After a very long and stressful week of dealing with ice-filled roads, I received some news I wasn't surprised to get. But when I received the news, it still stung. I finally received word back from an agent who believed in POST and tried to find a suitable home for it with a "name" publisher: he politely passed on When We Were the Kids.
I make no bones about how When We Were the Kids is a slightly more difficult read compared to POST. There are a couple dozen speakers, all describing a music scene that once existed. I have yet to read an oral history that didn't have a couple dozen speakers, all almost sounding like it was from one voice. This is the nature of the beast.
I'm not trying to be difficult -- I can't really think of any other way in presenting a story like this. Would you really believe a story about a multi-person rock scene from one speaker or narrator? I wouldn't.
I've lost track as to exactly how much time I've spent on this book, but I believe it's safe to say it's been four years in the making. I'm not about to abandon ship now because I believe in the material, even though others don't. This is a kind of mantra that has followed me my entire life.
All this said, I feel incredibly free to do whatever the hell I want to with the material. I have 100 percent creative control by self-publishing and I don't really have to answer to anyone. Yet I don't want to spit out something half-baked. I'm giving myself until May to make a final draft and hopefully release the damn thing by the end of the year.
How's that for an update?