Author: rchazzchute

Robert Chazz Chute writes full-time from his blanket fort in Other London. The winner of fifteen writing awards, he pens apocalyptic epics with heart and killer crime thrillers with muscle. A graduate of the University of King's College journalism program, he studied book and magazine publishing at the Banff School of Fine Arts. He has worked as a crime reporter, science journalist, editor, book doctor, speechwriter, and magazine columnist.
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Why Become a Hybrid Author?

I spent the last couple of mornings working on a short story for a big writing contest. Between editing the new novel and beginning work on the sequel, I have found renewed purpose in my writing. After a fallow period, I’m in a creative frenzy again. The days fly by, and I’m always surprised how late it is when I come up for air. I’m having a great time here at Ex Parte Press world headquarters, but maybe it’s time for a change.

Then

I can’t remember a time when I couldn’t read or write. I always wanted to be a writer. I thought journalism was the way in and wrote for magazines and newspapers. By the time I finished journalism school, I’d become disillusioned with the newspaper business. I wanted something more creative. I freelanced for magazines and wrote a regular column. Speech writing was rewarding, but there wasn’t enough of it. I won a bunch of writing contests, but mostly, I wrote for myself. Often creating worlds long into the night, I immersed myself in the work. More compulsion than plan, I just had to write. There was no goal other than the work itself. Always focused on composing the next shiny word bauble, I did not submit anything to publishers or agents.

Why did I hold myself back? A character flaw. I haven’t had a boss since 1991. I always eschewed team sports. Even the word “submission” connotes many agents’ and publishers’ relationship with their stables of ink-stained wretches. “Spec” is another clue to the hierarchy. Working on spec, you are a speck. In short, I have a history of being a control freak. On the other hand, I’ve worked collaboratively multiple times and enjoyed it, so maybe I’ve grown.

Ancient History

After graduating from the Banff Publishing Workshop boot camp, I moved from the East Coast to Toronto and found myself in the publishing industry. I toiled in production, editorial, sales, and marketing. My exposure to the industry played a big part in how I felt about the establishment. I sat in meetings where authors, the backbone of the business, were openly disparaged. The choices of what was bought and sold often held a distasteful element of caprice and snobbery.

I entered the arena with such romantic ideas about publishing. I left with a greater understanding of the world. This is true everywhere, no matter the industry: Some firms court and hire geniuses, but every staff has a knob (sometimes several more than few). It’s not easy finding a good match with an agent or a publisher. And yet, here I am, contemplating the possibilities in earnest.

Why so cautious, though? The simple answer is plenty of authors have horror stories about their agents and publishers. For instance, back in the early days of Twitter, some agents used the medium to show their asses. These self-proclaimed sharks made fun of pitches they deemed unworthy. Whether it was foolishness, fatigue, or hubris, some made sweeping generalizations about what books were “acceptable.” Not just to their taste, mind you! Just, in their eyes, bad and wrong. “No characters with synesthesia! No divorced dads writing about being divorced dads!”

I understand agents’ need to curate, even discourage, the incoming avalanche over the transom, but the offenders’ tone was offensive. (Full disclosure: I’m not a divorced dad, but I did write a main character on the spectrum who also experienced synesthesia. It’s my most successful series.)

Now

Someone asked me what changed my mind about jumping back in the traditional publishers’ end of the pool. The reasons are multi-factorial, but here’s a peek inside the nutshell:

  • Political forces have changed. That affects my chances of getting read. Many are already boycotting Amazon. As the next four years progress, I expect more readers will opt to buy from other legacy publishing platforms. I’ve done well by Amazon in the past, but the Amazon gold rush has been over for years. It’s time to seriously explore ways to expand my readership.
  • I haven’t enjoyed the marketing end of the business. My experiments with going wide to other e-publishing platforms have consistently failed. Amazon marketed me best. They simply proved themselves better at selling my genres. It’s time to give going wide another try, but this time, I mean really wide. Bookstores, book fairs, book clubs. I’ll show up to the opening of an envelope if it means I get a chance to interact with readers and plug my book.
  • Like Batman, it would be nice to have some backup, so I’m looking for a solid partner, a Robin, if you will. I want more heft behind my next marketing push. Before someone chimes in, I know! I know! Most publishers offer very little marketing support. For sound financial and logistical reasons, even if you get hyped, it doesn’t last long. Most marketing still depends on the author. I have no illusions about that, but I’m also willing to do more on the marketing side than I have in the past.
  • The high commercial potential of my latest novel makes a big difference here. I find myself with an up-scale thriller that isn’t bogged down with the drawbacks of my usual genre choices. With an intellectual property that is easier to sell to a broader audience, it’s a good time to jump.
  • My wife had a health scare recently. We’re dealing with that, and it’s going well, but going hybrid makes more sense from a time management perspective. Despite my independent leanings, I’ve never really been a one-man band. I have great resources among my friends: my editor, Gari Strawn, my prime beta reader, Russ, my graphics people, and many supportive readers. The term self-publishing is a misnomer. I’ve never published alone. However, partnering with the right agent and publishing firm would spread some of the responsibilities around.
  • Perhaps most important of all my considerations, going hybrid now makes more sense because I have recently developed a shortlist of likely agents. My strategy is not to blanket the planet with pitches. I’m aiming at particular targets. If it doesn’t work out with literary agents whom I consider the A-Team, I’ll go it on my own as I have since 2010.
  • I’ve written a bunch of good to great to excellent novels. Don’t believe it? Just ask me. The writing quality is there. The visibility is not. I’ve long felt my literary stock is undervalued. By opening myself to options and trying something different, my work might finally get noticed.

    That’s my why of becoming a hybrid author. Now, to work on the how.
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What to Read as the World Burns

Today’s respite from the world’s slings and arrows was a wander through a bookstore. I found three gems I can’t wait to delve into. Part of this is for pure enjoyment, and part of it is research. End-of-the-world scenarios and tales of vengeance are my bailiwicks, so these purchases count as a tax deduction.

Given my budget, I was pleased to find they were all available at a major discount. That allowed me to rescue them from getting returned to the publishers. I was also a little sad (nay, shocked!) that they were all available at a major discount. This is particularly true of Survival of the Richest. I’ve heard the author on a podcast a couple of times. I’m intimately familiar with the material and want to know more. I once wrote a related essay (some might say a screed) on how apocalyptic scenarios aren’t the survivalist fun some fantasists think they are. There will be no lone survivors. Either we all count, and most make it, or civilization is fucked.

Step One:

Don’t opt out of the World Health Organization, dummies!)

Fight Against This Age should also be full price and on the bookshelf of every progressively minded person. Have we given up? Are we all just going to allow the oligarchy to run us down, run us over, and run us through? Maybe. I don’t see enough fight in the general populace yet. Perhaps public outrage won’t kick in until they personally feel the kick in the teeth.

Anyway, happy Wednesday, and may Thor help us all!

Got to work early at my favorite coffee office. There are many empty chapters to fill up with entertaining brilliance, but I’m excited about what lies ahead.

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The Secret to Superhuman Creativity

Alison Bechdel breaks molds, and I’m here for it. When most people think of graphic novels, The Killing Joke or Watchmen often spring to mind first. Those were epic milestones of a young medium, but this cartoonist takes her creativity beyond old expectations. This is a compelling autobiography told through drawings and sharp observations.

The Secret to Superhuman Strength isn’t about making oneself invulnerable. Bechdel’s quest for health through exercise spans decades, but it’s really about confronting mortality. With humor, honesty, and, most of all, vulnerability, she chronicles her career struggles, personal failings, and a holistic view of her journey. Nothing is off-limits in this auto-biography of an artist pursuing a unique life and achieving success in an underappreciated medium. (Warning: distrust success. From her experience, it looks as exhausting as it is exhilarating, and, of course, it’s fleeting. That artistic struggle doesn’t end.)

If you aren’t already familiar with this celebrated American cartoonist, you’ve probably heard of the Bechdel test. She says now that the test began as a joke, but it spurred serious discussion. Raising awareness of the representation of women, the test is whether at least two female characters in a fictional narrative have a conversation about something other than a man. That’s all I knew of Alison Bechdel before I found The Secret to Superhuman Strength.

Full of wit and wisdom, Bechdel explores her history and those of other artists. For instance, in testing her appetite for self-destruction, she explores how Jack Kerouac’s life ended. Observing her growth through the decades is fascinating as she deals with love, loss, self-doubt, loneliness, and heartbreak. If you’re older, you’ll enjoy the little nostalgic details that cue where she sits in time and place. Her life experience might turn you on to therapy, reading more, daring more, and living more fully.

From skiing to yoga, cycling, karate, and running, Bechdel seems up for anything to make herself stronger. That’s not necessarily where this journey leads. Her quest for athletic excellence and health drew me in. It was her contemplation of Buddhism that gives readers some solace as we shiver in the cold shadow of existential dread.

What is the secret to superhuman creativity?

People talk about talent, but many may not realize how hard the talented have to work. From my own experience and what I glean from Alison Bechdel’s book, the true answer is vulnerability plus attention to detail.

What you call oversharing, I call the muse. Endemic is about a lonely, neurodivergent woman seeking safety and independence amid a plague. My novels are frequently about flawed protagonists searching for revenge and escape. That’s all me in there somewhere, confessing my sins, imagining clever vengeance, and exposing my not-so-secret resentments.

I resonated thoroughly with Alison Bechdel. Her struggle is a struggle we all share. How do we find our way? How can we live longer, better, and more authentically in a world that often values that quest? I admit I’m still struggling with the way-to-die part of the equation. Reading this graphic novel made me feel a little more comfortable with the relentless passage of time, the scary present, and the dark future.

She has other works. Here’s her website. Click here to check it out.

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Bring Back the Fifth Estate

I used to be a journalist, so it’s disappointing to distrust the media as much as I now do. We thought journalism was a noble profession when I was in J-school. Our mission was almost biblical: to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. A fierce critic of the US president, Jim Acosta did that on CNN. His reward is to be moved to a time slot out of prime time. That’s one truth-teller pushed aside, but it’s also a warning to the others: shut up or tone it down. Self-censorship and obeying in advance are dangerous to democracy.

Here’s what reporting looked like from my little corner back in the day:

When I worked in newspapers, people lied to me a lot. When I reported on drug raids, police tried to co-opt me. I didn’t fall for it. Firefighters are great, but when two fire departments nearly burned down the wrong house during a training exercise, I wrote the story. I chronicled the intersection of drug addiction and homelessness in Halifax. Then, I got angry complaints from a compromised party trying to slip the problem under the rug. I wrote as honestly as I could and got angry phone calls in return. I got shouted at a few times and threatened with bodily harm once. A letter to the editor seemed bent on burning me to get me fired. My editors, to their credit, didn’t order me to tone it down. They didn’t say a word to me about it. I wonder if they’d be so protective of their reporters today.

Further evidence on a grand scale:

Much of the mainstream media’s normalization of DJT is unconscionable. I know. He won. Now, his challenge is to lead, and it’s a journalist’s job to question the status quo and report the facts. There are still good journalists, but I don’t know the percentage or ratio. Coverage that conveys facts that result in justified outrage as norms and laws are broken is not biased. It’s doing what it’s supposed to do. Only monarchs can’t be questioned (and that was back when kings and queens beheaded their critics.) Today, we get too many tepid squeaks from mainstream journalists. Don’t leave all the heavy lifting to Jimmy Kimmel.

President Petulance keeps doing questionable, immoral, and imperial shit. Still, It won’t be long before we get another so-called think piece from Slate about how Democrats should have been nicer to right-wing fanatics in Tennessee.

(Hat tip to the Skepticrat Podcast for the second half of that last line.)

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What’s on your Best Books list?

Now that my tropical vacation is over, I’m back to the Arctic winds. I’m almost recovered from that nasty virus, so I’m back to writing. Today, after a glimpse of a Cuban beach, let’s talk about books, especially your best book recommendations.

Cuba, January 2024. Love that sugar sand.

This is a recent view from my front door. We’ve been pummeled by dangerous polar temperatures lately. In the depths of winter, I especially enjoy sitting by the wood stove or in bed and reading a book. Snowstorms outside, a good book, and hot chocolate inside make for an especially cozy reading experience.

Audiobooks keep me occupied while I work out, cycle, or do the dishes. Chirp serves up audiobooks very inexpensively. I listen through Audible, but Spotify has audiobooks now, too. You’ll find lots of classics there.

Here are my Audible stats from 2024. You’ll notice a lot of Denis E Taylor, my new favourite Canadian science fiction author. I especially love his Bobiverse series. The man is a master of the contemplation of sci-fi logistics. His go-to voice actor, Ray Porter, is a great narrator, too. The author’s website dennistaylor.org.

Audible stats for 2024.

I enjoyed going through Mark Manson’s best fiction list. I’d read most of them but found a few missing from my reading history. You might want to check out his website, markmanson.net.

What fiction do you consider essential reading, and what are you reading this weekend?

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FAFO

Recovering from a nasty virus, I’ve had a lot of downtime watching the news. How unfortunate. As a writer of many apocalyptic scenarios, I’ve delved into how civilization in a multitude of ways. In Citizen Second Class, it’s a combination of class warfare, climate change, and financial ruin that brings down the United States. In AFTER Life an This Plague of Days, disease takes the world down. In All Empires Fall, there’s a range of narratives, from alien invasion to an asteroid strike. In Our Alien Hours, you guessed it! Aliens again. But the future is always surprising, isn’t it? Aliens, robots, killer AI and zombies are fun to play with. Paperwork issued by a glowering troll does not good fiction make. It sure doesn’t contribute to the betterment of the world.

When Donald Trump was on the campaign trail, annexing allies and declaring war on Mexico, Greenland, and Panama wasn’t on the table. (Don’t poo-poo or normalize it by saying he doesn’t mean it or that “he didn’t really blah-blah-blah.”) Fueled by anger and fear, President Petulance governs by spite and threats. Meanwhile, the world looks on, somewhat puzzled. His opponent, who proposed policies to assist people in buying their first home, was beaten by an adjudicated rapist and convicted felon who marveled about the size of a golfer’s putter.

The trouble with fiction is that it has to sound real. Apocalyptic non-fiction suffers no such constraints. For instance, the bishop who asked for mercy for the vulnerable in the gentlest way possible was condemned as “nasty.” As Stephen Colbert quipped, “How dare she bring the teachings of Jesus into a church!”

This morning I see reports of American citizens shocked that they’re swept up into ICE raids. Frightened of being abused and deported, many immigrant farm workers aren’t showing up to pick fruit. (Watch for a sharp rise in certain food prices soon. And no, eggs aren’t going to get cheaper.) Today, it’s reported that Native Americans are now being targeted by ICE because they aren’t “real” Americans. They say the concern is that indigenous peoples owe allegiance to their tribes over the American flag. It’s simpler than that, though, isn’t it? They aren’t white, and Christofascism is the order of the day.

There are many terrible changes and horrible possibilities on the horizon, but his followers don’t care. His allies abandon logic and their dignity to excuse every malicious move. What struck me most about the inauguration was that it was not a celebration of a great nation’s peaceful change of power. The tone and content was that of a coronation of a Christlike figure. With all the reins of power in his hands and a conservative Supreme Court bent on allowing just about anything, the United States is not unified. Trump may as well be a king, and he considers many of his constituents the enemy. He is not there to serve all citizens, just the ones who worship and/or flatter him.

This will all change, but not before many are hurt and victimized. Ironically, many of those who voted for him will be the first negatively impacted. For example, he has rolled back disability benefits for veterans and rescinded Biden’s executive order to lower prescription drug prices. He pardoned the J6 rioters who assaulted Capitol Police. I wonder how those assigned to protect federal officials are feeling about that this morning. So much for “Back the Blue.” If you were the officer whose eye was gouged out, how would you feel today?

I will not make a habit of chronicling Donald Trump’s offenses here. You can get that elsewhere in abundance. Mostly, I will sit back, wait, and watch. I am powerless to do much about the future of the world. It’s going to be a difficult four years. Anytime empathy is devalued, we are all diminished in myriad ways. I will say that DJT is a thin-skinned person, a soft and lazy man. He has been propelled to his position because he terrified of appearing weak. His cult, too, is so afraid of looking weak that they embrace being mean. Worse, they call it goodness.

Stay tuned, deny reality, or tune out. Whichever way this goes, we’re all in for a bumpy ride.

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For the love of Stanley Tucci

I have proof She Who Must Be Obeyed is my soulmate: At Christmas, I bought this book for her and she bought a copy for me.

Last year, I rhapsodized about Taste by Stanley Tucci. It’s part memoir, some family history, and delicious Italian recipes. Stanley has a dry wit, a fascinating life and career, and very strong opinions on which shape of pasta should go with what sauce. What I Ate in One Year picks up where Taste left off. It’s a near-daily diary of the trials, tribulations, travel, projects, rewards, and feasts the Internet’s boyfriend is heir to. If you’ve watched his series Searching for Italy, it’s impossible not to hear his dulcet tones as you read. Love that!

Reading this book in Cuba was particularly poignant and pointed. It was poignant because Stanley dwells on his mortality quite a bit. His first wife died of the disease and he is a cancer survivor. Meanwhile, I was far from home, sick and waiting to die by a tropical pool. Weak, cursing, and coughing, I was reminded of my father’s telling of how incredibly ill he was at sea. Flat on his back at the bottom of a fishing trawler in high seas, Dad told me, “First, I was afraid I was going to die. Then I was afraid I wouldn’t.” He survived the seasickness, and I survived my virus. Almost ninety years later, Dad was faced with the same feeling. He chose the needle rather than endure what sadists call “a natural death.” (Jury’s still out on my eventual exit, but I hope I go with the same eagerness and dignity, instead of screaming in childish protest, as is my wont.)

Stanley’s love of food was especially pointed in Cuba because he would starve to death there. When a meal fails to rise to his standards, Stanley refuses to participate in such abominations unto the Lord. He doesn’t hold back, reporting, for instance, that a meal was not just awful, but “fucking awful.” Mostly, he dines very well. As for us on vacation in Cuba, the pork was good a couple of times. Mostly, we survived the week on buttered buns. The buns were good, but I’ve had a much more delicious and authentic Cubano sandwich from Starbucks.

No matter what I ordered on this trip, I couldn’t receive the same thing twice. A cafe bombon was first a delicious ice cream treat (not what I envisioned, but great). Then, it was merely iced coffee. Intrepid and trying again, a cafe bombon became a foamy thing sort of like the first attempt, but without ice. A proper cafe bombon should be an espresso with sweetened condensed milk. (Full details here. You’re welcome.) I finally got a decent cafe bombon when I flew home and made it myself. (Note to self: Learn Spanish before heading south again.)

It’s tempting to say, if you’re traveling to Cuba, bring food. I’m being a little unfair. On my first Cuban trip to a different resort, I enjoyed the meals. Our last meal in Cuba eight years ago turned me on to Italian food. I didn’t think it was special until I savored shrimp on angel hair pasta. This most recent trip was a gastronomic disaster, but the food wasn’t the point of the escape. We got to spend more time with our kids than we get all year, and that was wonderful. The weather was great, and we needed a break. I wish we hadn’t been sick for most of the trip, but I don’t regret going. SWMBO remarked she caught the virus from me, but in deference to my long history of service, devotion, and conviviality, she agreed to never say that again.

Travel and Book Recommendations

If you plan to visit Cuba, the country has a lot of supply problems. For instance, there’s no Kleenex, a fact we lamented deeply as our illness progressed. The staff appreciate over-the-counter medicines that are often unavailable to them. Besides tips, we left the staff a miniature pharmacy. For money, they prefer American dollars, but they graciously accepted our Canadian currency.

Wherever you live, on vacation or hard at work in air traffic control, read Stanley Tucci’s What I Ate in One Year. Okay, maybe not while you’re controlling air traffic, but otherwise, I highly recommend it. I devoured this book in a couple of days. I didn’t want it to end. And I really wanted to devour the great food he wrote about. A person can survive on buttered buns alone, but after a while, you don’t want to.

Home again, I’m back to the business of writing novels. The food tastes even better than I remember. I am grateful.