eight cuts: This Is Not a Publishing House

Dan Holloway is a proud member of Year Zero Writers, and curator of eight cuts gallery. A blogger, tweeter, reviewer and journalist, he is never happier than in front of the camera or with a microphone in his hand. Dan loves fine wine and dirty music, and if you don’t find him on twitter or reading poetry at anyone who wants to listen and many who don’t, you’ll probably find him at a Dead Weather gig. Dan is the author of Songs from the Other Side of the Wall and (life:) razorblades included.

What is eight cuts?
eight cuts gallery is a real and virtual space to give the public somewhere to encounter the most exceptional writng that would otherwise only exist underground, on corners of the net, or under the counter at zine fairs. It is a space that refuses to recognise any restrictions on literature in terms of genre, of commercialty, of art form, or of format (one of the things I'm working on is a series of cut-out boxes with text pasted to the back of them). There are three parts to eight cuts gallery. There's the gallery itself, which will host real-life and online exhibitions, the first of which, Into the Desert is currently looking for submissions. There's (which I really want to promote) the Chris Al-Aswad Prize for outstanding contribution to breaking down barriers in the arts, which, through the kindness of his family, is named in memory of the brilliant, selfless young man behind Escape Into Life, and for whcih the prize consists of a collaction of small amounts of practical help from those in the arts for the recipient, from web hosting to blog spots, and including an interview with Jane Friedman.

Then, of course, there's eight cuts gallery press, which exists to bring out book versions of extraordinary fiction that would otherwise be self-published. The primary reason for wanting to bring out book versions through an imprint is to enable amazing self-published books to sidestep the ridiculous embargo on self-published works put in place by major literary prizes.

Where did the name come from?
I have no idea where eight cuts gallery came from. I think the gallery bit is there because it sounds a little like Six Gallery, and I would very very much like some of that Ginsberg fairy dust to settle on us. As for eight cuts, I honestly don't know. I spent a couple of months trying to retrofit something really profound on it but couldn't think of anything. At all.

How did it all come about?
It very much grew out of Year Zero. Year Zero has never been a press, and wouldn't work as one - for all we represent one end of the spectrum, we're still a very broad church, and where we are united is in our approach and beliefs, and not necessarily our material. eight cuts gallery press takes one very narrow part of that and focuses on it for all it's worth.

Starting a press has been brewing since I wrote an article last November in which I asked where the Jay Jopling and Nick Serota of the literary world were? Where are the impresarios and the curatorts who are championing the nique and the extraordinary. I felt that literature, to get it into the public's psyche the way it should be, needed the equivalent of Freeze, or Sensation, or The Turner Prize. Halfway through 2010 I could still see no one standing up to give it the hoopla so I thought why not. Those roots in the ethos of Young British Art are the reason for the gallery part of the name (that and the hope that it might evoke the Beats and Six Gallery).

Personally it comes at a time when my writing has become much less important to me than promoting other writers. I want my next - and final - novel to be put out through the press. My last novel, Songs from the Other Side of the Wall isn't good enough. But most of all I want to shout about the writers out there who are amazing. I want a place that's not about money or commercialism or anything except being utterly exceptional - but in the kind of weird way I like.

Finally, I've been performing live shows with Year Zero now for 6 months, and I love it so much, and am struck by the way live fiction (not just poetry) is taking off, that I wanted to do something that would build the live shows into its core.

You describe the venture as an alternative press - what’s that?
We're not really like any mainstream presses in how we work. First, I seek out work that would be otherwise difficult to place. The first two books, Oli Johns' Charcoal and Cody James' The Dead Beat are 25-30,000 words, and impossible to place genre-wise (existential and humorous musings on the suicide in 2009 of the model Daul Kim in Oli's case; a rose-tinted tale of San Fancisco meth addicts waiting for comet Hale-Bopp to come in the vain hope it may brighten up their lives, just for a moment, in Cody's). Second, I won't be making a penny from the books we publish - the authors keep everything. Third, I will actively help our authors to produce their books in other formats and through other outlets. Fourth, there will be no ISBNs, and no Amazon - sales will be through our website, our authors' websites, through suitable real-life outlets, and at our live shows. We won't deal with the big players - we will do exclusive deals with great independent partner stores. Fifth, our marketing model is much more like an art gallery - we are out to create live shows and events, and these will be the places where our books do most of their business. And there'll be mischief, and hoopla, and fun. There's too much humour and not enough fun in the literary world.

Does eight cuts overlap the ideals of Year Zero? Are the two projects connected?
Yes, absolutely. eight cuts gallery press goes further in that, because it's not a collective, I can lay down some fairly hard line hippy principles (they actually make business as well as ideological sense to me) like no Amazon - I'd never impose that on the Zeroes although most are behind it. And yes, they completely share the art first, direct contact with readers, authorial control, promotion of the awkward and unplaceable ethos.

What’s your aim, what do you hope to get out of it?
It's the bus queue test. I'd like to be standing in the bus queue one day and hear someone saying "but is it literature?" the way they did about art in the 90s. I'd also, of course, like to see some prizes come our way. Mainly I'd just like to produce books that get people excited about literature and what it can do, and the truths it can communicate. I am very much a believer that the best writingis confessional. I don't believe in trying to convey general truths through something specific, or in trying to reach out for some world-bettering purpose. I believe in telling a specific truth. That's the only way we can ever really speak to our readers, create the voice that's with them in the dark when the noise in their head is drowning out absolutely everything - except that voice.

How can authonomists get involved?
If I can mention the prize first - all nominations for outstanding individuals/projects/organisations hugely gratefully received. And ALL offers towards the prize - be it blog posts, magazine columns, anything very very welcome.

Then there are our exhibitions. The call for the upcoming “Into the Desert” is open for another week or so, but I’m already planning two shows ahead, for “Once Upon a Time in a Gallery” and “Headspace”. There are absolutely no restrictions on the form submissions can take but they have to be superlative, and they have to fit the remit in some way (the exhibitions will be curated so it may well be that some pieces are unable to be accepted for curatorial reasons). Other than that there will be some barriers in terms of what we have the tech to cope with, but that’s it.

What you really want to know about, though, is the press. I don’t imagine what we’re doing will appeal to the majority, but that’s fine. We’re not really a majority-interest press. Anyone who DOES like the sound of it, I’d love to receive submissions form authonomites. Please, as always, take a look at our list, and take a look at the feel of the site, and at the links we have on our blogroll first. And bear in mind that we’re only looking to publish 2-3 longforms and 2-3 collections per year. But if your material is right, there’s no reason one of those shouldn’t be you.

If you could change publishing in 5 steps, what would you do?
The book business will be fine. Publishing as we know it will evolve itself out of existence, but writers will be just hunky dory. I don’t think I’d DO anything different from what I am doing. I wouldn’t want to run HC or Random House, so these are more thoughts.

The publishing world is introspective and starstruck. And I don’t mean celebs. I have no problem at all with celeb bios. I think they’re one of the few really GOOD things about publishing (people want to read books by people who share their background. Literature is such a cosy middle-class clique that the only place many people can find that is the celeb bio). The real problem is in the literary world, the Bloomsbury set and (to use Penny Goring's delightful phrase) the uppity yahs. They’re obsessed with junketing and name-dropping, and who was at which party, and it stinks.

The. Words. Come. First.

It’s a little like the decadence of the late Roman Empire – it’s the kind of self-absorbed gravy-training that always precedes the end. Literary fiction has lost its soul.

I would like to think the performance scene led by Book Club Boutique, Bookslam, Literary Death Match and others is giving it back its soul, but they need to be very careful to – I cannot believe I’m going to use this phrase but I am – keep it real.

The current distribution model. What IS that about. Who actually woke up and said “I know. I want to shift 20,000 units of product Y. I really think the best way to do that is to put the actual, physical product in thousands of outlets and see if we can sell one or two in each. And if we don’t we’ll pay to take them back, and we’ll pulp them.” And if someone DIDN’T wake up and think that then they’re doing it “just because”. I’ve asked dozens of people the question. I’ve yet to hear an answer that makes me believe anyone in this area of mainstream publishing has an iota of business sense. Please tell me why bookstores for most mainstream books are a good idea. Please. Without resorting to sentimentality or “just because”

If your authors won’t take zero advances, tell them to sling their hook. I’m sorry, but wage inflation is killing many sports teams, and they all spout the same nonsense about running to stand still blah blah. It’s the same in publishing and I’m afraid again it’s not the celebs who are to blame. It’s the midlist authors and just above who EXPECT. No one owes you guys a living. OK? And if you want a career, wouldn’t you want to be with a publisher who’s got a sound economic base rather than one who’s leveraged to the hilt? Orion. Carolco. Do people not look at what happened to the film industry? I’m a writer, and I’d love to be paid to do it, but I do think many many professional writers expect the world to turn up trumps for them like it always has. And the way to stop that behaviour is for publishers to have the courage of their convictions. Let the old, expensive guard go. Most of the time their best book’s behind them anyway. Let someone else pay increasing fees for decreasing returns, find a slew of new blood and put half what you would have spent on your existing list’s advances on their marketing. Because if you don't, the new talent will find you utterly irrelevant.

Outsource

Demerge. Or if you can’t actually BE lots of small, smart, fast, flexible outfits then at least act like it. And mean it. Make your decentralisation count.

Could you tell us about your first two books?
Our first two books go together perfectly. Both are 25-30,000 words. Both have an urban, contemporary feel and deal with themes of death and the throwaway nature of life. Both are by former authonomites. Oli Johns you knew as Bandini Skips, whilst Cody James is the dearly loved Daisy Anne Gree


The Dead Beat, by Cody James

It’s 1997, and the comet of the century is due some time about now, on its 3000 year roundtrip.

“Man, fucking Emeryville,” Lincoln said, pausing in his stride to hock phlegm onto the sidewalk.”

And so, for want of anything better to do, Adam and his meth addict friends end up in San Francisco, wondering where their place in the addict hierarchy might be, why no one has written a good book in over a decade, and what the fuck the comet might mean, when nothing on earth means anything.

And in a zip of light and a snort of meth the comet is gone, taking with it this last snapshot of earth for 3000 years, leaving Adam to wonder if it meant anything at all, or whether it was maybe just a bit cool that the sky looked different. Just for once. For the last time in his life.


Charcoal by Oli Johns

“Apparently there are three popular ways to kill yourself in Hong Kong.

Throw yourself off a building.
Hang yourself.
Burn charcoal in a sealed room.”

Oli can’t stop reading Deleuze, only it doesn’t seem to make any sense. And he can’t stop thinking about suicide. And Camus. And that sort of makes sense. But only sort of. And then he meets a seventeen year-old girl on the internet and they meet regularly for mindless sex. Only it’s not enough to stop the anxiety. And the obsession with suicide, although he knows he’ll never kill himself. And then there was that Korean model, the one who killed herself in Paris. And that writer, the one he met online. The one who said she’d tried to kill herself three times. The one who wrote that book…