...and my heart is still pounding, the blood pumping from rage, from frustration, from an understanding that things are not right.
I'm struggling mightily right now.
This is the story of our fucked up publishing industry and the lengths, as a writer, to which I've been driven. It's the story of my book, praised bombastically by editors at both large and small publishing houses, which continues to be rejected as the likes of Snooki (seriously?) snap up big-time contracts.
Many of you know the story of my book by now – the terrorist attack that injured my wife and my subsequent journey to reconcile with the bomber's family, yadda yadda yadda.
It's a fucking important story. And it's a fucking beautifully-written book – "unforgettably piercing," "astonishingly lyrical," "wildly absorbing"...Yeah, I know, I'm the author. Of course I think such things. But those aren't my words, they're just some of the words editors at the largest houses have heaped upon the book, their mouths frothing with praise. (One editor emailed me to say that, even after knowing she'd have to pass on the book, she continued reading until the end anyway, so completely moved she was by the work.)
So why the fuck has it not been published? Why in a world in which our publishing houses are pumping out so much embarrassing crap has it been passed on now by nearly 40 publishers?
One word: economics. "We can't take a chance on an I/P memoir right now," editors say, "Our board doesn't think this is a guaranteed profit-maker," they say, "If only you had a PLATFORM," they say.
And it's this last one – the PLATFORM – that has fucked with me for the last year. If I were Andre Agassi or Dick Cheney, they tell me, someone who already had a built-in readership, they would have published me in a heartbeat. One editor even went so far as to call me with a personalized, fucking over-the-phone rejection, pleading with me: please, please build a platform or do something to get your face, your name, known.
And so I did, pimping out my story to news agencies and television shows, saying, "You know you want to put me on television, you know my story is worth your interest," understanding that publishing houses, seeing me on The Today Show and CNN, would change their tune, would reconsider, thinking, "Hmmm, maybe his story does have widespread appeal."
One such place I contacted was 60 Minutes. Within minutes, a producer from the show returned my inquiry, intrigued by the story, deciding, after several phone conversations, that it was worth a pitch, worth a feature, worth showing to millions of people in America.
It was my break.
And today, I had to shake my head, ashamed, shaking, and tell them, "No, I can't do this."
In the end, neither my wife nor I were comfortable with the explicit attention-getting nature of the whole thing. And she wasn't comfortable (a private person by nature who, astonishingly, has supported my seeking the book's publication in the first place) with the spotlight she knew would be shined upon us. For what? To try to get the book published?
It didn't feel right. Yes, the story, an important one, would have been out there. But we both felt sick, nauseous, knowing the motivation, knowing what the publishing industry's short-sightedness had propelled me to do, knowing I would have been pimping myself – no, pimping my wife's terrible trauma, for personal gain.
The thought itself still makes me sick.
So today, I had to tell the producer, "No." I had to draw a line and reject the demands of a faltering, failing industry.
And I'm still shaking from having done so.
Author's Note 1: As many have noted, I'm likely throwing away a golden opportunity at the type of publicity that is both needed or that is inevitable with the publishing of a book, or at least the successful publishing of a book that is widely read.
I don't disagree.
However, I have to state here (and I didn't make this explicit in my initial rant in the diary) that I'm not being righteous for saying "No" to 60 Minutes, nor am I trying to circumvent what is natural in the world of publishing, namely self-promotion and attention-getting.
The reason I said no is simple: my wife, who suffered the unspeakable trauma contained in this book, was not comfortable with this set-up, this push to attract eyeballs in order to publish the book. It's not what she signed up for in giving me support to seek publication initially. Interviews after its publication, perhaps? Yes, with a deep shrug. But self-promotion before the fact, as a method to seek publication, as a method of simply drawing attention to us for the sake of drawing attention? That, she did not agree to initially. She's a private person, and sure there are inconsistencies with being a private person and seeking a public thing such as publishing.
But life is also emotional, irrational. And in the end, despite the irrationality, I love my wife more than I love the idea of this book being published.
Hence my "mistake." It can't be any other way.
Author's Note 2: just a word of profound thanks to this community for its support. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without Daily Kos these days.