[Listen]
[Intro music plays]
[Woman’s Voice]
This is Behind the Cut with Christopher Gronlund. The companion show to Not About Lumberjacks.
[Music fades out]
Christopher Gronlund:
Behind the Cut is an in-depth look at the latest episode of Not About Lumberjacks and likely contains spoilers of the most recent story. You’ve been warned…
* * *
Before I had teenage dreams about becoming a wildlife biologist, a professional juggler, or joining the Peace Corps after high school, I wanted to be a novelist.
Fame didn’t matter to me as much as making a living doing this thing I knew I wanted to do, even though I was too young to wrap my head around how to get there. I just knew the writers I read about seemed to live neat lives in which they got to do something they loved—and that sounded like a great life to me.
* * *
My Peace Corps dream was shattered when I discovered you had to have a degree to join. College chemistry classes thwarted my dreams of studying bears or wolves in Canada or Alaska. And my dream of being a professional juggler dissipated when my juggling partner moved three hours south. So, when I was twenty years old, I made writing the thing within my control that I would do.
At the time, the path to publication was clear: even if you didn’t graduate college with a degree in English literature (I dropped out of school because I couldn’t afford it), there was still a way to publication through literary journals and then querying agents with novels. Once you had a pile of short stories in publications, you could point to them and say, “See? I’ve done my work!”
Oh, sure…you could also self-publish, but that was deemed—at the time—as something only reserved for those who didn’t have what it took to be a “real” author.
* * *
I did everything I was supposed to do: I submitted stories to literary journals and researched agents. I learned everything I could about the industry. And when the time came to submit my first novel…nothing happened.
I’d grabbed the attention of agents and publishers—even the alternate weekly papers I hit up as a last-ditch effort to see something happen with that first book. But in the end, it was rejected by everyone I showed it to.
* * *
In 2005, my good friend Larry told me about some fiction podcasts he’d been listening to. Escape Pod was the audio version of a sci-fi magazine, and Scott Sigler was recording his novels and serializing chapters each week.
“It’s the perfect time to record and release your first novel as a podcast,” Larry said. “Your writing is good and different, and nobody else releasing audio fiction does what you do. Hell, barely anybody’s releasing audio fiction at all!”
But I didn’t listen to Larry because…much like self-publishing your novels, it wasn’t “real” in my mind. It was admitting defeat.
So, instead, I wrote my first “serious” novel—sure that it would be the story to give my dedication to writing legitimacy.
* * *
You probably know what happened next without me telling you.
Yes, that novel was also met with a mix of praise and rejection. One agent told me he knew by the second chapter that he’d not represent it, but he still read the damn book because there was much he loved about it. He just thought it would be very difficult to sell.
Others felt the same way: it fascinated them, but it wasn’t their sure thing.
Another story I’d poured so much of myself into went nowhere. (That particular book is likely the most “me” novel I may ever write.)
I had two different ideas for my next novel, and I struggled to decide which to work on next.
I needed to do something new.
* * *
In October 2010, I finally listened to Larry. With no idea what I was doing, during a period of unemployment I knew would go through—at least—the holidays, I recorded and released my first novel, Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors as a podcast.
That feeling of not “making it” in a so-called proper manner disappeared when I heard from people I didn’t know, telling me about how much they loved that goofy little story. (Hell Comes with Wood Paneled Doors is a coming-of-age story about a family traveling cross-country in a possessed station wagon, and you can listen to it from the Not About Lumberjacks website.)
I didn’t care that it had not seen publication through any legitimate channels…it saw over 125,000 downloads! Even factoring in that each download was a chapter and that some people bounced, it was the equivalent of moving almost 6,000 books, which many people would have been happy to do in 2010.
I wished that I had listened to Larry five years sooner…and not waited another five years to begin Not About Lumberjacks.
* * *
At least 10 stories on nolumberjacks.com were written in an old writing group I used to attend. Two friends and I met every other week to review each other’s work, talk about writing, and challenge each other.
One night, a good friend who doesn’t write asked if he could listen in. It was breaking rules we set for ourselves when we formed the writing group, but we agreed.
That friend-in-attendance admired our dedication to craft and how we supported each other as writers. He was happy to see what we did behind closed doors every-other Wednesday night. Then, he said something I still tease him about to this day…something to the effect of:
“It’s inspiring to see you all work so hard at a dying art.”
“What?” one (or all) of us said.
“People aren’t reading as much as they used to,” our friend said. “Sales are down. I’m not saying writing is a lost cause, but there are fewer readers for what you write each year…”
Years later, I still tease my friend Steve about the “Death of literature” chat, but he wasn’t entirely wrong.
Fewer adults read for pleasure than they did in the past. By the time younger people graduate college, their reading-for-pleasure numbers drop and don’t seem to pick back up as they age. Those of us with hope spin the numbers in our favor (the rise of indie bookstores being a biggie), but so many people—including myself—don’t read as much as they used to.
Or…they consume stories in different ways.
* * *
What does all this have to do with the latest Not About Lumberjacks story, “Firing the Muse?” Warren Quinn is a writer during a time of change. The story takes place in 1957, the year the American News Corporation—the primary distributor of pulp fiction at the time—was liquidated. Other companies had already made the move to changing the kinds of stories they published.
The traditional route no longer worked.
Warren (and Butch) had to devise a different plan…
* * *
I’d be lying if I said I’m not-at-all bothered by never seeing a novel I’ve written on a shelf in a bookstore. I still have a dream of that one day happening, but it’s no longer a driving motivation in my life. But it’s also not a dream I’ve set aside.
The ways to traditional publication have changed, but it’s still a thing worth pursuing. I’ll let you in on a little secret: Not About Lumberjacks was formed, in part, as part of that plan.
* * *
When I started this show in 2015, I’d been doing another podcast with a friend for a couple years. I wanted to do something entirely on my own.
At a podcast festival it clicked: why not return to podcasting fiction? I’d been focusing on novels so much that I hadn’t written a short story in years! Beyond that, the show would serve as an online repository of my fiction—something I could point to when querying agents with novels…proof that I’m online and active—that I work hard and have at least a small following.
I’d love to say this show was 100% born out of a creative desire, but its existence was at least—in part—by design.
The point of the latest Not About Lumberjacks story is that things change.
* * *
I still tease my friend about the death of literature, but he saw something my two friends and I didn’t see: how much things were about to change.
Self-publishing is no longer the albatross it once was. I can wander out to the living room right now and watch Silo, based on Hugh Howey’s partially self-published series.
Salman Rushdie said if he were starting out today, that he’d try writing for television instead of novels.
While audio fiction podcasts have not risen to the heights of popularity as true-crime podcasts or talking meatheads spreading misinformation and pretending to be philosophical, they have the attention of fans and other media.
There are more ways than ever, today, to have your writing seen. That arguably makes it harder to support yourself writing fiction, because there are more writers than ever, but when I started writing, my only real option was print publication. Today, it’s possible that someone wanting to find their next thing stumbles upon nolumberjacks.com and sees something they want to develop.
* * *
I ended “Firing the Muse” with Warren and Butch taking a bold step into a future in which their approach to writing was different than what got them there. They adapted to changes, and I like to imagine they went on to greater success.
Every so often, I go through old boxes and see type-written stories from when I started writing. I see the rejection letters I saved, saying there was something editors liked about those stories, but that they were going to pass. All those pages tucked away to be seen only by me. All that effort for naught.
But every one of those stories eventually found a home…here. Some of the stories doomed to live in the darkness of that old box became personal faves of some Not About Lumberjacks listeners. Because of this show, all those rejected stories saw publication.
They don’t exist in a traditional sense, but I make more money in a year with this show than most people writing short stories for the same rates paid in the 80s…if they are paid at all. I no longer spend my time looking at reading periods and waiting months for rejections or acceptances. If I want a story to exist as something more than a file on a hard drive and backed up to the cloud, I simply record it and release it.
Not About Lumberjacks is far more real than my old dream of “making it” through so-called proper channels. That’s not to say I still don’t dream of one day seeing a novel I’ve written on a shelf in a bookstore, but it’s not my driving motivation. Even if I somehow became a known novelist, this show would still be my refuge…because here, I am free to be the writer I never knew I’d become.
I’m so glad I listened to Larry!
* * *
Thank you for listening to Not About Lumberjacks and Behind the Cut. Theme music for Behind the Cut is a tune called “Reaper” by Razen. Visit nolumberjacks.com for information about the music, the episodes, and voice talent.
Also, for as little as a dollar a month, you can have access to a bigger behind-the-scenes look at Not About Lumberjacks on Patreon. Check out patreon.com/cgronlund if that sounds like your kinda thing.
In September, the residents of a trailer park battle a developer and city to save their homes from being bulldozed to make way for a golf course.
Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp!
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