Why publishing a book feels so bad

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A few months ago, Charlotte Shane emailed asking for contributions to a piece that went on to be called, “The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Published.” I totally meant to reply but, being in the midst of that very same kind of mortification, didn’t. (I was also moving apartments while suffering from the worst facial acne of my life.) Despite my best intentions, I didn’t add my .02 to the wise, funny, and occasionally heartbreaking reflections of my colleagues who, like me, prized open the Lament Configuration—some for the second or third or even eighth time—expecting something other than. . . all this.1

Not that they don’t have it covered. Being a working writer is “batshit and hard,” as Lydia Kiesling so succinctly puts it. It’s “vulnerable” (Rumaan Alam), leaving you “embarrassed” (Arianna Rebolini), “anxiogenic” (Daniel Lavery, always good for a vocab word), and “wrecked” (Larissa Pham)2. As seriously as I take my work and as earnestly as I wish for recognition—or at least a thoughtful, dedicated cohort of readers, perhaps based somewhere my sensibility is truly understood, like David Lynch in France or Nicole Kidman in the United States3—the marketing side of things never feels worth it, even if I don’t have any regrets, when it’s all said and done. I’ve started to wonder if loathing this process, especially the promotional part, isn’t actually a coping mechanism in itself. Because if I focus on the unique shittiness of hitting the digital streets, proferred fedora in hand, to pitch, schedule, and solicit, it’s easy to overlook how humiliating it is to spend your time a/b testing gimmicks that will convince consumers to spend their hard-earned money on your little wedge of the reaction economy4.

But like I said, no regrets. Not regarding my chosen profession, anyway. You know I like to play the martyr (I’m an artist, baby!). And there’s this, too: while it can foster the bad kind of navel-gazing, writing novels has also made me aware of just how many people it takes to make a single book happen. From the agents and editors and production workers, to the booksellers and librarians, to the critics and readers, all of these people are spending hours of their lives, if not longer, on something that someone else created. I’d like to think that this awareness has made me a better literary citizen, more curious and generous and supportive of others’ work. This has, in turn, enriched my life more than writing a novel (an intensely pleasurable but solitary activity that is incomplete without not just an audience but a social rendering) ever could. It reinforces for me, over and again, that I don’t write for myself, but for others; don’t wish to be alone, but together.

So, now that we’re a month away from publication, some housekeeping:

Everyone is saying that you should preorder my book? Casanova 20: Or, Hot World is “intoxicating,” and “Jamesian”; it’s not to be missed and slamming mortality against our deepest desires. While Publishers Weekly described it as “fascinating if at times frustrating,” Kirkus gave it a starred review, calling Casanova “[a] show-stopping novel that carries within it a quiet, steadfast heart.”5 The only way to find out if the hype is real is to buy a copy for yourself and convene a book club with everyone you know.

Yes, there will be readings: I’ll be at Strand in NYC with Torrey Peters on December 2, Riffraff Books in Providence with Matthew Lawrence on December 4, and All She Wrote Books in Somerville with. . . someone. . . on December 5. There may be more East Coast dates before Christmas, but the rest of the tour doesn’t pick back up until January, when I’ll be making a stop in Hudson and then, at some point, the West Coast. I’m sorry that I don’t know the full plan yet, but Catapult is a small publisher—if you send the right person an email, me and my Xanax prescription could end up at your local queer bookstore.

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Until my recent move, I was involved with North Brooklyn Mutual Aid, a network of nearly 2,000 neighbors committed to supporting their community with food, PPE, and essential goods distribution. With November SNAP benefits expiring thanks to the government shutdown, local orgs like NBkMA are more needed than ever. Screenshot your donation of any amount to NBkMA and I’ll send you a free month of subscriber-only DAVID content.

1

While reviewing this newsletter one final time before pushing SEND, I realized that my last post was also about something Charlotte wrote. I’m sorry, everyone, for being so weird. In my defense, she did publish my first book.

2

If you were following along with last week’s gooner discourse, please go read Danny’s roundtable on credulity, sexual kayfabe, and the people sexuality wasn’t supposed to ruin.

3

Last summer, I met an Australian who told me that the American obsession with Kidman is completely befuddling for her countrymen. Can you believe!

4

“Attention economy” is Sam Bodrojan’s clever coin.

5

You know I hate pitting two divas against each other 🎭