Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Highlights from Release Day
Yesterday was release day for The Year of the Storm. It was also a day full of links and excitement surrounding the book. Here are the highlights:
Interview at Litreactor
http://litreactor.com/interviews/10-questions-with-john-mantooth
-This is my favorite because I really respect Keith Rawson as a reviewer and this is what he says about The Year of the Storm in his introduction:
Debut novels are a dime a dozen; I hate to say it, but it’s a cold hard fact. With the sheer number of books being produced by the big 5, small presses, micro presses, and no presses on a daily basis, it’s near impossible for a first time storyteller to gain any sort of attention for a project they’ve slaved over their entire lives, which is a shame. But it is what it is, and I’m more than guilty of passing over a debut author because one of my standard bearers has a new novel coming out the same day.
But there are debuts which immediately grab my attention and demand to be read, and The Year of the Stormby John Mantooth is the very definition of “attention grabber.” It is a flat out page turner. It is a rare thriller which combines elements of rural noir, supernatural horror, and is an intense dual coming of age story that is as spellbinding as anything from horror masters such as Stephen King and Laird Barron.
The Year of the Storm is without question my debut novel of 2013, and one which I hope you’ll be willing to take a chance on.
Guest blog at SFsignal
http://www.sfsignal.com/archives/2013/06/guest-post-john-mantooth-on-fitting-a-square-book-in-the-round-hole-of-genre/
Interview at My Bookish Ways
http://www.mybookishways.com/2013/06/interview-john-mantooth-author-of-the-year-of-the-storm.html
Interview at The Qwillery
http://qwillery.blogspot.com/2013/06/interview-with-john-mantooth-author-of.html
And at my buddy Kurt's blog
http://kurtdinan.wordpress.com/2013/06/05/a-conversation-with-john-mantooth/
Friday, May 31, 2013
Very Random Thoughts Four Days Before The Release of My Novel
On Tuesday, my first novel hits the shelves. It's something I've dreamed about for a very long time, certainly since high school, but most likely even before that. How does it feel? It feels good, of course. It feels like I've accomplished something. It feels like the end of a journey, but also the beginning. I'm anxious, but it's the kind of anxiety that is a privilege, so I'll savor it rather than complain about it. Mostly, I just want the day to come already.
I'm also feeling nostalgic. Reflective is the best way to put it, I suppose. I'm thinking about my old house, the little room with the IBM computer, typing away on that fantasy novel that nobody bought (hell, I couldn't even get an agent to read the thing). I'm remembering waiting in front of the IBM for an email to pop up that would tell me I had finally made a pro sale. When it finally did, I felt a momentary twinge of pleasure and got back to work, wondering what it would feel like to sell a novel one day. I imagined myself running around the house, screaming my head off. I imagined a release of every tension I'd ever pent up, my eureka moment, my salvation from a world that was increasingly boring and scary to me. When we moved to the new house, I started selling more short fiction. I felt momentum building, even while I saw so many holes in my ability, my stories, my craft. I sold a story to Ellen Datlow for her Haunted Legends anthology, and this was the closest I ever came to my eureka moment. I ran to the door and hollered for my wife. She came running because she thought I'd been injured. I was barely able to get the words out, to tell her that I'd sold a story to the anthology that everybody wanted to be in. This was a turning point. If I could write a short story that Ellen Datlow wanted, I could write a novel that one of the big six wanted. It was probably a little irrational, but that's how I saw it at the time.
When I finally did sell the novel, it wasn't like I expected it to be. There was no single moment when everything changed, but rather little ones that allowed me to gradually get used to the idea my book was going to be published. First there was the call from my agent. An editor wanted to talk on the phone. Does that mean she wants to buy the book? I asked. Maybe. Maybe not, she said. Then I was asked to rewrite and resubmit. I did. An email came. The editor was pleased with the changes. Does that mean she wants to buy the book? I texted my agent. Maybe. Maybe not, she texted back. When it was finally official, I was ecstatic, but I didn't run all over the house screaming my head off. Instead, I sat in a chair in my front yard (this was almost exactly a year ago) and soaked it all in. I was thankful. I was excited. But I also wanted more. I'd heard about this sort of thing before. Wanting more, never being satisfied. I believe it was John Rector who first told me that there's always another novel to write, always another goal, and that I should just enjoy the ride of the first one because it would never happen again. He was right, even though I think I've worried far too much over the course of the year to actually make a case that I've been "enjoying the ride." But it's not to late to start is it?
Four more days. I'm going to enjoy all of them.
After that I'm going to get that next novel finished.
I'm also feeling nostalgic. Reflective is the best way to put it, I suppose. I'm thinking about my old house, the little room with the IBM computer, typing away on that fantasy novel that nobody bought (hell, I couldn't even get an agent to read the thing). I'm remembering waiting in front of the IBM for an email to pop up that would tell me I had finally made a pro sale. When it finally did, I felt a momentary twinge of pleasure and got back to work, wondering what it would feel like to sell a novel one day. I imagined myself running around the house, screaming my head off. I imagined a release of every tension I'd ever pent up, my eureka moment, my salvation from a world that was increasingly boring and scary to me. When we moved to the new house, I started selling more short fiction. I felt momentum building, even while I saw so many holes in my ability, my stories, my craft. I sold a story to Ellen Datlow for her Haunted Legends anthology, and this was the closest I ever came to my eureka moment. I ran to the door and hollered for my wife. She came running because she thought I'd been injured. I was barely able to get the words out, to tell her that I'd sold a story to the anthology that everybody wanted to be in. This was a turning point. If I could write a short story that Ellen Datlow wanted, I could write a novel that one of the big six wanted. It was probably a little irrational, but that's how I saw it at the time.
When I finally did sell the novel, it wasn't like I expected it to be. There was no single moment when everything changed, but rather little ones that allowed me to gradually get used to the idea my book was going to be published. First there was the call from my agent. An editor wanted to talk on the phone. Does that mean she wants to buy the book? I asked. Maybe. Maybe not, she said. Then I was asked to rewrite and resubmit. I did. An email came. The editor was pleased with the changes. Does that mean she wants to buy the book? I texted my agent. Maybe. Maybe not, she texted back. When it was finally official, I was ecstatic, but I didn't run all over the house screaming my head off. Instead, I sat in a chair in my front yard (this was almost exactly a year ago) and soaked it all in. I was thankful. I was excited. But I also wanted more. I'd heard about this sort of thing before. Wanting more, never being satisfied. I believe it was John Rector who first told me that there's always another novel to write, always another goal, and that I should just enjoy the ride of the first one because it would never happen again. He was right, even though I think I've worried far too much over the course of the year to actually make a case that I've been "enjoying the ride." But it's not to late to start is it?
Four more days. I'm going to enjoy all of them.
After that I'm going to get that next novel finished.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Four Months
In four months, The Year of the Storm comes out from
Penguin/ Berkley. Though it's
still a ways away, I've got a few updates to report. First, I can finally reveal the cover...
I'm extremely pleased with it. What do you think?
Speaking of extremely pleased, I also have received the
first two blurbs for the book.
John Rector has been a friend since I began writing back in
2002 when we were both publishing in little for the love magazines. He has since gone on to be a
bestselling author, and I've, well, I'm trying. Heh. Anyway, he was kind enough to read TYOTS for me and he
offered this amazing blurb:
"Powerful, dark, and heartfelt. The Year of the Storm
is a wonderful coming of age novel by a very talented new writer. An astounding
debut."
- John Rector Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author of
Already Gone, The Grove, and The Cold Kiss.
Pretty cool, huh?
The second blurb comes from Frank Bill. If you're not familiar with Bill, you
will be. He's already published a
universally well-regarded collection called Crimes in Southern Indiana, and
he's got an awesome looking novel due out this spring from FSG called
Donnybrook. Here's what he had to
say about TYOTS:
“A dark and mysterious southern-gothic story with hints of
Tom Franklin’s Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter and Stephen King’s novella The
Body, John Mantooth’s voice is masculine and powerful, flavoring the pages with
the Alabama wilderness, the turmoil of family and how all of these elements
work to shape and nurture teenage boys into men.”
-Frank Bill,
author of Crimes in Southern Indiana and Donnybrook
I've got to say, that one feels really good as I am a huge
fan of The Body and Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter. Not sure my book's in the class of those two, but I've never
been one not to take a compliment.
If any of this looks interesting to you, I do hope you'll
consider preordering...
Labels:
frank bill,
John Rector,
the year of the storm
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