My mind is on small presses tonight. I had volunteered to research five presses for AgentQuest, the Guppies (Going to be Published) online branch of Sister in Crime. I think many of us are going on the theory that credible agents are bombarded with proposals these days and a cold query isn't likely to go anywhere. It might be better to query small presses who are less likely to be overloaded. What I've learned is that we shouldn't underestimate small prsses--small does not mean they're open to everything. Often they have higher standards (and much more complicated submission procedures) than major presses. Still my first mystery manuscript, Skeleton in a Dead Space, is in the hands of a small publisher as I write and has been for what seems to me a long time but in the publishing world isn't long at all. I queried this press because I had years ago contributed, on request, stories to anthologies they produced (western, not mystery). So I'm hopeful. But researching small presses has been interesting--some want only noir fiction (not quite me), another in Nebraska wants only fiction with a historical slant--and I bet that means northern Midwest. I know at TCU our fiction has to have a Texas slant, and I wouldn't be interested in a novel set in Nebraska. Anyway, after forgetting about this assignment for a while, I have it done and ready to send in.
And I'm researching small presses for another project--the book editor at the Dallas Morning News suggested I do a column on how small Texas presses are faring during this recession or economic downturn or whatever you want to call it. The first three responses I've gotten so far are intersting--publishing, always an iffy business and particularly so for an independent, is holding its own in Texas. Often small presses are one version or another of Mom and Pop operatons, and as one publisher said to me you don't do it for profit, you do it for love. His press is officially going non-profit this year.
Some authors who have hit it big in New York claim that's the only way to go, but I disagree. There are a lot of writers out there with talent, good manuscripts, and good ideas who aren't going to make it in New York, no matter how many conferences they attend, agents they meet, queries they write. I think small presses and even in some cases self-publishing is the answer. Publishing, like everything else is changing--it's no longer the gentlemen's profession that Maxwell Perkins (Thomas Wolfe's editor and the classic of a gentlemanly editor who really edited) once said it was. The major houses are owned by corporations who care much less about literary quality than they do the bottom line. So for those of us who love writing and reading for their own sakes, it's often time to depart the main path.
Time magazine recently published a survey that indicated 10 newspapers most likely to fold or go online only within the year--and the Fort Worth paper was one. The prediction? It would be rolled into the Dallas paper. I talked to an executive at the Star-Telegram this morning who laughed and said, "That's someone who really doesn't know this market." With the arch-rivalry between the two cities, such a merger would never happen. And the Star-Telegram is apparently the flagship of the McClatchey syndicate. In an article this morning, the publisher was quoted as saying when the recession lessens, we will see a more robust paper--good news for those of us who have been complaining about the dearth of contents. Let's hope we get back to the good old days, because I dearly love a cup of coffee and my print copy of the paper.
Another cold, damp day, the kind that chills your bones. Betty and I had sort of skirted around going out to dinner and both decided it was a stay inside night. I made myself what lately I've come to think of as one of my favorite comfort foods--creamed tuna. I make a white sauce (I tried to explain this to Jordan and she instantly gave up), add a little white wine, tuna, peas, corn, and finally grated cheddar. Warm, mild, and good. This time, even with a small can of tuna, it turned out to be more than I could eat.
Most women crave pedicures. Not me. I crave a visit to the podiatrist, and I want to give the profession a plug. Dr. Johnson trims that one toenail that I can do nothing with (and the others too), smooths off the corn on my hammer toe and the rough skin on my bunions, and makes my feet feel like new. I'd go every week if I could; as it is I go every three months and come away feeling like dancing. That's how I feel today. If anyone had ever told me I'd get to the point I can't take of my own feet, I'd have hooted. But too late, I have realized (like a lot of other things) I took them for granted all my life--and I went barefoot way too much. The doctor comforted me by saying a lot of my foot problems are genetic--thanks, Mom, for your bunions, which you always said were because you wore ill-fitting shoes as a child. Now I know better.
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