K. Marvin Bruce

  I recently submitted my Medusa novel to a publisher I found because they approached me to review one of their books.   Now, my nonfiction blog isn’t a big deal.   With only a couple hundred regular readers I’m sure it didn’t lead to sales.   The book, honestly, wasn’t that good. Still, the website was friendly and welcoming.   As I filled in the proposal form I was honest, as it asked me to be.   How many copies, it asked, do you think your book will sell?   Be honest, it advised.   I put a number, realistic, that my own publisher would’ve been satisfied with.   Most books, truth be told, sell less than 1,000 copies. When they sent their rejection note a week later they said that I wasn’t well enough established as a fiction writer.   In other words, I couldn’t bring in enough money.   I’m not established enough?   How are you ever going to get established if even a small publisher like that won’t give you a chance? Here’s ...

  Sometimes life’s too busy to be leading a double life.   My fiction writing has once again been suffering because of nonfiction.   Funny how that goes. I have my fifth nonfiction book coming out this summer and a sixth written in draft form.   The real problem, however, is the nine-to-five job.   As a professional, it’s expected that the eight-hour day be more like ten.   And what with basic survival, and social time, writing both fiction and non can be a challenge. In a spate of optimism I submitted three or four stories back in the summer, with predictable results.   I finally got brave enough to submit my Medusa novel again.   This one has quite a history, starting with being under contract in 2012. I’ve had a few nibbles since the publisher pulled the plug after an editor left.   Hey, as a professional I know that’s not a very professional thing to do!   Publishers that don’t live up to their obligations, well, let’s just say they ...

  My current fiction project has me researching.   The best advice all writers give is that to be a writer you must read.   A lot.   I read on an average, more than a book a week.   Roughly half of them are fiction and the others non. I’ve had four nonfiction books published (with a fifth in the editor’s hands).   Writing nonfiction takes a lot of research.   So does good fiction.   Not that it’s ever helped me get my novels published, but should they ever see the light of day, they’re well researched. My novel on Medusa, for instance, was written after teaching introduction to classical mythology three times at a state university.   Indeed, it was that class that led to the novel.   I was only an adjunct, of course, and those with full-time affiliations have it much easier.   I know.   Believe me, I know. Now my research takes the form of books I buy myself, much to the protest of my study shelves and bank account.   All ...

I take courage from those websites that tell you how many times an author was rejected.   You know the ones.   Those written by naively optimistic sorts who say “your future is out there (just not with me).”   Still, I like them. The other day I counted.   My Medusa novel has received 57 rejections so far.   I believe in it, however.   I have been told by people that don’t even like me that I write well.   That should count for something, right?   And there’s that thing I can’t possibly tell agents: The book was under contract before.   See, you can’t admit such things.   You can’t say “The editor who accepted it responded ‘Loved it!’” and “they broke the contract when that editor left.”   I know that somewhere out there lives a publishing professional who got what I am trying to do with this story. Meanwhile, I continue to read.   I read a book recently that was really poor.   I mean, at times I had ...

Blogger isn’t my native environment.   I can’t afford two WordPress sites, though.   Living a dual life doesn’t equate to having dual bank accounts, I’m afraid. I neglect this blog because I write non-fiction and conduct business as a normal human being with a normal name.   My normal job doesn’t allow for fiction publication, besides, I don’t want them to know what goes on inside my head. Trying to get the old Blogger site up to code has been a challenge, though.   Months ago I added other pages (see above) and wondered why nobody else could see them.   Turns out you have to have a kind of course in Blogger-ese to figure out how.   I think it worked. Why the additional pages?   Well, I’ve been querying agents again.   This is a great exercise for those of us who like to bang our heads into walls.   To get an agent you need to have a following.   To get a following you need to have an agent.   It’s a circle of ...

Every great once in a while something extraordinary happens.   As I mentioned in my last post, I really hadn’t submitted fiction for publication for almost three years.   (I had a couple of non-fiction projects going.)   About three weeks ago I began submitting again. I have a backlog of stories ready to go.   That backlog is now one story less.   “The Pain of a Caterpillar” was accepted, to my great delight, by Ghostlight: The Magazine of Terror .   I’ve finally broken the magical number of twenty short stories accepted for publication. The truly remarkable thing, however, was the alacrity with which it was accepted.   I have been writing fiction for over forty years and never had a story accepted on the same day it was submitted before.   I was absolutely thrilled. As a writer, fewer things make you feel as validated as acceptance.   You have to go through an awful lot of rejection to get there.   This particular ...

If I was a parent I’d be accused of neglect.   I have to say 2017 was the least published year of recent memory.   Not that I’ve been neglecting my fiction, but I had a non-fiction book accepted and I work full-time and commute to that job—you get the picture. I’ve also had a personal epiphany.   If you can write, you should get paid for it.   I know a publicist (not my own; I don’t have one) and she says she won’t let her authors even write an op-ed if they don’t get paid.   I guess I’d never get published then. My Medusa novel had a flicker of hope for a few moments.   A publisher actually wrote back asking for the rest of the manuscript.   That’s never happened before.   Then the editor disappeared.   Even called me by the wrong pseudonym.   I’ve gotta wonder about that because the second half of the novel’s even better than the first. While looking for an agent for my non-fiction (couldn’t find one of those either) I cam...

One of the most challenging aspects of being a working writer is dithering.   Shilly-shallying.   Not being able to decide.   Is this story done yet?   Should I revise it for a tenth time?   When do I stop writing fiction and get back to non-fiction?   And all of this has to be decided for a mere half-hour of writing time a day. I’ve neglected this blog a little because I’ve been finishing up a non-fiction book.   To no one’s greater surprise than mine, an editor at Penguin is actually reading it.   You just never know.   Meanwhile novel number seven has been demanding my attention.   One through six haven’t been published yet either. Don’t forget the children.   Stories.   Lots of stories.   Some days three or four story ideas crowd into my head at a time.   And I only have half-an-hour to write.   Decisions, decisions! I’d pretty much decided to turn back to non-fiction for a while when I had an un...

It’s all about the money.  As any real writer knows, we write because we’re compelled to.  I suspect it’s only after someone tastes success that s/he gets cynical enough to write for money.  That doesn’t stop agents and publishers from trying, though. My Medusa novel was under contract with a publisher.  This was about five years ago.  After dallying around for a couple of years, the publisher cancelled the contract because the editor who’d signed it up had left the press.  That’s hardly a legitimate reason; in fact, it defeats the purpose of a book contract all together.  I’ve not been able to find another publisher since. Nearly every rejection letter says something along the lines of “It’s well written, but it’s not for us.”  They mean they don’t see enough dollar signs.  I’m not naive—I get it.  I would, however, appreciate just a little compensation for the hundreds and hundreds of hours I put into my writing.  S...

I write both short stories and novels.  This is not unusual for a writer because different ideas play themselves out at different lengths.  Indeed, the division is artificial.  Edgar Allan Poe famously opined that a short story should be unified by mood and short enough to read in one sitting. A novel is a long-term commitment.  Or at least an affair that lasts more than a one-night stand.  Your characters have time to get to know one another “on screen” and the tale might get very complicated. It is difficult to come off of a novel into a short story, I find.  Going the other way around isn’t nearly so much of a let-down.  A story, after all, may develop into a novel.  Few novels can exist in the few words allotted to the short story. I’ve been working on my Medusa novel.  I’m about to start sending more letters of inquiry, and I’ve pretty much finished with the current round of polishing.  During my daily writing tim...

Having gone back to my Medusa novel for the umpteenth time, I find myself still proud of it.  Every great once in a while, a writer produces something that s/he knows is very good, and worthy of publication.  Of course, the publishers hold all of the cards. I went back to the drawing board to look for publishers who will consider literary humor.  It’s not a large coterie, but, at the same time, there is an embarrassment of riches.  Lots of publishers claim to be interested in humor.  Look at their offerings, however, and a different story emerges. People like to laugh.  I read humorous novels frequently.  Finding a publisher, however, may require an agent.  Agents are more standoffish than publishers are.  Most won’t even acknowledge a query.  Their websites are outdated, and they have no interest in an author without name recognition. A disturbing number of independent publishers, I see, now only accept agented submissions....

it, and part of me feels utterly like an ass.  Like a poser.  A wannabe.  Only professionals have agents, right? I’ve been writing since I was a tween.  Living in a small town with parents who’d never gone to college, and a mother who never finished high school, I had no idea how to get published.  I discovered that by editing my high school paper I could publish my own stories, but that felt like cheating. In my days of formal schooling, publication became purely academic.  Serious scholars published serious papers.  I tried to have some of my poetry published in my college literary magazine, but the editors said it was too depressing. Although I’ve been writing fiction since the 1970’s, I didn’t start trying to publish it until 2009.  I was scared and unsure of myself.  My first publication won a small prize, and a subsequent story won a more competitive recognition.  Those who publish books, however, were less kind. I...

Six unpublished novels sit before me on my laptop.  Okay, to be fair the first one is the “throw away” that all novelist wannabes have to write.  Probably the second one, too, if I’m to be entirely honest.  Novel four wasn’t that great, being a Nanowrimo effort.  The other three, however, I like. It’s a funny thing, how writers feel about their children.  Unlike our biological offspring, we are told to drown our darlings and make them suffer.  That applies to works as well as characters.  We are advised to throw away our first ten-thousand hours of work. Well, maybe not throw them away completely.  Experts—and we all have to respect experts—claim that it takes ten-thousand hours of doing anything artistic to become proficient.  That’s over two years of waking time completely devoted to the craft.  Most of us can’t afford more than a few hours of writing a week. It’s difficult to know how to measure success in writing.  ...

When we’re concerned about someone we ask, “How are you feeling?”  I don’t think I’ve ever said to anyone, “How are you thinking?”  Some scientists believe that thinking begins with emotion rather than with rational thought. As a writer, I know all about how emotion affects what I can write.  Yes, it controls what I write.  I’m in the middle of a couple of big projects.  I find it hard to write on the same topic for long periods of time, but I really want to get this book finished.  Sometimes I just don’t feel it. Like today.  I’m sad because a friend is moving away.  I’ve been fighting the depression that usually attends such things, and I have managed to whittle this down to a persistent sadness.  Sadness often brings out superior writing, but it means that the happy piece I’m working on will have to wait. Well, it’s not really a happy piece.  It’s more of a funny piece.  At least I hope it’s funny.  My Medusa n...

It was one of the nicest rejection letters I’ve received.  “It’s not you.  It’s me.”  You get the picture.  I’ve lost track of how many times this book has been rejected.  A friend of mine in publishing tells me that publishers are hungry for content.  I’ve got six pretty good novels lying around with very little interest shown. Perhaps I suck as a writer.  I don’t really think so, though.  You see, i read a lot.  On the order of three hours a day a lot.  Some of what I read sucks.  I recognize suckiness.  I don’t produce it. And yet when I submit to a publisher they want three months to consider my work before rejecting it.  You’d think I’d have learned the lesson by now.  If they don’t write back the next day, so excited they can’t stay in their seats, I’ve failed to sway them.  At least that’s how I imagine it must go. This particular novel—the first I’ve seriously tried to publish—is an orphan....

As the author of six novels (none published) Banned Book Week, which begins tomorrow, always has a special appeal.  People have been writing for over four thousand years, and it might seem that there’s little left to say that won’t offend someone.  So I celebrated Banned Book Week with abandon. There’s no official “western canon” of banned books.  Suffice it to say that if you have a favorite, it’s probably on somebody’s list.  Although we gladly watch televisions shows frothing over with sex and violence, if you try to put it in a book, someone will object.  Loudly. Many cultural heroes, of the literary sort, have spent a stint or two on the banned book lists.  We feel that our children shouldn’t read such things.  They might act out the violence or adult situations and who’s going to clean up after all that?  It is easier to prevent them reading. I recall RIF.  Reading Is Fundamental.  It was a program in full swing when I...

The Passion of the Titans is a sexy book.  Quite apart from the expected libido of a rock star, Medusa is, in a word, hot.  A young goddess in a world literally full of Adonises and Apollos.  What is a girl to do? Studies have shown that priming yourself can deepen creativity.  It’s probably just evolution in action, but thinking about sex makes you more creative.  It may seem sexist, but the old saw about the hapless writer working away with the picture of a naked (fill in the gender) in from of him/her (select one) is accurate.  Blame it on your hormones. No one knows whence creativity emerges.  Ornaments and flourishes hardly seem necessary in the hard business of living life.  Some of us would rather die at our writing desks than give it up.  Our nature compels us to create, to be gods. Creativity, like libido, ebbs and flows and surges and gushes.  Some days you might as well be in the Atacama Desert, not even a cactu...