To be released in time for the feasting season: my novel CRANDOLIN.
"A fairy tale Dostoevsky would have liked … It's like it was written by a demented chef"
— David Kowalski
The fit with Chômu Press is so perfect that I have hesitated to say anything here, for fear the feasting season will fall off the end of Time, or the End of the World will come at 2:00 the day before the release. So I hereby invoke the Writer's Prayer:
Chômu Press doesn't publish me-too fiction that you've read somewhere before wrapped in another title. They do publish the most intriguing and readable stuff. And they care about presentation. The productions are luscious, partly because they get some of the best artists involved as well as the superb designer, Anil D.Nataly. And mostly because they do insane amounts of work themselves.
Sure, I could have gotten CRANDOLIN published somewhere, but I have wanted the best, and the context I can put this press into, to show that I really do admire what they do as well as their guts, is to say that they're the Blaft of the UK. And anyone who's followed my love affair with Blaft knows that they're my favourite publisher in the world.
Quentin S. Crisp as editor is just what I always wanted for CRANDOLIN, and me! He's like a rain of vinegar hitting the mountain of me, a pile of bicarbonate of soda. He's what all great editors are — insidious drugs. I've been tripping for weeks. (And if you haven't read Crisp's own fiction, you're missing something major. He's a writer of classics, given the readership. I've just finished Shrike, and think it should be rereleased as a Popular Penguin, though it's hardly been read by anyone yet.)
Finally, CRANDOLIN is too original for agents to have been any more use than a sautéed umbrella. And I wouldn't have approached Chômu Press though it looks mouthwatering, because I grew too cynical about the whole fiction scene. So thank you, dear Starburst Poet (Joseph S. Pulver, Sr.), for not only picking me up from the muck of my own depression, but for being yet another wonderful editor; and then, after that, for turning out to be a big hairy yenta — a meddling matchmaker!
Of course, there are other brave readers to whom I am also indebted. They donated their blood to CRANDOLIN and their shoulders (at least) to me, without ever charging me for their earplug expenses. I shall reveal them as the novel turns.
"A fairy tale Dostoevsky would have liked … It's like it was written by a demented chef"
— David Kowalski
The fit with Chômu Press is so perfect that I have hesitated to say anything here, for fear the feasting season will fall off the end of Time, or the End of the World will come at 2:00 the day before the release. So I hereby invoke the Writer's Prayer:
Please, Fate(s) or Who(m)ever,
Let The End of the World come the day after the release of my Important novel.
Chômu Press doesn't publish me-too fiction that you've read somewhere before wrapped in another title. They do publish the most intriguing and readable stuff. And they care about presentation. The productions are luscious, partly because they get some of the best artists involved as well as the superb designer, Anil D.Nataly. And mostly because they do insane amounts of work themselves.
Sure, I could have gotten CRANDOLIN published somewhere, but I have wanted the best, and the context I can put this press into, to show that I really do admire what they do as well as their guts, is to say that they're the Blaft of the UK. And anyone who's followed my love affair with Blaft knows that they're my favourite publisher in the world.
Quentin S. Crisp as editor is just what I always wanted for CRANDOLIN, and me! He's like a rain of vinegar hitting the mountain of me, a pile of bicarbonate of soda. He's what all great editors are — insidious drugs. I've been tripping for weeks. (And if you haven't read Crisp's own fiction, you're missing something major. He's a writer of classics, given the readership. I've just finished Shrike, and think it should be rereleased as a Popular Penguin, though it's hardly been read by anyone yet.)
Finally, CRANDOLIN is too original for agents to have been any more use than a sautéed umbrella. And I wouldn't have approached Chômu Press though it looks mouthwatering, because I grew too cynical about the whole fiction scene. So thank you, dear Starburst Poet (Joseph S. Pulver, Sr.), for not only picking me up from the muck of my own depression, but for being yet another wonderful editor; and then, after that, for turning out to be a big hairy yenta — a meddling matchmaker!
Of course, there are other brave readers to whom I am also indebted. They donated their blood to CRANDOLIN and their shoulders (at least) to me, without ever charging me for their earplug expenses. I shall reveal them as the novel turns.
12 comments:
Very very excited at the thought of seeing this in print...
What good news!
Thank you, Anon., and Jeff!
Jeff, please answer here with details of your upcoming poetry collection. It will be such a pleasure to be able to read it finally, between covers.
Anna, I'm aiming for midsummer to publish the poetry collection, after I finish writing it and work out some legal/administrative issues.
When will we be able to order Crandolin?
Hurray!
Stage whi(s/m)per: I'm getting tired of Blaft's packaging of kitsch for hipsters...
But that's just me. I hate everything. Pretty sure I won't hate CRANDOLIN though!
Congratulations! I can't wait to read it!
Congratulations Anna! That's awesome.
There's definitely a difference between "any old publisher" and the right publisher. I'm glad to see you've found a home for your book.
Jeff, your summer can't come too soon. In the meantime, I recommend your translation of The Tale of Charlemagne and Ralph the Collier to everyone who enjoys poetry that tells tales in the drollest way. Quite a host, this Ralph is too.
JP, how perfectly put: "kitsch for hipsters". Kitsch rules. Hipsters in Beijing show their allegiance by collecting memorabilia without message other than coolness, and Mao therefore becomes merely the "King of Kitsch". In Portland, Oregon kitsch = cool, Maybe the sales of it helps pay the translators, and gets the seriously good stuff noticed. I don't know enough to fathom the relationship between what Blaft sells and culture. What do you think?
As to you not hating CRANDOLIN, hmmm, I wouldn't be sure of anything. And that goes for Spencer and, well, everyone who ventures there. (And Ethan, yes! We've had this discussion about levels of pub's, but not about penchants of pubs, which is much more important, isn't it? If only we could look into every publisher's trash, and find out what they eat when they think no one can see--perhaps the honcho at Trash Press gains weight on Anaximander.)
But to the issue of whether CRANDOLIN will be to anyone's taste ~ When I was 7 or so, I failed some teacher's assessment of "listening and following directions", and went down from there. So my friend Abhijit B_________ ordered from me his usual favourite: he likes his novels "medium depressing". But this chook (that's me, and the word is pronounced 'shook'—-a mongrel chef/cook) has produced in my kitschen of mysteries, a supersized amuse-bouche, something to make mouths happy.
errr, I should qualify that as "some mouths", for CRANDOLIN is only For the Adwentoursomme, and as for the happiness, one can never scale the heights of happiness without a deal of pain.
I am oVer the mooN about this coming from CP! !! My VERY great pleasure to read this STUNNING work and help *in a very small way* to see that it found the home it so richly deserves! !!
You, Dearest Witch and chef of my soul, area wonder! !!
Now I will swoon~ ~~ [and clap wildly! !!]
My dear kiy 1955,
You really need to loosen up. You're
so stiff-upper-lip deadpan.
But before you loosen too much, please answer factually.
1) Can a man swoon?
@) You have been described as having a "walrus moustache" but the last walrus I met had a moustache with individual bristles that each were the thickness of a cooked strand of spaghetti, and as supple as a soup ladle. What're your mo hairs like? Are they the cause of your lip?
You really need to loosen up. You're
so stiff-upper-lip deadpan.
I tried loose once, old bones couldn’t leap that wide . . .
But before you loosen too much, please answer factually.
1) Can a man swoon?
a-ep, have all ahhhhhhhh and pitter~pat. Did & done, even w/ a lyre or trees in the way… AND always DO after readin’ my fav witch! !!
@) You have been described as having a "walrus moustache" but the last walrus I met had a moustache with individual bristles that each were the thickness of a cooked strand of spaghetti, and as supple as a soup ladle. What're your mo hairs like? Are they the cause of your lip?
David Crosby dropped into my ongoing cowboy road movie some decades back and suggested I might like having a trademark… Tinkered w/ Hmmmm for a few moments… THEN~ ~~ Well, I love rhinos but couldn’t grow a horn, so thought, hey, walrus, that I cainSSs do. DID! !! Also, good for covering bEastly fangs w/ som soft… And I may look brutal [many bEasts do], but meS can, if a spicy venturous mood strikes, take supple out for a spin~ ~~
Dems the straight~up facts.
Post a Comment