First, I’m supposed to tell you all that I now have an Instagram, which can be found here – I will also be setting up a linktree thingy (can you tell how bad I am at social media yet?) post-haste.
https://www.instagram.com/adambrinkwriting/
My spouse and I have been going to Arisia for approximately nine-tenths of forever. K’s been going much longer than I have, but I’m at nearly two decades myself. It’s only this last January that I had my own table in the dealer’s room, and it was a blast! I feel like I have enough books published now to take up my own six by two space, and as always the patrons of Arisia were lovely, thoughtful and generous, not only with their time but with their willingness to risk a self-published book. I very nearly sold out of The Stumplet and a great many people who’ve read London’s Calling needed more of London, Vann, Tavora and the others, and happily picked up their new copy of Secret Agent Vann. My hand hurt from signing books, which is a pretty remarkable feeling.
Arisia is taking a break for 2027 due to volunteer fatigue, which breaks my heart. Every year I look forward to Arisia more than almost anything else. To use modern slang for a moment, the “vibe” of the place is exceptional. They’re welcoming (provided you leave hate at the door, which I feel is a pretty low bar for most people to clear) and extremely supportive of my hearing loss. I threw my back out Friday afternoon bringing books down from my car and the staff and volunteers fell all over themselves to make sure I was comfortable and safe. I honestly couldn’t believe it. We live in a country that overwhelmingly suggests “soldiering on alone” and “what can I get for myself” to be guiding principles, but Arisia and its people aren’t buying the bullshit. It’s a community in every sense of the word, and I am grateful to be a small part of it.
I want to briefly mention how much fun I had at the midnight goblin faire, where people could exchange trinkets they’d brought for other trinkets. There were folks in costume, including a fantastic ent outfit done by my friend Sarah Morrison, and everyone was laughing and having a great time. Seeing the wide-eyed kiddos dragging their parents along by the hand was especially wonderful. They’ll remember the Night Market for the rest of their lives, I expect.
Because you’ve made it this far, I want to tell you a story.
A woman purchased The Stumplet from me on Friday night. She moved as some truly beautiful people do; with a bubble around her, almost folded up around herself for protection. She and I got to talking a bit when she was doing her rounds, checking out everything on offer. Somehow they passed by my spouse’s wire-wrapped jewelry, which is incredible work (check them out on Facebook here – you won’t be disappointed! – https://www.facebook.com/SilverOwlCreations/ ) but to my surprise they stopped at my little table. They said they had never read a self-published book and asked why I wasn’t traditionally published. I told them what I tell everyone. It’s largely so I have creative control over my work, so I can push and prod at boundaries, how I express myself. If you want to read something that’s gone through committee, been washed, sanded and cleaned up for consumer consumption, I highly recommend traditionally published novels. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that! But there’s a lot of pressure to stay away from the slightly less expensive paperbacks on some smiling author’s little table, because if you’re there, you’re clearly not good enough to be traditionally published, at least in the minds of the public.
For the moment I am a hobbyist author. I don’t quite yet have the wherewithal to really try and make a go of being a full-time author. I’m up against approximately one hundred fifty million books on Amazon, all self-published. I don’t have a following on Facebook or Youtube. I would like more people to read my stuff, because I think they’d get something out of it (especially The Stumplet, which is, after all, a book about death and what comes after) but I’m happy enough to talk with my readership at Arisia and Boskone, at the other tiny shows I go to sometimes. I love getting your emails and pings on Facebook. And, frankly, if I sell a book I want more than two and a half percent. Self-publishing allows for all that.
This woman listened to me give this thirty-second talk on self-published work. She ran a hand over the cover of the Stumplet, picked it up, read the back. She paid me twelve dollars for it (my going price for a new novel), thanked me quietly and moved on. Sometimes I have the sense that people buy my book just to support me in a small way; this was the impression I had here.
The next morning I was exhausted. Talking with people is one of my life’s great pleasures, but between the hearing loss and the stimulation I wasn’t at my best. It took me a moment to realize that the woman standing in front of my table, waiting for me to arrive was the same I spoke with Friday night. She was still beautiful, but she had been crying. She’d read the whole of the Stumplet that night, because I told her it was a book about death and what came after. Apparently her aunt, with whom she was very close, had just passed, and she was wandering through her life looking for a sign. I couldn’t hear everything she said, and anyway her words weren’t really for me. The ending of the Stumplet was a sign for her, I guess. She hugged me tight, tighter than I’ve ever been hugged in my life, and she cried and thanked me and left.
It makes me damn glad I wrote The Stumplet. I was working through a death in my own life when I sat down to write my summer novel. I was worried, at first, that it would be a dark and depressing piece; but Stumplet reached out through the pages to me, too, and in the end everything was good. Apparently it was good for at least one other person too.
Boskone was once again very generous to give me four hours at its Author’s Alley, a free table setup where newer authors can sit down and try to sell a few books. Boskone is many things but its attendees are rarely there to seriously shop. Still I ran into some of my favorite readers, especially Jane, who writes the very best reviews on Amazon, as well as a lovely woman whose name I still haven’t managed to catch but whose energy and enthusiasm threaten to set me afire whenever she greets me. I also got to sit with Maren, a new author and a lovely human being, whose new book Growing Home sounds amazing and is next on my reading list!
Also heard some homophobic / negative stuff about self-publishers from one old guy, alas! But for the most part Boskone is super welcoming and fun, though it gets pretty quiet after dinnertime. Just gives me more time to sit in the hot tub and soak.
So what’s next? My spouse got into Anime Boston (gulp) and I think I’ll have my books there, but we will see. We may try out selling eBooks via card-paper, which is apparently a thing. I certainly can’t haul in enough paperbacks to satisfy all one zillion congoers. I will also be at Readercon this year, come hell or high water.
Aside from that I’m writing two books at the moment. The first is in editing and, at last, a return to smut. Tentatively titled The HMS Goodswell, it involves homosexuality as a criminal offense in Britain during the French Revolutionary Wars. I figure there were gay men serving as loyal sailors for the Crown, and all those gay men had to wind up somewhere. It turns out they’re all on the Goodswell, a cutter whose adventures take it to a rebellious Dublin and involve Captain Thorn, First Mate Conrad and new recruit Bazel. It’s not all gay stuff, of course, because I know my readership craves variety, but certainly it’s the most hedonistic and fabulous work I’ve written yet. It may be revealed as a serial before it’s a book, so watch this space!
The second book is about a historian who travels through a magical door to 1685 and the Palace of Versailles, in pursuit of an ex-lover whose actions may have doomed her Earth. I don’t want to give too much away, but it’s historical in all the right places, though so far not very smutty. It’s definitely more complex than most of my work, and we’ll see if I can get it over the finish line.
After that comes, I think, The Ballads of Chicken Rob, a series of stories about Nu-England’s worst superheroes (go read the Stumplet if you don’t know who Chicken and Rob are) told in the style of American folk stories. And then maybe, finally, I will publish Letters to Sunshine. I have to ask someone for their permission and I’m afraid to, still.
I think that’s it for me my loves! I’ll keep you posted on Goodswell’s availability. Happy writing and happy living – and try to keep your chin up. There are good days yet to come.
-Adam Brink
