I Was An Asshole

In 1999 I attempted career suicide: I published myself.

Only the crappiest writers publish their own work. They do it because no one else will have them, because they write crap. At least, that is the widely reverberated wisdom: publishing your own book is like tattooing I SUCK DONKEY BALLS across your own forehead. If you are fool enough to do this to yourself, discriminating readers will discriminate against you, critics will chortle, and publishing professionals will refuse their delicious congress. You will die broke and obscure, and if you’re lucky enough to have a tombstone it will read: HE SUCKED ACTUAL DONKEY BALLS.

I knew that might happen — it may still — but I did it anyway, out of desperation and spite, as a salve for a lingering burning sensation in my soul left behind by a totally mismanaged brush with Serious Literature. Now, ten years later, as my oeuvre has continued its stubborn growth and the pain in my heart has receded to sub-bursitus levels, I am re-issuing this book — for technical reasons that I’ll explain — and taking the occasion to re-examine the circumstances that drove me to do it in the first place. Here’s what happened:

It was spring of 1999, my future wife was pregnant with our future child, and we were inspecting our future home for any defects that might later lead to marital collapse. That’s why I was in the basement with my head shoved through a tiny, filthy metal hatch in the root of the central chimney, peering upward at a distant postage stamp of blue sky framed by sketchy brickwork, trying to imagine what a fatally flawed chimney might look like, while my realtor and the homeowner chatted amicably about how to avoid the required permits for things, when Dave Eggers called me on my cell phone.

I had only just gotten a cell phone. They were newish to non-stockbrokers in 1999, and I had not yet developed a good sense of when to ignore the thing. Every conversation was full of novelty and amusement, still: “Hey, guess where I am? I’m driving! I’m at a movie! I’m in a chimney!” Maybe I should have let it go to voicemail, but instead I answered it, cramming my right hand through the hatch to wedge my brand new phone between a sooty brick wall and my head.

“This is Dave Eggers,” said Dave Eggers. He sounded very far away; his voice was weirdly flat and emotionless, as if his cat had just died. (Chimney acoustics may have contributed to this.) He was calling about a story I’d sent to McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern. He was thinking about running it in the second issue, because his people had liked it, and he wanted to know how I felt about that. He also wanted me to know that I spell my name funny, and did I really want to spell it that way, and would I mind if he made fun of that spelling in print?

How did I feel about that? A bunch of ways: thrilled, validated, tingly in my extremities, yet wary — why is he calling me up just to say “maybe”? — and apprehensive, because I had only just forsaken an oath to never send my stories to magazines, because it had been such a drawn-out and disappointing torture when I was younger. The very first short story I ever sent out was published right away, but then for years I tried to publish my awful poetry and got nothing but boilerplate rejections from editors, or, worse, encouraging personal rejections from editors who wanted me to try again so they could reject me some more. And in all that time — a five-year initial effort out of high school to “become” a writer and “succeed” — I found many of the editors of these small poetry presses to be unpleasant little Napoleons who only valued other peoples’ poetry as a decorative garnish around their own.


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  • statusandapager


  • Mychale

    Strike one.

  • # SisterWolf

    You can really write! That's the main thing.
    p.s. I would've argued with Dave Eggers too, and that's why I can't have nice things either.

  • sarahlb

    how long did you agonize over that final “sweet”? did you consider “nice” (too distant) and “cute” (too condescending)?

    we are writers too, we know.

    • Mykle

      In search of a sincere answer to your question, I just dug out an earlier draft where I instead used the word “awesome,” in that typical Californian sense of generic enthusiasm for stuff. But that would have been lame. And while I'm not above using “sweet” in the sense of “dude, ninjas are totally sweet,” I think in this sense I really meant it as, you know, adorable in retrospect.

  • http://nothingspaces.com Carina

    This was sweet. Thank you.

  • Wedge Faraway

    Thank you, Mr Hansen.
    There was a reason why we became facefriends.

  • YEP

    The last part was really awesome. I didn't know self-publishing was literally gluing the pages together. Or was that a metaphor? But whatever, it was a great article.

    • Mykle

      Thanks! Yes, actual glue from an actual hot-glue gun. That was the 1999 alternative to printing a thousand copies and then warehousing 950 of them in my garage. Also, hot glue guns are kind of sexy. These days, of course, there is Print On Demand for one-at-a-time trade paperbacks. But I do like working with my hands, and I might manufacture a small run of hardbacks someday.

  • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1363230138 Michael Koh

    And seven hundred sales, over a ten year period, means about as much to a major publisher as seven hundred squirrels farting in outer space.

    It was sweet.

  • Tim

    i stopped reading when you started getting into a fight with Dave Eggers. You became repellant.

    • ANON

      Finish it! He's remorseful!

      • Mykle

        And then I turn into a unicorn!

  • Adamhump

    I liked this, nice work.

  • http://twitter.com/allirense Alli Rense

    This is why you are better than me. I would have done everything Dave Eggers said.

    • Mykle

      I dunno … the thing is, he was mostly right. I just can't be told what to do, for better or worse.

  • http://www.facebook.com/people/Parker-Baldin/516709205 Parker Baldin

    i like when thought catalog has really well written pieces like this

  • Earl


  • Faust

    Great article – there's hope for us yet. Maybe. I should probably write something … still, loved the article. Thanks for posting it.

  • http://twitter.com/nycGtrain G Train

    Dave Eggers is the guy who wrote “What is the What?” right? Fucking retarded title. Fuck him.

  • Casey

    Kicking myself for that time when I was stoned out and peeled the ISBN sticker right off! Like refinishing an antique, I have devalued my copy.

    • mykle

      No problem! Print these out on Avery sticker stock, and apply to every book you own.


      Nobody will suspect you were high.

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