Naughty Naughty Deborah

The thing I love about Debra Dickerson is that, in an age when the majority of our black public intellectuals seem to have stolen their freshest ideas from an oily sack in the back of Richard Wright's garage*, Debra remains one of the only people who consistently comes up with new perspectives on our society. You never know what the hell is going to come out of her mouth (or keyboard), but you do know that whatever it is it is going to be smart, bold, and different.

(Dear Public Black Intellectuals: Do we really need you saying the same things over and over? Do you really need to publish another book saying that racism's bad, and that it's had a negative impact on our community, and that we need to overcome it, and that white society has screwed and is screwing us over? You got anything else in there? Here's an thought: next time you come up with a book idea, go reread Dubois and Baldwin and Ellison, and J. A. Rodgers and E. Franklin Frazier and then, if you find that they already explored your topic ad nauseam, why don't you turn your computer off. Just take it easy, enjoy life, give your publicist a vacation. That would be just great. For everyone.)

Go check out Debra Dickerson's new blog, The Last Plantation. And remember, if she makes you mad, it means she's making you think as well.


*The phrase stolen ___ freshest ideas from an oily sack in the back of ______'s garage was itself stolen by me from Victor Lavalle

Black Sci Fi Picks

Barry Wynn has started a new topic in the forum, asking for black sci fi (a.k.a. "speculative fiction") recommendations. I came up with a couple, but I'm sure you can think of more. Drop in and share yours.

Anyone who wants to post a topic on the forum may do so. Just sign in and hit the button that says, "new topic."

Molested by Myspace

How matjohnson1 Was Born.

The first weekend in April I'm heading over with to London, making the trip for the first time in seven years. In preparation for this brief trip, I have been trying to contact old friends and fellow writers to arrange meetings while I'm in town. One of the people I've been trying to reach is Ray Shell, author of the novel Iced, a book that was huge hit in Britain back in the olden days when I lived there. Ray was the first writer I had ever met, was an early mentor, and even made it into my first novel as one of the central characters: David the lunatic boss. The only problem is that I can't find Ray's email anywhere, nor his number. So after various attempts, I realized that the only way I had to reach Ray was to contact him through his Myspace page.

The thing is, Myspace doesn't allow you to just email the person who has the page. No, to use the button that says “send a message,” you have to actually join and become a Myspace member yourself. After weeks of resistance and with the trip looming, I finally did this last Thursday, reluctantly. I told myself that I would do it just to email Ray and the other people I was trying to connect with, and then that would be it, I would be done. So I spent an afternoon setting up an account then contacting the people I was trying to contact, and then I was done.

Or so I thought. But what I hadn't considered is that by setting up my own Myspace page, I had bought a piece of realty. I now had another plot of land on the Web that was identified with me, of which I had ownership. I couldn't just leave that property unattended, could I? Let it sit in a state of abandon and neglect? What would that say about me as a person to all who stumbled through the page by mistake? I would be like that guy who doesn’t mow his lawn, or has a big dead car with no wheels permanently in the driveway. No, I had to develop that land, make it respectable for visitors. Next thing you know I found myself answering inane questions like "Who I'd like to meet" and confessing my Zodiac sign. Unable how to figure out how to delete the whole mess, it was too late to turn back.

The stunning ugliness of Myspace has been well documented and discussed. But to actually experience it on the other end, as one who must make a personal selection among the horrors for one's own page, takes the experience to another level. A task I originally hoped would demand a mere half hour drifted out over the day. In order to dress your bare Myspace page, you have to get a designer’s html code, adjust the text within it, and then paste it into the “About Me” or “Interests” sections of the page. Why is there no special place to paste the actual code as opposed to slipping it into this totally unrelated profile boxes? I have no idea. Like much of Myspace, it is irrational, and seems to hint at a system that grew organically with very little intelligent design.

My first inclination was to rebel against my unsuspected entrapment by creating an anti-Myspace Myspace page. I intended to do this with the use of an overlay, which basically enables one to plant a static cover page over his or her Myspace page, free of comments and “friends” and all of the other hallmarks of the site. A good three hours of figuring out how the code input worked and then carefully trying to get my information and links embedded within that code led to my first attempt. I thought my page was textured, well-designed, and sophisticated, and was very pleased with my accomplishment. My wife came home from an event, took one look at it, and declared that while the design was nice it looked like the page of a “sixteen-year-old suicidal white girl,” thus sending me into a rage of frustration, for to my great horror it suddenly became clear to me that she was right.

Two hours after that, I completed the installation of another overlay, this time opting for something simple and elegant. On calling a friend to inform him of my great accomplishment (for my wife was no longer speaking to me on the subject) his response was, “Dude, that’s not a Myspace page. You got no space for friends, no space for comments, nothing. What’s the point?”

These words haunted me until the next day. What was the point, indeed? I decided it would be most respectful and realistic to just use the existing Myspace format like everybody else. What was I fighting? Waisting another 2 hours browsing through the design atrocities at pimp-my-profile.com (an apt name, for after using the site I felt cheap and whorish), I ended up, as always, just choosing black: the non-color that has always allowed me to be aesthetically lazy and fashionable all at the same time.

One chooses either to conform, or does not. Half measures are usually useless, meant more to address the conscience than the situation at hand. Despite its crappy design and layout, and seeming pointlessness, there is a highly efficient system functioning at Myspace. It's not built on good design or html code, but on our need for community, our curiosity, and our pride. Myspace is a machine that functions not on utility, but on emotion. The site itself is shit, and no one seems to disagree on that point. But like the tar baby, punching it just gets one caught in its mess permanently.

The Best Black Book You Never Heard Of

"Oh, George, never mind the white people," here interposed Mrs. Garie. "Never mind them; tell us about the coloured folks; they are the ones I take the most interest in." -The Garies and Their Friends, by Frank J. Webb

For so long literary success for African Americans was based primary on how well their work met the political and social expectations of the white American reading audience, how well it spoke to white desires and needs. As a result, scores of amazing African American writers were largely ignored because they didn't fit the socio-political requirements of the whites of their era.

No book was more destined for failure during its own era than The Garies and Their Friends, by Frank J. Webb. It wasn't the first African American novel: it was probably the third. The book was published in 1857, a time when African American literature and abolitionist literature were synonymous. Shockingly, instead of writing a story about southern slavery, Webb wrote a pre-Civil War novel that focused on Philadelphia's black middle-class. Rather than criticizing white southerners, Webb instead turned his eye on the deadly violence of racist white northerners.

Most significant, after nearly a century of African American literature being solely a conversation between a black writer and a white audience, Frank J. Webb was the first author to write a book whose intended audience was his own people. The novel's primary message is clear: we must invest in our families, we must build our own communities, and by joining together we can protect ourselves and our interests. Over 125 years later, Bill Cosby would do the same thing with The Cosby Show, and it would still seem innovative.

The Garies and Their Friends is the first book written by a black person, for black people. And that's why you've never heard of it.

To see how clueless Webb's white contemporaries were to what he was doing, read Harriet Beecher Stowe's bizarre preface, where she erroneously declares that The Garies is about southern slavery, that it is basically nonfiction, and (in a stunning act of denial) that the actual historic mob violence in Philadelphia that the book took as inspiration was not the work of racist northerners but instead the result of "Southern influence."

The Black Literary Canon is ours to load. If we remove the white normative gaze, what are we left with? What would a merit based black canon look like? That's what is so exciting about it: there are hidden treasures out there waiting to be discovered. There is a forgotten fortune buried out there that will serve as our inheritance. There are literary ancestors to be discovered. There are histories to be made.

Get the FREE ebook of The Garies and Their Friends here.

Buy the complete collection of Frank J. Webb's writing here.

DISCUSS THIS IN A RELATED FORUM TOPIC HERE.

Forum Topic

If Nobody Reads a Book, is that Book Irrelevant?

Going Back to Ghana

Right before New Years 2007, I received a beautifully written, impassioned email several pages in length from Jeffrey Renard Allen (Rails Under My Back) in which he spoke of an epiphany that he had reached while travelling through Africa, and the need for us as writers to return for a literary event of a magnitude never witnessed before.

Stunningly, in a mere three months, Jeffrey Renard Allen has made that nearly impossible dream a reality, assembling an A-List of writers that represent a variety of style, genres, and backgrounds for a trip to West Africa next summer.

Ghana has historically been the place for African Diasporans looking to return to the land of their ancestors. It is the nation of the great Kwame Nkrumah, the resting place of W.E.B Dubois, where Maya Angelou rested her travelling shoes. It is a country of great beauty and promise: relatively safe, stable, spiritual, ancient, and the maker of best beer and Chinese food in the world outside of Asia (I'm not even kidding).

I may be teaching at the Forum in 2009, but I'm still tempted to scrape my pennies together and just pop up to see it go down. This is history happening.

Check it out:

Pan African Literary Forum July 3-18, 2008
GHANA

Jeffery Renard Allen, Director
Arthur Flowers, Co-Director
Sean Hill, Administrative Manager

Week-long Workshops in Accra Week-long Retreat and Master Classes in the Asante city of Kumasi

Faculty:

Colin Channer, Junot Diaz, Niq Mhlongo—Fiction
Kwame Dawes, Yusef Komunyakaa, Patricia Jabbeh Wesley—Poetry
E. Ethelbert Miller, Binavanga Wainaina—Creative Nonfiction
Sheree Thomas—Speculative Fiction
Sapphire—Performance Poetry

Special Guests Include:

Chimamanda Adichie, Mohammed Nassehu Ali, Jeffery Renard Allen,
Walter Cummins, Meri Nana-Ama Danquah, David Daniel, Arthur Flowers,
Nina Foxx, Mary Gaitskill, James Gibbons, Manu Herbstein, Myronn Hardy, Duriel Harris, Honoree Fanonne Jeffers, Major Jackson, Tyheimba Jess,
Josip Novakovich, Bayo Ojikutu, Ed Pavlic, Caryl Phillips, Robert Polito,
Francine Prose, Nellie Rosario, Lore Segal, Matthew Sharp, Terese Svoboda, Peter Tachtenberg, Eisa Ulen, Quincy Troupe, and John Edgar Wideman

Craft Classes and Lectures Panels, Programs, and Consultations with faculty, agents, editors, and publishers Tours and Special Cultural Events Award Competitions: Special Competition for emerging writers from Africa and the African Diaspora Judges:

Junot Diaz—Fiction
Quincy Troupe—Poetry
Meri Nana-Ama Danquah—Creative Nonfiction
Winners will receive a Free Trip to the Conference and publication in The Literary Review and in a special insert of A Public Space

Open Competition for anyone who wishes to submit work Judges:

John Edgar Wideman—Fiction
Terese Svoboda—Poetry
Josip Novakovich—Creative Nonfiction

Winners will receive a Free Trip to the Conference and publication in The Literary Review

Financial Aid, Scholarships and Fellowships Available

For more information, write us at:

Pan African Literary Forum
544,511 Avenue of the Americas
New York, New York 10011-8436

Email:

admin@panafricanliteraryforum.com
JeffAllen@panafricanliteraryforum.com
Aflowers@panafricanliteraryforum.com
Seanhill@panafricanliteraryforum.com

Phone:

(917) 834-1852

www.panafricanliteraryforum.com

New Niggerati Manor Forum!!!

The Official Niggerati Manor Forum is up!

Please go and post and make something happen.

New Discussion Board

Maranda has offered me yet another brilliant suggestion: why not open up a discussion board for Niggerati Manor? At first, I was hesitant; a nearly dead board is a depressing site/sight. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

This would be a good chance to take myself out of the center here, and move a step closer to the eventual goal of having this be a group site, and not just a Mat Johnson site. It would also give more people the opportunity to informally get involved in this discussion.

Now, I've seen discussion boards go bad, be co-opted by opportunist, would be millionaires and dictators, becoming stagnant pools of thought. But I've seen some lively ones too, becoming places where communities are built and ideas are truly explored (Okayplayer's board is a favorite of mine). And while I've seen a bunch of black books boards, I have never seen one that was dedicated to African American literary fiction.

So this could be really cool. Or it could really suck. So much of this, of course, depends on you. I checked the stacks, and for the last week we've averaged over 100 unique visitors and over 40 repeat visitors per day. If you want this to happen, it will. If you don't, it won't.

So here's my question to you: if I put this board up, will you join in the dialogue? If only three or four people respond to this post in the next week, I'll kill the idea.

"And in local news...what the-?"

Compliments of hotghettomess.com.

Debating Black Books

As has been seen over the last couple of months, it is very difficult to engage in a decent debate about differences between highbrow and lowbrow writing, or writing quality at all. Part of this, I have begun to believe, is that many people have not been properly educated in critical thinking, reading, or rhetoric. Many have no real understanding of logic, or that good debate depends on the participants responding to each other's actual points, not to vague concepts of each other’s platforms.

Perhaps most telling, there are many people involved in this debate who clearly don’t know how to read. They skim, gobble down the text and get a basic idea about what something says, but it’s clear that they don’t swallow each sentence one at a time, digesting each careful so as to understand exactly what it is being said. It’s no wonder they see little difference between a poorly constructed manuscript and an expertly crafted one. Unfortunately, this is also what hinders the quality of this debate significantly.

Here are examples of common rhetorical disconnects I have come across in the last three months of this debate.

Money Mania

Criticism: Beginning writers who spend too much time focused on the business of selling books often lose sight of the art, and as a result become unskilled writers.

Response: Yes you can have a successful business selling your own books.

Bizarrely, this response has absolutely nothing to do with the original criticism. In fact, the two statements don’t even contradict each other. This, I would think, is obvious, but the fact that this logical error was repeated by several of the commercial fiction proponents has led me to examine this disconnect.

Here is my theory: the reason this misunderstanding happens is that commercial writers see writing almost entirely through the lens of business, so much so that the words used to describe writing take on a different meaning. Selling books is the commercial writer’s primary goal, therefore an “unskilled writer” is a writer who doesn’t sell books. So when they read the above critical prompt, what they see in their heads is:

Beginning writers who spend too much time focused on the business of selling books often lose sight of the art, and as a result become business failures.

That then is the sentence that they respond to, unaware that their most basic perception has been warped by their entrepreneurial fixation.

Candy is Good for You!

Criticism: While candy might be yummy, it is not nutritious and should not be represented as a meal.

Response: How dare you say my candy isn’t delicious!

This is a classic disconnect, one shared across the board. Notice that the criticism makes no statement about the worth of candy, just the nutritious value (which of course is nonexistent). It does not say that candy is not yummy. It does not say that candy has no value, or a place in this world. But in an community unused to criticism, any critique is considered the equivalent of a dismissal.

Lester Spence has an interesting take on this debate between highbrow and lowbrow art, showing a clip of the battle waging at the National Black Theater Festival, a bi-annual event that highlights the most promising plays in black theater. The controversy swarms around the fact that Tyler Perry, the most commercially successful black figure in theater in generations, has never been invited to this prestigious event.

In my opinion, Tyler Perry is very good at what he does, I would argue even brilliant at it. His work is at times hilarious, surprisingly insightful and creative. And for this, Perry should be highly praised. That said, I don’t think he should be invited to the National Black Theater Festival, which is a highbrow event for more sophisticated theater.

Tyler Perry’s plays are often smart for what they are, but what they are is vaudeville. Their goal is not to innovate in the art form, but to utilize existing story structures to give people something familiar. Their intention is not to go for depth and layered meaning, but to explore the surface. Perry’s plays are not about challenging people to think about the world in new ways, but instead to give them a break so that they can laugh at the world we live in. There is real worth in a good lowbrow vaudevillian play such as the kind that Tyler Perry creates. But that does not mean it is the same degree of worth found in a play that challenges the medium and our very notion of reality, such as the kind of plays once created by August Wilson. However, this world should be big enough for both those visions to exist.

Poopy Throwing Time

Criticism: I believe that good writing should be nuanced, original, and transcendent.

Response: I believe that you are an asshole.

The problem with arguing with the unenlightened is that their first inclination is to respond by flinging the feces scooped from the bottom of their intellectual cages. (Now that’s an insult for you!) Seriously though, this has been a sad re-occurrence in the debate over the last few months. It happens for a lot of reasons: those unused to critical dialogue see criticism as an attack, those just trying to make money are confused with concerns about quality from others whose primary concern is the state of the art form, and there are those who just think that name calling is how you argue. The latter do not always use crass curses, rather instead making personal accusations against the critic's motives (that they seek only to aggrandize themselves, that their criticism indicates insecurity, that they are hateful people, etc.).

The reason this is so detrimental, besides just petty, is that once this happens the debate is over. There is nowhere to go from there, no chance for either side to argue their point. Everything instantly degrades into mudslinging. (Or poop slinging, as the case may be).

For good example, look at the end of the National Black Theater Festival piece, and see the reaction of Malik Yoba to Tyler Perry's omission from the event. He responds in a style more apt to professional wrestling than artistic debate, turning to the camera to stare it down with a melodramatic, theatrical threat. It's hilarious. How does this guy not have a show anymore?

Directions vs. Dictates

Criticism: If you would like to go North, take the road to the left. If you would like to go to the South, take the road to the right.

Response: How dare you tell everyone they have to go North? Everybody doesn’t have to go North, that’s just stupid.

Besides the obnoxious and inflammatory intro I used for my self-publishing critique (which shockingly nobody attacked directly, except me just now), the critique itself is rather tame, I think. It doesn’t tell people they should be a commercial writer or a literary one, it just says that the self-publishing route is a potential dead end for those who want to write sophisticated fiction. To my mind, it is a simple statement of facts about how I arrived where I am as a writer, and how others have ended up with the careers that they have. It is not an order for all else to do the same as I did, whether that's getting an MFA or even writing lit fiction. But again, the response logic of some of the would-be critics got caught up in the absolutes of its own invention.

Why I'm Bothering

Another thing that has come up repeatedly, from emails and other responses, is why I’m even bothering to trying to have a critical dialogue at all. For those that wonder, here is a list of my intentions for this dialogue:

1. To create an understanding of the difference between highbrow and lowbrow art in the African American community, and for an intellectual space for both of them so that they might better co-exist.

2. To make aspiring literary writers aware of the pitfalls between them and their goals.

3. To foster inter-community discussion about the current direction of African American literature.

4. To bring a discussion about quality of writing to the black commercial fiction arena.

5. To turn these resultant discussion into an anthology to be published by my new imprint, Niggerati Manor Productions ($39.95 hardcover). Then to come up with a nationwide speaking tour, charging college campuses another $8-12,000 a pop to have a live debate on their campus (think Carl Webber versus Edward P. Jones). Next, I'll spin that off into a reality show on BET where 10 writers live together, struggling to get published, but one team is commercial and the other literary. We'll kick one off each episode, with the tag line "You're a hack!" This show will of course be hosted by LeVar Burton, the winner being published by Niggerati Manor Productions with us retaining the movie rights (because let's face it, it's all about the movie rights). Then it's just sit back, and let the revenue streams pour in.

Now, dear reader, it's time to test your critical thinking skills. Which of the above statements is false?

Sincerely,

Mat Johnson

Self Publishing Debate, Round Two

A Ms. Shamontiel Vaughn, the author of Change for a Twenty, recently read my article on the artistic pitfalls of self-publishing, and as a writer who has self-published took great exception to it. After emailing me and informing my of her impending rebuttal, she wrote the following response:

Shamontiel Vaughn Rebuttal [back online]

The writing in this piece shows intelligence, and knowledge of her industry. But even more so, it shows the intellectual disconnects between commercial and literary fiction writers: we have dramatically different ideas about what constitutes good writing, we have dramatically different ideas as to what constitutes literary success (entrepreneurial versus artistic), we also differ completely on the central importance of literary criticism (which just isn't done in the commercial world, so is misconstrued by them as personal attack, or "player hating"). We even disagree on that absolutely primal element of all good writing: improvement of the text through extensive editing and revision (many of them see attempts at editing their work as attacks against their original vision). The divide is so great that at times it shows how futile these dialogues can be: we seem to be having two entirely different conversations even when we use the same words. Yet I keep talking, in the hope that these back and forths may still be helpful for beginning writers to see, regardless of what path they choose.

I've been over all this before, but here it goes: I don't think the physical act of self-publishing hurts a writer, just that the hustling involved takes away from time that could be spent developing craft, which is essential to do in the beginning before bad habits set in. I don't think publishing with a major publisher helps or insures the quality of a work in any way, in itself. And I don't give a damn about the business of selling books, or typos. My focus is on originality of prose, storytelling, and thought. I don't think a writer has to write literary fiction—there is a time for popcorn and there is a time for steak—but I don't think the two should be confused, or that burnt stale popcorn is okay. My primary goal is helping those who want to write literary fiction (like the works of James Baldwin, Toni Morrison, Ralph Ellison, etc.) avoid modern day publishing pitfalls.

I don't like hurting people's feelings—most of these self-published authors are nice people, just trying to make a success of their lives. I don't even like to hurt Omar's feelings: I just singled him out because of his repeated insistence that his entrepreneurially motivated tomes are actually "classic" literature. But I do care very much about African American literature. I do care about its quality, its future, and the writers who seek to be the next ones to load the cannon. Without honest criticism, none of those things can be properly maintained.

Anatomy of a Book Tour

I hate going to readings. Usually they are boring, lifeless and rather pointless. Unless the author is famous, nobody shows up, and often that's just embarrassing. All those damn empty seats. And I’ve had work ruined for me because I can no longer read an author without hearing his or her voice in my head. The things that make many authors good- their anti-social nature and introverted characters that lend themselves to the long silent hours of writing and reading- are the same things that make them horrible entertainers. If a writer is also a good performer, this is largely a coincidence. A pleasant surprise. But usually it’s just me staring at the pages, wondering which one will be the last one, wondering when are they going to merciful end it. My own readings, I hate less. Not because I’m any better than any other reader, but because since I’m the one reading I’m at least pre-occupied. And I have something to read.

The first time I went out on tour, with Drop, I was filled with romantic notions about the long wished for book tour and eager to give life to my work by pushing it to the world. I felt like a boy with a kite, running with it to get it off the ground. Every fruit and vegetable stand that would have me, did. What I found on the road though was the same as what almost every writer does: empty chairs. Invariable, every reading started with the store apologizing for the largely non-existent turnout: it was raining, it was finals time, there’s lot going on in town tonight. At a B&N in Atlanta, my relief at having a crowd of eight was quickly squashed when, during my introduction, six got up to read their newspapers elsewhere. At a well known black bookstore in LA, I read to a somewhat sour faced handful of elderly women. At the end of my reading, I asked if there were any questions. The first one was not to me, but to the bookstore owner. “Are you going unlock the door so we can leave now?” And I’m one of the lucky ones.

Why do we still have book tours, if hardly anyone shows up for them? So that we can tempt the local media into offering free coverage of the book since the author is in town, so we can get onto the email list for the store in question and hopefully reach hundreds, so we can get that big poster ad in the store for a month. All the things that don't have anything to do with the actually reading, which makes the whole thing appear rather inefficient and indirect.

The rise of commercial fiction, with its legion of savvy self-promoters, led many of the newer small bookstores to look at visiting writers like freelance employees. Gone was the respect for the accomplishment, the appreciation for the time taken for the visit. At several bookstores I was greeted with a blank nod from the clerk on duty, and simply instructed to park myself at whatever bare fold out table I was expected to be stationed at for up to three hours. One time, at a now closed book store, I was instructed on where the fold-out table was in the back, and where I should set it up. It's not that I'm too good to slug furniture, it's just common courtesy. It took me two hours to get to the airport, two hours to wait for my plane, three hours on the plane, an hour finding my hotel and another hour finding the store, where I've come to hawk full priced books that will go directly into the bookstore's pocket. If I do all that, you can take 45 seconds to set up your own table.

In the cities that are hard to navigate, the publisher hires a "literary escort," who drives you around from store to press event. Usually they are white, and not used to Negroes, and this creates an awkwardness that I'm forced to negotiate. Last time I was in Atlanta, I was assigned a black escort who was unused to literary fiction writers, and in the face of a nearly vacant reading said to me, "You know, maybe on the next book you could write something people want to read." She meant this in a good way, and that is why I did not attempt to strangle her.

Still, there are great things about being on the road. I love the hotels, their anonymous silence, and their hours away from my normal responsibilities that allow me to nap and abuse the room service and pay-per-view (covered!). Most of all, though, I like seeing the people. The bookstore operators and librarians who fight to keep lit alive. The old lost friends who just reappear in your life out of nowhere because they saw an ad in the paper. The fellow writers who are in the area, who take the time to stop through and say hi, support. And of course, and by far most of all, the actual readers. The fact that they exist at all, and that they take time to come out on a random night to say hi, is a miracle. Even when it is just one or two at a reading, they make all of it worthwhile, the whole traveling circus mess that can overshadow the point of why you're even there. The readers, each one, let you know you are not just throwing pages into the void, that there is someone out there catching them, and responding.

Thank you, all you people who came out on this last little mini-mini tour. Thanks also to those who sent notes that you wish they could have. It was absolutely great to see everybody. It was absolutely amazing to have an audience to see.

Sincerely,

Mat Johnson

PS- The Great Negro Plot thing went well. Here is a rave review that ran in the Chicago Sun-Times. By contrast, here's a nasty, bile filled review in the Toronto Star by a critic who bizarrely seemed to think this was supposed to be a history book and not an historical, which is an established genre that mixes fictional storytelling elements with historical facts. Together, these articles show the ups and downs of the writer's life. And here is my interview on New York & Company (The Leonard Lopate Show), which I've always aspired to appear on.

There, I am officially tired of tooting my own horn.