D.W. Lichtenberg's "The Ancient Book of Hip" (Hmm. Brilliant or the bare arse of an emperor?)

Okay, I got this email, and the email was this:

Dear Joni Rodgers at Boxing the Octopus,

On November 18, 2009, Fourteen Hills Press and SFSU Creative Writing Dept. released the winner of the 2009 Michael Rubin Book Award: THE ANCIENT BOOK OF HIP by D.W. Lichtenberg. This debut collection is a case study, a documentation, a journaling. It is a bunch of poems about girls, sex, cigarettes, PBR, and everything else that is the phenomenon of hip.

What people are saying:
"There is a real zest in these poems. Lichtenberg's joy in the every day reminds me of the daily pleasures as Frank O'Hara embraced them."
- John Skoyles, author of The Situation and poetry editor of Ploughshares

"Whether riding the subway or 'talking shit about a pretty sunset,' his is a highly entertaining new voice that will win you over with its combination of disarming simplicity and incisive wit."
- Elaine Equi, author of Ripple Effect

"Lichtenberg possesses a unique charm that attracts people who might otherwise not have much in common."
- Evan Karp, The Examiner

If you are interested in a galley or an interview, please let us know!

I must confess, I don't know what PBR means, but sheesh, how was I not going to be interested?

The book arrived, one of those small format paperbacks you buy at poetry readings (unless you're the callous sort who can walk away without separating yourself from the ten or fifteen bucks that would offer the poor poet a shred of validation to show his mother who once had such high hopes for him.) It actually fit nicely into a pocket of my purse usually reserved for my passport. I liked the title and the primal/childlike cover design, but when I read the introduction, I laughed out loud and rolled my eyes. Yarg. Twenty-somethings. I immediately concluded that I was so not the target audience for this book. Me in this book = The Clapper in a disco bar.

Then I read a few pages and started thinking...oh...maybe the intro was...oh. Okay. Reading on. Ha! Clever turn of phrase. Cringe. Holden Caulfield reference. Whoa. KILLER turn of phrase. Yes. Healthy frisson of big picture.

Colleen has a term for the strutting and circle-jerking that sometimes go on in academic and literary publishing: "the emperor's new prose." Remember that old fable? The preening emperor and all the sycophants pretended to see lavish garments, when in fact their fearless leader was walking down the street bare naked.

Having read through The Ancient Book of Hip four or five times, I'm thinking maybe this is what happens when the emperor knows he's naked, but he walks down the street anyway, revealing himself to his subjects and his subjects to themselves. Maybe the moment you decide you don't get it is the moment you actually do.

Or maybe I seriously don't get it. But if that's the case, why did I like it so much?

It was no struggle to sit with the pages. All the twenty-something writer stuff I usually find annoying was actually kind of...endearing. This collection is entertaining in a way that very few such collections are. I suppose, whether you're gazing at Spoon River or the bare arse of a young emperor -- hey, what's not to enjoy about either experience? At the end of the day, I found myself feeling protective -- auntish even -- toward Lichtenberg, knowing what the writing and publishing life will be for this kid if he stays as viscerally connected to it as he seems to be.

As undeniably un-hip as I am, I knew I could look to my insufferably hip twenty-something daughter for clarity. Last night, when I told her about The Ancient Book of Hip, Jerusha said, "Good poetry doesn't have a target audience. It's like scripture. Different meaning for everyone who reads it with an open mind."

I'm worried that Lichtenberg's mother might be glaring at me, saying, "Must you encourage him?" but I'm purchasing another copy of The Ancient Book of Hip. Jerusha needs a copy, and I'd rather separate myself from the twelve bucks than separate myself from this primal/childlike, evocative, annoying, endearing, quite possibly brilliant little book.

Click here for excerpts. And if anyone out there is hip enough to know what "PBR" means, please clap me on.

Good Grief! Revision in Five Stages

As I wend my way through a particularly challenging batch of revisions, I was brought to mind of the Kubler-Ross model on the stages of grief, which is all too apt in chronicling the reactions of your average working writer.

1. Denial - Surely, the editor doesn't mean my masterpiece! This must have gone out to the wrong author by mistake.

2. Anger - What the (insert strongest, vilest expletive that comes to mind)? Who do those stupid hacks think they are, screwing with me like this? Are they @#$! blind? (Ranting continues, either in the form of silent fuming or a epic hissy fit. If you're very lucky, no phone calls or e-mails to the involved parties originate during this stage and your loved ones have learned to ignore you at this point.)

3. Bargaining - If I change just this one little thing, that'll make it sort of okay, right? You surely didn't mean to imply I have to rewrite the whole, entire...

Oh, no you didn't.

4. Depression - I clearly suck, and everyone else has just been too kind to tell me. Or maybe they're all winking and laughing behind my back. There are septic slugs with more talent, deranged dabblers who smell of old potatoes who write better. I am vile, useless... (reaches for Help Wanted section of paper and checks out listing for fast food clerks.) Writer's block ensues, sometimes for long periods when writers get stuck in this stage.

5. Acceptance. Oh, all right. I guess I'm going to have to do it, so I must as well dig in and make a decent effort. Hey, wait a minute. These changes really do make the story better, and you know, it's getting good here. I'm getting waaay into this again! (Remainder of world peels away as writer falls back in love with his/her own story.)

I'm not sure if it helps knowing we go through these stages, but at least I'm getting a good laugh - at myself and my process.

Monty Python's Working Class Playwright ("It could express a vital theme of our age!")

Spent the last couple weeks writing in snowy seclusion and profoundly nurturing peace next to the big window in my parents' downstairs family room. My long hours were no cause for concern. My obsession with my current project didn't raise an eyebrow. My coffee break yacking about all things publishing was accepted with nods and smiles. It's a luxury to be the child of creative types. Back in my office in Houston today, I'm taking a moment to appreciate that.

And then there's this...

When Rejection's a Favor

I know what it is to beat one's head against the brick wall of rejection, to turn every stone, cross every T, and [insert additional motheaten cliche here].

I remember well the intense frustration of "almost," when you feel yourself teetering on the verge of publication. When time after time, at that final moment, the prize is snatched from your grasp. When, looking around you, you see others, perhaps those who haven't worked so long or hard or don't seem to have much in the way of talent, achieve what you've worked for so diligently.

Stinks, doesn't it? But the truth is, in a lot of cases, you may look back to discover that rejection was a favor. Either you weren't ready or the writing wasn't. The project offered was one that couldn't possibly commercially succeed or would end up in a niche so narrow, your career as a published author would be brief, stunted, and steeped in bitterness. From the vantage of perspective, the seasoned author will recognize what experienced agents and editors first noticed - and what the novice lacked the objectivity and marketing-savvy to see.

Some manuscripts simply should never be published, and as heartbreaking as that fact is, it doesn't mean they should not have been written. Because with every story completed, the dedicated writer grows in skill until, when her "market sense" evolves to the right degree and the right idea comes up, she'll be ready for it.

More than likely, this will never happen if the writer stubbornly clings to ideas such as "these agents know nothing," "only people with connections can get published," or "if they don't know good art when they see it, I'll publish this myself. And show them!"

I submit to you that if you're winning or placing in contests or getting a lot of bites (including full reads) on your work by industry professionals, you most likely have the talent needed to become a published author. What you may not have is the right idea, the most polished, commercially viable product, or the right timing to make you stand out in an incredibly competitive field.

So my question is, are you going to be one of those who gives up, allowing your dream to fall by the wayside? Are you going to try to second guess the market with a short-cut, such as a vanity press (in all its insidious and tempting guises)? Or will you be among the few who put in the years, study, and sweat equity needed to pursue a quest that offers no one guarantees?

Are you going to be among those who looks back with relief on your early rejections and feels grateful that those developmental manuscripts weren't included in your body of work?

Question for the day: Do you have an "under-the-bed" manuscript you're now glad wasn't published? What did you learn from the experience of writing and submitting it?

Once is not enough (Why you should blow off that thing about "no simultaneous submissions.")

A great post on the BookEnds blog today from literary agent Jessica Faust.

The old hazelnut about "no simultaneous submissions" generates one of the most frequently asked FAQs of aspiring writers. On the one hand, supplicants are loathe to PO the agent being queried. On the other, you'd be a rusty skeleton on the side of the road if you sat there waiting for the response every time you sent a query.

My attitude was always, hey, if the agent is willing to say s/he's not going to look at any other authors, I'm willing to say I won't look at any other agents. I was gratified to see this very smart agent say essentially the same thing in a much more politic way:

I think authors should have the chance to choose an agent if possible, and not accepting simultaneous submissions or asking for exclusives takes the power out of an author’s hand, power you should have since it’s your career.

Click here to read the rest. And spend some time searching the blog. Lots of great advice.

It's a Bird, it's a Plane... It's Super-Protagonist!

As I rework a flawed synopsis, I'm reminded of a writing basic, a touchstone so elementary that it's easy to forget among all the complexities of crafting a novel.

The book's protagonist must play an active role in solving his/her own problems.

Throughout the story, the main character needs to do more than simply react to events (although she may certainly start out doing so). She needs to be the one who makes things happens, forces responses in the opposition, and becomes a factor that absolutely cannot be ignored. Naturally, her initial attempts to influence the plot may fail, fall short, or have unintended (even fatal) consequences (setting up your story's black moment.) But she must persevere, becoming an active catalyst -- in other words a hero -- if the author expects the reader to root for her success.

Think about it. Did Luke Skywalker sit around moaning about the evil Empire and wait for someone to rescue his hayseed butt? Did Scarlett O'Hara tweedle-de-dee her thumbs until someone picked out the right man to solve all her troubles? Did Elizabeth Bennett sigh gratefully as the first solution to her family's precarious financial situation (the hilariously-odious Mr. Collins) made an offer? Each one of these characters possessed not only a strong will but the courage to act upon it at great risk.

These are the characters we armchair quarterbacks (the readers of this world) want to cheer on, admire, and emulate. So today, think about your book's plot and ask yourself if your book's protagonist is active or acted upon throughout the majority of your plot.

Because in the world of heroes and heroines, no "drifting dust motes" need apply!

Atwood on editing

A bit of brilliant advice from Margaret Atwood's "Ten Editing Tips for Your Fiction Mss"...

Charles Dickens said, “Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry, make ‘em wait.” He put “wait” at the end because it was crucial. (In any series of three, the third is the most important.) In terms I’ve picked up by playing with the boys: Drop the hankie early, but make ‘em wait for the opening of the kimono.

Looking forward to handing off my WIP later this month. Atwood's The Year of the Flood is burning a hole in my new Kindle.