I finally (not after all that much time had passed) gave in and self-published LOOMPALAND.
Here it is, available from (monstrous, philistine) Amazon, available in print and e-book editions.
Ten random observations about LOOMPALAND:
- it’s short
- the sentences are short
- it requires a passing, but not deep, familiarity with the world of Willy Wonka
- there are no quotation marks used anywhere in the book. I employed other strategies to mark off speech — parentheses for asides, hard returns, direct address. Here and there, I left the question of speech vs. thoughts ambiguous.
- I’ll probably get threatened by Warner Brothers. However, I see this project as fair use. You can’t push out a franchise peopled by enslaved prison workers, and expect that to pass without comment.
- In my life I’ve encountered a small number of “creative writing” instructors, but I never paid much attention to them. You make your own rules for art. If you’re an idiot, no amount of creative mentoring’s going to help you; if you have a certain niche talent, it’ll come out. (As T.S. Eliot put it, “there is no method, except to use one’s intelligence.)
- BUT I did receive the following piece of advice from one of these individuals long ago. He said “Whatever you write, make sure it has a heart.” LOOMPALAND, accordingly, does have a heart — a shriveled, black, bitter coal-clinker of an organ to be sure, but a heart nonetheless.
- LOOMPALAND is not for kids. There’s too much fucking, violence, drunkenness, torture, tits, wangs, cussing, and ghastly death in it. Don’t read it to the young. Wait until they’re older to let them read it.
- LOOMPALAND’s pretty funny, in an astringent way. Lots of gross candy jokes.
- I will never win an award for writing, sure, but I especially will never get an award for cover design. Sorry.