I've had four literary agents in four years. I guess that's something I'm supposed to be ashamed of? Or something.When I lived in LA, I never had an agent, but that was then, and this is now. You know, it's just so hard to compete with people getting book deals when their books are filled with photographs of loose meat.
The whole point of agenting, it seems to me, is to take whatever the person is doing, and package it into something that is as marketable as possible to as many people as possible, which sort of sounds like you're in the business of selling chum.
But I don't want to be chum. I want to be Kobe.
Here's a problem for you. (To be clear, by "you" I mean "me.") I'm going to Porn Valley next week, and you know how I feel about that? You want to know how I really feel about that? Underneath all the caterwauling, and the rending of skirts, and the gnawing at wrists?
I feel bored.
The thrill kill cult it is no longer. Where have the world's biggest gangbangs gone? Bukkakes are yesteryear. Extreme is mainstream.
The only thing left is snuff, and it's best faux-purveyor has gone and got himself locked up.
