Eight Cuts Gallery Press [Promotional Reel]

In Uncategorized on September 26, 2010 at 4:23 pm



The Industry so far…



Interview with Junot Diaz [1]

Irony. If you can put it in a nutshell then it’s not worth saying. Y’know? And that’s ironic. Irony. The meaning of the word.”



Bret Easton Ellis faints after self-describing “absolute, immortal importance” of new book, ‘Imperial Bedrooms.’

Johnny Franzen soaks up the acclaim for his new novel ‘Freedom’ at a press buffet in rich man’s New York. He talks of the ‘slavery of slaves’ and how his book can save pretty much everyone, even plants.

‘Alien the Obscure’ by Thomas Hardy and Blinky L. Frostern is released. Title left unexplained.

Hong Kong model Jessica C finishes her first novel, ‘Pretty Bitch’. She tells journalists she feels “so tired” after writing “so hard” for “so long”, and is looking forward to just “being pretty again.”



Agents insist the market is booming.

The market remains unavailable for comment.


An interview with Junot Diaz [2]

It’s a difference, a breach, an impasse; the absence of the writer usurped by the presence of the speaker. Which leads to hegemony of course.”



In his revolver-shaped swimming pool, Lee Child is surprised by the success of complex characters like his own Jack Reacher.


Y’know, sometimes he’s good, but then, y’know, sometimes he’s not so good. It’s a really grey area, dark and complicated, and I like it.”


Relevance of Jack Reacher to any kind of reality, objective, subjective, whatever:


Oh, he’s out there,” says Child. “When I read about this Afghanistan thing and, y’know, all the crazy stuff in the world, I know Jack’s there, kicking ass in his own little way.”



Authors close ranks and draw up manifesto.


Our aim, ambitious and radical as it may seem, is to limit the number of active authors to single digits. Let no more in, we say.”



Johnathan Safran Foer declares the end of “amateurish, confessional scribblings” and a return to “writing things I neither know nor understand.”



Unknowns are just jealous. They can’t get any attention for themselves, so they swipe at those who can.”

                • Stephen King, ‘The man who damn well was King Magazine’.



An introduction to a workshop led by Dave Eggers.



‘How to be a better writer’





First of all, it is very, very important to listen to people who know what they’re talking about. People like me. Or just me, really.”



Guest speaker, Joshua Ferris:

Basically, it’s theme. You have to sit down and think very hard, harder than you’ve ever thought about anything in your whole life, about what you want to write…think of metaphors, allegories, motifs…then take all that and craft it into a pleasing whole.”



Counterpoint, Charles Bukowski:

Don’t bore me or anyone else. Write from the gut or don’t write at all.”



Jay McInerney begs to remain at the King’s table after twenty-five years of being a pointless twat.


Police report: McIrnerney followed and molested by old book and ex-lover ‘Model Behavior’ near Central Park. Witnesses claim the book seemed embarrassed to be seen and made numerous attempts to cover its face. This comes hot on the heels of the motel room suicide of McInerney’s second book ‘Ransom’ last month in Nevada. Police have not ruled out further attacks.



Industry breakdown of Book Sales [World-wide]:


Number of buyers: 27

Books sold in 2010: 2,700,000



The point of every book published over the course of the last twenty years? Unknown.



A Scene:


There’s a new press putting down roots,” says Eggers, sitting on a sofa made of his own self-importance. “Eight Cuts…you heard of it?”

No. Should I have?” replies Ferris, his guest.

I don’t know, I don’t know.” Eggers runs his hand through his hair. “The thing is, there’s no money in it.”

Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money,” says Ferris.

Yeah, money. There’s nothing.”

They stare at their own reflections in each others’ eyes.

Can’t run a press without money,” mutters Ferris before picking up one of his own books and reading aloud. Eggers half-listens, his hand still ploughing hair, until finally, after seven days of presenting, Ferris stops and looks towards the ceiling [or Jesus?]. “God, I’m good.”

Eggers nods. “Yes, I suppose I am.”



92.7% of unpublished writers can’t write for shit.


99.25% of published writers are in love with this statistic.



An interview with Junot Diaz [3]


I grow weary of words, the responsibility of words. Distressingly weary…the crown is heavy and what does it really achieve? Alas, perhaps I shall escape and become a woodcutter.”



Something new then, something different?


                                                                                                      EIGHT CUTS


  1. Everything is true, except for the ‘sofa of self-importance.’

  2. Actually, I heard that Eggers really does sit on a sofa made of his own self-importance. F’realz.

  3. Oh…

    Correction: Everything is true.

  4. Oh man. I can’t even say much else, what with my jaw on the floor.

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