, a YouTube video, or an Iphone app. eBooks have entered the digital game, and so far, to bet against the march of technology is to lose.

The traditional publishing world and the fast evolving indie publishing world of blogs, ebooks and social networking seem to regard one another warily right now, but a middle route seems to be emerging where ebooks and digital media provide a testing ground, an incubator for writers, who upon reaching a certain level attract the attention of agents and major publishers.

So I released The Surfer as an ebook because I wanted my story of struggle and friendship and nature and despair and lies and beauty to be set free into the world and discovered and loved. And because I want a piece of the digital wave which is gathering in a low, sucking trough, about to leap and give us all a ride.

THE SURFER, an ebook novella, available on Amazon.com in Kindle version $0.99 (Read this ebook on your home computer! Just purchase, then as your delivery method, designate to download a free Kindle reader to your Mac or PC. Your ebook will be downloaded and ready to read.)

THE SURFER also available on Smashwords for iPad, Epub, PDF, LRF, Palm and online reading  $0.99

THE SURFER also available on Barnes & Noble in Nook version.  $0.99

THE SURFER is a novella of psychological suspense. Walter’s life falls apart after his family perishes in a plane crash, leaving him isolated and volatile. He becomes fixated with surfing, and flies to the Big Island in a last ditch effort to overcome despair about life. His surfing leads to an unexpected result. A vacationing couple then befriends him and takes him on an adventure. The Surfer is a journey into the imperfection of one man’s soul. It explores the beauty and unpredictability of nature, and of life, and the strange lure of surf.

First, thanks to all those who participated. The TMiK Board of Electors worked many late evenings to compile the results of the eBook Jacket Selection Poll.  And the winner is…#4, with 29% of the vote!

1. Jacket#4      29%
2. Jacket#5      24%
3. Jacket#2      20%
4. Jacket#1      18%
5. Jacket#3         7%
6. BonusJacket  2%

I dove into the cover project by unearthing some of my Hawaiian and Taiwanese photos (few things satisfy me more than watching big waves crash), then exploring the creative possibilities of Photoshop. I must report an intense love affair with this software.

Looking back, my approach to the covers was fairly cinematic. There is a lot of nature in the story — the ocean, lava, gravity — and I wanted the cover to reflect natural power, danger and beauty.  Strong nature, with hints of foreboding and the unhinged consciousness of Walter, the story’s protagonist.  A jacket represents a piece of writing, so there must be a balance between showing aspects of the story and leaving a sense of mystery. It’s an advertisement (in my mind Don Draper and Peggy Olson of Mad Men debated the merits of each cover: Peggy, to the consumer is a wave just a wave,?). My art normally gravitates toward big color and visual impact, and I muted this instinct somewhat. But I also wanted to flaunt certain rules and push artistic boundaries with the form.

The hushed chrome and simplicity of #4, the ultimate winner, won over many voters. It also received several tweet endorsements.  To me, there is something vaguely Scandinavian to its look. It has a definite “book covery” feel.

I was surprised #5 got as many votes as it did. It uses a posterizing effect and some freehand painting and fonting to achieve a psychedelic poster look. Seems like a cover done for Tom Wolfe in the 60’s. A jumbo jet veers crazily into the foreground from another dimension. A look I expect voters either found cool or garish, with nothing in between. In its favor it is a bold visual and on a shelf it would pull in eyes.

Jacket#2 is a grainy photo which captures the power of a wave, but from the perspective of shattering rocks. #2 received several personal endorsements as well. It’s simplicity seems suited to a book jacket. It has a 70’s paperback feel.

Jacket #1 has a dark symmetry, a kind of compositional purity I like.  The photo reminds me of Ansel Adams: the wave has a Yosemite Valley curve. The surfer up on the board contrasts with the head bobbing in the surf. It reflects both sides of Walter’s experience.

The pop art aesthetic of #3 and it’s literal nature seemed to fall flat with voters (purely as a stand alone piece it’s one of my favorites; imagine it twelve feet high on a gallery wall). I learned from the Poll that many people have rather strict expectations from book cover art. Defying these expectations one risks the rejection of readers.

The Bonus Jacket went for a subtle, abstract feel, which has been in vogue the last decade or so. It uses three illustrations torn from airline emergency cards. It wasn’t quite fair to the Bonus I introduced it late, but it has its supporters.

So, you will find #4 on the cover of the Amazon.com edition of The Surfer. Due to the significant support shown for other covers, I am considering using one or more of them on other sites. Thanks again people. Ciao.