|
|
In which we share stories of our dealings with critics of our works.
So get this. Friend of mine directs me to a friend of his who's starting a small publishing house, set to release a collection of stories in the not too distant.
Instead of spending valuable space describing what type of stories will appear in this collection, I'll merely post part of the image from the cover of the book:
Those type. Those type of stories.
So, while I have nothing that could even approximate that type of literature, I have some old stuff which was kinda sorta genre-ish if you looked the other way for just a second or two.
I dusted off this Lovecraft-inspired short story and sent their way. It was Lovecraft but kinda skewered (an effect maybe of me having recently read "There Are More Things" by Jorge Luis Borges, which it's his own attempt at writing in the Lovecraft mythos). But for pete's sake, there was even a monster in it. The monster even ate the good guys, for crying out loud.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Anyway, while the Editor let me know that he didn't think it was fun, and that it hadn't really worked for him (things which I was ok with, obviously), he also took the story to his critical reader (I'm making explosion sounds with my mouth as I type his job title), so the guy could make a thorough assessment of the story's worth.
Jesus wept so much he made a mess of his beard, it was heartbreaking. The criticisms ranged from instances where the guy couldn't understand passages understandable to anyone with a modicum of experience in daily human interaction to a bunch of remarks made with the haughty peremptoriness of a hungover headmaster on everything that the story contained, from the characters to the setting to the dialogues etc. Which, you know, could have been invigoratingly positive, if he had been right about them.
Of course this rant can't go very far if I don't provide my text and his critique alongside each other, so just to give you a glimpse of the Shambling Horror that his review was: I had made the story purposefully vague vis a vis its setting/time period, giving just enough of a hint to the reader that it was taking place between the end of the XIX and the beginning of the XX century, and with enough anglo references so as to place the story in a familiar territory (It could have been Dublin. It could have been New England - there were never historical facts pinning down the time period, nor references to actual famous buildings, people etc.). I must have been very sucessful, because the dude put in his mind that the story was set in England, and he used that to lambaste the story into a pulp based on a technique I'll call "Things Were Not Like That in Olde Albion!!1". He even criticized the taste in decoration of one of the characters! It was precious.
So, cutting this short - I had a lot of fun making fun of the dude to the Editor, starting from the very facile point that not even once had I actually typed "England" in the text. I think I vented enough bile for two months or so. It felt good. It felt just.
Six pages of free entertainment later the editor asked me to try and send another story for them. I'm trying to write another "horror" story, this time using Oedipus & the Sphinx, but I have no illusions. They'll find it boring at best (now would be a good time to ask you to take another good look at that illustration in the beginning of the post. Thank you.)
I wouldn't even bother trying to write another thing, weren't the opportunities to be published in other venues inexistent at this point in my life...
What about you, me darlings? What tales can you share for our moral and spiritual enlightenment? |
|
|