February 27, 2009

Todd Keisling is a 26-year-old novelist from Corbin, Kentucky. He self-published his novel, A Life Transparent, and isn’t ashamed of it. Why should he be? The novel is a great read and the digital version has been downloaded more than 3,000 times purely through word-of-mouth.

Describing himself, Todd says, “I’m a bit too thin, I don’t shave as often as I should, sometimes I wear the same pair of jeans for several days because jeans are rugged and good like that, and I have a scar through my right eyebrow from an accident I had when I was a baby. I hate wearing ties. I love Nine Inch Nails. I think Stephen King was underrated in his early days but is now entirely overrated. My apartment is haunted. Everyone I know tells me I was born to be a writer but I didn’t figure this out until I was 16 years old.”

Todd has a degree in English from the University of Kentucky. His work has appeared in Limestone, Kaleidoscope, Suture, Contemplicity, 365tomorrows and Soundzine. He is married and has a stepson, and lives in Pennsylvania with his family.

At a time when genre fiction continues to hold a dubious position in the publishing industry and academy, it is refreshing to find a writer who can hold his own and defend what he loves most: books that tell good stories. In this interview, he talks about how he wrote and revised A Life Transparent, and his choice to self-publish instead of choosing a more traditional route, among other things.


`lovetodeviate: What is A Life Transparent? Can you tell me about Albert Sparrow’s ‘Comprehensive Study in Human Mediocrity’?

Todd Keisling: A Life Transparent is a few things. First, it’s my novel. Second, it’s a state of being explained in the novel. It’s what happens to you when you become overly saturated with mediocrity. You begin to experience something called the Flickering, the world before you lose its texture and color, and you start to have visions of strange, white creatures that will eat you if you let them. Finally, in Dr. Albert Sparrow’s terms, it’s one of three life dichotomies, with it falling into a transitional, liminal state between the other two.

Albert Sparrow’s book would be classified as a self-help book in which he takes an academic approach to the life dichotomies all the while explaining them to average folks like you and I. It’s written as a cautionary book which advises people to give up living their ordinary lives and to embrace one of more random exploits. It warns against the saturation of mediocrity and sameness, and documents the dangers of a sedentary lifestyle.


LTD: In your acknowledgements you say, “The whole thing began one long, boring day at work in the unlikeliest of places: the restroom. In fact, you could probably call this story a real pisser, as that’s how its origins came about.” Tell us a bit more about that and how the novel took off from there.

TK: That day was one of those days when you have a real epiphany that seems to change your entire perception of things. I worked as a clerk at a local law firm back then, in charge of making copies of case documents for trial. I was basically a copy jockey. The benefits were decent but the pay kind of sucked, and while there were a lot of really nice people there, there was also an air of snobbery. Some of those people looked down their noses at everyone, as if they were higher on the food chain because they drove cars that cost as much as houses. You know, people who live in a completely different world than 99% of the working class.

There were some days when I’d go to work, go to the copy room, start whatever jobs were waiting for me, go get something to drink, do the daily errands I had to do and then be off to lunch before anyone would say a word to me. I felt alone there. It was a cold, hostile work environment where you had to wear a mask and be expected to kiss these attorneys’ asses no matter how badly they treated you, and if you didn’t smile and say hello when they passed you by it could affect how much of a raise you received at your end-of-year evaluation. Yeah, really asinine stuff. Anyway, on one particularly nasty day, I happened to be using the restroom when a thought occurred to me: “I could disappear today and no one would notice.”

I finished my business, went back to the copy room, and scribbled it down in my notebook: “A Life Transparent – Man wakes up to realize he can see through himself. He’s not dead, not invisible. He just feels like he’s fading away, like there’s nothing left of him & so he’s slipping away into obscurity. <-- Maybe 2k, possibly less.” I set it aside and went back to work, but the idea continued to pick at me. I wrote a few more notes, pitched it to my friend Kelsey (who told me it was going to be “epic” ), and in a few days I had an introduction. A couple of weeks later I had the first chapter finished, which clocked in around 8k words, and I knew then that it would be something much greater than I originally thought.


LTD: How did you go about revising the novel?

TK: It went through several revisions. Whenever I finish a draft, I read it to my wife. The simple act of reading it aloud usually catches a lot of things as far as structure is concerned. Being the one to read a sentence goes a long way when you’re looking for awkward phrasing. If it doesn’t sound right, it probably needs to be changed. Then we went through it with a red pen. A few other folks helped out in this respect. I know we didn’t catch everything, but when you can’t afford to pay a professional editor, you’ll do what you can.

I know for certain there is an inconsistency with the type of gun Donovan uses at some point in the book. What can I say? I’m not a gun expert. I have to admit it was cool receiving an email from a reader who wanted to point that out. I know most authors would find that annoying, but to me it was an affirmation that someone read and cared enough to respond.

There were gaps of time between drafts. Some people have early copies of the book before the changes were made. Maybe they’ll be worth something some day.


LTD: Readers and critics have described A Life Transparent as “fast moving”, “ philosophical”, “cinematic” and “unforgettable”. What do you think it takes to write a successful novel? And do audience expectations shape the content and form of the work as you are writing?

TK: Whoa there, Aditi. You’re treading into opinion territory. This is the part of the interview where what I say can either make me seem super pretentious or super ignorant. I think it also goes without saying that, to all of you out there who may be reading this, what follows is naturally just my opinion. Any author who gets asked this question probably doesn’t have an answer. I know I don’t. Not really. Observe now, the author in his natural habitat, as he conjures something out of nothing:

“I think a successful novel needs a story that can reach people. There needs to be a connection. As a reader I want to a story that puts a character in an interesting situation, and I want to see if they can find a way out.

“A critic of mine said I always write about weird things that happen. I’ve always thought that funny. When I read, I do it to get away from real life for a couple of hours. I want to be taken somewhere else, away from my own problems. You could probably say the same thing about my reasons for writing, too. If I write about life as I know it, and not life as it could be, that’s not going to be interesting. It’s going to be boring.

“A novel has to intrigue me. It’s the story that’s going to drive a book. The writing will facilitate a connection between the reader and that story. How well something is written determines how well that story is told. On the other hand, I’ve read some really sloppy novels that tell great stories. One that comes to mind is Neil Gaiman’s most recent novel, The Graveyard Book. I don’t mean to pick on Mr. Gaiman – I’m as much of a fan as the next person – but that book was very sloppy. That doesn’t matter because he managed to tell a really good story. And look – he won a Newbery award for it.

“I guess it’s the same principal with Dan Brown or Stephenie Meyer or even Stephen King. They tell good stories, but their writing is lacking in some way or another. My work is the same way. I know my work isn’t top notch, but I didn’t write a book to be considered a master of the written word. I didn’t write a book to win awards. I wrote it to tell a story.”

Once again, all my opinion. That’s one entitlement I’ll take.

You had a second part to that question, didn’t you? Oh, yes you did. Do audience expectations shape the content and form of my work? To be simple: No. Not intentionally. I write for me. I write stories I’d want to read. It just happens to work out that other people want to read them, too.


LTD: You have an obvious respect and love for science and speculative fiction, but many others believe it to be “mere escapism”. Do you feel the need to defend the genre? And if you do, what is your defence?

TK: You’re right. I do respect science fiction. And I love speculative fiction. As for them being “mere escapism,” I have to ask, what fiction isn’t? Who doesn’t read a novel to get away from their lives for a few minutes or hours every day? I’ll exempt the kids in school who have to read for class. Let’s focus on the folks who read for enjoyment. Isn’t that the point of reading fiction? To read about a life we can’t live or experience something we’ll never get to do and, if only for a few moments, imagine what it would be like?

I had a professor in college who, on the first day of class, made it a point to denounce every genre of fiction. She said they weren’t “legitimate.” Instead we were told to focus on “the literary.” Obviously we didn’t see eye to eye, and we clashed a lot. I saw her tear amazing stories to shreds because they didn’t fit into her criteria of what makes “legitimate fiction.” That second round of stories saw a lot of the same, bland stuff: stories about people doing what they do every day. There was no point them. They were empty.

A friend of mine dropped out of that class because of the restrictions. “Since when,” she fumed, “isn’t science fiction considered legit?” And she had a point. Some of the great modern classics are sci-fi. Look at 1984, Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Flies, Brave New World, and Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I’m fairly certain there are some Heinlein fans out there who’d love to have a word with that professor.

The beauty of science fiction (or speculative fiction, for that matter) is that, for as much as it focuses on the future or the unknown, it always has bearing on the familiar and present. The subject is just a way of sending a message. Any book I just mentioned is a lot more than just a vision of the future. I’ve probably learned more from sci-fi than I have the so-called “literary” crap shovelled into bookstores at an alarming rate.

Escapism? Absolutely. Thankfully.

(On a side note – that professor of mine had a bestseller a couple of years ago. It was made into a movie for the Lifetime Network. Legitimate, indeed.)


LTD: A lot of science fiction poses metaphysical problems. In ALT, the problem seems to focus on man’s responsibility to find a purpose in a meaningless world and to pursue that self-designed purpose so as not to fall into a “liminal” state. How political is your intent here? Would you say the novel is an indictment of corporate America as a source and catalyst of mediocrity in society?

TK: Honestly, there was no political intent. There are no hidden messages about the state of politics, domestic or worldwide.

I agree it stands as an indictment of corporate America, but it’s probably even more of an indictment of our society’s willingness to be influenced by the wishes of the corporations who sign the checks. We know what we’re getting into when we agree to work for a person or company. It starts out good at first, and that paycheck every week or two certainly makes it worthwhile. But I’ve found, through my own work experiences, there is a point where the money is no longer worth it.

When thinking of going to your job makes you physically ill or when your weekend is ruined because you have Monday looming on the horizon – that’s when it’s time to walk away and find something else. But we don’t. I didn’t. I knew, six months into my job, that I hated it, but I stuck with it for another nine months. What kept me from looking for another job sooner? Money, for starters. Worse was the lie I’d made myself believe – that I was content. That I was happy. I mean, I had a roof over my head, I had food on the table and my bills were paid. What could possibly be wrong? I made myself believe that lie for over a year. Then I woke up and remembered what I always wanted to do, what my dreams used to be, and I started to think about ways I could achieve them. Quitting that job was one of them. The atmosphere, the people, the routine of it all was eating away at me, and I had to get out.

We, as a society, sacrifice a lot for the sake of employment. Our time, for starters. Sometimes our lives. And, sadly, we usually give up our dreams. It’s amazing how many people will say “I always wanted to be . . .” or “I always wanted to do . . .”And when asked why, they respond, “I started working.” If there’s any lesson I want people to take away from the book, it’s that they don’t have to give up what they want to do, nor should they. They should find what makes them happy and then do it. Too many people give up their passions and dreams for a pay check and it doesn’t have to be that way. Corporate America may facilitate the mediocrity, but they’re not forcing people to swallow it. People show up ready to eat.


LTD: Let’s talk about writers. Do writers succumb to liminality? What is the cure, if they do?

TK: “Liminality” isn’t really a bad thing. It’s simply a state of transition, of being between two points. It’s like standing in a doorway, lucid dreaming or, for the sake of referencing pop culture, the films Donnie Darko or Jacob’s Ladder.

A liminal space is usually a point where certain things are relaxed. Lines blur. A person could be experiencing a transition of any kind. One thing that comes to mind that’s a bit more concrete that everyone could relate to is adolescence. It’s a liminal state between childhood and adulthood. It’s a great transition in which we learn a lot about ourselves and grow.

Maybe I gave liminality it a negative connotation in the novel. If so, it wasn’t my intention. “A life transparent” as defined by Dr. Sparrow and, later, Aleister Dullington, is merely a period of transition between the Spectrum and Monochrome. One can succumb to a life transparent, but liminality is a flexible term that can be applied to anything, really. The fact that I’m between starting and finishing this interview puts me in a liminal state.

I wouldn’t say there’s a “cure,” really, to liminality as it’s not really an ailment. A life transparent, on the other hand . . . well, one way to cure it is to remove the banality from your life and stop being so damn boring. Break your routine, do something you normally wouldn’t do, and don’t settle for something less than what you wanted in the first place.


LTD: Why did you choose to self-publish? Do you have any advice for writers who want to go down this path?

TK: I knew I’d be asked this. I hear this one a lot from other writers. I was warned away from it by a fellow author. Why did I self-publish? A lot of reasons.

I self-published a collection of short stories in 2005. It was for the purpose of getting exposure and putting my work out there. It was a very limited run (only 100 copies) and it taught me a lot about what goes into making a book. When I wrote ALT, I initially wanted to try and raise some extra money for my wedding. That goal slowly changed over time, and it became a point of building readership.

When I realized it was going to be ridiculously difficult trying to get people to buy books, I decided to let the work speak for itself. I followed Cory Doctorow’s lead and gave the book away in digital form. A Life Transparent is available under a Creative Commons license right now, absolutely free. When I started, I set a goal of selling 1,000 copies. I barely made a tenth of those sales. But the digital version, as of January of this year, has had over 3k downloads and is climbing every day. That’s entirely by word of mouth. For the folks out there who may be reading this and who want to be authors, think about that for a second. Three thousand people taking the time to read your work. Not people you know, not people in your family, but actual strangers with no ties or obligations to you – reading your work. Crazy, isn’t it? I realized then that exposure was worth more than any amount in royalties.

So, you’re probably thinking why I’ve not answered the question. In a way, I already have. Let’s say you take the more traditional route of publishing – you write your book, you edit the hell out of it, you find a few agents and query them. After a few years of rejections, you finally get one who bites and decides to represent you. Then you spend another year waiting for publishers to take the bait. Finally one decides to buy the printing rights. Suddenly you’ve got a five-figure advance (or, if you’re very lucky, six-figures) and a publishing deal. You’ve made it, right? Not so fast. Another year goes by before your publication date. Finally the book goes on sale. Since you’re a first-timer, the publisher doesn’t invest a lot of money into the promotion. That’s all on you now. It’s up to you to organize the events, the readings and the signings. It’s up to you to get the word out. There’s just one problem: you’re starting from the bottom. No one outside your circle of friends and your family knows who you are. You try your best, though, but that’s not enough. Your sales are lacking. You don’t earn back enough to cover the cost of printing the book. Your publisher drops you because you weren’t a worthwhile investment. Now look where you are. Still with me? That’s right, kids – you’re back where you started.

Hate to say it, but the publishing industry is just that – an industry. They’re in it to make money. If you sell millions of copies, they’ll keep printing your work because you’re a sure thing. Otherwise, you’re lucky to get that second contract. Most first-timers don’t become second-timers. That’s a fact.

Why self-publish? Because it gives you an opportunity to get your feet wet. It’s like boot camp. It will take a flabby, fledgling writer and turn him or her into a tough-as-nails author who’s ready to take on… in-depth questions from inquisitive interviewers.

It gives you a chance to do your homework, to see how things really work, to comprehend what goes into making a book. It puts you right there in the middle of it all, and you have absolute control over every step of the process. I won’t lie to you – it’s a lot of work. It’s a hell of a lot of work. But it’ll be worth it.

I self-published to build my name and to build awareness of my work. I did it to put my stuff out there and get noticed by the folks who matter: the readers. With enough readers, agents and publishers will follow. Ask Will Clark or Ariel Gore or Christopher Paolini or Scott Sigler. They all self-published, and now have movie deals, huge advances and bestsellers.

Does everyone make it? No, they don’t. Have I made it? Hell no. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up, and neither should you. My advice is this: don’t approach self-publishing as a means to make money. I made that mistake at first, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. It took me two years to figure out what self-publishing is really good for. Also, and probably more importantly, don’t quit your day job. Self-publishing will cost you money, not make you money. It’s a matter of asking yourself an important question: how much is it worth to you? Do you find it worthwhile to make this investment now? If you believe enough in your work, you already know the answer to this.

“But Todd,” rant the nay-sayers, “self-publishing is just a way of circumventing the system. You’re breaking the rules.” And I say, so what? I personally think that system is slightly broken. That doesn’t mean I fault anyone who wants to take the more traditional route. By all means, go right ahead. I wish you the very best. I was always told to submit, submit, submit, even in the face of rejection, and that’s great advice. But then I’ve also heard contradictory advice – that, after a lot of rejections, you should “face the music,” accept that whatever you’ve written is shit, and move on to something else. To that, I have to ask why? Why abandon your work if you believe in it? So what if no one in the industry does. o what if they don’t think it will make the precious green and fill their bank accounts just a bit more. So what if they don’t think there’s a proper niche for your sci-fi romance set in the middle ages? Go out there and find that niche yourself.

I know it sounds like I’m ranting against agents but I’m not. If an agent offered to represent me tomorrow, I’d take the chance in a heartbeat. Hell, I submitted ALT to an indie publisher last month with hope that they’d pick it up. I just disagree that the “traditional” route is the only game in town. I’ve read some amazing work by fellow writers that agents or publishers wouldn’t touch, and that’s such a shame because, if given the chance, it would do really well.

Self-publishing should be required. It’ll teach you a lot about how the book industry really works. It’ll also help you decide if this writing thing is what you really want to do with your life.


LTD: Who would you say are your greatest influencers?

TK: Let’s see. In no particular order: Chuck Palahniuk, the early work of Stephen King (up to the mid-90s), Joe Hill, Albert Camus, Ray Bradbury, Neil Gaiman, Clive Barker, Dean Koontz, Chip Kidd, Richard Matheson, Haruki Murakami, Cory Doctorow, George Orwell, Ayn Rand, Bret Easton Ellis, J.D. Salinger, Cormac McCarthy, Alan Moore, Warren Ellis, Ariel Gore, Geoffrey Chaucer, Trent Reznor . . .

This could take a while. I’ll stop there.


LTD: What are your plans for the future? Can we expect more self-published novels?

TK: Well, I mentioned a couple of questions ago that I’d submitted ALT to an indie publisher last month. I don’t expect to hear from them for a few months. In the meantime I’m working on a sequel to ALT, titled The Liminal Man, and it’s cruising right along in ways I never expected it would.

If that publisher decides to take a chance on ALT, you’ll probably be waiting a while before the sequel sees the light of day. And if they don’t, then yes, I’ll most likely self-publish the next book. You can follow its progress at my website, www.toddkeisling.com.



Links

Get yourself a copy of A Life Transparent here.
Read my review of A Life Transparent here.


Praise for A Life Transparent

“A Life Transparent is one part horror, one part speculation, and all compelling. It attaches a mythology of consequence to spontaneity and boredom, and throws the reader in with Mr. Candle’s struggle to become interesting without allowing all he loves to be destroyed [...] It lacks the polish associated with a career in full swing, but gives us a glimpse into what will soon be just that. Keisling is a dedicated, insatiable writer: A Life Transparent is the preface to a formidable body of work.” – Jon August McRae, author of Io: First Book of Lost and Found Souls

“ Powerfully cinematic, Keisling’s A Life Transparent evokes a seldom-explored anxiety of contemporary living in spectacular fashion. You will find the violent upheaval of Donovan Candle’s banal existence riveting.” – James Midgley, Mimesis

“Fast moving, well written - an excellent read. Do yourself a favor and order a copy. You’ll be glad you did, and you’ll be supporting an up and coming author in the process.” – Stephen R Smith, 365tomorrows