That was my reaction to reading this novel before publication, and I've been anxious to have it on shelves to share with all of you ... TODAY is the day it hits shelves.
Here's a Q and A with the author... Enjoy.
Tell us a tale from the publishing world – something, ANYthing about that process from your perspective.
I'd been working on the manuscript that would become The Kept for a couple of years when I met an agent at a party. This was (and is) an agent I'd heard of, who represented writers I admire, who had read one or two of my short stories. I told her briefly what the novel was about, and she told me to send it along. I told her I wouldn't be comfortable sending it for a while and she explained that she had a rare lull in her schedule and could read it quickly and immediately. Still, I told her that I didn't think the manuscript was in the kind of shape to show to others. This back and forth continued over email when I thanked her for her interest, and so, finally, I sent the manuscript with a few notes about how I was planning on continuing the plot (I didn't even have a complete draft), and the overall shape of the book.
Now, I am certainly not complaining about being approached and courted by an agent, and it was a very kind offer. But... Soon after, I received an email from her that made some general comments and also said that the book was unpublishable. That was the word she used. "There's not a single person I can imagine sending this manuscript to," or something very similar was how the email concluded. I was crushed, obviously, but after some time to lick my wounds, I realized that I'd known the manuscript wasn't good enough to send, and so how could I expect her to see past that? I worked for nearly three more years before approaching another agent. Facing that kind of rejection, not a simple 'no,' but a larger 'don't do this' will happen from time to time. The knowledge that it's coming doesn't lessen the impact, but it may prepare you to get past it.
Research. We all have to do it. Sometimes it’s delicious, sometimes brutal. Tell us a tale from the research trenches.
I spent hours in college libraries reading and trying to decipher late 20th century obstetric journals and countless more poring over histories trying to figure out some basic timelines and get some details that I could use in a couple of very key scenes in the book. I remember returning to my room at an artists' residency after an especially frustrating afternoon spent at the library and changing into my running clothes. Overflowing with melodrama, I collapsed onto the carpet in my room, looked at the ceiling, and wondered how I'd ever be able to locate the right needle of truth in a haystack of information. When I went downstairs to drink some water before setting out on my run, another artist--who'd quickly become a friend-- was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for his coffee to brew. He asked me what was wrong, and I explained, very briefly, and through tight lips, what had happened. Or, more precisely, not happened. "I don't know if this is helpful," he said, and I was certain it would not be, "but I know a midwife. Could she help?"
The next day, I sent a brief outline of the scenes to the midwife, the very kind and patient Laurel Philips, who responded with what I'd gotten wrong, and where I could stretch the truth and where I could not. There are many lessons to be learned from this, but the most important one is to always complain about your struggles with your book because you never know who might be able to help. (I'm joking. Don't do that. But it doesn't hurt to ask for help.) I despise the pervasive myth of inspiration – the idea that an entire book can exist simply because of an accumulation of inspired ideas – but I don’t deny that inspiration exists. There are things that have no other explanation. Was there a singular moment of inspiration for this book?
I guess when people ask me this question, I usually interpret it as, "What's the first thing that made you start writing this book?" Or maybe, "What's the thing you couldn't let go of?" The answer to either of those for The Kept is the image of a boy wiping the snow from a girl's face. But I totally agree that the inspiration needs to come from more than one source at more than one time in order to sustain something as long as a book. A painting, perhaps, can be inspired by one sunflower, but a book requires a lot, and I spread it around-- besides books, obviously, I draw from other areas such as music, movies, photographs, conversations... I saw Robert Altman's McCabe & Mrs. Miller as I was working on the ending of The Kept. Or rather, not working on it, as I felt as though I'd exhausted every possibility and none of them were right. I'd seen the film years before, but it hadn't stuck with me, but this re-watching energized me to go back and give the ending another try.
What’s your reading life like? Do you have any current favorites or sleepers that may have flown under our radar?
I read as widely as possible. I read experimental stuff, and I read genre stuff. I read things that are popular and things that are not. I used to plow through books I wasn't enjoying, but I've quit that practice.
Other people have said it, but 2013 was the year of the short story: Laura van den Berg, George Saunders, Tom Perrotta, Nina McLaughlin, Ethan Rutherford, Kate Milliken, and others put out incredible collections.
I think he's starting to get his due, but Daniel Woodrell is amazing. The Maid's Version was my favorite book of this year, The Outlaw Album was one of my favorites of 2011, and I've been rereading some of his older work.
If you teach the craft of writing, why do you do it -- other than cash?Was there an extremely influential writing teacher who had a strong impact on your writing life?
I combined these two questions because one leads to the other. When I was an undergraduate, I attended the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference. I was young and full of myself, and I'd dreamed of going to the conference for a long time, and the workshop was a rude awakening. One afternoon I was sitting (sulking might be a better word) outside of the barn where the workshops were held, and Margot Livesey sat down and talked to me. She wasn't my workshop teacher, she wasn't friends with my sister, she wasn't a counselor, but she still took the time to make me feel better. Later, I thought of the power of this, and as I started teaching, I knew that what Margot had done for me was what I would aspire to do-- make students comfortable. Help them get out of their own way, and tell them that how they're feeling is how a lot of us feel. I've been lucky enough to have many other amazing teachers that have also helped me as a writer and a teacher: Jim Shepard, Daniel Wallace, Christine Schutt, Joy Williams, Pamela Painter. All of them, in one way or another, gave me comfort. I can do discomfort on my own (and I think one needs it, a LOT of it, to write) but that's why I teach. (Should I attach my resume here?) I know it sounds hokey, or self-important, but so many people come to writing as a balm for something wounded or dark, and my goal is to help ease the transition from making that a private practice to making it a public one.
James Scott was born in Boston and grew up in upstate New York. He holds a BA from Middlebury College and an MFA from Emerson College. His fiction has appeared in Ploughshares, One Story, American Short Fiction, and other publications. He lives in western Massachusetts with his wife and dog. For more information, go to James Scott's website. To read an interview, click here.