At last! A reason to talk to my agent!
Our last conversation regarded Ebury Books’ polite “No Thank You” for The Wicker Dalek—nah, that’s not true, I exaggerate. My noble agent also hooked up The Creep in the Art Department with the author of this piece of shit. Which was fun. Until it wasn’t. And exemplified everything that is wrong and foul w/ vanity publishing—of which I am both willing participant and victim.
I still won’t submit shitty work to legit markets, nor self-pub shitty work, no fucking way. Hence my silence. Why publish shit? Lish once told me, “If the work doesn’t advance the literature of the language in which it’s written, it’s not worth publishing.” †
FOR THOSE IN THE PUBLISHING KNOW: Skyhorse’s acquisition of UNDERLAND cannot compare with Skyhorse’s recent inhaling of NIGHT SHADE but make no mistake: my next book will be a new version of Exit Vector. Which will be dedicated to Victoria Blake, btw, dedicated with love and affection and forgiveness. No, really. I have closed the door to the Engine Room of Anger, and I’m looking for the lock.
† paraphrased + reconstructed but accurate