Dear President Trump, please call me a phony pretty please...

A POTUS endorsed bestseller whether Trump likes it or not

You have to be living under a very large rock not to know about President Trump's ongoing war with the media, especially the left leaning media, which he labels fake news. These includes print/online outlets like The New York Times and television networks like NBC, as well as cable networks like MSNBC and especially CNN. More recently, a book called Fire and Fury by journalist Michael Wolff was released four days earlier than expected just this week precisely because the POTUS labeled it trash and phony news written by a hack and a fraud.

It's quite the battle royale going on and on and on, and it's as juicy as all hell. Yet there's an amazing phenomenon occurring every time the President lambastes his media enemies. They sell more products and in turn, they make boatloads of casheshe.

Until Trump came along, the New York Times was indeed failing, as a business entity anyway. CNN and MSNBC always lagged behind Fox News in the ratings, and a book like Fire and Fury, which would have been just one "tell-all" book among many, might have enjoyed its few weeks on the Amazon bestseller list then faded into relative obscurity. Instead the book is killing it and, I suspect, already into its second print run (print runs these days, even for major publication events, are not what they used to be even five years ago).

All of these media darlings who slam Trump and in the process gain his undivided attention and even earn themselves the prize of prizes: a furious Trump tweet and a nickname to go with it (former campaign chair Steve Bannon is now Sloppy Steve...Lucky him) ought to be sending the POTUS a fruit basket thanking him.

That said, I hope the President picks up one of my novels and declares, "What a bunch of bull..." and then I hope he takes to Twitter. "Phony Vince Zandri." I will instantly become major league credible among the masses. My book sales will skyrocket and I will buy a new house. Mara Lago is awfully nice this time of year.

WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM


  

Preston and NYTimes Resort to Pathetic Tactics

Preston, an admitted wimp, talks tough via the NYTimes ...

I've been in the limelight recently with my take on the Amazon/Hachette situation. My opinion on the matter is said to be somewhat unique in that I don't support one side or the other. I would like to see a healthy publishing environment where many publishers compete for the right to publish great books for low costs to consumers. Seems like a no-brainer to me. I said as much on my interview this week at Fox News.

Recently The New York Times featured me in an article that was pretty much balanced in its take on the publishing war situation, if you want to call it that. The reporter, David Streitfeld, and I have become professional friends over the years we've corresponded via Internet, telephone, and more recently, in person. But the latest article the journalist penned regarding Douglas Preston and his encouraging 900 authors to sign a petition against Amazon and its practices is so off base as to be not considered journalism, but instead, an attack on a company that has treated me, my books, my family, and my career, far better than the corporate giants who make up the Big 5.

(Me, taking a breath, ...)

Questions and more:

--Why do I feel like The New York Times, and Mr. Streitfeld in particular, take an opinion of Amazon Publishing that is not far different from Jimmy Carter's take on the terrorist organization Hamas, which utilizes little children as human shields to protect their missiles which they indiscriminately lob at Israel? Amazon Publishing wasn't born with the sole purpose to destroy Big Publishing anymore than Israel was created to crush Palestine. AP was born as a result of Big Publishing's mistakes, greed, and mismanagement. They have thrived out of a reader's basic need for good books at low prices. They have thrived out of an author's need to make a living without being a slave to an antiquated system that places writers at the bottom of the totem pole. 

--What is wrong with a major publishing company that wants to treat its authors like human beings and offer books up to its readers at low costs, and willing to take a huge loss as the same time? It's easy for the Times to select an author like Preston to give them the cocaine they need for their anti-Amazon fix, when said author is speaking to them from a cozy writer's cabin on a golden pond only feet away from his mansion. Of course Preston doesn't want to see change, folks. He's swimming in Hachette loot. Do you think he gives a rat's ass about the mid-list author barely making a living? Trust me mid-list author, you have about as much chance of being invited to the Preston's for dinner as Nancy Pellosi does of housing all those poor south-of-the-border kids who were dropped off at the border. 

--Have we, as a country, become so disenchanted with "winners" and "doers" that we want nothing more than to see success become failure? Have we become jealous and bitter over someone else's success? Preston describes himself in the NYTimes piece as a wimp and a boy who used to run from fights. That's pathetic. I prefer the company of strong people who stand up for strong values.

--I was treated so poorly by a Big 5 publisher that I nearly had a nervous breakdown. For certain, their dropping of me and many other authors over a corporate merger, resulted in my wife and I divorcing when I nearly went bankrupt. People in the business whom I thought were my friends turned out to be morally corrupt and concerned with saving themselves.

--It took me years to battle back to my level of success when none of the Big 5 would touch me because I hadn't earned out my advance (Of course I didn't earn out my advance. I was dropped before I had the chance!). Because in the publishing business in NYC, if you don't earn out your advance, it's not the publisher's fault. It's the author's fault. But when you score, it's because of an awesome publisher marketing program. Later on, when I was able to sell hundreds of thousands of copies of these same books via Amazon Publishing, suddenly, I'm not only back to making a living, I'm building up an audience that my Big 5 Publisher prevented me from establishing by not only dropping me, but by holding my book rights hostage for 8 years ... Hey Hachette and the Big 5, if you're gonna drop an author, then how's about releasing their books rights immediately!!!!????. Perhaps Mr. Stretfield would like to write an article about that.

--Listen up Hachette Authors, it's not Amazon Publishing that's holding you and your books hostage. It's Hachette Publishing's corporate giants and their Hampton's beach house mortgages and their Park Avenue rentals. Wake up, you are being used in a ploy meant to dismantle a success story, when in fact, reporters like Mr. Streitfeld are not only championing an antiquated and author-unfriendly system (and this goes for you too bookstores and your "returns" policy), they are doing so not with true reporting, but with propaganda. This isn't journalism, it's butchery.

--I still support a healthy publishing environment, and I hope to God that publishers like Hachette wake up and realize that by trying to fabricate a bully out of another publisher is really just a maneuver to tug at the heartstrings of those who are ill informed. Let's all get on the same page and create a new New York and a new publishing world with lots of publishers who offer great books at low costs. Come on David Streitfeld, you are so much better than this! And sorry, Big 5 New York, this might mean that you have to give up the Broadway location, move to Jersey, and buy a metal building for both publishing and distribution. Instead of lunch at Les Halles, you can eat at Franks' Diner. Costs less, the savings of which will be passed on to authors and readers. And you authors out there who are drinking the NYTimes and Preston Kool-Aid, save yourself now. You are being used for their own profit, for their own agendas, and as a palliative for something that is seriously missing in their souls and in their lives.


But don't take my word for it. Berry Eisler has written far more eloquently about this matter than I ever could in a response to today's NYTimes article. Get Berry's blog here:


WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

100 Miles from a Bookstore

In the places where some of us spend the summer, there is no such thing as a bookstore. You cannot drop in casually or order a book sent home. Or perhaps the nearest bookstore does not have the kind of book you need. 

Yet books are necessities. There are long, rainy days when you crave reading... And you may be 100 miles from the nearest bookstore. Perhaps 1,000 miles....But there's a bookstore that works all summer long....If you're not sure what you want, just write and ask. It is waiting for you ... A letter will bring it instantly. There will be no delay. 

We arrange it so that each book arrives on the proper date. So when one book is read the next arrives automatically!


Words written by the sales staff at Amazon Books?

Not at all.

These words were written in 1915 by the sale staff at the old Scribners Bookstore on Fifth Avenue in NYC. It was a time when readers not only craved good books for a good price, they took advantage of stores like Scribners who were willing to go the extra mile by sending their books to the consumer "automatically." 

Scribners wasn't just a store. It was a publisher too, responsible for the likes of Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Scribners edited these authors, promoted their work, and sold their books in the Scribners bookstore, an outlet that attempted to deliver their products "instantly" to the consumer.

Sound familiar? 

Perhaps all publishers, bookstores, and authors can take a lesson from a system that worked quite well a century ago.

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What Will Happen If There Are No More Books?

The Kindle Edition of the great novel...By the time you read this Papa will have sold more than ten copies.

By now you've probably heard about the big advertisement book-idea mogul James Patterson ran in the New York Times last week. I'm not going to tear it apart sentence for sentence because other writers like JA Konrath and JE Fishman have already done a far more intelligent job of it than I can ever hope to. But one sentence in Patterson's curious rant struck home with me. He asks, "What will happen if there are no more books like these..." and then he goes on to list a whole bunch of novels that have, in part, helped shaped the 20th century as we remember it, and in a few cases, the 21st as we are presently living it.

I can only assume that when Patterson says "no more books" he means no more "paper books." Which in itself is kind of ridiculous because in my mind anyway,  a book is a book is a book (Thanks Miss Stein!), whether it's published in paper or on Kindle or Nook or papyrus or on the interior lenses of those new Do-It-All wonder glasses Google is currently perfecting--You know, the eyeglasses that will one day replace the E-Reader.

Okay, so let's, for shits and giggles, pretend that as of today, there are no more paper books. They're all gone, disappeared, library and bookstore shelves emptied of their contents. So let's take this little fantasy a step further and just for the sake of argument, let's say that Papa Hemingway is still alive and kicking at 113 years old (Not an impossible stretch considering today's abundance of centenarians and beyond...). Picture the scene: Papa comes lumbering into his writing room in the Keys (He will by now have moved back to Key West for practical and professional reasons). He's a little drunk from having downed a one too many Papa Doubles at Sloppy Joes after spending most of the day on the Gulf not fishing, but assisting with the new efforts to monitor fish populations in the wake of the 2010 BP Oil Spill.

Already he's getting hungry and smelling the wonderful dish his 7th wife Maria is cooking up in the kitchen. He wants to eat early tonight and get to bed at a decent hour so he can get up at dawn and bite the nail on his new novel which will be released not next year, but within three months of its completion as an e-book. Man, what he wouldn't give to have Max Perkins around right now, editing his work as he produces it. He recalls the days when a writer could get away with putting out one novel every five or ten years. Now he's got to put one out every six months. That's how much the reading public is devouring books these days.

Papa runs his thick hands over his beloved Remington portable, but then switches on his lap top, and waits for it to boot up. When it does he clicks onto the Amazon Sales Rank website like he always does automatically. He does this now not because he's wondering how he's performing for his publishers, but because, in this day in age, he's wondering how his publishers are performing for him. He still works with publishers, both big and small, but five or so years ago, he decided his audience was large enough that he would start his own indie label which would publish Papa books and stories exclusively. Why give the corporate bastards all the money and the rights? was his logic.

He stares at the screen, focuses on The Sun Also Rises, and feels his smile growing under his white bearded, suntanned face."Sun" is selling in the 2,000 range for Paid Kindles in the Amazon store.

"None male," he whispers in Italian to himself. "Not bad."

In fact, he goes down the list of the many novels he's published since his first book, Three Stories and Ten Poems was self-published in Paris in the early 1920s on a genuine old fashioned 19th century era printing press. All the books are ranking in the 2000 or below range, netting him a nice profit not on a semi-annual basis, but a daily basis.

He sits back in his wood and leather Cuban cigar makers chair and reflects on how much things have changed since he first started writing with pencil and paper. How the world has gone from the Carrier Pigeon in the trenches of World War I where he nearly lost his right leg, to smartphones and texts. How he used to spin ceramic disks on his phonograph but these days tunes into his own personalized Pandora digital radio now that the record stores have become more historical fact than his old neurotic buddy Scott Fitzgerald. He remembers crossing the Atlantic with his beloved Hadley on the Normandie but how he recently visited Paris via the business class of an Air France Airbus. He recalls horse drawn wagons delivering milk to his doorstep on the Left Bank and how now he can't bear milk unless it's Lactose free and bears the Whole Foods logo. He certainly recalls the days when the US Army issued cigarettes in the daily ration kits. But he was smart enough to quit that deadly habit a long time ago.

The only thing he truly misses about the past is bookstores like Shakespeare and Company. Now there was a bookstore. But then, he was never much for book signings, and he was never fond of chain bookstores especially when they wouldn't let go of the antiquated 1930s era policy of "returns" on books that didn't move within a few weeks. Then there were the bookstores, many of them independent, high school and university, who wouldn't carry his books at all because they weren't considered "politically correct." Screw 'em, he said then, and Screw 'em, he says now.

He certainly isn't crying for the major publishers who were the first to blame him when his books weren't moving and then the first to praise themselves when they did move. Now, he entertains many forms of publishing and as a result, he's got more control of his work than ever before, and having lived his life as a rugged individualist, he couldn't be happier. Sure he misses paper books, but then he loves his new Kindle Fire. He doesn't have to travel with a trunk load of heavy books anymore, and he even gets to watch The Killers on it, the one movie based on his work which he actually likes.

He gets up from his chair, takes a glance at the book shelf that now contains photos of his family. His many wives, good and bad. His sons, his grandchildren, his great grandchildren and even a great great grandchild. He smiles wryly but proudly and he misses those who have passed before him. The curse of old age. He turns to the window, and from there he can see the sea. The eternal sea. He knows that tomorrow, the sun will also rise upon it and he will bite the nail as he has always done. That is something that never changes and he is as resolute in his calling than ever before.

"Papa!" calls the voice of Maria from below. "Before it gets cold!"

He feels a start in his heart. He knows he'd better get himself to the table before she tosses the meal out the window. But at the same time, he's thinking about a certain young woman he recently met at Sloppy Joes bar. A strawberry blond, with a figure to die for and legs that go all the way up past her shoulders. What did she call herself? A professional blogger? Not a reporter, but a blogger. Oh well, time to commit that new word to memory. For Papa, words have always held a special fascination, no matter where or how they are printed or spoken. But he's made plans with this special new strawberry blond. They are about to visit the border country where Turkey meets Syria in order to write about the civil war going on there. For Papa it will be yet another war and another book, but for the blonde, it will be her first experience in Indian country. It will be a romantic time for them both. Just like it was for he and Marty Gellhorn during the Spanish Civil War. What's old will be new again and all's fair in love and war.

"But how will I break the news to Maria?" he asks himself, feeling the pangs of worry fill his considerable stomach.

Poor old Papa. Some things just never change.

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