Everything He Knows About Self-publishing
Kevin Kelly has an exhaustive post on everything you’d ever want to know about book publishing. (via Kottke)
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Kevin Kelly has an exhaustive post on everything you’d ever want to know about book publishing. (via Kottke)
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I regret spending money on Johnny Ryan’s Porn Basket. It’s the artistic equivalent of watching a child play with its own feces. The child thinks it’s hilarious; you shake your head. Ryan seems chronically stuck in a reflexive need to attempt to offend, but his work is uninteresting and redundant. I like art that offends; I’ve created some of it myself. But this is merely dull. If you’re an eight-year-old boy, you’ll love this book.
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One of the book projects I’m working on is a nonfiction book about the adult movie industry. The working title is When Pornographers Were Kings: A History of America’s Most Notorious Business. The book interweaves narrative nonfiction, investigative journalism, and reported memoir. While the story’s primary concern is the adult business, from boom to bust to boom again, the narrative also includes my own backstory. In other words, it explores how I came to spend a great deal of time considering the manufacturing of pornography and what the means of production of explicit content and its product say about us as a society and a culture.
Currently, I’m reading Linda Williams’ Hard Core: Power, Pleasure, and the “Frenzy of the Visible”, which I’m embarrassed to confess I’ve never read. (You can read her New York Times obituary here.) Today I ordered Jacques Lacan’s Desire and Its Interpretation, as I haven’t read Lacan since I was in college and feel it will be relevant to some of my ideas about desire and the Other. I’ll probably also re-watch Brian De Palma’s Body Double, which is a marvelous interrogation of seeing and the sexual object and features Melanie Griffith as the adult actress Holly Body.
Probably the most challenging aspect of this book—outside of revisiting Lacan, ha-ha—is bringing to the fore how my background led me to the San Fernando Valley and the indisputably most interesting thing about it. (To quote the late Evan Wright, in his devastating “Scenes From My Life in Porn”: “I would come to joke that the porn video is indigenous Southern California folk art.”) Both my parents were English professors doesn’t exactly suggest one will grow up to write about the porn business. But maybe being raised in a house that was emotionally chilly and in which intimate relationships appeared to be one way but were in fact another might.
One early scene I chose to include near the beginning of my book is something I’d never written about before. I grew up in a two-story pink stucco house on a steep single-block street in the foothills of the Berkeley Hills. My second-floor bedroom was the smallest bedroom. A set of windows faced the street to the east, and a single window faced the neighbor’s house to north. Sometimes at night I would open this side window. Below, there was a small courtyard off our dining room in which tall bamboo grew, and I liked to listen to the rustling the leaves of the bamboo made. In the darkness, I would watch the bamboo list in the wind and crane my neck so I could see the Moon or Orion tracking across the night sky.
At some point, the neighbors moved out, and, as I recall it, someone else moved in. The new neighbors included a man who may have rented the bedroom across the driveway from my room. He seemed to have a lot of girlfriends. Every weekend there was a new woman. There was a ritual to it. The man and this new woman would appear. They would go in the bathroom and reemerge in burgundy bathrobes. They would kiss and then … slip from my view. I had a sense of what they might be doing, but it was vague. I was witnessing a kind of transgression, I surmised.
Revisiting that scene made me wonder if that was a kind of cinematic experience of the erotic. As in a movie theater, I was in a dark room. In the darkness there was an illuminated frame. Within this frame, people upon whom I was spying acted out a drama of intimacy. When I was writing this part of my book, it reminded me of what an adult movie director once said to me about why he had gotten into the porn business. He was a fan of horror movies as a young man, he explained. But what he really wanted to see on the screen was what happened in the pivotal scene when the knife raised, the woman screamed, and the camera cut away. That was porn.
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I bought a copy of Trulee Hall, a monograph about the artist, after seeing her work at MOCA. I was blown away by Witch House, which is insane and amazing. The book features essays and commentary and an interview. If you’re looking to embrace your inner ick or wade in the goo of sex or shift your ideas around the kinds of art women can create, this book is a good place to start. Hall: “I don’t differentiate between high and low and right and wrong, but I’m more likely to gravitate to something ‘low’ and ‘wrong.’”
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“Revisiting that scene made me wonder if that was a kind of cinematic experience of the erotic.” Read it here.
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Kevin Sampsell’s I Made an Accident dazzled me with its beautiful, mysterious collages and pried my brain open with its curious, dreamy poems. I really loved how the art and prose play together, suggesting new connections, making a meta collage of images and words in book form. Accidents never looked this good. Delightful.
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I really loved Susan Meiselas’ Mediations. It provides a wonderful overview of her career, development as a photographer, and efforts to rebalance the power dynamics between photographer and subject. I particularly enjoyed the essay by Eduardo Cadava, which manages to be both personal and theoretical. Recommend.
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One of the books I’m working on at the moment is a book-length work of narrative nonfiction. The title is: When Pornographers Were Kings: A History of America’s Most Notorious Business. More to come soon …
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Image via Wikipedia
One of the books I’m working on at the moment is a short story collection. The title is: Fables of the 818. The interrelated stories take place in the San Fernando Valley—at strip clubs, porn sets, and massage parlors.
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This year, I decided to read only books with pictures. In July, I read four books. (You can find all my short book reviews here.) My favorite was Barbara Nitke’s American Ecstasy; from my review: “I read and pored over this book at a glacial pace because I didn’t want it to end.” My least favorite was E. M. Carroll’s A Guest in the House; from my review: “I had to search the internet to try and understand [the ending].”
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I can’t remember the first time I encountered Barbara Nitke’s American Ecstasy series, but it was a very long time ago. And more recently when I realized I’d never owned the book version, I wasn’t sure why. Then I remembered that I was sick when it was published. So, finally, I ordered it. And this book just dazzles. During my career, I have spent quite a bit of time on adult movie sets as a journalist, and I have never encountered a woman who had a similar experience, which is captured in this magnificent volume. In her own words, the words of the performers and crew, and her dazzling photos, she brings to life the often hidden adult business, what it’s like to insert yourself into its making, and what we can learn when we take the time to look at and listen to a part of capitalist production that due to its preoccupation with erotic fantasy is often misunderstood and frequently vilified. I read and pored over this book at a glacial pace because I didn’t want it to end. This is better than Larry Sultan’s The Valley. This is the real thing.
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In this week’s newsletter, I share more about my next book—which is part of Bloomsbury’s 33 1/3 books series and focuses on Dr. Dre’s 1992 album, The Chronic—including a peek at the proposal and the other contenders.
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Moord in Rotterdam is not for the faint of heart. It compiles crime scene photos taken by the Rotterdam police between 1905 and 1967. The cover features a woman who un-alived herself. She appears to be napping. Her lookalike doll is at her side. Is it creepy, beautiful, tragic? The scene is in the eye of the beholder. Flipping through the pages of homicides, suicides, and crimes of passion, one is struck by the grand artistry of it all. I don’t know whether to credit the Rotterdam police for their photography skills or chalk it up to fantastic editing of a gruesome body of work. A great pick for fans of Joel-Peter Witkin and Wisconsin Death Trip.
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E. M. Carroll’s A Guest in the House is a tricky book to review because about 90% of it is terrific. It’s a dark, weird, gloomy story about what happens when you marry a man who seems normal and it turns out he may have murdered the wife before you. One of the most exciting things about the book is how it occasionally explodes out and across the page in moments of colorful surrealism. So, mostly, I really liked this book. But the ending left me baffled. It felt rushed, patchworked together, and I had to search the internet to try and understand it. Your experience may vary. But in general, this is a great work. She didn’t nail the ending.
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I’m happy to announce my next book: Dr. Dre’s The Chronic. It’s part of Bloomsbury’s much-loved 33 1/3 series. I’ll be writing about the seminal album and its influence. Thanks so much to Bloomsbury for the opportunity.
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Thanks to John Wooden, who gave me my first editing job, for these nice words about my memoir, Data Baby. John has a new newsletter on Substack called EPOSTASY, where he rails against the all consuming “ebyss.”
You should subscribe to it.
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I’ve read Gay Talese’s “Frank Sinatra Has a Cold” several times, so when I saw Taschen had produced this oversized version with photos by Phil Stern, I had to have it. I really enjoyed re-reading Talese’s work this way, Stern’s photos, and the ephemera that includes Talese’s hand-drawn outline for the work. A good buy.
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This year, I decided to read only books with pictures. In June, I read three books. (You can find all my short book reviews here.) My favorite was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland: Tove Jansson Edition which I called “vibrant and beguiling.” My least favorite was Art Monsters by Lauren Elkin which I did not finish.
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I guess I have sort of a strange relationship to Desolation Jones, because I was the inspiration for one of the characters in it: Filthy Sanchez, a kind of Los Angeles porn czar who says things like: “Everything goes better with bukkake.” I believe that I only ever read the first comic in this series, so when I saw that the first six had been republished in a single volume, The Biohazard Edition, I had to buy it. The quality of the book is great — oversized, colorful — and I enjoyed reading the full narrative. There was also a short return of Sanchez at the end that I hadn’t been aware of previously. The story itself is about a man who has PTSD from having his brain fucked and is on a quest for some Hitler porn. If you like your comics weird and filthy, this one is for you.
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Cool to see a photo of mine in Charles Saatchi’s 2015 book Dead: A Celebration of Mortality. I found it on eBay.
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