FULL BLEED: THE SOUNDS OF LAUGHTER

Been a little while, yeah. I stepped away from things for a little bit. Mostly after the Inauguration, for pretty obvious reasons. The screaming got bad. Now at least people seem to be screaming at their senators instead of simply at anyone in range. That’s a little better. Still only borderline tolerable.

There’s a few repeated screams I’ve been seeing from the first time around this guy’s presidency. There was, of course, the whole “these kinds of administrations are so good for punk rock – Look at Reagan.”

Yeah. That was a time period that was completely different and other from what we’re living today. Hell, back then people actually talked to one another in public spaces. They had to, because there weren’t many other options. The Internet (and Covid and the destruction of public life, most notably cities, the withering of various subcultures and scenes, loss of spaces beyond home and school for kids to be in) did a number on all of these things. You simply can’t dump phenomena from one time into another and expect them to do anything other than die from transplant shock.

So we can write that little urgent call off. Particularly since the last time I saw it, it was coming out of the mouth of one Amanda Palmer, most known for getting folks to work for her for free (then; now she’s better known for, ah, yeah I won’t go into it.) I mean, it’s a nice thought, I guess. It’s nice to think that there’s going to be a groundswell of popular rebellion and…

Nevermind that punk even in 1984 and by 1988 was still a firmly subcultural affair. Yes, it broke through in the mainstream in caricature (but not nearly to the extent that beatniks did in the fifties or the hippies did into the seventies). Musically, punk had moved on into what we call postpunk now, beyond splintering into other less recognizable forms. Okay, the hardcore dudes who were busily making mosh pits into hellholes called themselves punks. Sure there were punk bands still, and there was that whole wave past Green Day where arguably punk finally hit the mainstream pretty hard (sure, X did pretty well with their cover of “Wild Thing” but they’d stopped being a pure punk band if they ever really were in the first place.)

What I’m saying is all that backwards looking was cart before the horse. Punk had been happening the whole time through the second half of the seventies. Punk didn’t need Reagan, though he was an awful convenient target of the howl from the underground.

So, yeah. Sometimes administrations are just bad news even if you think they inspire great art. Or even art you like. The last time the current president was in office, that was true. It’s gonna be true this time around.

I’ve also seen “You have to keep creating! These times really need it!” Which draws a heavy sigh from me. That sounds like a death march being issued from someone who just wants a free stream of artistic work to consume on their favorite social media platforms. It’s the equivalent of “Batman and Robin will never die!” as written by Grant Morrison in one of his early Batman run issues. That’s not a cry of triumph. That’s a recognition of horror, that the franchise machine will keep squeezing them forever and ever.

Look, if you feel the drive to keep creating, keep making work and putting it out there, then do it. I’ve long ago moved past the whole identity-creation by way of hopefully-monetized hobbies thing. If you want to write, write. And so forth. That may be what you need to do. And you may need to show it in public or just lock it in a desk drawer after its done. I can’t tell you what you need to do.

I can say that I see an awful lot of people who are performatively demanding this stream of artwork continue and that it feeds souls etc. It also feeds content scrapers. It also feeds the dudes who steal designs for t-shirts and get those designs out an hour after seeing it on the internet. It feeds the dudes who talk about art in whatever field and genre and gets them hits and Twitch follows and etc. It feeds the social media companies who always need a constant flood of material to keep subscribers engaged. It feeds the telecom companies who are collecting monthly for all those internet feeds.

Feeds a lot of people who aren’t artists. Maybe it gets artists exposure. Maybe. I know that 95% of the people who put money down on the All Waters Are Graves funding campaign last year did so because of posts that I put up on Bluesky. And I’ll be doing the same for a book called Fake Believe in maybe a month or two. I’m just as dependent on that kind of word of mouth as any writer now. Also, I don’t know which palms to grease to get books read. And if you think you don’t need to do that at my level (ie, indie and no indie publisher behind me) then you’re kidding yourself. Just go check into those influencers who are happy to maybe read your book if you buy some ad time. I know. This is America, what did I expect?

Back to the matter at hand. Another cry I heard more than a little of was “You need to get back to your blogs! Get off these platforms run by insane billionaires!” Which I support in theory. We need alternatives to Facebook etc. Thing is, blogs, like punk rock and Reagan, were of a time. Yes, punk rock still exists. So do Reaganites, sigh. And even blogs do. But they’re no longer seen as the place to go to. Instead they’re something that’s occasionally linked back to on Twitter or Bluesky or Tiktok or whatever. Sometimes that content ends up on a big platform. And it's digested, snacklike then the scrolling feed continues. It’s forgotten in not so long a time. Poof. That platform needs more subscriber chow in the meantime, and the subscribers are happy to contribute it. I mean, you remember that “Football in the future, played across the whole of America?” story that went around a few years ago? Everyone was talking about it. And it was an interesting bit of fiction combined with a great, sticky sort of presentation.

It came and went.

Today, blogs aren’t a regular stop for any normal human. It’s getting to the point that off-network websites in general (except maybe for shopping) aren’t a stop for websurfing. Because we don’t websurf. We hook up to our platform of choice and just absorb what comes through there.

So, sure, post to your blog. And advertise it on your favorite social media site. Maybe you get some hits. But you’re not building an audience because you’re operating out of a strip mall in your neighborhood and everyone else is going to Wal-Mart. So unless you’re able to build a network of folks actively leading others to you, or unless you’re writing for an outlet that gets injected into the feed then you might be on the road to small audiences. I can tell you for a fact that my blog got ten… twenty… fifty… times the readers back in the early-mid 2000s than it does now. Because blogs were a thing. Now they’re like compact discs. Sure, there’s still a market. Not a big one.

Of course, there’s Substack and the less said about that the better. But there’s other mailing list services and the like. Including one called Ghost that I was recommended and took a look at it and all I could see was “This is how you can monetize your social contacts on the internet with our system” and I ran away screaming. There’s also Patreon. Which works for some folks. But I can’t bring myself to directly charge for the sorts of things that I post to my blog for free, movie reviews or essays on the nature of reading and readership, the usual for me. I’ve made my peace with Kickstarter. That’s enough for now, maybe. I’d just like people to trade me some money for books.

Where’s that bring us to? Dance for someone else’s tune? Only it’s tricker to get those jobs. Like Jack Barron said “What happens when you’re ready to sell out but nobody’s buying?” I realize this is a different set of concerns than perhaps what I started out with. One being the call to keep on creating because that’s just what survivors or creators do, and creator is a self-chosen title as much as anything else these days. You make stuff? You’re a creator. Oh, but maybe not an important one unless you land that contract and make an impact in the genre world that you’re working in. You all know where I stand on that. I hate it.

When I’m brave. When I’m not awake at 3am wondering what the hell is coming next.

I made my break with the genre markets to stay sane, you understand. I did that because I couldn’t stay in step with any genre or subgenre. The market spoke. Got it. Heard, Chef. Only I didn’t quit. That said, I’m not wild about just working for nothing on my end and other dudes collecting their shavings of pennies off of it. I guess that makes me an impure artist, huh? I’ve internalized capitalism. Whoops.

But I'm also a weirdo who thinks that sure, as a creator you're entitled to some level of recognition in this new world. Yeah, you can't eat likes, and you certainly can get attached to 'em. You may become resentful in their absence. That said, likes are not nothing, at least when you're stuck in the wilderness. Yes, you can start bending things towards parasocial fame (or even infamy, which I've seen and that path never ever works long-term.) You aren't owed indifference. Nobody should have to face it on the regular. Even if that's the world we live in.

Particularly since we're in a world now where the folks who are putting out paying projects aren't all that interested in a having, ah, an actual point of view. And that's the only reason to even be making art. It is. That means it's gonna be political. Someone will call it out on those grounds. Get used to it. But yeah, the money is scared. Rightfully so, I suppose, what with comics looking at incoming tariffs on printing and raw materials. It'll be the same for printed books, too. They're all scared. Scared that they're finally going to have to start spending out of their bedrock money and we both know that's not gonna happen. They'll cut to the bone first. That or vaunted publishers of the past will create an AI of Ernest Hemingway to serve as your personal writing coach or some other mechanized hell of mirrors that sounds like the best idea ever if you’re absolutely bugfuck insane and disconnected from art or anything like it.

Which leaves making stuff to just about anyone else. For likely little recognition and less pay. Yeah, sorry. Particularly if you've any interest in doing things outside the lines. And the real funny thing is, those lines are all recent inventions. The best work was being done without thought to whether or not it was this genre or that. You think Tolkien was worried about keeping Lord of the Rings in High Fantasy? Yeah.

Yet if you want boosting, you better get in line and show devotion to the correct way of doing things. Which is, yeah, not actually doing the work.

I know. I've wandered around some. It's the times. I'm lucky to have enough focus to get much of anything done. Much less anything of substance. Like another novel. Or doing support for the short story collection which is coming over the horizon like an incoming ICBM. Bill's coming due. I've talked about it a fair bit. Now it's time to actually start working getting the book out there. Just like it's one thing to talk about that fun creative career and how you're so intensely in it. But you gotta get something out there. In the meantime, don't do a thing because someone tells you to do it or that it has to be this way or that. Or because it's the only way to stand up to what's happening. There isn't any one way. You've got a life to live. Better that you call the shots where you can.

And in case you missed it as I went through a round of final panic-tweaks and corrections, here's the cover for Fake Believe, ahead of the kickstarter announcement. Probably within the month, or likely the start of March. Seven new stories all in the familiar setting of Los Angeles in the eighties, just like the two previous Hazeland books. And when I say stories, the marketplace would say "novellas" so you're getting your money's worth. Yes, single-author anthologies are a bad idea. I'm well aware of it. It's the only way I know to do this, so I'm going ahead with it.

Until next time licking the third rail.