Necessary But Pure - More on Peter Sotos

I have been going through a Peter Sotos buying spree, the highlight of which was finding a used copy of Total Abuse at a near eighty dollar price.  Cheap.  Upon telling a friend about this find, he asked, “Why do you even read that stuff?  It’s beyond sick.”

Yeah.  It is.  As the back copy of Total Abuse reads, “Peter Sotos is the world’s foremost practitioner of verbal brutality.”  That is an understatement.

The things Sotos writes about aren’t pretty, and he doesn’t handle them with kid gloves (no pun intended).  Murder, rape, pedophilia, pornography, Nazis, rough trade, self-loathing, racism and the like shouldn’t be the subjects of casual reads.  Sotos, more than any other writer, rubs your face in the filth and makes sure you taste it.  It is uncomfortable, to say the least.  Reading his work is obviously not for the faint of heart, and nor is it for those who are easily offended.  I read it because I find it inspirational, but not in the way of a budding serial killer or cowardly rapist.  I find it inspirational as a writer.

When I write something, I hope to move the readers in some way.  I want to horrify them, make them laugh or cry … any reaction other than one of utter boredom.  Sotos does that at the most base and instinctually gut-wrenching level.  Few authors (Jack Ketchum, Hubert Selby Jr., and James Ellroy come to mind) can even come close to what he has achieved.  (That’s why used copies of his books command such high prices.)  If my work can cause even a fraction of that sort of reaction, then I am satisfied.  That’s why I read him.  I want the reaction.  I want the inspiration.  I study the way the words flow and the images he conjures with their use and repetition upon the page (Ellroy, again, does something similar). 

If all of that sounds slightly magical, that’s because it is.  Reading is a magical experience.  It is unlike any other artistic medium.  It engages its audience in ways that few arts can.  The reader is just as much a part of the art as the writer, too, and anyone who is serious about writing understands what a delicate dance the two are engaged in during that process.  A lot has been written about this tango, but what needs to be remembered is that writing is also magical.  In fact, it is the main ingredient in the spell because without it there would be nothing to experience.  Without the writer, the reader wouldn’t exist, and that doesn’t go both ways.

Sotos, whether or not he would admit it, has an understanding of that magic and he uses it to cause the worst reactions in his readers.  He knows how the words need to flow on the page (any writer of worth needs to understand that sentences, like music, must fit into the greater composition just so or run the risk of becoming disruptive).  He knows what patterns to utilize.  He gives just enough of himself that when the readers fill in the “blanks” they are touched in the vilest of ways.  He forces his readers to create images of unspeakable crimes, and then they become complicit in them.  They aren’t just merely reading about these acts.  They are in the room smelling the smells and hearing the cries.  Whether he puts you in the mindset of predator or prey, the end result is that you suffer.  It is an amazing feat to pull off, and it is dangerous, but when it works it is sublime.

My friend was right.  It is sick stuff.  Beyond sick, as he said.  Shouldn’t it be?  Shouldn’t writing about such dark subjects be sick and disturbing?  Sure, some readers will want to stay away from it for whatever reason (and they should if they have any doubts about their ability to handle it), but for the daring, for those who appreciate the magic, the experience is unlike anything you’ll ever read, and why wouldn’t you want to embrace that?

I understand Sotos isn’t for everyone.  In fact, there are times I question whether or not he is even for me, but I respect him, and if I respect an artist, I engage in his or her work.  It’s not always a pleasant job, but it beats reading the latest James Patterson novel, where everything is safe and you know the story before you read it.  Patterson’s yarns are like a fast food breakfast for the reader’s soul.  Sotos, however is not so easy to digest.  It takes an investment of time and intellect that many readers will eventually regret, scarred and scared by what they have experienced.  I would have it no other way.

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The Joys of Not Getting Published

I've finished my latest draft of what I always call "the cannibal manuscript." I sent it out before and the publisher I sent it to rejected it because the ending was too downbeat. I would argue that it's realistic, but I don't think any publisher wants to hear that line of reasoning.

After getting that feedback I did something I never did before -- I let people read it. Friends from all different backgrounds with all different tastes. I wanted different opinions. I wanted honesty and brutal comments. Most of what I got back, though, was positive and fit with what I was trying to do with it.

So another rewrite was in order, and I did it. Added some stuff. Took out a tiny bit. Polished it. Now I wonder what will happen when I send it out again. Rejection is a given, but what will the reason be? Will I find a publisher? Will I self-publish? Should I?

I've wanted to be a writer since I read The Shining. I'm proud of my achievements. Not many people can say they outsold John Lithgow, caused a web site to get more hate mail then it had ever previously received, or have their daughter walk through a bookstore and say, "There's my dad's book." I've caused a major moral majority group to forgo a planned speech and instead attack an editorial I wrote. That attack lasted an hour. I've caused people to leave the room during a public reading of my fiction. I've done less than some writers, more than others. This manuscript, however, is one I want out there.

I feel good about this (but I always do). I feel like it could change things. All it needs is a chance. All it needs is a publisher to believe in it. All it needs is one person to give the nod, and I think I will be set. I won't be rich, but it's not about that. It's about being able to make a living off something only I can do. I'm the only one who can write my stories, tell my tales. Me. That's it.

When people say I should relax and take it easy, not work so much, it's obvious they don't get it. If I don't write these things, they don't get done. There is nobody there to pick up my slack. Hell, there can be no slack.

I want this one to get published. I want it to bother people. I want movie options. I want interviews in magazines and newspapers (it was cool to get interviewed by my old hometown paper during my lunch hour when my poker book came out).

I want it.

I will get it.

Or die trying.

Why I Write

The easy answer, the only answer, is to stay sane. Writing has always been my anchor to sanity. Fiction writing, really. In my fiction I can act out my fantasies, see how certain situations could play out if things went a bit differently, take out my stress on characters I don't like. In my fiction writing I can take destroy and create and have no real life consequences. As to be expected, my fiction tends to be of a darker nature, and I fear that is why much of it doesn't get published.

Writing non-fiction helps me make money and hone my craft, but it doesn't satisfy the same way fiction does. Non-fiction is masturbation. Fiction is the orgy. When I don't write fiction, I start to get a little strange. I haven't been writing much of it lately do to time constraints, work, personal life, etc.. I have to devote more time to it, though, because it's the only way out of my situation, and that makes me think I may have to even further my isolation. I was planning on going out tonight and hanging with friends, video games, etc.. My daughter isn't with me tonight (when she's with me all my time is devoted to her and I refuse to change that), so I thought it would be nice to get out. Now I think it would be nicer to isolate, get the cannibal manuscript done, and get it out there.

Anyone who writes for the same reasons understands this. Anyone who works as a writer knows you have to devote time to it. If I want to achieve fiction success, enough so that I don't have to work this horrid job anymore, I need to take hours every day and get shit done. As it stands now, I used to just write in the morning and night. Then it became just the morning. Then it was when I had time. Lately I've been doing more at night and it feels good. It gets my mind off my mind, and I feel like I'm making a difference in my life. Music is playing. TV is off. Ideas are flowing. And I don't feel like killing everyone I meet.

I haven't decided how to pull off this balancing act yet. Don't know if I'm able to, quite frankly. But I want this manuscript published. I want a book deal (would not turn down a movie option, either). I want to give my notice, buy a place where I can't see any other houses around me. I want a ten foot high wall, and groceries delivered. In other words, I want this book published so I can get the hell away from people and crank out another one.

I have a variety of manuscripts in various stages. I have not had much luck in placing them, and that is discouraging. I'll leave some sit a year or two before going back to them and tweaking them more. (I totally scrapped one that was finished after about eight years of not being able to place it and getting so tired of reading it that I realized I don't ever want it published.)

I may or may not go out tonight. If I do, I can be back early enough to get some writing done, some quality writing, and that won't be a bad thing. I would like to see my friends and perhaps socialize a bit, but maybe not.

For my sanity ...