The Power of Media

Last week I posted about a list on GQ of books you’ve never heard of, but should read. Like most curious folks, I looked up one or two on Amazon. It was then that the power of media struck me.

Amazon’s feature “Frequently Bought Together” listed another of GQ’s books next to the one I was searching (Mary McCarthy’s The Groves of Academe, from 1952). Just coincidence? I scrolled down.

There, in the “Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought” section, no less that four of the other books on the GQ list showed up. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but it was clear that people were going through the GQ list and buying up the books. I searched for one on BookFinder. By the time I clicked the link, it was gone.

I’ve often felt that people who have an institution behind them (even be it GQ) have a built-in way of succeeding as writers.

My own mention of Sherlock Holmes compels me to mention The Hound of the Baskervilles. I recently read this Holmes adventure for the first time. And time may not have been on its side. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle largely invented the detective novel (following the lead of Edgar Allan Poe, of course). But it is difficult to fool people these days.

At points in the narrative it was clear that Doyle had left out crucial information that the reader would need to solve the crime. Holmes seemed petulant, and at times self-congratulatory. The reader was unable to get the benefit of the writer’s privileged knowledge. Even more egregious was when, at the end, Watson asks a question Holmes can’t answer since there is a gap in his story logic.

I was hoping the book would be moody, set in Dartmoor as it is. Still, knowing the impossibly erudite nature of Sherlock Holmes and his amazing abilities, it was not hard to see through it like so much Exmoor mist.

Still, it was fun. And I learned something from my own clues. If you can comb your hair and get GQ to notice you, you’ll definitely sell more books.

Comments

Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best...

Creative Righting

Rejection of my writing is a rejection of my imaginative world. That’s why I was cheered by the acceptance of one of my stories this week. That makes number 31. I’ve been working on a lot of fiction lately, even as nonfiction book number 6 is going to press. The ideas are still there, and bizarre as ever, but publishing venues just aren’t welcoming. The other day I had lunch with a professor whose wife is also a professor. She just had her first novel published, and so he pointed me to her indie publisher. I went to their website to learn that they’re closed to submissions. I have to admit that my latest accepted story, “Creative Writing Club,” was probably given the green light because I know the editor. That seems like a pretty dicey way to get any notice, doesn’t it? You have to know the right people even in the low circulation world. My fiction is difficult to classify. It’s got speculative elements to it. ...

Patterns

There’s a pattern I’m noticing. For fiction publishers. Even if you aim low you’ll find it a struggle. Part of the reason is the pattern. Lots of websites list publishers. The smaller, hungrier presses either eventually close or get to a place where they require an agent to get in. That’s the kiss of death. Although my stories have won prizes, and been nominated for prizes, I can’t get an agent interested. I’ve queried well over a hundred, so the agent route is one of diminishing returns. This too is a pattern. Back to the smaller presses. I check many lists. What I write, you see, is highly idiosyncratic. It’s literary but it’s weird. Publishers don’t know what to do with it. If a smaller press published stuff like this, I’d find it. The pattern includes writers who never get discovered. Ironically, a number of editors of fiction literary magazines (mostly online) tell me they enjoy my wor...

K. Marvin Bruce

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