What Now?

The stack of revised manuscripts stands more than a foot tall. And that does not include revisions of the individual stories. At work, I often return writing to various members of the staff who think of me as a hard-ass when it comes to editing (I'll not go there in discussing what else they call me).I always tell them I'm just as hard on myself when it comes to a red pen. The day before Thanksgiving I met with my editor (though he's left for another job) and publisher and agreed to spend the next four days making one last revision. I did, logging some 40 hours thinking, editing, typing, proofing. Sent the ms early on Monday. An hour later I contacted the publisher and said there was one story I still needed to revise again. I bought another day, and worked that night until 11 and again the next night to make a final set of revisions, then sent the finished ms.



Next step: galleys for reviewers and proofing.



Also: a Web site. This blog may soon disappear, or perhaps it will be appended to the new web site. I've been waiting on the Web site until I had the book listed for sale. Now it it, so I am working this weekend on Web site copy and navigation architecture. Hoping to go live the first week of January with that, so the blog may migrate over, or simply be linked. Not sure.



Also working now on finalizing a few appearances and working on others for signings, readings and panels at conferences for 2008.

Link added for purchase

I've added the link directly to Amazon to purchase the book at the pre-distribution pricing. They'll ship in late March maybe, but most likely on April 1, 2008 or so. Be sure to leave me a message on the blog if you want me to send a signed book plate for free. I'll be happy to inscribe books to anyone you like, if you want to make a book gift. Thanks. Philip

Amazon listing for book

The book has been listed in amazon.com. Just go there, type in Philip Shirley and scroll down. You can get the regular Amazon discount plus an additional 5% if you purchase now. And if you buy two you can get free shipping. If you buy, email me and let me know and I will send you a signed bookplate to make it a signed first edition. If you want it warmly inscribed to you or others as gifts just let me know what names to use when you email me. Be sure to include your mailing address.

I also noticed that two people had listed my 1981 book, Endings, for sale at a good price if you like poetry. There are only a few of these first editions left in print.

An interesting thing: Amazon turns in their sales, so they are "counted" by the industry. But they only count up to five books per sale, so if you order six it would only count as five. And, the sales that are pre-sold all count on the first week of books shipping, so anything that is sold now will help the book get off to a great start because all sales are reported that first week. Good stuff to know if you have a book upcoming.

Don't forget...they don't charge your card until the book is available, which will be after they ship to the sellers on March 1, 2008.

I have lots more to report on my meeting with the publisher this week in Chattanooga, but for now I have a big deadline. Final edits by Monday!.....Thanks, Philip

The Final Lap

On Friday I began a last read of the ms. My editor Henry O has left Jefferson Press to work for an ecumenical press, where I'm certain he'll be successful. (Good luck Henry, and thanks for your caring edits.) I have his final red lines and comments, and will review them one last time before a final run-through of edits and then calling the ms complete. I finished rewriting the last story and will review it tomorrow before sending to a friend for one last outside opinion.

I had to laugh when Henry called to let me know he'd left the press. Three years ago a regional press agreed to publish a novel ms of mine, which they contacted me to ask to see. After the owner of the press called me at home one Sunday night at 9:30 to say he loved it and would start a contract the next day, I assumed everything was rosy. I worked with the editor they assigned for a year, during which time the acquisitions editor left and the publisher had a major illness. When all was said and done the book was not released. For a fleeting moment I have to admit my heart rose into my throat last week during my conversation with Henry. Not again, I thought. Don't worry he said, this is a done deal and everyone who has seen the book is excited about it.

This time things will work out, and the catalog copy and cover are out the door. I'm meeting with the publisher the day before Thanksgiving to discuss final plans and marketing ideas....will keep you posted on that.

Clearing my head

After the fifth re-reading of the next-to-last round of major edits of Oh Don't You Cry for Me, I thought a head-clearing change of pace would do my writing some good. On a whim I started another blog, with the idea that I needed something broad enough to allow me to write on any number of topics, yet focused enough to provide the glue to make the blog hold together. The result: www.500greatthings.blogspot.com

I'm writing about 500 things I love about life, in no particular order. Come visit and let me know what you love about life.

Finishing first round of edits

It's dark outside. 6:30 or so in the morning. I just finished the first round of line edits on CRY. Have to work on a few rewrites of the final story, then back to the beginning one more time with Henry. I was hoping this would feel like a milestone, but it's rather anticlimactic. Oh well. Have been reading the Fall 2007 Kenyon Review this week. Steven Schwartz has a really nice short story worth reading, titled "Absolute Zero." What are you reading?

sundays..and curious about your book buying habits

The lake and the sky have chosen to be the exact same shade of blue today. The sun is straight up, casting shadows only in circles at the base of the trees between me and the lake. I'm finishing the last line edits today on "The Consequence of Desire," if possible. I hope to also make it to the bait shop and spend an hour fishing with live shiners right at sundown this evening. Right now, I thought I'd spend five minutes on the blog for something on my mind, and then tackle the edits.

I'm curious. How do you make most of you book buying decisions? PLEASE COMMENT AND LET ME HEAR FROM YOU. I'm meeting with my publisher by phone around November 1 to put together the final marketing plans for the April launch, and I'm interested in hearing from you on how you make buying decisions.

For myself, it works this way usually. First, I get a great book each month from the Lemuria First Editions club (http://www.lemuriabooks.com/). They select and mail me a signed first edition, and ding my credit card. A wonderful program you should join if you are not in something similar. When a really good book is coming out, you can call and tell them to send extra copies and make your Christmas or graduation or birthday shopping easier. Those books I keep together in the library and when I am headed to the airport, spending a weekend on the island or simply have an hour to read I can grab any book and know it has a good chance of being something I will enjoy.

Second, I listen to other writers and try to read at least one book by the folks they seem to be talking about. There's nothing worse than making it to a writers conference or a reading or someone's book signing and hear a discussion about someone you never heard of or read...and of course feel like everyone else there has read the person extensively. Does that happen to you?

Third, I browse the book stores at airports, where I know I will find only the absolutely most popular fiction. I try to pick up a paperback while traveling at least four hours in a plane and finish it on the trip. That helps me stay in touch with what the masses like. I trust the masses. They may not often know the fabulous writers publishing literary fiction at smaller presses without the same kind of national distribution, but they will weed out the frauds (usually) and indicate at least what work is fun to read from the popular fiction shelf.

So how does a book make it to your bedside?

Thanks,
Philip

PS Please forward this blog link to your friends.

work, work, work

Since last entry I've viewed quite a number of sunrises over the Ross Barnett Reservoir outside Jackson, Miss. Finished odds and ends for moving into the new house in Madison, travelled to West Virginia once and Alabama three times, and spent many hours unpacking boxes. My weight machine remains in pieces and I've found myself getting out of shape by avoiding exercise--with the weight machine as the excuse, of course. Made it to a couple of Alabama football games too, including the exhilarating, last-minute Arkansas win and the disappointing, last-play Georgia loss.

The garage remains cluttered, but at least my library is in shape. What a treat to rediscover so many prized books as I unpacked and looked for the right shelf for each book. In the middle of one box, I had to stop and reread Richard Hugo's What Thou Lovest Well, Remains American. Wow, such as perfect book. His voice has always echoed in my ear, since I first read his work in 1973 or 74, I think. If America has ever had a finer poet, I can't imagine who it might be.

My second-floor desk faces southeast and the sun rises to my left over an expanse of water. The golden or orange light, depending on the clouds that morning, burns across five miles of open water as I finish my first cup of coffee most mornings. It's rained only once since I moved. I'm getting spoiled by this view.

On Friday last, I began the rewrites of story nine in the collection, the final story. The working title is "The Consequence of Summer Heat", though the story stretches over a year and the heat is not really oppressive in the story, nor does it the "heat" of the one female character add much meaning to the title. So I'm working on a better title, but without a good alternative at this point. I'm considering "The Consequence of Desire".

Henry suggested that the voice was a bit uncertain in parts, as I was a bit sloppy and moved from third person limited to third person omniscient in one section. This story is both my longest and most recent. It was finished specifically to bring up the word count of this ms. I'd been working on the story off and on for a couple of years, but had nothing more than an opening scene that I kept once I started on the story in earnest. Because it ran long, it gave us the ability to treat two stories more harshly than others--they were cut. I was never comfortable that these two stories, both from a 12-year-old boy, had the same tone and tenor as the remainder of the ms, so this made the book much tighter I believe. One of the stories we cut had won an award at a literary festival at the University of Montevallo, though it's never gotten anywhere with lit magazine editors and will likely remain unpublished in a drawer somewhere.

We finished the cover and it's been approved by the publisher. Jefferson Press was kind enough to let me work with graphic designer Bill Porch, whose work includes assignments for such names as Jaguar and Louisville Slugger. AS I mentioned, Bill worked on more than a dozen concepts, finally settling on three we sent to the publisher for review and for them to run the top designs past the gurus at IPG. They all picked the cover I was favoring, which was nice.

I see I've used my time up and it's past 10, so I'll sign off now.....thanks for letting me run on.....let me hear from you. --Philip

Picking up speed

Working with designer Bill Porch, some 15 book covers have been designed for review. And the line edits have hit my desk from Henry Oehmig at Jefferson Press. We've shown the covers to approximately 25 people in our informal research and narrowed the designs to three, plus a variation of one of those three. These went to the publisher for review and feedback from his distribution company cover design specialists. From there we plan to focus on variations of one cover.

I moved two weeks ago to a new house, after living in the same place for 19 years. Between that packing and unpacking, and thousands of little irritants of moving and having this light switch not work or that window leaking, focusing on edits has actually been somewhat of a relief. I'm nearing the end of rewrites and cleaning up line edits on four of the final ten stories we settled on.

I'll try to insert the final four covers as art in the blog if I can...see ya.

Using free stuff: an excerpt from a novel MS

I wrote a short piece the other day about Cindyisms. A few minutes ago I remembered that I had used one of them in a novel that is in-progress. This work is unedited and raw, so I'm not sure this even works well, but I thought I'd share it. Here's one of the book's opening scenes:

I was working the corner pool table in a Texas bar about an hour east of San Antonio, hustling this burly guy who thought he was a hot stick. Typical Texas saloon scene: wobbly mix and match wooden chairs, grimy floors, dim lighting highlighted by neon beer signs, car tags nailed on the wall from places as far away as Alaska and Maine. A juke box filled with an odd assortment of bands and musicians linked only by Texas roots--from Bob Wills to ZZ Top.

I ran the five through the nine ball and stood there leaning on my stick waiting for burly boy to fork over a hundred bucks. He took out a wad of money, but didn’t hand it over. Instead, he said, “Hey Shithead, if you want this money all you got to do is come over here and take it.”

He laughed and waved the clenched fist full of bills under my nose as he leaned across the pool table, close enough for his whiskey and cigarette breath to choke me like a dust cloud. As if he’d won the game, he tilted his head back, shook his long, greasy red hair out of his face and started draining a full Lone Star Beer.

That’s one of the things about hustling pool. If you want to find the money, you have to be willing to live with a few difficulties in collecting a bet now and again. Every town big and small that I’ve ever been through has at least one place to find a game, but sometimes the guys who hang there are accustomed to treating outsiders like, well, outsiders. And Texas seems to have more of these little bars and pool halls than most. What I’d found was that winning was the easy part; getting your money and your ass out the door in one piece was another issue.

I glanced over to make sure the back door was unlocked while I thought what to do to get the hundred bucks I’d won in a fair game. When the butt of my pool cue landed square on the back of his thick hand, the longneck bottle exploded in his face like a glass grenade. As I hoped, his other hand released the five twenties. The bills floated gently onto the table, covering glass shrapnel, foam and blood. That was the first step.

On one of my dad’s few sober days during my teens, he’d taught me something that had saved my ass more than a few times. “I don’t want you fighting,” he’d told me. “There’s no shame in walking away. But if you ever see a time it can’t be avoided, forget all that macho fair fight crap. If you have to fight, get in the first punch and make it a good one.” His voice had trailed off and his eyes got a faraway look in them, as he finished by whispering, “That’ll win most fights.”

This was one of those times a fair fight wasn’t an option, and my first lick was one Dad would’ve approved of. Burly Boy wouldn’t be swinging at me with that hand, or even taking a piss with it, for a long time. When he bent over screaming and put the bloody hand between his knees, I brought the cue down on the back of his thick neck. Not hard enough to kill him, but hard enough to even the two-on-one fight a little. All that time I spent lifting weights hadn’t been wasted after all. He slumped to the wood floor, sounding like a sack of potatoes dumped in the kitchen corner, then rolled onto his side and was still. I swept up the twenties and stuffed them into my pocket as I spun around swinging my cue at whoever might be there.

I almost waited too long. His buddy was already taking a homerun swing at my head with his own cue. I ducked and turned my head sideways, a little late. He didn’t crush my skull in, but I felt the blood gush down over my ear as he opened a seam in my scalp. As I dropped to my knees, I managed to swing my stick toward his right kneecap. I didn’t have the strength for a hard lick, but it made contact and slowed him down enough so the kick meant for my ribs just shoved me a little. I rolled under the pool table and came up on the other side next to Burly Boy, the stale beer and wet dog smell of the grubby floor filling my nostrils.

My ears were ringing as I scanned the back of the room for anything that might be between me and the exit. Blood filled my left ear. This was a fight I couldn’t win, first lick or not. These two didn’t scare me so much, but the guys in sleeveless blue jean shirts on a row of wobby wooden stools at the bar had all turned around and stopped laughing. Not a good sign I thought.

My homerun hitter was one of those skinny guys made of tanned leather cut at odd angles. On each of his huge forearms that seemed out of place on his thin body he had a rattlesnake tattoo, mouth open and venom dripping from their fangs to the back of each hand. As he limped around the pool table, he paused for a second and broke the pool cue over his knee. I guess the knee didn’t hurt that much after all. He clutched the two sharp stakes that could skewer a pig.

From the shadow in the corner beside the juke box, a crew-cut, white-haired man in a dark suit stepped up ghost-like, grabbed the 8-ball from a side pocket and slammed it against Rattlesnake Man’s forehead. The Suit pushed me toward the back door, not even looking back to be sure the guy was down.

Snake Man’s eyes rolled up in his head and he dropped forward face first. His teeth skittered across the floor like bloody dice. Before I could even react we were out the side door and headed to a black Crowne Vic, where the Suit commanded me to get in.

Clearly, he was not just some old guy in his Sunday best. Gray hair or not, his grip on my arm was a vise. I didn’t feel like arguing with someone who just saved me from an ass whipping or worse, so I got in. As my friend Cindy always said, never kick a gift horse in the mouth.

When I looked back, four or five guys were streaming out the door. They didn’t look like they were just out to stretch their legs.

Moving stories

I've promised to use this space to follow the process of the book from acceptance through publication. I've been a little quiet and had little to say so far, but things are heating up. Henry O and I finally had a "getting started" talk. First, we cut one story. I suppose it was good that I had already selected the story I thought was the least like the others (remember those puzzles...which one of these shapes is not like the other?). Henry picked the same story. So we're down to 10 stories now for Oh Don't You Cry for Me.

The last story written will also be moved to the last slot in the book. Presently the piece happens to be the longest story, though it's somewhat plot driven and moves along quickly. Titled The Consequences of Summer Heat, the story follows our female primary character through her sorting out of relationships with three men, who more or less overlap in her life in the same time frame. Like most of us men, they're all flawed. Who'd have thunk it?

About half the stories are more or less ready, while one or two will have a little tinkering. A few others need some basic editing. Mostly it's a matter of finding a way to provide more backstory for one or two characters that appear suddenly and perhaps with too little warning. We also shuffled a story or two, putting two stories back-to-back that happen to deal with the relationships between brothers who are close.

One long story, currently titled And it Burned, may find a new title. While the line comes from a song played on a juke box during a bar scene, Henry has asked me to consider something perhaps more directly drawn from the story and with more immediacy. The story follows a mother seeking both to protect her grown daughter and extract a measure of revenge from her daughter's attacker. No great ideas yet: Ring of Fire...Pickup Lines (You have to know the story for that one to make any sense)...and other silly names are floating around in my head, but I'll work on that early in the day when I'm fresher.

Tomorrow is a Sunday and I've set aside 8-noon for editing/thinking. I hope to visit here more often now that the editing process is speeding up and with a deadline in October.

We're also beginning to develop ideas for the book cover. Jefferson Press has a designer they like, so we'll be sending him ideas and names of books I like and a few I don't like.

Next time maybe we can begin to talk about the places in Alabama and Mississippi where these stories take place. And why a bunch of gals and guys who are so obviously troubled don't need our concern.....see ya soon. Philip

Cindyisms: Putting your neck out on a limb

I've spent what little free time I've had lately emailing friends and contacts about speaking/signing opportunities for 2008. Rereading good stuff. Waiting for edits. Getting close on one or two appearances, but nothing new to report.

Today I was thinking of writing an article on sayings. I've always collected what my friend late friend Jeff S. called "hard sayings." You know, things like: A man don't need more hogs than he needs.

But I've been thinking it takes a special person to revise a saying in the middle of a conversation--without ever really knowing the original saying precisely--and make it work. Anyone can garble a saying, but few can reach the heights of my friend Cindy as she mangles her favorite sayings while remaining completely true to their meaning. Usually I find, as she says, that she really hits the nail on the nose. I never take her for granted. Taking her advice, I never kick a gift horse in the mouth.

Cindy also makes certain we understand when we've been blessed with a little extra something, telling us that whatever great thing occurred was Just the ice cream on the cake.

It would be unfair to single out Cindy for her literary discombobulation. But I suppose I'll risk using her name. As someone at work told me recently when he was taking a big risk, I really put my neck out on a limb this time.

Daniel Wallace at Lemuria

Visited with Daniel Wallace (www.danielwallace.org)after his reading and signing last Wednesday at Lemuria in Jackson. Had met Daniel at the Alabama Writers Symposium (www.ascc.edu)a few years ago. Then happened to be staying at a hotel in Spain next to a theatre showing Big Fish,so I sent him a digital picture of the marquee. That makes us pals right? Not exactly. I did take a run at getting a blurb from Daniel for the book. He read some of the work and said he liked what I was doing, but thought it might be confusing for the reader since we were attempting to do very different things with the writing. Anyway, I like his new book and bought a copy even though I'll get one through the Lemuria First Editions Club (www.lemuriabooks.com). A great way to always have a new, good book around.

Ray's reef

Philip's reef

Gas rig 38 miles south of DI

Waiting for lightning to strike

The days turn to weeks far too easily as I await Henry's edits. Since last I posted, there is little to chronicle: the contract was signed, I spent time re-reading several classic short stories and a novel I'd already read, revisited a novel ms that I put into suspended animation a year ago to finish the collection, and pitched a couple of conferences. As usual, I also managed to squeeze in a couple of fishing trips.

The stories I most enjoyed recently: First, Eudora Welty's A Worn Path. What a powerful story, made more so by its direct, simple story-telling. Being from Jackson, Welty is a good place to start when searching for reminders of how high the bar has been set from time to time. I used to see her once in awhile, mostly at plays at New Stage Theatre. Sat down the row from her during a run of The Ponder Heart. What a treat. My takeaway: keep it simple. Twists, turns, punch lines and surprise endings don't create characters like Phoenix Jackson.

Another story I reviewed was Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard to Find as a refresher on dialogue. If you're struggling with making dialogue interesting, yet sounding as if every word is fitting and expected, go read this story. Much to learn there.

Dayne Sherman's novel Welcome to the Fallen Paradise was as good this second time around as the first. Great first novel. Check him out and keep your eyes open. He'll have staying power to chronicle these dusty Southern towns. I'm anxious to see how he does with the IPOD generation who replace their granddaddy's mule with a 90-horse diesel John Deere.

I revised the chapter outline for a ms I tentatively call The Graceland Conspiracy and reread my first 120 pages to get back into the flow of the story. While Henry edits, I'll spend some time with that piece. I'm trying to stay away from writing short fiction as I await possible rewrites to the stories.

On a bright note, a conference I've attended a few times invited me to speak. I won't preempt their own publicity just yet by mentioning it. More to come on that springtime conference later.

My uncle, that last sibling of my late father, died two weeks ago. But when visiting with the family I finally had the wonderful experience of meeting my first cousin's son, Philip Wyatt Shirley, named for me I'm proud to say. Little Philip (Wyatt they call him) is six months old. Fun stuff.

I've been thumbing through old copies of Writers Digest and ripping out features on finding an audience for a book. Let's hope there's a workable idea or two in the stack piling up on my tiny writing desk. Until next time, be safe.--Philip

Drinking Silver Oak on a school night

When friends showed up with a 2001 Silver Oak Cabernet I knew this would be a great night for a Monday. I worked until 6:30 at the office and rushed home to begin cooking before our friends arrived at 7. The menu: mangrove snapper (I caught them chumming and fishing poagie chunks near a natural gas rig in 104 feet of water 18 miles southwest of the lighthouse at Dauphin Island) pan seared and topped with a crab meat and wine reduction sauce, garlic beans, cheese grits, and a salad of tomato/avocado/vidalia onion drowned in Ken's Italian dressing. A great Southern meal. Of course, we drank the Silver Oak before the meal. Silver Oak 1982 was the wine Reagan served the Queen--at least that's what my college roommate Larry told me. Larry presented us with a bottle of '82 Silver Oak in 1992 as a tenth anniversary present, which I've kept stored away in the cellar for this year--25th anniversary. I put my I-Pod playlist titled PS High School, full of songs from 1970-71 or so, as background tonight. It starts with a little Junior Walker and the All-Stars, with A Whiter Shade of Pale playing now. So what does this have to do with the book. Not a damn thing, other than to say that life goes on, book or no book. And sometimes the writing life takes a backseat. But not for long, and the alarm will be set for 6 a.m to get back on a couple of edits. Today I emailed back and forth a couple of times with the publisher David and editor Henry O ( I simply cannot resist calling Henry Henry O, for obvious reasons), forwarding them a nice email I received from a great writer who says he's eager to write a blurb for the book. Next up: cover designs and final details worked out on the contract. Fun stuff. My 13-year-old lab is looking over at me letting me know I've kept her up past her bedtime. Jerry Butler just came on the playlist...Later.

Rejected with grace by The Louisville Review

The dreaded thin SASE arrived in the mail this morning. The Louisville Review ( http://www.spalding.edu/louisvillereview/default.htm ) has gracefully said no to a recent story. I'm disappointed, of course, but have no one but myself to blame this time. It was the last story that was under consideration for publication by a literary magazine prior to the collection being published in April next year. Silas House, faculty guest editor, was kind enough to write that this was "Some really good writing" but he immediately followed that welcome comment with a suggestion for "pruning" and determined the story to be "a bit overwritten." I first became aware of Mr. House through his work in the first volume or two of Stories from the Blue Moon Cafe, where my fiction was first accepted for publication. His novels have received incredible praise and are worth a look if you don't know his work.

I took the liberty of sharing this personal note because the time Mr. House took to respond with a hand-written note will pay off for me, and for that I owe him a genuine thank you. So, Mr. House, "Thank You." I'm not being sarcastic, I mean it. Having edited two magazines, I know the difficulty of taking time to jot even a note or two to a hopeful writer. It's impractical to do so with every submission, but it means the world to the writer. Now, I'll be buoyed by what I'll consider a near-miss in a magazine for which I have great respect. And I'll be dragging out that story with my pruning shears in hand, for this editor knows his stuff if he edits as he writes. Hold on a second, while I open that story file and take a quick read...

..okay, he's probably right. The first paragraph alone had three or four extra adjectives. I'll take out the shears later today cut the story from 2200 words to something under 2000 and see how it reads. The story (A Death in the Family) follows a grown daughter watching her mother linger on her deathbed, providing the daughter too much time to ponder her own failures and consider her own death. Below is an excerpt (pre-pruning of course):

I’m not distraught that my mother is dying. She is 93, after all, and has suffered few hardships in her life, growing up in a family of means. No, I’m sad because I know my last memories won’t be about hugs, parting words of love, or encouragement to carry on as the one she always knew would accomplish great things. I see no such future, rather an end not unlike what I see before me. I can foresee no entry into the elite group of women who have so influenced our family, position gained not so much by accomplishment as by longevity.
My mental video will replay her relentless begging to let her die. Or something meaningless, such as her story of the bowl of coins her mother kept near the door during the Depression for men who came knocking at the big house offering to rake leaves or clean gutters. Or the look of contempt she flashes me in her rare lucid moments. Of course, that’s on top of reminding me daily in those last weeks when we actually carried on conversations, before the last stroke, of my three failed marriages.
And there’s the other subject Mother finds worth her time: my child who has nothing but venom for me. The child without memory of the long nights I held her tight and rocked her to sleep when her daddy didn’t come home. My child who chooses instead to remember only that last year she lived with me, when my best friends were vodka and television movies until 4 a.m. When she fed herself cereal and walked to school, afraid to ride with me in my car with dents down the entire passenger side from mailboxes placed too close to the street.

By the time you see the entire story, let's hope it has shed its dead limbs. See ya next time around.....

Rasslin with style

No blogs for a long time, as I have been under water trying to fight my way to the surface of a story driven by plot and in search of an interesting character or two. Plots are easier than characters, and sometimes the work suffers from it. But I've been struggling with the notion that character-driven stories are inherently better than plot driven ones. Well-read friends tell me so, and perhaps they are right. I suppose we do remember interesting characters long after the details of the plot fade. Who was that guy talking about Gatsby anyway? But is there a time when what happened really is the point? Regardless of who it happened to? Or does the why give fiction life? The facts of telling versus the truth of revelation of motive. Personally, sometimes I just like the action. Is it shallow to crave the satisfaction I feel when the girl gets the guy, or if the husband figures out its not his baby, or if Aunt Lulu wakes up after the knock on the head from crazy cousin Goober. Sometimes that's enough for me. Is there a time when the paper-thin, cut-out character is the best way to keep the distractions of the character's angst out of the way of the plot? Is there a place for plot-driven stories in a world of literary force? I don't know, honestly. And I suppose it will not be my choice to decide. Of course, if the occasional salty character wanders into the headlights of my oncoming story I suppose it's just as much fun to knock him to the roadside and rush him to the hospital for a near-death rescue as to run down the stranger and leave him for dead.

I suck at blogging, but the book has a name and a date

I was shocked to see nine days had passed since my last blog. Not really an encouraging sign. But there's a bit of news. Henry (my editor) emailed today to confirm the publisher and editor have agreed to my second title I was considering. They like and want to go with Oh Don't You Cry for Me.

For those who have read or heard any of my stories that will appear in this book, you'll notice that most of the characters I find myself drawn to write about are irreparably flawed, scarred by the jagged edge of daily events that surround most of us who pass through life with dysfunctional families, the raw flesh of self doubt, and the too-frequent sacrifice of pride or money or ego required to move on into another day--yet none of these characters wants your sympathy. Each finds a way to deal with his or her predicament and goes about life without much of a proverbial chip on their individual shoulders.

Since my last blog a week and a half ago, I have worked daily on the new story. I passed 8500 words this week, and am happy to finally begin to see where things may be headed. I'm guessing the first draft should go to 11,000 or more words. That should give me a good 9500 word story after one pass at editing.

Henry also said we have a firm date for publication: April 1, 2008 for official release and story stocking. Books should ship March 1.

Armed with that information, I'm now opening discussing specific opportunities to talk, read, sign, sell, or generally find an audience.

Oh, I did get to spend last weekend writing at Dauphin Island. The wind kicked the seas up to five feet, so fishing was out. Instead, my great friend Charles Woods (Bubba outside work) and I piddled around a little with the boat while our wives walked the beach. Mostly, we shucked raw oysters raked up earlier that day by Mr. Johnson who sells from a little, green cinder-block building without even a sign (just pull up and one of the grandkids will yell for pawpaw that somebody wants oysters) and fried a few shrimp fresh off the Skinner's boat. I was busily at this computer by 5 a.m. both days to get in a couple of hours before the house woke up.

Until we meet again, happy writing, or reading, as the case may be for you......

Balancing writing with marketing

Since my last post I have continued with a new story that's reached 4850 words as of 7 a.m. this morning, traveled to Biloxi to work, then Birmingham for a charity golf tournament for the Kidney foundation, and back to Jackson to work on the back yard so I can sell my house.

Also learned from a trusted friend that one of the other stories might need a fresh look. So I gave it one. Boy was she right. I got her suggestions, along with an overview from my editor of the story, which (fortunately) he liked but agreed could use a little work here and there. I've re-read the story to think about how to fix a few of the obvious problems, but will hold the rewrite until after a couple of drafts of the new story are complete.

I've also been working the phones and email to begin trying to arrange appearances on panels or whatever I can find in the way of conferences next spring. Have made contact with a couple of people well-known in literary circles, who are helping me find the right committees to talk with. Also have begun talking with writers I respect to ask them to consider reading the MS and writing a blurb for it.

Balancing the needs of the book with 9-10 hour work days is quite fun. I hope the adrenalin doesn't wear off soon and the coffee pot stays full. Did I mention I'm building a new house and trying to get the old one ready to sell. Yikes, what was I thinking? Well, duty calls me to answer a few emails for work before tomorrow.....

Meeting the Publisher and Editor

Much has happened since my last post at the start of a vacation week. Importantly, I finished a story that week titled The Trust Jesus Society about the underground religious group that spray paints all the Trust Jesus graffiti on the interstate highway signs. My new editor is now looking at the story. I was also lucky enough to harvest a trophy-sized turkey on my vacation, with a 12 1/4" beard.

Two days after getting back from my cabin in Paint Rock Valley in North Alabama, I had a two-hour meeting with Jefferson Press publisher David Magee, who happened to be in Jackson on a book tour for his new book The South is Round. A very funny read www.david-magee.com. His editor Henry Oehmig was also there for the meeting, at which we agreed on next steps. We set a tentative schedule for an official April 1, 2008, release date, but will shoot for having finished books in our hands in mid-February in case I have an opportunity to appear at any conferences next spring.

My next duty is to finish another story or perhaps two. Last weekend during the long Easter weekend I travelled to Dauphin Island to write and finished 3,000 words of a new story that may go 6,000 words. More on that later.

The contract is about finalized and should be signed in two weeks or so. And a final schedule will be confirmed. Then the edits must be completed, cover art finished and materials prepared for the catalog. Work calls....I'll be back later for another post....thanks for reading.

Hens, gobblers and short fiction

This will be my last blog for a week unless I get a moment tomorrow night, as I'm starting a writing-hunting vacation after work tomorrow. My goal for next week is two finished stories and at least one gobbler. In these pics are a couple of gobblers from previous successful hunts. And a pic of turkeys in the front field. I need one last story for the collection, to present to the publisher April 3. With the clock ticking on the manuscript, my annual spring holiday is timely. I'll be at the Blue Moon Lodge, which my wife and I built ten years ago above a waterfall at the north end of the Paint Rock River Valley. From the cabin, there's not one electric light in sight in any direction, no television, no phones, no Blackberry signal, and only one radio signal--though we do have neighbors at the foot of the mountain. John and Marsha Langlois are my friends from high school that visited our place one weekend and loved it so much they bought the adjoining property and moved there from Atlanta. To see how it looks visit John's Web site: www.foggybottomfarms.com. The waterfall you see on his site is John's half of the fall. Mine's hidden by the trees above what you see in the photo. The cabin is about a hundred yards from the top of the waterfall. For now...I'm off to see if I can meet a deadline writing fiction the same way I meet a deadline writing some kind of corporate communications.....

Seeing Sonny Brewer

Driving home from the airport late yesterday my wife said, Hey, there's Sonny Brewer.

The author-editor-bookseller was standing on the sidewalk near Julip's restaurant talking on a cell phone, so I wheeled into the parking lot to say hello. Sonny lives in Fairhope, so I don't often see him in Jackson except during August for the release of the latest Stories from the Blue Moon. Sonny was the first editor to send a short story back to me and say, If you'll work with me, work hard on editing and rewriting, I'll publish this story. So I give Sonny a lot of credit for starting me out in the fiction publishing world. I know how many magazines claim that they are looking for the great young writer, the great new author, but the reality is that many of the editorial boards are overwhelmed and often staffed by students. Giving the unpublished writer the time it takes to read an extra few pages does happen, but if the pile is high it happens less frequently. The editors are forced to find some way to work through the piles of manuscripts and seeing publication credits on a cover letter is one way that helps. I've been there. I've seen it in action when I was on the editorial staff of The Black Warrior Review and as editor/publisher of Baltic Avenue Poetry Journal. AFter circulating stories for a couple of years with no success, I added to my cover letter that I had a story coming out in Sonny's anthology. Perhaps it was only coincidence that the next two stories I sent out were accepted. I can't say. Or perhaps working with Sonny made my writing that much better. Who knows? But I do know that thirty or forty rejection slips followed by three acceptances in a row is quite a coincidence.

So back to Sonny...we talked and hugged when I told him of the collection of stories I'd had accepted for publication, one of which is The Turkey Hunt that Sonny selected for Stories from the Blue Moon Cafe IV. Sonny was in town meeting with Johnny Evans at Lemuria (www.lemuriabooks.com), which some say is the best damn bookstore in the nation.

If you haven't read Sonny's work, you should. Go to www.overthetransom.com to read about his novels and other work....and you might enjoy seeing how Lemuria is supporting the literary world so check out their site and look at the writers who sign and read there....

Another story

This morning I chose to run instead of write. That's a struggle these days as I have limited time to write. Busy at the office and it's spilling over into the weekend. Crawled out of bed at 6 and decided to exercise first and write if I had time. The past few days I've searched through about 20 short story false starts, stalled stories and story outlines to select a couple of ideas for stories that could fit To Love and Die in Dixie. My goal is two additional stories for the publisher to consider for the book. I have half an hour this morning before heading to the airport for a quick flight to the Biloxi-Gulfport airport on my company's Beechcraft Baron. Nice little six-seater. Well, I think I better go knock out a paragraph or two...

Good news, bad news

It's been a week since I received the good news/bad news email from David Magee, publisher at Jefferson Press. First, the bad news: I didn't win the Jefferson Prize for a novel or short story collection. Big surprise, right? After 30 or 40 "not right for me" form letters from agents and many dozens of magazine rejections slips, I know the odds. I edited two literary magazines and for several years ran a small literary press, reading hundreds of good manuscripts that didn't get published. I never expected to win the prize, but we all take our shots.

Then lightning struck. David wrote that he and his editor liked my short story collection and had selected it for a 2008 release, after it made "the top 15" from the outside panel of readers.

I can't pretend it was just another day. I was certainly distracted at the office, spending too much time staring out my downtown eighth floor window at nothing in particular. That night I got up at 1:30 and sat in the dark thinking of titles. For now, I'm using To Love and Die in Dixie as the working title. Originally the title proposed was Charisma after one of the stories I like best, but a review of Library of Congress titles shows several books with that title.

So why the blog? During years of writers conferences, I learned I wasn't alone in wondering how it would feel to get a book published. Not a chapbook. Not a story in a magazine or anthology, but a hardbound book. My book. With bookstore distribution. Reviews. Appearances. Signings and readings.

Then the endless questions started piling up in my head. How does it all work? Who edits the ms? How do you get the cover designed? What about the contract--how does that work? I'd told myself that when the day arrived that one of my manuscripts found a home with a publisher, I'd record and share the entire experience. So here goes.

Just in case you're wondering: Yes, I immediately emailed back the next morning to seek confirmation (three or four times!) that I didn't misunderstand the offer. This was for real? A done deal? You really want the manuscript? And the answer came back yes, we'd definitely see a book in Spring 2008 and would sit down in April to discuss the deal and the schedule. I'll use this blog to record the journey of publication, from notification through launch. Come along if you like.