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MAN, is there ever more shit I gotta do. It never ends! Aside from being forced to do my own chores like cooking and cleaning and lugging out the garbage myself, like a coolie, I am also apparently expected to keep a job and earn money, like some sort of capitalist stooge. In a just world, I'd be paid a stipend by the government just to come up with a steady stream of witty quips, which would be repeated and analyzed on national television programs every morning. I'd watch these programs from the safety of my underground bunker, where my Secret Service detail would take out my garbage and clean my living quarters and guard me from assassination, since my witty barbs would be quite sharp and often directed towards famous, powerful people.
Sadly, this is not a just world. Recently I got laid off and had to find a new job, like some sort of peasant. It was bad enough having to shuck and jive around town going to interviews, bad enough having to spend valuable hours of my day reading through job listings on the Internet, firing off imperious letters demanding that I be hired immediately or the company in question would have to face my wrath. But the worst part was that I would no longer be able to publish The Inner Swine out of my office. I would no longer be able to run my private underground publishing empire on corporate funds with corporate supplies-I'd have to start paying for copies like a schmuck. On top of all this, I've also got to keep trying to sell Somers fiction. You bastards are all trying to forget me every day-oh, I know it, buddy-so I have to struggle on a daily basis to keep my name in lights in the vain hope that you will give me money or, perhaps, liquor in return for my golden words. At this stage in my writing career, I've narrowed down acceptable publishing outlets to anyplace in the known universe which will offer me some form of compensation for my work. Beads and barter accepted; if a publisher offers to clean my apartment in return for a short story I'd probably accept that as well. Someday soon I hope to be so huge and successful that I will only accept cash money in exchange for written works, but you know, every day is a winding road and I'll just have to shuck and jive until that glorious day. The most recent endeavor I've decided to try is serial fiction: I've sold a novella-length story titled The Electric Church to www.anotherchapter.com. I found them while searching for paying jobs on the Internet. I'd never considered doing serial fiction before, but the concept intrigued me: I saw it as slightly different way of working than I'm used to, something kind of fun to work at. I tend to settle on a 'best approach' to writing and stick with it, meaning that while my subject matter varies my nuts-and-bolts everyday procedure doesn't alter much, but I think it's healthy to switch it up and try different approaches. Plus, in theory at least I'll get paid for my efforts. The story is based on an unpublished novel I wrote about 13 years ago; it was mediocre, but had some good ideas in it, and I'm hoping that in the retelling it'll improve. Now don't get me wrong: If I make any significant amount of money at this, I'll be amazed. I'm not convinced that anyone wants to read anything online on a regular basis-nothing longer than the occasional CNN article, certainly. I'm not convinced that even if people are interested enough to read 2000 words a week on their computer screens, they'll be willing to pay for the privilege, even if the cost is pretty low (about $5 per month, it seems, or $5 per four episodes or chapters). So even though I will make money off of every subscription sold to my story, I'll be amazed if I get much moola out of this. That's okay. It'll be fun to see if I can write in short, snappy chapters and still convey a cohesive narrative that I can wrap up in a satisfying way. Of course, I can anticipate some of the obvious questions you're going to have about this. Allow me to answer them now and avoid the tedium of speaking to you in person: Jeff, isn't web publishing for the amateurs and PublishAmerica types out there? Normally, yes. But I am a genius, and anything I put my golden hand to turns to. . .uh. . .gold. We've been leeching free Inner Swine material off you for years. You really think we're going to pay $5 a month (or whatever) to read your stuff? Good point. Have some pity on me, you jackals! What the hell is The Electric Church about anyway? It sounds vaguely fruity. It's a science-fiction story set in a dystopian future where the world has achieved unity under one government, but exists in a neo-medieval state where the majority of the population is oppressed. The fastest growing religion is The Electric Church, which preaches salvation through eternity-an eternal existence achieved through turning you into a cyborg, a human brain in a robot body, known as Monks. But there's something disturbing about how fast the religion is growing. . . You wrote this originally thirteen freaking years ago? You were wearing tye-dye T-shirts and your hair was down to your shoulders back then. How can this possibly be any good? The tye-dye and hair was just an act to 'fit in'. Alone in my room I was quite normal. Depending on how you define normal of course. I define normal as having conversations with imaginary friends and singing showtunes at top volume. Science fiction, Jeff? You're right, of course; I apologize. Speculative fiction. Still sounds kind of fruity. Read it anyway. It should appear on www.anotherchapter.com in May or June. Of course, I am hoping for at least a handful of subscribers, enough to justify keeping the damn thing up on the web until it's finished, at least, because I'm enjoying working on it and want to finish it. But published is published: Someone else is putting the time and hard work into getting my words out there, which is really all it takes. I could, of course, tag up The Electric Church and self-publish it on the web, but that would require monies, and let's face it: Self-publishing still has a stigma. You can get away with self-publishing a zine, but self-publishing a novel or novella just makes people think you couldn't sell it to a publisher. Big-Assed Famous, bubba. One minor publishing exploit at a time E-mail me your outrage here. Jeff |
April 10, 2004