Alex Gilvarry has a novel coming out, his first.
He's not an ordinary person like you. He's a Normal Mailer fellow, right out of Mr. Mailer's writer's colony on Cape Cod.
What's it about? What's selling in New York these days? A story about an up and coming fashion designer who gets kidnapped and shipped to Gitmo. Yeah, I'm right there with you. The story's about three years too late. It's almost historical fiction at this point.
Conde Nast has a couple of representatives in the debut column. Again, they're not ordinary writers like you. They have a platform strong enough to support the heaviest pile of words. They know people who know people in publishing.
A novel about a woman reading her dead friend's journal? I picture long passages in italics filling out the manuscript, or being used as transitions into changing scenes. I'm picturing Cecilia Ahern's P.S. I Love You in fancy dress.
As for the debut of Jennifer Close, editor and writer? Chick lit isn't quite dead yet. Any book that deals with a group of women in their twenties and has bridal showers in it couldn't be anything less.
The ordinary creative types aren't gaining any traction these days. It's the economy, it's the tight fiction market, it's corporate caution taken to its boring and dull extreme.
The new fiction section at the public library has shrunk by one third. What's coming out next year isn't going to fill the empty space.
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