That's the Whole Deal

I find it funny that so many writers complain that publishers are only interested in money. If they were really interested in money, they would charge whatever they could get--and go after the most valuable writing they could find.

But the publishing industry is a strange attractor--and the folks there are likely literature fans who have guiltily compromised on their love--but not so much, unfortunately, that they actually believe or have faith in the market--as you might see in almost any other industry.

All I need is one person who understands that the job of the art business is essentially scaring the pants off people for large sums of money. Uber-lovingly of course. But Mozart scared f-f-ffolks. The Doors scared folks. Nirvana, Basquiat, van Gogh, Picasso, Pollack (ock?), Warhol. That's the whole deal. And with the complete assimilation and internalization of the radical chic, I can assure you that people now EXPECT to pay a premium for what's real.

It's not like I'm offering anything but the branding opportunity of a lifetime. Imagine being the go-to realtor on a newly discovered unlimited waterfront--in the middle of downtown Manhattan, with Paris, London and Tokyo as neighboring school districts. Seems like a slam dunk to me. The entire downside being that one book flops.

It's not like I'm going to build you a house there but you can live anywhere in the world--any WAY you'd like--just off your 3%. Two hour lunches being mandatory.

I guarantee it won't flop but I know you won't believe that. I know you can't feel it. I know I did my job well enough to scare even you. For what it's worth, we're at the point in history where you're the one to meet The Upsetters. You the gatekeepers. The so-called guardians of the unknown. The tastemakers and managers of love.

And all I need is one loose cannon. One pair of cahones--and it might come from a woman. A lot more women seem to have balls these days then men. So many of us having believed excessively the women's movement--that they didn't want us to "bother" them--that our advances were unwanted and the sign of degeneration.

But she's going to have to want the money. And believe that the economy--and our society--works best when that which is most valuable is rewarded the most lavishly.

I hope and pray I find this kindred wacko for love, this closet lover who has tried everything else and is ready to give desire, individuality, god, magnetism, and the market a chance--investigate the artist as responsible leader. Give up on marketing, teaching and preaching--the artist as society's mirror/victim.

I'd even consider someone as crass as that woman who wanted to do the OJ book--so relaxedly confident am I in my inability at this point to be corrupted to the point of art pimp.

Please, please, please consider the financial reward possible. Please look at it as a financial opportunity! I wish there were some real money-grubbers in the publishing industry!

They just might find that in confronting their greatest fears--and uncovering their greatest unspoken desires--they could do more to save the world than forty years of guilty struggle to "keep it real". So who's the real sell-out?

That's the whole deal.