I just finished a really long novel.  I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb.  I'd read online that Mark Ruffalo was going to star in an adaptation of the book.  I really admire Mr. Ruffalo so I thought I'd read the book (which happened to be in our library) first. I lugged it off the shelf and started it.  900 or so pages.  I was immediately drawn into the story.  Mr. Lamb wrote angry men as well as he wrote sad women.  I'd read She's Come Undone and like so many others thought the book had been written by a woman; so perfectly did it seem to capture a woman's point of view (this was back when #ownstories wasn't a twinkle in anyone's eyes).  And Oprah had given her stamp of approval on both (which is neither here nor there but I do like Ms. Winfrey's taste in literature). As I read, there turned out to be a book within the book.  A couple of hundred pages I guesstimate.  Which made the book proper around 700 pages.  That's still a really long book!  I liked the book.  I had some problems with it; namely, the book within the book.  I didn't read it.  My thought was, Mr. Lamb is already asking me to read a 700 page novel.  I'm sorry; but I'm not simultaneously reading a 200 page book purposely written in an amateurish style.  Besides, the narrator of the over-story kept telling me about the important plot points (which I suppose were subplot-plot points) so I didn't really need to read the second book.  Which is a long way of saying: I thought publishers didn't want long books. 
How many times have I read in online articles about getting published that NO ONE wants any book over 350 pages?
City on Fire by Mr. Hallberg. 927 pages.  That's like nearly 600 pages over!  That's like one and half novels over! And Mr. Hallberg received several million dollars in advance.  Isn't that simply the rewarding of bad behavior?  The Goldfinch by Ms. Tartt. 784 pages. Infinite Jest: 1,079. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay: 639.  Any book by Mr. Franzen: you're not going to get out at under 500.  That's 250 turns of the page.  The god-damned Harry Potter books.  Not a one less than 600 pages!!!
I have no problem with long books.  I love to spend months in one (I'm an "exacting" reader); enjoying being in that world.  In the act of reading.  That MAGIC act.  I have a tendency to write in Franzenian lengths myself.  So, I guess my question is: if so many bestsellers, modern classics, film-makeable tales and publishing phenoms are upwards of 500 pages (even debut novels--The Secret History anyone?) why do I keep coming across this decidedly UNMAGIC number of 350?  Besides, isn't it the job of editors to whittle down mammoth manuscripts into easily digestible amounts of words.  I mean, what exactly got cut out of I Know This Much is True?  I know this much is true: it wasn't much.
So please, whoever keeps dropping that three-hundred-and-fifty; please stop.  I'm even willing to pay you $350.00 if you will.  Just leave a bid in the comments box.  I'm negotiable.

​When I wrote my first book I self-published it.  I had gotten sick of editing it, going over every little mistake, sending it back to Amazon only to have it returned with seemingly more mistakes.  Mistakes that cost money to have corrected.  I finally, in August of 2015, reached an "F-it" point and pushed the green button.  The book went out into the world, flaws and all.  Nothing I can do about it now.  In fact, the latest addition added a mistake to the first page that hadn't been a mistake in the original.  So, I started trying to promote the book while simultaneously attempting to "land" an agent.  This did not pan out.  Agents weren't interested in something self-published and book stores looked down on material that wasn't from a big publishing house.  One bookstore, however, was interested.  Skylight Books in Los Angeles.  They agreed to buy five copies from me and sell them in their store.  To this day it is still on their shelves.  How?  Why?  Did anyone ever buy it?  Did they re-order directly from Amazon? I don't know.  But there it is.
So, 83 in the Shade eventually went out of print.  You couldn't get it on Amazon.  I, meanwhile, was busily penning a sequel that I hadn't really planned on writing; but it insisted on being written.  In fact, it was practically automatic writing.  So while I was doing that, I was halfheartedly sending out the first book to publishing world people for shits and giggles.  I knew nothing would come of it; but just mailing the book to Manhattan, knowing it was floating around in some glass skyscraper in New York City was a thrill all by itself.  
That's when I came across Carolyn Reidy.  Wait a second.  The head honcho of freakin' Simon and Schuster has my last name?  Were we related?  Did I have some long lost aunt in the publishing business?  Not just in the publishing business but running one of the shows?  Visions of sugarplums and fancies of unquestioned nepotism danced in my head.  I would send the book to Auntie Carolyn! I mean, yeah, she probably wouldn't even respond; but maybe seeing her own name on the mailer would catch her attention...get her to open it...maybe read it...maybe...
And then she died.
By all accounts she was beloved.  Not just a powerhouse but a nice lady.  One of the good ones.  Well of course she was one of the good ones; her last name was Reidy.  My grandfather always used to joke about how people would mispronounce our last name or ask the proper was to say it: "Ree-dee or Rye-dee?"  A family in-joke (it's Ree-dee by the way).  When I looked at her pictures, I assumed for some reason Ms. Reidy was single.  I also thought she was a lesbian.  I know that's probably not right; but that's what I thought.  And the gay gene really seems to run in my family.  But we shared the last name, so we had to be related.  I felt like I'd just missed out on knowing her.  Maybe would've invited her to a family reunion.
And then, just today, dawn broke over Marblehead.  Wait another second.  If she had married a Reidy then we wouldn't have been related through blood.  Sure enough, she'd married a Reidy.  Her maiden name was Kroll.  Kroll, interestingly is from German and means "renown" or "victory."  It's also Jewish.  And most interestingly to me, it means "one with curly hair."  I had incredibly kinky, curly hair when I was young (still miss it).  I'm also 1% Jewish according to Ancestry.com.  So I feel there's a connection beyond her marrying in.
Ms. Kroll, I'm so glad you married a Reidy.  And I'm sorry I won't have the chance to meet you.
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