OK, the new novel LOOMPALAND has the imprimatur of approval from my old dear friend and lifelong fellow book-kicker Swan-Bot. It was incredibly kind of the ‘Bot to read my book, and her favorable response has boosted my spirits immeasurably. Now I have confidence in it.
What do you do with something like LOOMPALAND? Can I even publish it?
It’s only 30,000 words long, and most publishers want a minimum of 75,000.
It has no genre that can easily be affixed to it. It’s a children’s story ruined for all children.
My dear white-haired mother has been apprised of LOOMPALAND’s existence, and she is, in her own words, very wor-ried. She’s afraid that such a tale is in outrageous violation of copyright, and that everyone from Warner Brothers to the estate of Roald Dahl, will pile on me with extreme prejudice. They might not find drunk, fucking, rebellious Oompa Loompas to be all that funny. (But I do!)
I’ve found, no shit, an anarchist press in New York that wants “unusual, edgy works.” I’ll send it to them tonight. (They require, among other information, the author’s “marketing plan.” What is that? I have no clue.)