I am fifty three years old. Thirty some odd years ago I started writing humor. When I learned just how wide was the monetary gulf between comedian and comic writer, I moved to the big city and honed my stand-up skills. Getting laughs was not that hard and I was comfortable in front of crowds. But it felt wrong.
I gave up the pursuit of comic success for two reasons. One, I see myself as an iconoclast and stand-up comedy is not the best forum for shattering those precious relics. It is always easier to get laughs when you echo the sympathies of the audience. To attract a larger audience is to parrot mainstream sentiments in matters political, matters domestic and matters trivial. There have been a few geniuses-- George Carlin and Andrew Dice Clay are two examples—who get laughs while challenging their audiences' sensibilities. But most comedians survive by charting a course of ever-decreasing resistance.
The other reason I did not stay with comedy is that I did not have a pathological need for attention. In comedy, as in pop music and other performing arts, the cream does not usually rise to the top. The compulsive attention seekers, with their heartfelt belief that they alone belong in the spotlight, perform Gresham's Law on the rest of the field. Entertainment as we know it is dominated by journeymen who share an uncommon talent for self-marketing. I thought writing would be a little bit different. It isn't.
In the early 90's I had my first negative experience with the publishing world. Prior to the Internet, there were a lot of publishing houses that dealt with obscure subjects, weirdness and money-making opportunities. Subjects that would now be covered at free websites or maybe low-priced e-books. At the time, I was partly supporting my writing habit through paid human experimentation. I compiled a book on the subject and called it “Have Blood, Will Travel.”
My motive for writing HBWT was to open doors. I wanted to become a published writer and this lofty status might land me lucrative editorial positions where I would live in relative luxury (compared to the life of a clinic-hopping guinea pig) while I penned a series of great American novels in my spare time. It wasn't to be.
Not only did I collect dozens of rejections and postage alone nearly sent me to the poor house (which would probably be a step up from a lot of clinics, let me tell you) further humiliation would ensue. Two of the publishers viewed my manuscripts, outlines, etc., and rejected my work but then released similar books a short time later.
There is much more to this sour saga that I will save for another time. One of the publishers kept my manuscript and later released a title I cannot currently recall (I have the book in storage and it seems to be out of print so I can't look up the title at the publisher's web site.) They would later make national news when the family of a murder victim claimed that one of their books educated the killer in performing homicide. The publisher would destroy all traces of credibility by their counterargument that Rex Feral was actually a woman whose “Hit Man” expertise was attained from watching TV crime shows and from reading detective novels. There was a made for TV movie about this event.
Feeling not warmly received by the publishing community, I decided to go in another direction. I would produce humorous and satirical audio productions and market them directly through the mail. Under the name Frank Tyro I produced “Dealey Plaza FunPark” (in convenient cassette format) “Frank Tyro Unplugged,” “Broadcasting Live From Dealey Plaza Funpark,” “Tyro IV” and “Frank Tyro's Greatest Hits.”
It was the wrong era for audio productions and besides, my technical expertise was limited. I did some good voices and recruited some good talent but a sound engineer I will never be. Oh, and marketing genius once more escaped my grasp. There were dozens of projects left on the drawing board. It was time to shift gears.
Inspired by “Infinite Jest” I was determined to write a long coming of age novel that takes place inside the head of a socially inept and highly delusional teenager. Each day would be a stand alone short story that weaves itself into a six month narrative. At six to seven pages per day times 180 days, I was going to have me a fat ass novel.
Hundreds of pages into the project, work raised its ugly head. Kind of like “Dilbert” but with longer hours, shorter wages and meaner people. Mean. Mean. Mean. And there was a marriage and a divorce and changes of address and broken dreams. Writing took a backseat to gloom.
When I once more found a creative spark, I decided to write, direct and star in a feature length digital movie. The movie never got started but preproduction consumed more time and money than I thought possible. Whenever I had the time, I would be short on cash. Whenever I had deeper pockets, I had less time. People changed their phone numbers. People changed addresses. Actors changed appearance. In my mind, I did not throw in the towel. The movie is slowly stewing on the back burner.
In 2006 I executed a bold maneuver. I quit my job and finished my coming of age novel on New Year's Day, 2007. I trimmed the six month novel down to seven weeks and later down to six weeks. Even in its sveltest form it still tipped the scales at 185, 395 words. This was a real book, baby.
Imagine running a marathon. You don't know exactly where you finished but you know that you were near the front of the pack. You are exhausted. Every part of your body aches. Muscles go on strike. Then you are told that if you want the judges to record your time, you have to perform the Hokey Pokey. Huh?
That is the publishing world. The judges don't care what kind of race you ran. They want to see you dance the Hokey Pokey. On the basis of your performance, your race will count or it will be discarded. You might win the gold medal or your race might be obliterated and forgotten.
You put your right foot in.
You put your right foot out.
You put your right foot in and you shake it all about.
You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around
And that's what it's all about.
That's what it's all about. Getting published is dancing The Hokey Pokey at the end of a marathon. Query letters and submission guidelines and plot synopses and shots in the dark. Why is it easier for me to write a four hundred page novel than a one page query letter? I have written good copy in the past. It's not like I don't understand the rudiments of salesmanship. I do. But I will never excel at The Hokey Pokey. Never.
Fast forward. The coming of age novel was not published. I thought that it would garner enough cash for me to live on while I worked on the next novel. But it did not produce any cargo. I lived on credit cards for a while as I tried new business ventures. I licked my wounds and started a new novel. Figuring that I had been dismissed as a dilettante, I would write a second novel. Sure, dilettantes write one novel, but not two. At that point, the dilettante is declared a writer.
Yes, it would be different this time. Different in part because I would now be writing commercial fiction. Not a stand alone novel but a series of intricate stories with recurring characters. And this, the first of many in a series, would deal with commercially viable material that millions and millions of readers would want to purchase. No more one shots about goofy kids who struggle with mental illness. Well, yes, if you want to look at that one too...but let's talk about “Mississippi Sizzling,” the near future crime novel where gangsters discover the wonders of biochemical weaponry.
As I mentioned, I lived on credit cards for a while. The coming of age novel did not sell and the world economy tanked. It took me longer than expected to find work and when I did, it was for low wages and it featured a long, grueling commute. I tried to keep my business ventures alive much longer than I should have. Thus, it took me longer than expected to complete “Mississippi Sizzling.” May 13, 2011 is the official completion date but I have made minor repairs since that day.
I want to get “Mississippi Sizzling” published. When that happens, I will get started on the next book in the “Mississippi” series. Maybe I will also get the coming of age novel published. But that's another story for another time. For now, I want to bring “Mississippi Sizzling” to market. The Internet and social networking has changed the rules of just about everything. It's a whole new ball game.
Wish me luck.
Frank Lee Rio.
I gave up the pursuit of comic success for two reasons. One, I see myself as an iconoclast and stand-up comedy is not the best forum for shattering those precious relics. It is always easier to get laughs when you echo the sympathies of the audience. To attract a larger audience is to parrot mainstream sentiments in matters political, matters domestic and matters trivial. There have been a few geniuses-- George Carlin and Andrew Dice Clay are two examples—who get laughs while challenging their audiences' sensibilities. But most comedians survive by charting a course of ever-decreasing resistance.
The other reason I did not stay with comedy is that I did not have a pathological need for attention. In comedy, as in pop music and other performing arts, the cream does not usually rise to the top. The compulsive attention seekers, with their heartfelt belief that they alone belong in the spotlight, perform Gresham's Law on the rest of the field. Entertainment as we know it is dominated by journeymen who share an uncommon talent for self-marketing. I thought writing would be a little bit different. It isn't.
In the early 90's I had my first negative experience with the publishing world. Prior to the Internet, there were a lot of publishing houses that dealt with obscure subjects, weirdness and money-making opportunities. Subjects that would now be covered at free websites or maybe low-priced e-books. At the time, I was partly supporting my writing habit through paid human experimentation. I compiled a book on the subject and called it “Have Blood, Will Travel.”
My motive for writing HBWT was to open doors. I wanted to become a published writer and this lofty status might land me lucrative editorial positions where I would live in relative luxury (compared to the life of a clinic-hopping guinea pig) while I penned a series of great American novels in my spare time. It wasn't to be.
Not only did I collect dozens of rejections and postage alone nearly sent me to the poor house (which would probably be a step up from a lot of clinics, let me tell you) further humiliation would ensue. Two of the publishers viewed my manuscripts, outlines, etc., and rejected my work but then released similar books a short time later.
There is much more to this sour saga that I will save for another time. One of the publishers kept my manuscript and later released a title I cannot currently recall (I have the book in storage and it seems to be out of print so I can't look up the title at the publisher's web site.) They would later make national news when the family of a murder victim claimed that one of their books educated the killer in performing homicide. The publisher would destroy all traces of credibility by their counterargument that Rex Feral was actually a woman whose “Hit Man” expertise was attained from watching TV crime shows and from reading detective novels. There was a made for TV movie about this event.
Feeling not warmly received by the publishing community, I decided to go in another direction. I would produce humorous and satirical audio productions and market them directly through the mail. Under the name Frank Tyro I produced “Dealey Plaza FunPark” (in convenient cassette format) “Frank Tyro Unplugged,” “Broadcasting Live From Dealey Plaza Funpark,” “Tyro IV” and “Frank Tyro's Greatest Hits.”
It was the wrong era for audio productions and besides, my technical expertise was limited. I did some good voices and recruited some good talent but a sound engineer I will never be. Oh, and marketing genius once more escaped my grasp. There were dozens of projects left on the drawing board. It was time to shift gears.
Inspired by “Infinite Jest” I was determined to write a long coming of age novel that takes place inside the head of a socially inept and highly delusional teenager. Each day would be a stand alone short story that weaves itself into a six month narrative. At six to seven pages per day times 180 days, I was going to have me a fat ass novel.
Hundreds of pages into the project, work raised its ugly head. Kind of like “Dilbert” but with longer hours, shorter wages and meaner people. Mean. Mean. Mean. And there was a marriage and a divorce and changes of address and broken dreams. Writing took a backseat to gloom.
When I once more found a creative spark, I decided to write, direct and star in a feature length digital movie. The movie never got started but preproduction consumed more time and money than I thought possible. Whenever I had the time, I would be short on cash. Whenever I had deeper pockets, I had less time. People changed their phone numbers. People changed addresses. Actors changed appearance. In my mind, I did not throw in the towel. The movie is slowly stewing on the back burner.
In 2006 I executed a bold maneuver. I quit my job and finished my coming of age novel on New Year's Day, 2007. I trimmed the six month novel down to seven weeks and later down to six weeks. Even in its sveltest form it still tipped the scales at 185, 395 words. This was a real book, baby.
Imagine running a marathon. You don't know exactly where you finished but you know that you were near the front of the pack. You are exhausted. Every part of your body aches. Muscles go on strike. Then you are told that if you want the judges to record your time, you have to perform the Hokey Pokey. Huh?
That is the publishing world. The judges don't care what kind of race you ran. They want to see you dance the Hokey Pokey. On the basis of your performance, your race will count or it will be discarded. You might win the gold medal or your race might be obliterated and forgotten.
You put your right foot in.
You put your right foot out.
You put your right foot in and you shake it all about.
You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around
And that's what it's all about.
That's what it's all about. Getting published is dancing The Hokey Pokey at the end of a marathon. Query letters and submission guidelines and plot synopses and shots in the dark. Why is it easier for me to write a four hundred page novel than a one page query letter? I have written good copy in the past. It's not like I don't understand the rudiments of salesmanship. I do. But I will never excel at The Hokey Pokey. Never.
Fast forward. The coming of age novel was not published. I thought that it would garner enough cash for me to live on while I worked on the next novel. But it did not produce any cargo. I lived on credit cards for a while as I tried new business ventures. I licked my wounds and started a new novel. Figuring that I had been dismissed as a dilettante, I would write a second novel. Sure, dilettantes write one novel, but not two. At that point, the dilettante is declared a writer.
Yes, it would be different this time. Different in part because I would now be writing commercial fiction. Not a stand alone novel but a series of intricate stories with recurring characters. And this, the first of many in a series, would deal with commercially viable material that millions and millions of readers would want to purchase. No more one shots about goofy kids who struggle with mental illness. Well, yes, if you want to look at that one too...but let's talk about “Mississippi Sizzling,” the near future crime novel where gangsters discover the wonders of biochemical weaponry.
As I mentioned, I lived on credit cards for a while. The coming of age novel did not sell and the world economy tanked. It took me longer than expected to find work and when I did, it was for low wages and it featured a long, grueling commute. I tried to keep my business ventures alive much longer than I should have. Thus, it took me longer than expected to complete “Mississippi Sizzling.” May 13, 2011 is the official completion date but I have made minor repairs since that day.
I want to get “Mississippi Sizzling” published. When that happens, I will get started on the next book in the “Mississippi” series. Maybe I will also get the coming of age novel published. But that's another story for another time. For now, I want to bring “Mississippi Sizzling” to market. The Internet and social networking has changed the rules of just about everything. It's a whole new ball game.
Wish me luck.
Frank Lee Rio.
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