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Last, great independent

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originally posted June 2010

From the Faber website:

Faber is one of the last great independent publishers in London – a home for creativity, not just a publishing house.

I wanted to submit my short story collection to them. Their submissions page says:

We will no longer look or enter into correspondence about unsolicited works of fiction, non-fiction, plays, screenplays or children’s books.

There is no information on how your work may reach Faber. I can’t even ask them if they would like to view my work.

Presumably they accept submissions from agents. Now I’ve had over 20 stories published, been in all Ireland’s outlets for short stories etc., but none of the agents I queried wished to even view my short story collection.
state on their website: “We are unable to represent poetry, short stories.”

Faber however does feature a page advertising Faber Academy courses in writing and how to get published. There are over 20 courses held mainly in the UK, but also in major cities internationally. The current most prominent course is titled The Pitch: Selling Stories, and is tutored by two professionals with given bios below.

Judy Counihan has been a film and TV producer/executive for over twenty years in that time she has won two Oscars, had two children, pitched at least five hundred projects, run the Film arm of Skillset for two years, worked with some of the UK’s top writing talent …

Eileen Horne (nee’ Quinn) is an ex-pat American and has been based in London for 25 years. Like Judy she has also worked in Film and TV for two (sadly Oscar-free) decades, primarily producing primetime network TV drama for the UK and international markets.

The 2-day course costs £350, price includes an artisan lunch.

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Open Letter

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The letter below was posted to Transworld Ireland at the end of December 2010. I added a few notes at the end on the reaction to it.

Original web posting

I last made serious efforts to find a publisher about four years ago. After getting several more pieces out and re-writing others, it’s time for me to start the process again. I took a look at Transworld Ireland and decided, no, these guys are not for me.

I sent the publisher the open letter below instead.

The Letter

Dear Eoin McHugh;

I am an Irish writer who has lived abroad for most of his adult life. I have been back in Ireland now for five years. In that time I have managed to have pieces published in all of Ireland’s literary magazines – twice – as well as a couple of anthologies.

I am looking for a publisher for a novel I have written. I looked through your website and list of authors, and noticed that your new fiction writers are exclusively TV producers, actors, columnists, and other such people with a high media profile.

I decided not to bother sending my manuscript to you. I cannot have any trust that it would get serious attention. I would not fit in among the authors on your list. Even if you decided to publish me, I would not feel comfortable with your publishing house.

I beg you sir, to ask yourself this: is there not something wrong with your publishing house if I – as a writer who has won the prestigious McLaverty award and been in every Irish outlet for up-and-coming writers – don’t even bother to submit to you?

My work is not consciously literary or difficult. I have received praise from some well-known sources. The various editors of the literary magazines have expressed their opinion in concrete terms. Some established writers have admired my work, including ******, ******, and ******. But they did so in person and as part of a private conversation. I don’t feel it appropriate for me to set these comments down in writing to sell my work to you. This is what your submissions guidelines seem to suggest that I should do so when it asks for “endorsements for my book”. Your guidelines also ask for “recent press coverage” which I lack. This advice, together with your list of authors, shapes my view of your publishing house and informs my decision not to submit.

I put this question to you: What is your ethos? What is your company’s ethos?

When I go to my local restaurant, the owner tells me he wishes to bring authentic and excellent Indonesian cuisine to Dublin. A building company run by a friend will strive to use Irish materials in an energy-efficient manner. None of them will say: “I need to maximise income for my shareholders in a very difficult market.”

What is your ethos Sir? Do you have any sense of responsibility that you are shaping a new generation of writers?

I see also that you were previously a book buyer at Easons, a company known for playing a role in the literary life of the nation. Was there some sense when Transworld Ireland was set up in 2007, that it should promote new writing that reflects what’s happening in this country? Is there any sense of responsibility for seeking out good writing wherever it may be found?

Just a few short years ago any questions about the extravagances of developers or bankers would have been answered by an appeal to market forces. Now we understand these people were complicit in shaping that market. Those whose decision-making was in accordance with the standards of the times now find themselves derided as being greedy, short-sighted, and fundamentally dishonest.

Your company too is involved in creating the reality which young writers like me inhabit. And that reality is one where I would gladly exchange all my publications in The Stinging Fly, The Dublin Review and elsewhere for an opportunity to act in a television soap – or even have a sibling in such a soap. A reality where a rough count of the lists in Books Ireland reveals that 40% of debut novelists have a high media profile – and the other 60% generally are with smaller publishers. A reality where people who once had aspirations to be a writer get a renewed burst of confidence if by lucky chance their job brings them in contact with high-profile people.

And I too highly value my single radio appearance more than any publication. Why wouldn’t I, when your submissions guidelines ask for recent media coverage but makes no mention of publications in magazines or awards?

If the Transworld parent company pulled out of Ireland tomorrow, it would leave a lasting legacy in the hopes which have been kindled and those which have been quietly extinguished. Will you be proud of the direction you have given to Irish writing?

Remarks added over a year later:

The letter was sent by registered mail to the Transworld offices and a couple of week’s later I posted it on my website. Nothing happened for maybe two months. Then a couple of bloggers noted it and an American friend and poet Djelloul Marbrook made a mention on the Newsblaze website.

There was a small ripple through the blogosphere. Publishing expert Eoin Purcell found it childish and disheartening, and wrote:
“Deciding to pursue writing as a career doesn’t entitle you to succeed or for culture to shape itself to your image of what is right.”
“But lashing Transworld, one of the most clearly commercial publishers in the country, is just a bit of a cheap shot frankly.”

That second sentence is curious. I take ‘clearly commercial’ to mean ‘no, they do not have any ethos. No, they do not have any sense of responsibility for creating a new generation of writers.’ Well, I honestly didn’t know that. So why does it annoy him so much that I pose the question in public? Is Eoin Purcell so big-hearted that it pains him to see me waste my time?
See his blog article where by way of counterpoint he goes on to praise Stephen Leather.

Then it got a (neutral) mention in the UK Sunday Telegraph. The letter also got a positive mention from John Burns in the Atticus page, The Sunday Times of Jan 20 (content only accessible on subscription.)

A week later and ‘the story’ was taken up by The Irish Independent. The journalist mentions that it came to his/her attention from The Telegraph, and seems suspicious that I may have contacts there. A more media-savvy friend told me this is quite understandable.

The article writer is undecided about the letter. It could be that I am alienating publishers and biting the hand that might potentially feed me.
Or it could be that this is “very canny, self-publicising cheek”. “Hmmm. The author’s own marketing tools already seem well-honed,” the article concludes.

Well it’s definitely not the latter.

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Burial

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My new story seems to occupy the same space as the music of north London musician Burial. His music went through my head as I wrote it. The story will appear some time next year in The Dublin Review.

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Prairie Schooner

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Prairie Schooner Ireland issue

The Prairie Schooner is America’s oldest literary magazine, the first issue being way back in 1917. In recent years they have had issues focussing on various regions and nations: a China issue, an Australia issue. So now it is Ireland’s turn.

The Ireland issue features such writers as Thomas Lynch, Kathleen Murray, Nuala Ní Chonchúir, Philip Casey, Theodore Deppe, William Wall, Ann Egan, Jean O’Brien, Michael O’Dea, and Mary O’Donnell. It’s fantastic to be in there too.

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Broken Arm

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Triskel Arts Centre

It happened on a beach in Tenerife. Beautiful Atlantic waves were rolling in onto the smooth strand. You dive with them in the surge of foam, for a few moments you are rushed along in white noise, then you find your feet. The trick is not to be in too close to the shore.

I don’t know what went wrong. I think I recall a sort of shelf in the sand, a natural step-like formation. Maybe this gave the wave added spin. And it was a very very big wave. I was at chest height, yet it was big enough to churn the water right down to the sand.

So I hit the sand, or maybe that shelf in the sand, and got up. I knew that something was wrong when I couldn’t find my arm.

The sea however can only break my bones.

The hospital in Santa Cruz was impressive – top quality equipment, good food, very clean. They took a sequence of CT scans. Oddy, there were very few staff anywhere able to speak English, considering it’s such a massive holiday destination. But several of the doctors could speak German. The doctor assigned to me said I would need an operation with 90% probability. But he said it could be several days before I could be scheduled.

We had little Spanish between us. The best course of action was to return to Ireland, the doctor agreed. He told us to wait as he made out a report. He came back with the report and the sheaf of CT scans, and told us we should fax the report ahead to our hospital back in Dublin.

Imagine that he – and we – were so naive.

It took my wife several hours to get through to a human at the Mater hospital who said there was no provision for faxing reports in advance, I was simply to turn up as soon as I arrived iin Ireland.

The flight was a bit of an ordeal. Airlines don’t allow a full sling, so I loosened it to give the impression I was at a more advanced stage of recovery.

We got to the Mater. I explained to the receptionist that I’d been in hospital in Tenerife and had decided to come back to come back to continue treatment here. She gave a little wry smile and told me to wait.

My hell at the Mater

So I waited and waited in that dingy, depressing A&E section. I have to admist, a lot of the dismal atmosphere is due to the type of people who are waiting there. Obvious heroin addicts and homeless people. Some of them frankly smelly. One hard man surrpetitiously drinking a can of cider. The only two or three who – say – would have been allowed pass through the doors of The Porterhouse pub were foreigners.

After about six hours I was brought into the inner waiting room and a doctor took blood samples etc. I tried to interest him in the CT scans, but he said to keep them to show them to the orthopaedic surgeon later. Then I waited another 2 hours. Then I had an x-ray and again waited.

Finally the (general) doctor who had first seen me called me and said the consultants had view my x-rays and I didn’t need an operation. I was to turn up at the fracture clinic on Thursday. (This was Monday.)

I had a growing awareness through the preceeding eight hours that by the time doctors encountered a patient here, that patient would be suffering from sleep-deprivation, hungry, angry and resentful. Couple that with the fact that more than half – to judge by appearances – would be likely to have a problem with authority or would be used to better standards back in Eastern Europe. Doctors here would be constantly on the defensive, listening to outpurings of dissatisfaction. And I too at this stage – in a T-shirt with the side cut off, not having slept in 36 hours – I felt robbed of dignity. I felt it entirely possible that if I spoke no-one would listen to see if I was making sense. I felt as though I might be brushed aside condescendingly.

I explained that the doctors in Santa Cruz had gone to a lot of trouble to take the CT scans on very expensive machinery. “Do you not think the doctors here should take a look at them?” I said.

The doctor wasn’t condescending at all – in fact he was very helpful. He made a few phone calls to insist that the CT scans be viewed. But the orthopaedic consultant who had viewed my x-rays had now gone into surgery – I would have to wait another two hours.

At last he came down and met me. He explained how it was that decisions on surgery were never easy and why he disagreed with the Spanish consultant. I was tired and confused at this stage, not rightly sure if he had seen the CT scans or the Spanish doctor’s report. I had the scans in my hand at that moment, but they had been out of my hands for some time. So I asked him if he had viewed them. Turned out he hadn’t. He took them off me and I felt a great sense of “mission accomplished”. There were 8 sheets of scans. Even to my untrained eye the level of detail is way beyond an x-ray.

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Prairie Schooner

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July 2011

Prairie Schooner

Prairie Schooner is the USA’s oldest literary magazine.

It’s 10th birthday issue looked back on its history:

the Schooner was not published for money’s sake, paid nothing for contributions, and sought to print the work of new writers not yet accepted by the wealthy, policy-bound periodicals. Unlike most little magazines, the Schooner has been long-lived. . . and it has published the early work of more than twenty writers whose subsequent appearances in print have brought them general recognition

That was way back in 1927 – the first issue came out in 1917. And it’s still keeping to this policy.

A special issue on contemporary Irish writers, edited by Stephen Behrendt, is coming out in December. I’m thrilled to have a short story in it. Other writers with fiction in it include Nuala Ní Chonchúir, William Wall and Thomas Lynch has a one-act play in it. There are also more than twenty poets represented – they include Theo Dorgan, Colm Breathnach, Mary O’Donnell and lots of familiar and unfamiliar names.

It’s fantastic to see such an anthology coming from across the Atlantic.

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