Skateboarding provided the impetus and much of the subject matter for No Beer on a Dead Planet, my first foray into long form writing, and it was skateboarding that furnished me with the means to get it released; through the connections made via the pastime with publisher Josh Sutton and illustrator Lewis Brownlie, but also through the DIY ethos which imbues skateboarding and which offered up the necessary inspiration to commit to such a daunting project in the first place.
Writers will be familiar with the moment of clarity when a project’s structure finally starts to take shape, often out of a primordial ooze of notes, quotes and scribbled diary entries which make up the nucleus of an idea. That, at least, is how it’s always felt to me, regardless of whether it be for a magazine article or this book. The feeling of this literary ooze developing from an eternal work in progress to a first, second, twentieth or even final draft is a rush which never fades, but as for publication? I was used to bothering magazine editors with submissions and the feeling of satisfaction when an article I had dreamed up appeared in print or online. I was used to sitting on my living room carpet, scissors and Pritt Stick in hand, surrounded by pages of text and cut out images like a booze soaked arts and craft teacher. Now, for the first time, I had a body of text and not the faintest idea how to get it out to the wider world. Not only that, but it was by a long way the longest body of text I had ever written.
I spent hours perusing websites dedicated to people in just my situation, where the consensus seemed to be ‘throw enough shit at the wall and it will stick’. Spamming literary agents until one hopefully took notice would result in them spamming publishing houses until one hopefully took notice and, eventually, a book would be spat out at the end of the process; supported by successive layers of spam, a processed meat lithosphere on which success would hopefully ride. Josh, after originally offering to proof read the book for me before I started my ‘snouts and arseholes’ email campaign, told me he might have some leads on potential publishers; but, as he was considering going into publishing himself, maybe I’d be interested in him releasing the book? The serendipity was too good to pass up, and the opportunity to be involved so closely with the publishing process was not one I imagined happening with a larger company. Working with someone similarly used to writing and creating zines also meant that I would be moving the project forward with someone I could bounce ideas off of, one who I knew would understand the peculiar eccentricities of skateboarding’s dauntingly dense etymology.
In our respective positions of first time author and first time publisher, it quickly became clear that these job delineations were fluid if not downright nebulous – if you’re planning on publishing independently you’d better be prepared to muck in, and we would soon also be tested as first time PR departments, marketing officials and administration staff. Thankfully, neither of us are strangers to zine culture and were as such in good stead when it came to knuckling down and getting things done, despite a distinct lack of formal training. With our respective creative urges fostered in the dynamic, DIY-heavy cultural spheres of skateboarding and punk music, the idea of turning our hands to these roles wasn’t as intimidating as it otherwise may have been.
These niche interests – alternately ignored and feted by the mainstream media depending on what is selling at the time – require a willingness to involve yourself in creating the culture you want to see. Not that these cultures are in any way perfect; even oppositional cultures are in some way microcosms of the wider society of which they are a part, including both the pros and cons which accompany that. But they are empowering for many in that they remove (or at least replace) the cultural gatekeepers who traditionally decided who does and who doesn’t get their work published. My book originally took shape as a serialised zine, divided loosely by the chapters which separate the final product, and if publishing interest had not been forthcoming then No Beer… would have been knocked up on a cheap printer and flogged through zine fairs and skate shops.
And I would have been happy with this; but, thankfully, Josh’s knowledge and skill set means that the final product is a much more polished, wellput together piece than the one that would have emerged shambolically from my living room. The combination of our respective skills has been by far the most rewarding part of the indy publishing process, a positive and much needed reminder of what can be achieved when two fairly driven individuals collaborate on a project and it is a success. It has offered me a focus and drive which has been welcome at a time when it is easy to give in to feelings of helplessness in the face of world events. The recent merging of Penguin and Random House has raised concerns for the future diversity of publishing, but maybe the response will be in a backlash in the form of a decentralisation of power via thousands of smaller publishers filling the void. This silver lining can already be seen in the skateboard magazine industry, where the closing down of a number of big name publications has seen a wide array of people with something to say about skateboarding taking their place. A much broader spectrum of voices are now being heard and breathing new life into the form, and there is no reason why this could not hold true for book publishing. In the meantime, rather than wait to see it happen, why not become a part of it? To paraphrase Texan hardcore punks the Big Boys, “Now go out and write your own novel.”
Read our review for No Beer on a Dead Planet here
