A Sign of The Times

Okay. This is Minnesota - and, we're supposed to be "Minnesota Nice" all the time, but darn, I'm just not feeling that nice about attending the 2010 Northeast Minneapolis Artist's show over at the old brewery, last Friday night. Let me explain. The brewery (Grain Belt) is a huge old rambling, historically significant monster in the old working class section of the city. Perfect for artists, right? I guess so, because much of the complex has been cleaned up and rented to lots of artists as studio space. It seems to work fine for the artists, so that's okay. In the center of the giant bottling house there is a humongous open space where artistic kinds of activities take place. This annual exhibition is one of those activities.

I should point out that the artist members in this organization number in the hundreds (if not thousands). They make up a big contingent of citizens in what folks like to call the "Arts District" of the city. So far, so good. The mind races with the possibilities, right?

I live about two blocks away from this big heap of historically significant bricks and while I'm not a member of the Northeast Minneapolis Artists - you'll see why in a minute, I thought it would be fun to wander over there and look at the show. Schmooze around a little. See and be seen.

Now, I should make it clear that the artists can't help it that they have their studios in a place that looks frighteningly like a prison. They have to take what they can get, and these days, the getting is pretty thin - and pricey. Be that as it may, I'm always kind of creeped out when I enter that big central event space that swear-to-god, looks like a movie set for a horrendous prison riot.

That's the first impression. The next thing one notices of course, is that in this giant creepy space, all the art - and there must have been at least a couple of hundred items - looks eensey-weensey. I mean, jeez, hanging an 18" X 24" painting in a place like this pretty much guarantees it will become a postage stamp. Add to that a zero based (I guess) budget for exhibition furniture, temporary walls, lighting etc. and you have a really dismal setting for this big deal art show.

All this is bad enough, and I guess one could just write it off as a bunch of artists doing the best they can with what they have, but the story doesn't stop there. The acoustics are, as one might imagine, horrendous. Carrying on a conversation - even in the thinly populated audience in attendance, was next to impossible, what with echoes bouncing off the concrete floor and surrounding walls - but so what? There were so few artists present - not to mention general public, that conversation was hardly a consideration. And those artists who were there, pretty much kept to themselves, peering at visitors rather like prisoners on an exercise break outside their cells. i had to hang next to one of the "lifers" with whom I've had slight acquaintance over the years, waiting to schmooze, until he decided to finally say hello, and toss a few scraps of idle chatter in my direction. Pathetic! I didn't feel too bad though, because in looking around, I could see other "art visitors, standing around wondering why they had decided to spend a perfectly good Friday evening by visiting an art prison.

Perhaps I should be more forgiving to my industry, the arts. But gosh, the final insult is this: Except for a tiny handful of pieces shown, the great majority of the art on exhibit was awful - by anyone's standards. Excuse me! The king has no cloths. No wonder nobody showed up. Speaking in a shout - so I could be heard above the echoes, I talked briefly with one artist who admitted that she had "just painted over one of her old paintings - last minute, so she'd have something to exhibit." Hmmm. By the look of things, she wasn't alone.

Perhaps, to be Minnesota nice, I should put all this in the context of our times. It's been said that art is a reflection of the society within which it is created - and that might be true. If it is, one can see why the art in this show was such crap. I mean, everywhere one looks in our society, there's a load of crap going on. The economy is a mess. The job market is a mess. The housing market is a mess. The education system is a super mess. The government is a laugh riot of incompetence - so why should one expect more from the arts? HANG ON, NOW! In every above mentioned endeavor there does exist a smidge of excellence - and I guess we should just thank our lucky stars for that. Sorry. Guess again.

As usual, this blog was meant to stir conversation and perhaps even generate some controversy. So far it has done neither, but that's okay. I'll keep writing.

A Day At The Twin Cities Book Fair

I was excited. A little nervous, but I packed my two boxes of perhaps forty books - a mixture of the four titles that are published - a small box of display helpers (plastic card holders etc.) a cash box and a black table cloth into the back of my car, added my life long partner, Georgia, plus a push cart to save my back and zoomed down to the Community College campus, center city Minneapolis. I could tell as I wheeled my stuff into the big main floor fair location, that it was going to be a busy day.

Rain Taxi is a local non-profit literary group that sponsors this event, and they had advertised quite widely throughout the twin cities area. This is also a book event with a long track record. Can't remeber exactly, but I think this year was the 9th or tenth (I'm not going to look it up)- or perhaps the twelfth year in a row that this has happened, so a good crowd was pretty much guaranteed.

I found my assigned table and spent the next ten minutes setting up my display. I was in a great location. Close - but not too close to the student food bar and near the front end of my isle - which guaranteed lots of traffic. The crowd of vendors (of which I was one) was made up of authors, author/publishers (like me), book distributors, traditional publishers, and some educational institutions - like The Loft Literary Center. All told there were over a hundred of us squeezed shoulder to shoulder at tables in long rows that spread throughout the entire main floor lobby .

On my left,was an author who specialized in writing about money. He was dressed in a suit and tie. On my right, a Hmong writer with a book about his life story. At 10 a.m. the doors opened and people began to filter in. I sold a copy of my new book "100 Things Retired Guys Should Avoid" almost instantly and felt a warm glow of anticipation. by eleven o'clock I'd sold another copy. "Hmm," I said. "Kinda slow motion - even with all these people." There was a big crowd by now. I decided to check the scene by walking around and watching how others were doing. The first thing that I saw, was that there were a million books on display. Well, probably more like thousands - but believe me, there were literally tons of books. And, some authors were DEEPLY discounting their books. Like $2.00 for a book. Next, I noticed that Rain Taxi had a big long table with used books for sale - also at around two bucks apiece. "Well," I reasoned, "This generates a crowd, so I shouldn't complain." But the over-riding observation I had was, not very many people were actually buying books - and those that did were keeping their purchases down to a minimal number - like, one book. Some bought several, but not many people loaded up on winter reading.

I returned to my table and pondered the situation while a hundred or so more shoppers wandered by, fondling my display books and sometimes promising to return later. By mid afternoon I had sold two more books and my back was giving out from standing behind my table and smiling. My jaw was aching and by closing time I had lost my voice completely. "Interesting," I said to myself. "I sold more books up in Lutsen, Minnesota when I attended Tom Christiansen's "Art For Living" event - and that was tiny in comparison. What does this mean?" Others were asking the same question. There was a lot of grumbling as I wheeled my still pretty full boxes of books back out to my car. Still, I have to say that the experience was good. I learned a lot about my own efforts as an author/publisher. Namely, that what I'm doing regarding writing and publishing is entirely correct in today's changing literary arena, and that if I'm going to be in that arena, I must participate. I'm rethinking my concept of traveling to other book fairs across the country, but I will certainly return to the Twin Cities Book Fair next year. More about this later. In the spirit of participation, I invite your chit-chat, comments and ideas. As usual.

Wigglers

And why does the idea of writing another novel appeal to me so much? I think it's because I know this will be another l-o-n-g project. I can be busy doing other stuff, writing other little non fiction works, painting, exhibiting, selling, exploring the creative universe and yet somewhere in the computer files, I'll have the security of an unfinished novel lurking around the edges. Think of it this way. I'm at a party or an art opening or sailing on the lake. Somebody asks what I'm up to these days. I could bore them to death with all the little nits and dits of my daily life, or I can simply say, "I'm writing my second novel." "Wow," they inevitably say. "What's it about?" "It's about a circus clown worm farmer," I answer back. Well, duh! That pretty much says I'm a really nutty creative guy and that's all there is to it. Good enough.

Okay, you get the picture. I'm on to a new project. It's a humorous (I hope) horror story. I guess that makes it a horribly funny tale about a reject circus clown gone feral while living on a remote island populated by innocent rustics. Skippy the clown - his real name is Balls Lammone, has a thing for worms. You can take it from there. At any rate, I have a habit of designing my book covers at the same time I begin writing. This is a way for me to keep motivated as the long days and nights of creating this monster roll out. All I have to do is take a quick gander at my nice book cover and ZAP, motivation happens. It's like the thing tells me I owe it some writing time.

This cover needed something fun. Something critical to the story, yet off beat enough to sort of set the tone (at least, in my mind). Here goes.

First, I went up to the Target store on my side of town and cruised the toy department. I found some little plastic people. They were in a toy kit called "Loving Family" and they are really plain jane little mommy, daddy, sonny and daughter plastic suburbanites about 4 inches tall. I bought all four loving family members and was pleased to see that their heads and arms and legs could be turned and twisted into interesting positions. (no, not that interesting!)

Next, I drove out to the big sporting goods store and in the fishing gear department I found exactly what I was looking for. Rubber worms. I bought 2 bags of big rubber worms and when I opened the bag was happy to see that in their fake wormy way, resembled the toy-like character of the loving family plastic people. They even have glitter impregnated in the semi- translucent rubber. Cool!

I drove home and opened all the bags of toys and worms - and arranged the little people in poses of struggle and anxiety and fear. Well, actually, first I had to wipe out those simpy little loving family smiles they all had. I did this by finding a drill bit that was exactly the same size as a little plastic person's mouth - if it were wide open in a scream of terror. Carefully, I drilled into the little faces, miraculously changing the smiles to shrieks of terror. (Remember, this is going to be a horror story).

After arranging all the heads and arms and legs in various attitudes of alarm, I decorated the little people with the big rubber worms. Creepy crawlers. I did all this in my driveway and I'm sure all my neighbors who were watching from behind drawn drapes confirmed their previous suspicions that I'm a nut case. Doesn't matter.

Next, I grabbed my little digital camera and snapped lots of photos. As one might expect, most of the pictures turned out to be really dumb. A couple, however - especially the ones where I zoomed in super close and got only a tell-tale impression of the action actually turned out kind of Okay. Okay enough for a working book cover design that will inspire me to tap away on the computer keyboard over the long winter ahead. With a little digital manipulation color-wise, I got what I wanted.

Who knows how this tale of the clown worm farmer will turnout? Will the worms turn? Will they strangle and eat the little bozo? Will they mutate and kill off the island population? Will Skippy the clown take his worms to New York and appear on the Dave Letterman Show? I guess we'll have to wait and see.

As always, I invite comment and chat. Don't be shy.

Art writing?

So here I am with 4 nice little published books on my shelf - all of which are bound together with humor. While the subject of each has a serious purpose (except of course the novel), the delivery is accomplished with humor. That seems to be working fine so far. Am I satisfied with this? No. I have to tweak the system. Re-invent the wheel. Get serious. Why? Who knows. Maybe since the subject is "Art" and I'm a life-long artist, I just can't help but take it seriously - and expect readers to do the same. What a dumb idea. So many serious art books have been written that we could ship them all to Pakistan to stem the flood waters of their latest weather disaster. Why do we need another? And who will read this stuff anyway? But did I think about that when the great idea came flashing into my head? No.

Instead, I spent a week thinking and making notes and grinding out an introduction and picturing a nice spiffy book cover - and planning my great SERIOUS message about art. I've always been of the opinion that artists should not write about art. They always seem to end up ranting and raving and making insipid statements that in the end always reveal the same questions and the same answer. "Why am I not rich and famous?" "It's because no one understands my work." Hmmmm.

"That's okay though'" said I. "I have a whole lot more to talk about than that. I've got true grit reportage about the art scene that should be passed along to the art loving public. I've got experience in the field. I know lots of stuff about art and artists." Wow! Nights and days later I let my wife, Georgia, read the introduction. It was a tense several minutes. The room grew quiet and when she finished reading she looked up and said, "It sounds like another artist rant and makes me slightly aggravated. I mean, I've read all this before." Nothing like straight shooting from the company brass to clear the fog. I was really not surprised, because though I tried to wrap what I was saying in legitimate prose, the truth showed through like a dead fish under the ice on a lake in winter. Finally, after much consideration as to how I could make this subject into something digestible to anyone interested - and deciding that I couldn't, I tossed the whole printed mess into the garbage and deleted the text from my computer.

Two things emerged from this experience. The first thing was the wonderful sense of relief that came with tossing out this questionable writing idea. It was like taking a cold shower. The second thing was a bit of advice I got second hand from an acquaintance who enrolled in the local literary center for writers classes. He was listing things he'd learned that writers should keep in mind as they write. "Don't," he said, "be afraid to get rid of some of your babies" - meaning, that we should recognize the urge we have to consider our little creative inventions as if they are our children and therefore undeniable. Too precious to expunge.

Having recognized this little "art writing" baby as an unrepentant brat, I made the right decision and I learned something about myself in the process. No matter how righteous I feel about the arts, I should probably stay away from seriously writing anything about it.

The only question remaining is: What about non-serious art writing?

It's easier to get published when you own the publishing company!

The step from being a "publishing victim" to being a "published author" was, for me a simple and logical process once I understood the logistics of the publishing game and more importantly, learned how improbable are the realities of being a productive writer in an over crowded market. My learning process included watching lots of writers crank out little magazine articles and contest pieces or teaching gigs just to eke out a dribble of income and to be counted among the published author crowd. It's not unlike what we visual artists do with our paintings. We show our work in galleries anywhere we can, participate in art fairs, trade work for stuff, donate work in the name of participation - and give lessons to fussy art dilettantes all to be part of the "art scene" in whatever place we live. I've done that. Kind of pathetic, really.

My learning also included reading the many rejection notes that show up at my door which clearly state the because of the glut of material being submitted, my book proposal was neither read or considered.

Somehow, by joining the ranks of hopeful writers hovering around the mail box waiting for an offer to publish by some big deal publishing company just seemed counter productive. Additionally, the haunting pall of being a self published author lingers - even though time is proving that the publishing industry and the public perception is beginning to shift toward acceptance.

As I crawled through the many internet pages of publishing information, it occurred to me that publishing a book is no magic thing. The smoke and mirrors about being a published author that we writers have created and allowed the publishing industry to employ is simply a marketing tool for the promotion of some writers and their agents and publishers. It's a money pit. When one cruises the book store shelves, it's remarkable how much pure writing shit gets published and sold to the public. What to do.

Well, what the heck, said I. I'll just create a publishing company. Using models that I discovered on the web, I designed and built a small boutique book publishing outfit called Teawater Press. It was fun and easy and cost me nothing but a Yahoo small business website fee. I can now electronically publish not only my own writing under the Teawater Press name, but I can also publish the writing of others. For this service, I charge a fee, although I have no expectations of making any money because most writers are under-financed and still waiting for Penguin Press or Planet Hollywood to discover them. That's okay by me. In the mean time, I continue to write my books, send out manuscripts (just in case) and build a collection of finished products. I occasionally do readings and signings and sales - here and there, and am registered to attend an actual book fair where I will have a table in a row of other authors and will meet the public and hopefully sell some books.

Wait a minute! This sounds like an art fair - which I refuse to participate in. Hmmm. No, for me, there is a subtle difference. A painting is an original and one of a kind piece of art, and I've never bought the concept of making that sort of thing available to the public in the same way you make a hamburger or chicken wing available. Burgers and chicken wings are simple consumable products while art is not. Books too - once the art part (the actual writing part) has been accomplished and now lies between nice shiny covers in a multitude of copies, is also a consumable product. I like it!

I'll report on the outcome of this little test market after the event. By the way, The fellow pictured on the home page of my publishing website (teawaterpress.com) is my brother, who continues to be supportive of my often outrageous creative efforts. Thanks Douglas.

As always, your remarks, suggestions, discussion are welcome.

"100 Things Retired Guys Should Avoid" - my new book hits the streets

I think I'm on schedule again after an early summer of dithering. "100 Things Retired Guys Should Avoid" has finally reached the finish line and I can add it to my little collection. I'm happy with the cover and the lay-out and set-up - and I'm very happy with the drawings. Next step is marketing. Since this is a pretty unsophisticated and light weight publication about retirement and senior guys, I'm hoping to tap into the gift market. There are quite a few retirement gift websites around, and some of them have a submissions page that tells how to submit products for sale. I'm sure the percentage of sale price taken by these companies is significant, but that's just part of the game - and by the way, most publishers take a large proportion of book sales anyway, so what's the difference? Well, the difference is that when or if I can get this book picked up by a commercial publisher or publisher's agent, the book could appear in hundreds of book stores around the country. I will send manuscripts to as many of these folks as I can stand the time and postage charges, but will simultaneously try to market on my own.

The first big step in that direction comes in October here in Minneapolis. An outfit called Raintaxi sponsors an annual Twin Cities Book Fair. I've been accepted as an author to have a table set up in a group of 100 or so other authors - side by side - row upon row where interested book buyers and the general public comes cruising through to look at what you have written.

It's like an art fair for writers and publishers. I've never been keen on selling my paintings at art fairs because of the expense and hassle involved. Plus, art fairs are generally outdoors and subject to weather. You need a tent, and it's usually a two-day affair with all kinds of set-up rules and crowds of bored fair-goers, eating ice cream and hot dogs and - well, I haven't been keen on doing the art fair thing. This book fair test has me interested.

Books are small and come in nice little cardboard boxes. The fair is indoors and lasts for only one day. The cost of exhibiting is less than a hundred dollars and you are supplied with a small table and a chair. How convenient is that? Very. And books are simply what they are - books. No big deal puzzles by potential buyers about how this painting will go with the drapes and sofa. If there's a commercial book buyer in the crowd - and I hope there is, he or she will simply consider how the book will sell to their clients. No heavy art discussions necessary. Plus, I'll get to meet other writers and check out what they have produced lately.

My stuff is pretty off-the-wall and I guess that's where I'll see if John Q. Public has a sense of adventure or not. In the mean time, I'll consider my next little writing project which at this time is slightly undecided. If I intend to make this a habit, I need to think about sales - and the information that comes across this desk tells me that self-help and how-to books sell better than nitty-gritty full fledged anything else - unless of course one is famous for just about anything. I can already tell that my big deal novel is lagging way behind in both sales attention and general interest by anyone but me. That's a sign. Plus, writing small, how-to books about questionable subject matter sort of gets me ticking. I like it because there's so much social commentary involved. "100 Things Retired Guys Should Avoid" makes for a super good gift for any fellow who is about to retire, thinking about retiring, just now retired - or, a guy who has been retired for awhile. Buy it and give it away. You can get it by contacting me at teawater@rocketmail.com or go to Amazon.com and look up either my name or the title of the book.

As always - and I'm beginning to feel like Anderson Cooper on CNN, inviting the BP executives to appear on his show for commentary about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico - I invite you to comment or question or just chatter away about anything of interest connected to this blog.

100 Things Retired Guys Should Avoid - sample reading

#40 CONTINUE TO AVOID ASKING FOR DIRECTIONS

Just because you're sixty five years old and retired doesn't mean for a minute that you should turn in your keys to the butt head department. I mean, really. What would people think? Asking for directions, reading directions - even sometimes following directions has always been against the rules of adult male behavior, so don't start changing the rules now.

Historically speaking, there are many examples of men's need for directional freedom. Here's one; Why do you think Genghis Kahn was such a mean little shit? Simple. He was perpetually lost as he wandered across Asia looking for something he would only recognize when he saw it. Instead of welcoming him as an intrepid explorer however, people didn't like his looks so they told him he must be lost and he should go further north further east, or south - or back where he came from. Well, what's a guy to do? You have to lop some heads, of course. Genghis was a little heavy handed in that way, but the point is, asking for directions is simply against the male code of behavior.

Do you think Columbus asked for directions? Heck no. Captain Chris just sat there on the poop deck keeping his eye on the horizon. He figured that if he was lucky he'd bump into India and load up on spices. If not, well - the rest is history and doesn't really matter. The point is, now that you're elderly, asking for directions - and God forbid, actually following them is a fast track to the senior citizen's nursing home and you're not ready for that yet.

Getting retired and elderly doesn't mean that you automatically get soft in the head - no matter what your kids say. This is one of those places where you have to draw the line - if not for yourself, then at least think about the rest of us.

That's today's bloggy tip for retired guys and senior kings of the road. You can contact me easily by emailing teawater@rocketmail.com or by leaving notes on this blog site. Comments and chat are welcome.