OMG, Sloane Crosley has evolved into something out of a japanese horror movie, stomping tiny media edifices everywhere she goes. Just hours after we posted "Why I want to hate Sloane Crosley" Gawker published this article and everyone commented on her shiny hair. Could Sloane and her shiny hair become the next sexy meme to take over the internet? What would happen if she and Julia Allison were in the same room, naked, wrestling in jello and it was skyped? Would the interwebs implode or life as we know it wink out of existence.
--slunchie wants to know
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Slunch is back, bitches…
Hi! Did you miss us? I’m sure you did. So, here’s the thing. Remember how when we started up last summer, it was all regular posts and gossip and great times? And then it started to kind of dwindle away, until once a week, once a month, and then nothing.
Yeah, our bad. I think I’ve figured out the problem. We’re BOOK PUBLICISTS. We’re not designed to follow a project for more than a few months. Think about it. You get assigned a new book. You are totally excited about it. Every day, you’re thinking about new angles, you’re pitching, you’re planning tours, you’re doing mailings. It’s great. Then, the pub date comes. You’ve been working for weeks to line up publicity, so by the time the pub date comes, you almost feel like the book is over. You half heartedly continue the campaign for another month or so, sending out quotes, pushing for those “maybes” still hanging around. Then you move on – at least until the paperback. So really max, 6 months, start to finish. And that’s generous.
So think of Slunch as a book we were assigned to. We got it out there. People picked us up. And then we got tired and bored and our inspiration dwindled. Plus, you people. You don’t contribute enough. You tell us things under the condition that it “can’t appear on Slunch.” No one sends fun anonymous tips. This was supposed to be for you. A safe place for you to complain about how fucked up the industry can be. Or how great it can be. Or a comment on ANYTHING that’s somehow related to books. We’re not picky. And, frankly, we also have jobs. And shit got busy. We can’t always be carrying it alone. But, anyway, sorry about the slacking. Our bad. We’ll try to do better.
Consider this our paperback release. Slunch is back.
--Slunchie
Yeah, our bad. I think I’ve figured out the problem. We’re BOOK PUBLICISTS. We’re not designed to follow a project for more than a few months. Think about it. You get assigned a new book. You are totally excited about it. Every day, you’re thinking about new angles, you’re pitching, you’re planning tours, you’re doing mailings. It’s great. Then, the pub date comes. You’ve been working for weeks to line up publicity, so by the time the pub date comes, you almost feel like the book is over. You half heartedly continue the campaign for another month or so, sending out quotes, pushing for those “maybes” still hanging around. Then you move on – at least until the paperback. So really max, 6 months, start to finish. And that’s generous.
So think of Slunch as a book we were assigned to. We got it out there. People picked us up. And then we got tired and bored and our inspiration dwindled. Plus, you people. You don’t contribute enough. You tell us things under the condition that it “can’t appear on Slunch.” No one sends fun anonymous tips. This was supposed to be for you. A safe place for you to complain about how fucked up the industry can be. Or how great it can be. Or a comment on ANYTHING that’s somehow related to books. We’re not picky. And, frankly, we also have jobs. And shit got busy. We can’t always be carrying it alone. But, anyway, sorry about the slacking. Our bad. We’ll try to do better.
Consider this our paperback release. Slunch is back.
--Slunchie
Why I Want to Hate Sloane Crosley…but can’t actually seem to
Every time I turn around, I see her name. Sloane Crosley. Publicist extraordinaire, author, all around perfect New York publishing success story. I should say first that I’ve actually interacted with Sloane before. She was pleasant, helpful, and overall very sweet. Her name was vaguely familiar to me at the time, but publicists run in small circles, so if you haven’t worked with someone before, odds are you have met her at an event or you know someone who has worked with her or she’s a friend of a friend. We’re a bit incestuous that way.
Somehow though, Sloane has started to invade the publicity circle in a way that I’ve never experienced before…she is everywhere. And everyone seems to have an opinion. Last month, she came up at three separate drinks dates I had. And opinions run the gamut: hatred, jealously, admiration, and – from some of the few straight men still daring to enter publicity - crushes.
I think it all started with the Observer piece, titled “The Most Popular Publicist in New York.” Now, I must confess, I don’t check the Observer everyday. I rely on Galleycat, Gawker, Pub Lunch, and my Goggle Alerts (I’m still trying to master RSS feeds – shut up. It seems hard) to provide me with any necessary links to any new publishing-related stories. So, I learned of Sloane’s new title from Gawker , which tore apart Sloane’s assertion that the suffered from “spatial dysphasia disorder.” Apparently, that’s not really a disease but whatever.
That’s hardly the point – at least from a fellow publicist’s point of view. I take issue with the entire tone of the article. First of all, author Leon seems a bit biased – as if he wrote this entire article in hopes of scoring a date. Yeah, yeah. Sloane is cute, clever, funny, and a joy to work with. Whatever. So am I. Once I’ve had my coffee. My hair is pretty shiny too, when I have time to wash it. Oh, and all of her authors LOVE her. So what? My authors love me too – they just happen to be less known. Sorry that I didn’t get assigned to Jonathan Ames and Joan Didion. But my author who sold 2,000 copies of his first book – well, he sent me a bonsai. Take that! I bet Toni Morrison never did that for you, Sloane.
So began the Sloane-hating. Than, this showed up – a little piece in New York Magazine in which Sloane endearingly acknowledged how over-the-top the Observer piece seemed, “If I read that about me, I would hate me – I would think I was an overhyped, overrated, smiley idiot.” Hmm, well….
Now, I felt torn. Here was a girl that was approached for an interview, and she gave it. It’s not her fault that Leon drooled all over the pages while writing it. Perhaps if someone had dedicated a piece to me (snort), I would also seem vapid and over-glorified. Perhaps she isn’t really a good publicist only because her only friends are media people that she uses to promote her books, while the rest of us have actual friends that we don’t use for professional gain. Maybe she doesn’t create a perfect social persona just so her boss will invite her to getaways on the weekend. Maybe she is just a sweet and talented person, and I’m just a bitter, jealous hack who doesn’t condition my split ends enough.
Oh, but we’re not done yet. While reading the Sunday Metro section a couple weeks ago, whose name should appear? Why, yes, dear reader: Sloane, in a charming essay about an epiphany she had on the bus . Um, what? This is a woman who is about to publish a collection of essays, based off some emails she sent to friends. She has received amazing blurbs and more pre-pub buzz than many bestselling authors. So I expect this sample of her clever and funny prose to be just that. Instead, I was left with a bizarre story about riding the bus in the snow, popping some woman’s arm into place, and somehow leaving with a feeling that balance had been restored. What? Could I write an essay about my experience on the subway the other day? It involved a realization of sorts too. When the N train pulled up one Sunday, the car that stopped in front of me was remarkably uncrowded. This was very exciting as I was guaranteed a seat so I could zone out and work on my crossword puzzle. It wasn’t summer, so it couldn’t be the AC was out. No worries. I stepped in, along with 5 other people, and as the doors closed, I realized with horror why the car was empty. Let’s just say, there was a woman passed out on the far bench, covered in her own shit. Yes, people, shit. I spent the next three minutes dry-heaving in the opposite corner until I could switch at the next station. Epiphany: Even in winter, don’t get in the empty subway car. Could I write an article about that?
This is the New York Times. We strive every day to get our authors some kind of coverage, whether in the Style section, a Modern Love column, the Book Review, ANYWHERE they might take us. And this publicist has written some crappy story about the bus and she makes it in? It makes me mad. I had two authors write beautiful essays that we rejected. I’ve pitched (in my opinion) some pretty creative feature pieces. Nada. But Sloane writes something…well, go right ahead and don’t forget to slap a big stock photo above it.
I walked into work today, and lo and behold. Sloane pops up twice before I’ve even had my coffee. Quoted in yesterday’s essay in the New York Times Book Review on romance and book taste and as the author of the Publishers Weekly Soapbox essay on, of all things, why book titles have become long…sigh. REALLY? Also, when I googled her to find these links, I can’t even tell you how many other pieces popped up. Apparently, Salon just did an excerpt from her book, Emily Gould interviewed her for Radar , and there’s an interview in the Kansas City Star . She even has her own Wikipedia page!
And, now, I realize – the problem is not Sloane Crosley. Sloane probably is a good person and a good publicist to boot. People do have very nice things to say about her, and that’s hardly her fault. And she’s not a bad writer. Most publicists aren’t. We have to have some kind of skill in a world of email pitching, and we certainly have to be creative if we want our emails to even get opened. And, if I had the opportunity (or the time) to write something worthy of being published outside of Slunch, I sure wouldn’t turn down the opportunity. So, I guess I can’t really hate her. However, I can hate on book media for the flood of Sloane-coverage. In a world of shrinking book coverage, where over 300,000 new books are published each year, and we are all fighting tooth and nail for a tiny mention, Sloane Crosley is popping up everywhere. Excerpts, essays, profiles. Give us a break, Sloane! Leave some space for the other authors. It’s hard enough.
--Ladytron
Somehow though, Sloane has started to invade the publicity circle in a way that I’ve never experienced before…she is everywhere. And everyone seems to have an opinion. Last month, she came up at three separate drinks dates I had. And opinions run the gamut: hatred, jealously, admiration, and – from some of the few straight men still daring to enter publicity - crushes.
I think it all started with the Observer piece, titled “The Most Popular Publicist in New York.” Now, I must confess, I don’t check the Observer everyday. I rely on Galleycat, Gawker, Pub Lunch, and my Goggle Alerts (I’m still trying to master RSS feeds – shut up. It seems hard) to provide me with any necessary links to any new publishing-related stories. So, I learned of Sloane’s new title from Gawker , which tore apart Sloane’s assertion that the suffered from “spatial dysphasia disorder.” Apparently, that’s not really a disease but whatever.
That’s hardly the point – at least from a fellow publicist’s point of view. I take issue with the entire tone of the article. First of all, author Leon seems a bit biased – as if he wrote this entire article in hopes of scoring a date. Yeah, yeah. Sloane is cute, clever, funny, and a joy to work with. Whatever. So am I. Once I’ve had my coffee. My hair is pretty shiny too, when I have time to wash it. Oh, and all of her authors LOVE her. So what? My authors love me too – they just happen to be less known. Sorry that I didn’t get assigned to Jonathan Ames and Joan Didion. But my author who sold 2,000 copies of his first book – well, he sent me a bonsai. Take that! I bet Toni Morrison never did that for you, Sloane.
So began the Sloane-hating. Than, this showed up – a little piece in New York Magazine in which Sloane endearingly acknowledged how over-the-top the Observer piece seemed, “If I read that about me, I would hate me – I would think I was an overhyped, overrated, smiley idiot.” Hmm, well….
Now, I felt torn. Here was a girl that was approached for an interview, and she gave it. It’s not her fault that Leon drooled all over the pages while writing it. Perhaps if someone had dedicated a piece to me (snort), I would also seem vapid and over-glorified. Perhaps she isn’t really a good publicist only because her only friends are media people that she uses to promote her books, while the rest of us have actual friends that we don’t use for professional gain. Maybe she doesn’t create a perfect social persona just so her boss will invite her to getaways on the weekend. Maybe she is just a sweet and talented person, and I’m just a bitter, jealous hack who doesn’t condition my split ends enough.
Oh, but we’re not done yet. While reading the Sunday Metro section a couple weeks ago, whose name should appear? Why, yes, dear reader: Sloane, in a charming essay about an epiphany she had on the bus . Um, what? This is a woman who is about to publish a collection of essays, based off some emails she sent to friends. She has received amazing blurbs and more pre-pub buzz than many bestselling authors. So I expect this sample of her clever and funny prose to be just that. Instead, I was left with a bizarre story about riding the bus in the snow, popping some woman’s arm into place, and somehow leaving with a feeling that balance had been restored. What? Could I write an essay about my experience on the subway the other day? It involved a realization of sorts too. When the N train pulled up one Sunday, the car that stopped in front of me was remarkably uncrowded. This was very exciting as I was guaranteed a seat so I could zone out and work on my crossword puzzle. It wasn’t summer, so it couldn’t be the AC was out. No worries. I stepped in, along with 5 other people, and as the doors closed, I realized with horror why the car was empty. Let’s just say, there was a woman passed out on the far bench, covered in her own shit. Yes, people, shit. I spent the next three minutes dry-heaving in the opposite corner until I could switch at the next station. Epiphany: Even in winter, don’t get in the empty subway car. Could I write an article about that?
This is the New York Times. We strive every day to get our authors some kind of coverage, whether in the Style section, a Modern Love column, the Book Review, ANYWHERE they might take us. And this publicist has written some crappy story about the bus and she makes it in? It makes me mad. I had two authors write beautiful essays that we rejected. I’ve pitched (in my opinion) some pretty creative feature pieces. Nada. But Sloane writes something…well, go right ahead and don’t forget to slap a big stock photo above it.
I walked into work today, and lo and behold. Sloane pops up twice before I’ve even had my coffee. Quoted in yesterday’s essay in the New York Times Book Review on romance and book taste and as the author of the Publishers Weekly Soapbox essay on, of all things, why book titles have become long…sigh. REALLY? Also, when I googled her to find these links, I can’t even tell you how many other pieces popped up. Apparently, Salon just did an excerpt from her book, Emily Gould interviewed her for Radar , and there’s an interview in the Kansas City Star . She even has her own Wikipedia page!
And, now, I realize – the problem is not Sloane Crosley. Sloane probably is a good person and a good publicist to boot. People do have very nice things to say about her, and that’s hardly her fault. And she’s not a bad writer. Most publicists aren’t. We have to have some kind of skill in a world of email pitching, and we certainly have to be creative if we want our emails to even get opened. And, if I had the opportunity (or the time) to write something worthy of being published outside of Slunch, I sure wouldn’t turn down the opportunity. So, I guess I can’t really hate her. However, I can hate on book media for the flood of Sloane-coverage. In a world of shrinking book coverage, where over 300,000 new books are published each year, and we are all fighting tooth and nail for a tiny mention, Sloane Crosley is popping up everywhere. Excerpts, essays, profiles. Give us a break, Sloane! Leave some space for the other authors. It’s hard enough.
--Ladytron
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Book deal goes south, along with her life...
So its all over the interwebs today that Lynn Spears Parenting Memoir is now on Hold, indefinitely, check out Galleycat for the full report.
The reason? Lynn’s precious 16 year old daughter Jaime Lynn (the one that up until this point wasn’t the train wreck dressed in road kill that her older sister Britney has become) is totally preggers! I remember growing up, my mom had 3 rules for me. Don’t drink, don’t do drugs, and don’t get anyone pregnant! She put the fear of god that if I did, I wouldn’t survive to see my next birthday. So, what did I do? I drank, but I made sure to get wasted at other people's houses or back alleys where my mother would never see me. I smoked pot, but whatever. who doesn't? and sex? Did it whenever I could get it, but I always used a condom. why? 'cause if you knock someone up, it's pretty much a giveaway that you've been doing the nasty. My mom knew how to be a parent. She laid down the law, and I snuck around to break it. The idea that Lynn Spears had the audacity to write a parenting memoir in the first place is ludicrous. What kind of advice can she give? She raised Prosta-tots. Well, she can’t cash in on Brit anymore since she’s legally an adult (cough cough), she can certainly make some mullah by selling her daughter’s pregnant story to OK magazine (for a cool million or so I heard). oh, and don't get me started on OK magazine. Thank you Jezabel for getting me all riled up.
The reason? Lynn’s precious 16 year old daughter Jaime Lynn (the one that up until this point wasn’t the train wreck dressed in road kill that her older sister Britney has become) is totally preggers! I remember growing up, my mom had 3 rules for me. Don’t drink, don’t do drugs, and don’t get anyone pregnant! She put the fear of god that if I did, I wouldn’t survive to see my next birthday. So, what did I do? I drank, but I made sure to get wasted at other people's houses or back alleys where my mother would never see me. I smoked pot, but whatever. who doesn't? and sex? Did it whenever I could get it, but I always used a condom. why? 'cause if you knock someone up, it's pretty much a giveaway that you've been doing the nasty. My mom knew how to be a parent. She laid down the law, and I snuck around to break it. The idea that Lynn Spears had the audacity to write a parenting memoir in the first place is ludicrous. What kind of advice can she give? She raised Prosta-tots. Well, she can’t cash in on Brit anymore since she’s legally an adult (cough cough), she can certainly make some mullah by selling her daughter’s pregnant story to OK magazine (for a cool million or so I heard). oh, and don't get me started on OK magazine. Thank you Jezabel for getting me all riled up.
-Slunchie
Friday, December 7, 2007
Publitron's list of The 9 authors you will work with at one time or another.
We all have worked with great authors and terrible authors at one time or another. Well, after working with a particularity terrible author, I realized that there are 9 general archetypes or categories in which they fall. And now, for your general amusement I present to you my list...
1) The Space Case: Although well-intended they forget about interviews (even after being reminded the night before) and if they do remember they have an event, they’ll show up late. The net result causing mild ulcers every time you get a phone call from a reporter or bookseller who doesn't know how to get a hold of him/her. Solution- Never let them out of your site.
2) The Overeager: Not to be confused with the Gem (see below). While thankful and willing, wants to do too much and constantly floods your inbox with unfeasible ideas. “Hey, how about we send Oprah my signed tiger woods golf club along with a copy of the book?” ummmm, dude, your book is about child rearing and Oprah is friends with Tiger. I’m sure she can get his club any time she wants. Solution- Ignore the majority of their emails and never reply immediately to anything they send you.
3) The Gem: Thankful for any and everything you get them, they are an eager beaver willing to do anything and everything you ask them. At times, you feel pity for getting them on WOR’s Joey Reynolds show and making them stay up till 3am, but hey, its a national booking. Solution- Thank God.
4) The Two Face: Will deal with you politely, then complain to their agent and get their agent to do the dirty work for them. Oh sure, you’re all smiles now, but that venom dripping from your agent’s surgically reinforced lips tells me a different tale. Solution- Document everything and share this ammo with the editor and your boss so you have peeps in your corner fighting for you. Take author off your Christmas card list.
5) The Ego: A prima donna that comes in 2 levels, unjustified and justified. The Unjustified Ego is the first time author who thinks they should be the center of your attention and laments their lack of coverage loudly. The Justified Ego is the New York Times bestselling author who's sales make up your paycheck and who can actually get you fired if you screw up. Solution: Bitch about the Unjustified Ego to their editor and they’ll whip em into shape. As for the Justified Ego, do your damndest to do anything and everything you can for them.
6) The Recluse: Impossible to get to do any media whatsoever and you can only communicate with them through their agent. Solution- None.
7) The Waste: Sadly, The Waste has no presence whatsoever, looks ugly, and can't hold a conversation no matter how brilliant they sound in print so you can't get them any publicity outside of an email Q&A. Solution- None.
8) The Neurotic: Constantly worries about their performance, compares themselves to other authors and are self deprecating to a fault and detriment of their publication. Bonus points if #8 is also an Unjustified Ego. Solution- Prozac, counseling.
9) The Amazon Author Crack Addict: All of the above obsessively check their amazon.com ranking.
1) The Space Case: Although well-intended they forget about interviews (even after being reminded the night before) and if they do remember they have an event, they’ll show up late. The net result causing mild ulcers every time you get a phone call from a reporter or bookseller who doesn't know how to get a hold of him/her. Solution- Never let them out of your site.
2) The Overeager: Not to be confused with the Gem (see below). While thankful and willing, wants to do too much and constantly floods your inbox with unfeasible ideas. “Hey, how about we send Oprah my signed tiger woods golf club along with a copy of the book?” ummmm, dude, your book is about child rearing and Oprah is friends with Tiger. I’m sure she can get his club any time she wants. Solution- Ignore the majority of their emails and never reply immediately to anything they send you.
3) The Gem: Thankful for any and everything you get them, they are an eager beaver willing to do anything and everything you ask them. At times, you feel pity for getting them on WOR’s Joey Reynolds show and making them stay up till 3am, but hey, its a national booking. Solution- Thank God.
4) The Two Face: Will deal with you politely, then complain to their agent and get their agent to do the dirty work for them. Oh sure, you’re all smiles now, but that venom dripping from your agent’s surgically reinforced lips tells me a different tale. Solution- Document everything and share this ammo with the editor and your boss so you have peeps in your corner fighting for you. Take author off your Christmas card list.
5) The Ego: A prima donna that comes in 2 levels, unjustified and justified. The Unjustified Ego is the first time author who thinks they should be the center of your attention and laments their lack of coverage loudly. The Justified Ego is the New York Times bestselling author who's sales make up your paycheck and who can actually get you fired if you screw up. Solution: Bitch about the Unjustified Ego to their editor and they’ll whip em into shape. As for the Justified Ego, do your damndest to do anything and everything you can for them.
6) The Recluse: Impossible to get to do any media whatsoever and you can only communicate with them through their agent. Solution- None.
7) The Waste: Sadly, The Waste has no presence whatsoever, looks ugly, and can't hold a conversation no matter how brilliant they sound in print so you can't get them any publicity outside of an email Q&A. Solution- None.
8) The Neurotic: Constantly worries about their performance, compares themselves to other authors and are self deprecating to a fault and detriment of their publication. Bonus points if #8 is also an Unjustified Ego. Solution- Prozac, counseling.
9) The Amazon Author Crack Addict: All of the above obsessively check their amazon.com ranking.
-PUBLITRON
Monday, November 12, 2007
Book Rage?
Back on October 9th we reported on the rise of the Canadian dollar and the pesky dual prices on jacket flaps. Well, it's now resulting in what the Toronto Globe and Mail is reporting as Book Rage, eh. "As the Canadian dollar hit the $1.10 mark earlier this week, booksellers and publishers began to circulate stories of customers going beyond simply venting their dismay at hapless clerks and turning books into projectiles, sometimes to the point of drawing blood."
Hmm, that gives me an idea. What if we combine the bookmobile with a bloodmobile? We can bring cheap American Books to our friends up north and trade them for cheap prescription drugs.
-Slunchie
Friday, November 2, 2007
Irony, the other other white meat.
The current media coverage over the tanking of Gawker’s Guide to Conquering all Media is actually improving sales. Zubin Jelveh notes on Portfolio that Gawker may have sold a whopping 12 extra copies as a result of Jeff Bercovici’s post. I’m sure the irony is not lost on anyone, and as this project begins to hemorrhage all I can think of is the last national geographic special I saw. Gawker’s progeny is weak and limping along, and soon we’ll see the predatory journalists begin to take bites out of it till the poor book, mewling and bleeding from a thousand wounds, finally succumbs and falls prey to the jackals.
-Slunchie
-Slunchie
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