Publish This Book

Whenever I get off work, I've always got my nose in a book. I'm on a constant search for more reading material. Back in March I frequently visited Barnes and Noble in Oak brook. My routine consisted of me grabbing three or four books I was curious about and schlepping them to the upstairs cafe.

At the time, I was thumbing through The Tattooed Girl by Joyce Carol Oates, which I finished, Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, How Starbucks Saved My Life and Publish This Book.

I like carrying a stack of books and read at least ten or fifteen pages out of each forming a sort of Battle Royale on which book will win my attention. The book that was the victor: Publish This Book, of course.

It was the only book of the bunch that grabbed me from the very first page. I was laughing loudly each time I picked it up. Sometimes I had to walk off a good laugh because people were staring at me. Publish This Book follows the journey of Stephen Markely, a man who sets out to get the book in question published. With all good memoirs, especially with writing memoirs, it's not about the end result but being taken on a journey with the author, through the struggles and the victories. I'd come to Barnes and Noble almost every day to down one more chapter out of the book, because I couldn't afford it at the time. By the time I reached chapter ten, I had to own the book. Once I purchased it, I read the rest of the book over the course of a day, loving every sharp-witted page of it.

Stephen Markley is one author that needs to be read by every budding writer. It's one of those rare books where you not only gorge yourself on a hundred pages at a time but you are also sad that it has an ending.

Stephen Markley lives in Chicago, is around my age, and writes for the Chicago Red Eye. A great paper which you should pick up. You can read his unique articles at Off The Markley.

A few weeks ago, I contacted Stephen and even was able to talk to him on the phone. He's a very smart, very funny, very well-read guy. I was happy to find that he was an avid reader as well and had a very long reading list.

Here is the interview with the one and only Stephen Markely:

1. What was your first thought when you sat down to write this book?

“Well, here’s another idea I’ll probably spend a year on with no point.”

2. In your book you have traveled quite a bit. In your wanderlust, which place was the best to visit?

I studied in Florence for a summer and traveled around Europe. That was probably one of the best experiences of my life, mostly just because it was my first time legitimately traveling on my own with a bunch of other drunk, horny, adventurous young people. When I was traveling out West by myself, I fell in love with Jackson Hole and Grand Teton National Park. Now I’m basically again without a home except for my car, and remembering how much I totally love it. In Boston on this book tour, I met a few complete strangers at my signing. We went out for a beer or two and ended up staying out until four in the morning. We ended up back at this apartment with these two girls who were in a band. We sat out on the porch under Christmas lights and they played “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” by Dylan. It’s that kind of stuff you can never plan that always sticks with you.

3. You describe your writing arena as " a dismal cave of a room with a mattress, movie posters on the walls and a collapsible lawn chair from Fifth third bank. I call it my Throne of Genius." Does the Throne of Genius still hold up today or can you write anywhere, anytime?

I’ve always been able to write anywhere, anytime but I prefer a dark room with few distractions. This includes the Internet. I’ve now found that I absolutely cannot open the Internet until after I’ve written all I need to for the day. I’m a big believer in the dark side of the so-called “series of tubes.” It’s probably the most dangerous tool for a writer, especially if you’re one who wants to write in big, complicated ways (which I always try to do). So place isn’t a concern so much as what distractions you have to manage.

4. Do you still stay in contact with your wacky roommates?

I stay in contact with everyone. Erik and I were just on a pub crawl in Times Square last night. We met nothing but old ladies, and I ate a bunch of street meat. I would obviously like to ditch all of my friends now that I’ve achieved D-list celebrity, trade them in for a larger group of sycophants and Yes Men, but that seems like a lot of work, so I’ll probably just have to listen to Elliott complain about his slow Internet connection for a while longer.

5. In your opinion, having joined writing workshop groups, are they productive? Do they help hone your craft?

I think so. It always depends on the seriousness of the people you’re involved with and how well you mesh as a group, but I think it’s imperative that writers get outside of their own heads and get outside perspectives on their work. At the same time, I’m a skeptic of how much any type of instruction or criticism can actually help. At some point, you either got it or you don’t. There’s just stuff that can’t be taught, instinctive shit that you learn just by practicing and reading relentlessly. People who buy a lot of “How to Write” books (not including mine!) are probably throwing good money after bad. You can read 100 books about how to build a house, but you won’t know how to do it until you go and build your first house (if that makes any sense).

6. Nick Hornby is in this book. You interviewed him for the RedEye and also told him about your project. Did he give you any feedback after the book was released?

Nope. Never heard from him. I assume it’s just not on his radar. He sounded like a really nice guy, though, so I’m not too worried about it.

7. You wrote in the midst of the presidential election, while everyone bit their fingernails in anticipation of the possible new president. At one point, you say that it's hard to condense the material into a book proposal saying, "How do you put into easily digestible words that sensation of the gathering storm?" Which was harder to write, Publish This Book or The Proposals for Publish This Book?

I generally do not understand how to summarize anything. I write very much by instinct, as I said earlier, so the idea that you’re going to sit down and write out this very dry, very precise map of a longer work that’s much more complicated and has a number of moving parts—ugh, it makes me tired. I’m struggling with the proposal for my novel right now because it’s even weirder, more complicated and more difficult to describe than “Publish This Book.” I shudder every time someone asks me what it’s about.

8. What's your earliest memory of writing?

I used to bug my dad to type out my stories. I’d sit on his lap at this computer screen with pee-orange word processing and tell him what happened next in my dinosaur story. It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do, something I’ve been drawn to. I don’t know that anyone’s born to do anything, but for me, writing is as close as it comes.

9. The footnotes are hilarious. It felt as if I were reading two books: the actual book and a text commentary on this book. Was it hard keeping track?

Not really. I’ve heard criticism that the footnotes can be overwhelming for some. This may be the case, but it’s also kind of the point. The footnotes are not just funny asides but also a commentary on the proliferation of post-modern tricks writers employ, sometimes with good reason and sometimes not. They also can be surprising, and I think that’s one of the keys to making someone laugh via print (which is far harder to do than in a movie or television show or stand-up routine because all you have are words—no inflection or gesture or expression to snatch a laugh).

10. If they do make a movie, who would you want to play you and which director would you like to tackle it?

Brad Pitt and Martin Scorsese.

11. What is next for you? Is fiction your next stop?

Yes, I’m working on a novel right now, which is part inside joke about “Publish This Book,” part meta exercise, and part old-fashioned American fury.

12. How did it feel to see your book in print?

Incredible. Just holding it and flipping through the pages that first time—I can’t even describe how it made me feel, but I’ll try: joyous and vindicated and elated and a little bit tired because I knew this was still only the first step, that much of the hard work still lay ahead. Hell, maybe even a little sad just because I knew this feeling was unique--that I'd get to enjoy it once and never again feel that same kind of awe.

13. Do you get writer's block? How do you combat it?

Never. There are times when I write slower than at others, but I think writer’s block is largely a self-perpetuating myth, a way weak people excuse themselves from just sitting down and doing the work (no offense, weak people!). Maybe someday I’ll eat my words and my creativity will seize up, but right now I gotta fucking eat, so I can’t afford the self-pity.

14. Someone somewhere in your book tried to make a comparison between you and Tucker Max. What would you say if you ever met him? Or would you just straight up sock him in the eye for being such a douche?

I genuinely could not care less about the guy. Anybody who equates our books after reading them both is clearly not paying attention. He does what he does, and I say with all humility—knowing full well that I have much to learn and experience and grow when it comes to being a writer—that I’m working on an entirely different plane than him.

15. What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Perseverance. It’s partly about talent, it’s mostly about luck, but the only thing you actually have control over is how hard you work. Also, try not to be a fuck. Work hard, be kind. Conan O’Brien said that, and I think it’s the best advice ever offered to anyone in the creative fields.

How To Be More Productive

These dry spells are killing me. Honestly, I get the worst tension headaches now when I know I should be working on a project. In the past four months, I've been able to finish one short story. That's it. That is also pathetic. I maybe wrote twenty pages total in all that time.

One of the things I've learned about being a writer is that you have to be disciplined. You have to create goals and standards for yourself. More importantly, you need deadlines. Something that will pressure you to complete your work. It was effective in high school so why not now?

So, to better churn out some titles, I've decided to create some deadline for my next three books.

Oct 13th = W.A.S.L. ~ The second volume in my short story collection.

[72 pages finished]

Dec 15th = (Untitled survival story.) ~ a novel.

[20 pages finished]

Feb 16th, 2011 = P.F. ~ a novel.

[40 pages finished]

These dates are the dates when I absolutely must finish writing each one, after that, maybe three weeks of editing, designing and possible publication. I figure that if I'm able to churn out one book every two months, then I will always have a project ready to go. Plus, my ideas are flooding my head like a dam about ready to burst. Better to relieve the pressure now.

Wish me luck, gang. Until then, keep writing.

Where In The World is Roberto Scarlato?

Been MIA for months now and I know I owe you, the readers, an explanation.

Here's the Gist:

The Announcement ~

"I'm on the phone with my girlfriend, parked at my local jewel. I'm reclined, relaxed. I'm happy to have such a sweet person in my complicated life. When I say complicated I mean that my family life was practically devouring my daily life, routine and taking a toll on my emotional equilibrium. Then we start talking about marriage. We've talked about it many times before and we always thought that weddings were too expensive and something you had to save up for. We were convinced that given the jobs we had ( at the time we were both looking for work), if we saved up for a year, maybe we can get a semi-descent wedding. At this stage in our lives we were comfortable with a court marriage. A union is a union, isn't it?

On March -- we both approached her Parent's. I announced that I loved their daughter very much and that I wanted to marry her. To which they gave me their blessing. They were calm, respectful, joyful. Everything you hope a reaction would be. Since I didn't have a ring, I tied a bit of lace around my girl's finger. (Symbolism: Tying the knot. I know, obvious, but I also never seen it done before.)

Then I bring her to my house to share the good news with my folks and my sister. My father is so still, I question whether he stopped breathing. But that's his way; he takes excitement with a pause, as if freezing the moment. He did shake my hand though and congratulate me so that was a relief. My mother and sister? They have a twofer sob fest. They're crying and hugging and loudly praising our union. My mother rushes upstairs to grab something. She brings down several Ziploc bags of her jewelry. She finds a ring which belonged to my dear old nana and bestows it to my future wife, just so she could get used to the idea of wearing a ring."

The Planning~

"Our plans were brewing fast as we made lists, made calls, hired people and registered for stuff. Since we were jumping on plans in March, we figured we would have plenty of time when it came to the wedding in July.

We loaded the guest list, professionals and friends into the excel program on my girlfriends' Laptop. We giddily referred to it as our 'wedding planner.' It was amazing and a miracle that we got everything done. Cut down to the last two weeks and we had the marriage license and the rings. We looked at over forty different apartments until we finally found one we could call home."

Beyond the Sea~

"These are mainly just the highlights but, in the future, I'll write more in detail.

This was it.

July 25th. A bright, blue, cloudless Sunday Morning. I began it at 8:30 am. I jet to my parents house and pick up my father, he's ready by 12:30pm. We have to meet the photographer at my in-laws house by 1:00pm. Due to some technical difficulties, my future wife getting all prettied up and the star treatment at a salon and spa, we have to get there at 1:45 pm instead. The bride leaves, we arrive and I shake hands with our photographer, Tim. A really nice guy if you ask me. We take a limo: me, my dad, my brother in law, my father in law and Tim. We enjoy drinking some beers and telling some old, dirty jokes as we drive downtown.

We finally arrive at navy pier, I change, my father cracks jokes. He's not nervous at all. Neither am I. He's happy. His mustache curls as he grins, knowing that his son is a grown-up. The ceremony begins on top of the boat at 4:30ish pm. It was Un-for-get-able. And I mean that in every sense of the word. We exchange vows. It's unique. Instead of saying I do or I will, we have to repeat This is my solemn vow. I like it, it has much more promise and truth to it. Our buddy Matt plays us a rendition on his guitar of I'm Yours by Jason Maraz with a special twist; halfway in he blends in Somewhere over the Rainbow. There wasn't a dry eye on the boat, folks. Finally, we kiss. We are now husband and wife. The speakers on top of the boat blare Beautiful Day by U2. We shake hands, hugs, we take an endless amounts of pics with friends and family. Then we go down into the lower level of the boat where there is a dance floor.

The boat is rocking back and forth so hard, once we are away from the dock, that I'm reminded of that scene from At World's End. Tim comes up to me asking where he can get some Dramamine. We cut the cake, my brother in law gives a fantastic, funny speech.

We dance our first dance. Can't Take My Eyes Off You by The Four Seasons.

Then the music plays the carefully chosen playlist compiled from me, my wife and my father in law. We picked some really great songs. There were classics mixed with oldies. Seventies mixed with eighties. It was a blast. (Sans chicken dance, macarina, and the electric slide because I HATE those songs.)"

The Blues Brothers~

"Rewind a month prior to the wedding and you'll see me in a ford focus, on a cell, rapidly trying to talk my brother into pulling a surprise on the wedding party. In the end, he opted out, but that was okay cause I had my wing man Matt with me.

As the reception was really gettin' jumpin', with my brother in law and friends crowded around him as he danced crazy to Shout by The Isley Brothers, I tapped my bride on the shoulder and said I'll be right back and to "watch this...", giving her no clue as to what I was about to do. Matt and I hurried to the back behind the dance booth and donned our fedoras and shades, then we waltzed out and did a rendition of Soul Man as The Blues Brothers. People were flipping out. My cousin has the footage. I will upload it soon."

What a town~

"The evening was over and we loved every minute of it. I'm writing this on august 19th but people still frequently remind me and my wife how much our wedding rocked. They are still deliriously high from it. Not only did I marry my muse, see my father look so happy, get to dance my ass off on a boat but every minute is fused into my memory. After all that preparation, it was a worthwhile turnout. 120 guests and not one complained or made a scene.

So now, I sit back in my couch, gazing out on the deck of our apartment, staring at the hypnotizing woods as I reminisce. I have my writing projects lined up, all the boxes of all our stuff is here and unpacked, and I just relax as I comb my Facebook page, looking to see who put up the latest batch of pics. If you want, you can friend me here and see them for yourself. But until my next post there is only one thing left to do...

...thank you notes. :)"

Notable Movies #6

Haiku Tunnel: Every writer must see this movie. If it doesn't have you in tears of laughter than there is something wrong with you.

A Sudden Urge

It's a hot day in Elmhurst. Hotter than hades. People brown almost instantly as they step out of their cars to enter the safe haven that is the library. I've loved coming to this library for a long time. It's so big and yet so blissfully quiet it makes you want to set up camp. I've finished several stories on my laptop when I was there. When I wasn't writing, I'd wander.

Down the long aisles and muted carpet I would walk to find something new to read or possibly another audiobook to check out. But more and more I found that I had a very limited palate when it came to reading. I was an intense horror fiction reader for many years. Over time I've come to appreciate mysteries, dramas and real life biographies. But that time has come again where my brain closes another door just to say, "We have enough of that. What else ya peddlin'?"

My feet bring me to the audiobook section where many potential rewards await. I skim through the titles, feeling a boy's curiosity as I accept and eliminate choices simply by reading just two or three sentences of the back cover. Yes sir, I'm a special case. I give a book three chances with me. First is the cover inspection, it has to look intriguing, something that would propel me forward. Second, there has to be a solid back cover blurb that would make me crazy enough to open it. Third, I'll give ya just two to three paragraphs to wow me. If the tune is sour, I'll just close it and move on. Guess it wasn't written for me, I think to myself as I slide the book back as if it were infected with something.

Then I stumble upon a book called Lucky at Cards. Now, I've always been a fan of Film Noir, but I never thought that the grittiness of the streets and the heartbreak of finding out the truth would ever translate well on the page. I had always chalked it up as just one of those things. However, I've found myself slowly slipping into a sudden urge...a thirst for more.

The first pulp fiction book I read was a little slim number called The Gutter and The Grave. A great title and exquisitely written. A flawed detective, a deceiving dame, and a deadly game of cat and mouse. It had all the fixings. Yet it was so humble in its approach that by the last page, I couldn't believe it was over that quick.

I did some research and found that the Pulps were coming back in a big way. A company called The Hard Case Crime Series were bringing back the goods and even taking on new authors to the genre. Stephen King even wrote a book called The Colorado Kid, which I intend to have a look at.

Recently, I've read and finished Lucky at Cards which was so enjoyable it hurt me in the gut that it ever had a last page. A card mechanic, after being kicked out of Chicago for his cheating talents, comes across two things that are about as deadly as booze and bullets; a dame and a game. Of course, you can see right through her, but that doesn't mean that the descent of the antihero isn't entertaining.

At the same time I'm sixty pages away from finishing a good one called Murder and The Wanton Bride - a Mike Shayne mystery. Because the book is so well written, I wanted to research the author. Found out that he was born in Chicago, Illinois. Well, what do ya know? I've also found that his book Bodies Are Where You Find Them was the basis for the movie Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.

So now I find myself spiraling into a new world, a world that goes back to the great depression, where every man wore a fedora, where coffee was only fifteen cents a cup and I'm loving every bit of it. I've downed a couple Sin City graphic novels, sure. But these novels speak to me on a deeper level. Maybe I'll feel brave enough to tackle Raymond Chandler next.

I guess I've always had a soft spot for the old stuff. Hell, I've got a Pulp Fiction story tucked away, waiting to finish the second chapter and keep going until the sun rises. I've considered finishing it and submitting it to Hardcase Crime. But I have a few other projects lined up first. I would be swinging on a star if they accepted it though. That would be a hoot.

But maybe I'm getting too deep into this, having written this in a slightly sly tone as if I were a detective. In a way, novelists are constant detectives. We're always asking questions, gathering information, looking for the bigger picture and observing people night and day.

It's about that time to end this post. I guess my take would be to give the pulps a shot, if you are starved for reading material. To all those who feel that going back to the pulps is beneath you, I say this; everything is beneath us but that don't mean we all have to be blind. All you have to do is look back and you may get a slice of a very well made literary pie and it was right under your nose the whole time. Take it from me, Jack. The pulps are where it's at.

~Robbie Scarlato