Well, happy Labor Day, everyone; I'm out celebrating it in a minimalist way as we speak, in fact, down at a coffeehouse in my neighborhood, being a wild man and splurging on both a cafe mocha and a muffin on the very same day. (You can't stop me, people; see, I'm crazy and out-of-control like that.) And in fact, I hadn't been planning on going out at all, simply because I don't like being out among all the drunken shirtless hoo-mons on holidays like today, when they all feel the societal pressure to be out en-masse and having their desperately fake good time to begin with; then add the fact that this has been a particularly shitty year for me too, a year of endless failed plans and broken tech equipment, of not having enough money to fix the problems and so having to just shut down various plans altogether. I admit, it's been difficult for me at points this year to maintain a positive attitude about anything at all, and this in turn has affected all kinds of non-related things in my life; I've barely bicycled or hung out with friends this summer, got almost no new episodes of my arts center's podcast produced, got no new Google bike maps created, have been smoking too much pot and not getting out enough, etc etc etc.

That's what's made it so surprising, after all, that I should keep having this whole series of pleasant little pipe dreams lately, every time I walk by this weird little commercial mini-space in my neighborhood that recently went up for rent; I keep having all this nice little fantasies, in fact, about what I could do with such an odd little space, of how for example it could serve as a shared space for CCLaP's first live events, this rare-book dealership I've been thinking more and more recently about maybe starting in the future, as well as a private office for me during the day when activity around the space is slow, all of which I've been detailing here at the journal over the last couple of weeks simply because I could. (And here are links to part 1 and part 2 of those details, by the way, for those who originally missed them.) And now we're at the final part of these pipe dreams I've been having, of how you could turn the back room of such a space into a little book-making factory, specially for the contemporary small-run art books I plan on producing as part of these overall plans for CCLaP and the rare-book service and whatnot.

Because make no mistake, this has been my plan for CCLaP's paper-publishing program from the start; not to ever print the same kind of mass-run trade-paperbacks like you would see from a major press at a corporate bookstore, but specifically to do small-run handmade "fine art" editions, $50 to $100 in final cover price and with the goal of only selling a few hundred copies of each title, otherwise publishing the stories for free electronically for people who are only interested in simply reading the stories. Because ladies and gentlemen, I have seen the future of publishing, and the future of publishing most definitely does not lay with mass-run paper editions; in fact, when it comes to small factual information like is found in textbooks and newspapers and telephone directories, even in 2008 we have largely done away with paper versions of such info, most people instead rapidly acknowledging the benefits of simply plucking the latest version of such info from online sources in an electronic format, and reading them on your computer or phone or Kindle or whatnot. This is the way all textual information is heading, a process that will especially speed up once these publishing companies finally let go of some of this corporate greed of theirs, and start making both eBooks and eReaders that are free of DRM and work well across different competing brands and standards. This day is coming, and it's coming sooner than you might expect; and basement presses will do nothing but benefit by acknowledging this as quickly as possible, that paper books in the future will be admired and treasured mostly as artistic objects, not for the actual information they contain.

Like I said, this has been my plan for CCLaP's publishing program from the start, something I could pull off even with the organization based out of my apartment like it currently is; but this would become especially feasible if securing a physical space like the one being mentioned today, not the least of which is because you could turn the back room of such a space into a standalone factory for these books. Although not necessary, I admit that it'd be a real treat to have an actual physical space for CCLaP and its various obligations -- a space with its own public mailing address, a place where I could easily accept packages, a place where an intern or assistant could comfortably run around, a place where I could store and make things without it completely subsuming my personal living space. Ah, but much cooler than this, with a space like what I'm talking about you could actually throw big parties in conjunction with each publishing project; and if you did this right, if you did this in the way I'm envisioning, you could end up selling 50 or 100 copies of the book right at the party itself, make a good $5,000 or $10,000 and ensure that the project breaks even on a single solitary night, ensure that you'll be able to take on future projects like the one just pulled off.

See, I think it's clear by now, how much I think a strong social aspect can contribute to the success of the kinds of small, artistic businesses we're talking about today; in fact, when it comes to businesses like rare-book dealerships and small publishing companies, where so many people are conducting operations through online means only, I think adding a physical social element can produce a legitimately powerful competitive edge. If, say, you create an overall environment like the one I'm always talking about with CCLaP, an environment where you're bringing poor artists and wealthy patrons directly together and getting them to interact, then such a high-end small-run publishing wing becomes a lot more than simply the opportunity to own cool books; it also becomes a physical symbol, a very concrete way for such patrons to support these artists, to have a direct hand in helping that artist be a success and to financially survive to at least their next project. This I'm convinced is the way to make a long-term success out of such artistic mini-operations; not to emphasize the individual commodities themselves (although they all have to be cool for this to work, make no mistake), but rather to sell the idea of the entire thing being a long-term investment in the Chicago arts, that your evenings of hanging out and drinking top-shelf liquor and shooting the shit with a bunch of bohemians and taking home an extremely cool book is not just a fun experience unto itself, but also directly benefits the very bohemians you're sitting around having such a fun time with in the first place.

With the kind of commercial mini-space I've been talking about, then, you could actually throw a big high-end party to celebrate the release of each new small-run book; and instead of the party being free and you putting the hard-sell on everyone while they attend, you simply charge people instead, a high price (say, $150) that includes a free copy of the book (which would normally sell, say, for $100). How you convince people to attend, then, is by throwing the most kick-ass parties imaginable, ones just full of free high-end liquor and sneaky back-porch drugs, packed with interesting attractive wealthy patrons and crazy sexy young hungry artists, featuring great live music and great live literary performances, late-night deals between gallery owners and emerging hipsters, over and over and over so that the parties just unto themselves develop a city-wide reputation. Combine this, then, with the usual work you would be doing through the arts center and the rare-book service, as far as developing a regular clientele who simply support everything you produce anyway; and you can see that with a little luck, it wouldn't be ludicrous to imagine 50 to 100 people attending such a high-ticket party at such a weird cool little space, at 150 dollars a pop, every single time you put out a new book. And that way, you get the hard business of breaking even out of the way right on the very first day the book is out; all sales of the book after that party are simply additional profit, with you essentially having several hundred extra copies to be sold at the store and online at whatever leisurely pace you want, and with no big pressure to sell X units by Y date like is the case with major presses.

I confess, after a year where seemingly every single thing in my life has been going wrong or badly, I salivate over this little pipe dream of mine with the rabidness of an infected bunny -- this idea of owning such a cool little space in the city somewhere, something half Dutch Minimalist art gallery and half Victorian book parlor, of making exquisite new books and selling exquisite antique books and providing a supportive place for contemporary cutting-edge writers all at the same time. Of combining all these endeavors into a powerful new community of artists and fans here in Chicago, a new way for these people to interact at a highly unique space that provides legitimate benefits for all of them. How...nice it would be to have a life doing that, and to actually get paid to do it on top of everything else. What a...lovely thing it would be if my life ever got to that point. Sigh.

Things will get better in my life, they will; if I've learned nothing else by getting to the age of 39, at least I've learned that, that life is an endless series of up and down waves and that eventually the opposite side will come crashing through yet again. If I can just be patient, if I can just keep doing the things I need to be doing, no matter how I'm feeling or how unmotivated I am, I'll be in great shape once the big wheel of karma eventually points in my favor again, once all these accidental great things start randomly happening to me again, instead of the endless accidental shitty things that have recently been randomly happening to me. That's why I love having little pipe dreams like I've been having these last couple of weeks about this space, of why I think it's so necessary for everyone to have these kinds of unrealistic dreams, even though I also think it's highly tempting to make fun of me for having such dreams while they're still so far away from being a reality; as I've learned this year, it's only by having such pipe dreams that I remain motivated enough to do even the little things in my life that are constructive instead of destructive, that I achieve any kinds of successes at all. This is what the New Age movement means when they talk about the power of "visualization;" that your simple mindset about the world, whether or not you're looking at your future in positive or negative terms, has a direct influence over what you physically do with your time right this moment.

Simply maintaining a positive outlook on your future is no substitute for the hard work it takes to actually get there; but as I can attest, it can sometimes be the final motivation needed to actually do this hard work, and at the very least helps the process along instead of hindering it. That's why I've been particularly alarmed by the shitty year I've been having in 2008, because it's seemed sometimes that I've lost even the ability to think optimistically about the future, a scary new first for me that I don't quite know what to think of; that's why I'm always so glad to have goofy little pipe dreams about the kind of stuff I've recently been talking about, no matter how far away I am in reality from making those pipe dreams actually happen, because at least it keeps me thinking about a future that may one day actually be. I will always take optimism over pessimism, which is why 2008 has particularly bothered me, because I feel like my pessimistic side has recently been winning out a lot more, that I've been getting in touch with the black nothingness at the center of the universe more this year than even usual, and I already spend too much time in touch with the black nothingness at the center of the universe as it is. I'll always take a little optimism in the face of all that, which is why I don't mind these recent little pipe dreams about this weird little space in my neighborhood at all.