There could be no other interpretation of the committee’s response when I offered to deliver a lecture on Victorian comedy at their science fiction book fair.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that organizers of sci-fi book fairs are in desperate need of more interesting speakers.
I told them so.
They told me to get out.
Ruffian interns shepherded me to the street.
I received a call.
“Did you hear they approved a symposium on Jules Verne?” asked my agent.
Another blow.
I had been drawn to Texas, confident of the community’s embrace. Thousands would attend the fair, each a potential fan of my work.
One sweltering day in August, when my patience was at its stickiest, I received an email from a discount tour guide. He was offering personalized legacy trips through England, helping Americans reconnect with their forgotten aristocratic heritages.
Having always sensed my innate nobility, I was sure the trip would deliver a fascinating reveal.
(It was promised in the advertisement.)
I phoned two friends, proposing we flee our oppressive environment to seek our oppressive roots.
I was not alone in my enthusiasm.
Both friends suspected they were distantly royal. It was worth checking out.
After calling a financial associate to propose a credit limit increase, three tickets were obtained, and we commenced our journey.
Uther Fenwickdragon, King of Britain, lusts after Migraine, Duchess of Cornwall, wife of a very minor character. With the aid of magic spellcheckery, Uther disguises himself as a writer and beds Migraine, conceiving a novella, An Aspiration To Lie Flat.
Uther disavows Aspiration until, nearing death without a publication, he claims the book as his own.
It’s early days, but feedback from my LibraryThing book giveaway of An Aspiration to Lie Flat looks very promising.
Here are some excerpts from the reviews. (The full reviews and more can be found on LibraryThing.)
“This is a totally inane book that should be read by many.”
Edit: I couldn’t agree more.
“To me, it was a big joke, in a good way.”
“This story is hilarious, absurd, has a lot of heart, and is almost scary as in how I can imagine it could actually happen to someone.”
“What a fun whirlwind of a read! Keep in mind that at a quick 129 pages there simply isn’t a lot of time for nuance. Just enjoy the ride! I sure did!”
“I wasn’t sure what to expect from An Aspiration to Lie Flat, but it completely won me over. The humor is dry and understated, the kind that lingers and gets funnier the more you think about it. The main character is a disaster in the best way, yet you can’t help but root for him. The writing is sharp, fresh, and unlike most books I’ve picked up. If you enjoy offbeat, clever stories that break away from the usual formula, this one is definitely worth reading.”
Let me begin this report by extending my heartfelt gratitude to the entire society staff for their assistance throughout the day. (Rest assured, the fifty-five dollar balance on my invoice will be arriving shortly.)
After a brief reading, which seemed well received by the listening security guard, I hosted a public signing for my new book An Aspiration To Lie Flat. The society seated me behind a large desk stacked with paperback copies of my book, in a gorgeous space large enough to accommodate the expected crowd.
Things were going well until the security guard—whose reaction I had clearly misjudged—approached.
“Your writing would be so much better if you let your characters feel any emotions besides pissed off and hurt,” he lectured.
“Thanks,” I replied, feeling pissed off and hurt. “Would you like me to sign a copy for you?”
“No. I’m definitely not interested. That chapter you read? Said it all, man. Said it all.”
Fortunately, the other two society employees were kinder. One told me she would consider purchasing my book in the future.
I counted it as a sale.
What a rewarding experience!
I am pleased to report that the entire event proceeded without incident. Wait times remained acceptably low throughout.
To those who could not attend: I understand. Parking was limited.
I want different things from fiction than the market currently provides, at least in any great abundance.
For example, I don’t enjoy atmospherics. I especially dislike long passages describing a place everyone is already vaguely familiar with (even more so when the process is used by the author solely to demonstrate verbal wizardry.)
Though it is not recent, take this passage from Brideshead Revisited:
“Oxford, in those days, was still a city of aquatint. In her spacious and quiet streets men walked and spoke as they had done in Newman’s day; her autumnal mists, her grey springtime, and the rare glory of her summer days—such as that day—when the chestnut was in flower and the bells rang out high and clear over her gables and cupolas, exhaled the soft vapours of a thousand years of learning.” — Evelyn Waugh
That is beautiful, highly evocative writing. It is much better than anything I can produce.
But it bores me when books go on and on that way.
(Also, please note that I’m passing up an easy ‘soft vapours’ joke about Waugh’s Brideshead prose in an effort to appear mature. This is a moment of personal growth.)
Stanton Fenwick 