On the Importance of Giving Until It Hurts-So-Good

Today I sent an excerpt of my book Black Rock to Jack Rabbit Speaks, which could be called the public relations arm of the Burning Man festival.  Since completing the manuscript a few months ago, I've been struggling with the question of how to go about publishing it.  It isn't an easy text, as far as publishing goes: it's an odd length (140 pages), the formatting is quite specific, and some of the text is in color.  The work itself is hybrid and non-linear, which is to say it is difficult to classify and doesn't take the form of a traditional novel.  Beyond this, the manuscript asks its reader to burn it after reading it.

This last consideration brings up a few issues.  First, any printing must be done in a burnable way, which would seem to preclude most hardback publishing, and also would suggest that the type of paper, ink, and binding should be recycled and safely burnable (non-toxic, acid-free, and so forth).  Second, the publisher would have to be willing to print materials which are intended to be destroyed.  Third, this emphasis on the book's physicality eliminates an entire publishing market, namely e-books (Kindle and the like).  Finally, the very concept of book burning is associated with censorship, fascism, and various other forms of religious and governmental intolerance.  Though this last concern is misplaced in this case (as elaborated in my essay, "In Defense of Book Burning: Literature as Temporary Art"), it could still cause consternation at first glance.

My publishing efforts thus far have been targeted in traditional ways.  I've sent letters and samples to various agents and literary presses which strike me as potentially open to a text like this.  I've spoken to my various (fairly limited) contacts in the literary world in search of leads.  These avenues have thus far turned up dry, and though I've only been at it a short time, it's hard not to feel discouraged.  I've received glowing feedback on Black Rock from people whose opinions I respect, but this only goes so far when my goal is publication -- publishers aren't likely to be interested if I tell them, "My friends like it!"  So... what to do?  Do I keep plugging away in the standard manner, and hope that I come across the right person, someone at a press or literary agency who is receptive to my work, even if it takes many months or even years to make that connection?  Or is there another way?

My answer may have come on Saturday night.  Many of the answers to major questions in my life come late on Saturday nights, though those answers often turn out to be worthless by Sunday.  This feels different though.  On Saturday I attended an equinox party hosted by Burners Without Borders Seattle, a marvelous organization which raises money to help impoverished people throughout the world, notably those left destitute and homeless by the recent earthquake in Haiti.   I volunteered for the event, and spent much of the day helping set up the space, which was in an old metalworking shop in northern Seattle.  I met many wonderful people through this experience, and had a great sense of satisfaction in contributing to something positive.  We finished the setup by late afternoon, and I went home to nap, eat, and shower, before returning for the actual party that night.

The event itself was magical: great music, hundreds of people in funky costumes, and that unique kind of positive creative vibe that can only be found at burner events.  I had a great time, and would have been completely satisfied with the night if that's all there was to it.  But, in the wee hours of the morning, I got wrapped up in a long conversation with a fascinating and beautiful woman, and eventually the conversation turned to Black Rock and my attempts to publish it.  I also told her that I'd attended Burning Man this year and talked to many individual people about my project.  She listened to my situation for a while with a confused look on her face and eventually said, "Why haven't you sent it to Jack Rabbit Speaks?"  I was stunned.  I had always thought of JRS as a newsletter, a source to turn to for information as Burning Man approaches each year, not as a place to turn to for publishing help.  I explained this, and she shook her head.

"This is exactly the kind of thing they do," she said.  She explained that JRS is always helping people with their BM-related projects, whether artistic or otherwise.  Which made perfect sense, once I thought about it for half a second.  The thought simply hadn't occurred to me, and I don't know why.  She implored me to write them right away, to present the project to them and ask them to point me in the right direction.  "Do it tomorrow," she said.  "They're about to shut down for a while, maybe this week."  This also makes sense -- Burning Man was almost a month ago now (that long ago?  Only that long?), and there's bound to be some downtime before preparations begin for next year's event.  She went on to tell me exactly what to send them, how to format it, and more.  I was blown away, and deeply thankful to her.  I did as she instructed, and this morning sent JRS an email presenting my situation.  I feel confident that they'll respond in a helpful way.

I can't help but think that this connection happened because it was meant to.  I mean that in the sense that I truly believe that Black Rock is meant to find a publishing home, but also, in a way, because of my contribution to the Burners Without Borders event.  I've always done my best to contribute in my own way to the Burning Man community, though I must admit that over the years that contribution has been less than it could have been.  Helping BWB, and by extension their charity work, was the kind of giving-back that I need to do more of.  Burning Man has always thrived on the concept of giving: of time, energy, creativity, money, food, whatever it may be.  We do this without the expectation of getting anything in return, and yet the more we give, the more we seem to receive.  I don't think it's a 1-to-1 thing.  And yet, I truly feel that this new avenue for my manuscript opened because I was willing to give of myself.  Which is a powerful thing with all kinds of implications for myself and the world, how we approach our daily lives, how we interact with one another.  And, in the end, Black Rock, as an artistic project, is meant as a gift to the world.  I can only hope that this is a gift which is someday received in the spirit intended.  Love and light, community and beauty, hope and magic, art and creation.  Namaste has deeper meaning every day.