Saturday, November 12, 2005
Amend
I'm adding this to clarify: when I posted last, I didn't mean to imply that it's impossible to sell fiction. In fact, I've met with several really passionate, great editors and publishers who have responded well to my work and are interested in it. My point was that when I looked at the houses' catalogs for future seasons, there was so much nonfiction and genre fiction, and very little literary fiction. That is all. I have a hangover, so I'm going to lie back down and go to sleep now. Ignore the little drunk dude in the corner.
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3 comments:
jesmimi, I'm dying here! I want news, girl! give me some cold hard facts! us poets have to live vicariously through you fiction writers--there will be no agents visiting us. I'm just hoping this blog won't be invaded by your admiring fans once your book comes out...
Well shit, jesmimi, you've got an interesting life, or as they say out here in California, a hella interesting life. Go write about that shit. This is where your pain and suffering really become marketable, man.
Just thank your lucky stars you're not me. Happy childhood, upper middle class New England upbringing, all those fancy prep schools, a quaint liberal arts college--do you believe that shit?! All of it so 1960's/Cheever-Updike genre, so passe, so already been done. What a garbage hand I've been dealt to sit at this memoir table. What I wouldn't give to suffer! To have real suffering!
I hope you're fucking kidding me. bleh. bleh. bleh. bleh.
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