Chapter 95: First Cry in the Literary World

Zhang Chu really had never read Poetry Monthly. Who went out of their way to read a literary magazine like that? If anything, people read things like Close Friend, Story Club, Youth Digest, Reader's Digest, or Sports Weekly.

The magazine was famous in literary circles, but to ordinary readers it was far too refined and rarefied, with very little entertainment value. You could hardly ever see it in an ordinary bookstore or newsstand, and it was notoriously hard to sell. After all, it was a central-level poetry journal overseen by the China Writers Association, where one contemporary poet after another had first made a name for himself.

For readers who loved poetry, it was scripture.

"I know Poetry Monthly, of course, but is that poem really suitable for publication there?"

Even Zhang Chu himself began to lose confidence. If it were Hai Zi's original version of Facing the Sea, Spring Blossoms, then getting into Poetry Monthly would be absolutely no problem.

The issue was that the version in Diary of the Journey to the West was a playful adaptation, a satirical spoof, and rather hard to place in any august setting.

Ma Qiwei said with a smile, "Of course it suits. I'm not worried about that, so why are you? When the time comes, I'll write the review myself."

Even if Zhang Chu had never heard of Ma Qiwei, the fact that he was the editor-in-chief of Poetry Monthly still carried immense weight. Having the editor-in-chief personally write a review for the poem would count as exceptionally high treatment.

"In that case, I'll be grateful and accept your kindness."

Zhang Chu did not want to become notorious in the literary world the moment he had barely appeared on the scene. For a writer, reputation was still very important.

"How should the fee be paid to you, then?"

Although Poetry Monthly paid very little in royalties, Zhang Chu's poem would only amount to a few hundred yuan, and the money had to be paid in full, down to the last cent.

"Donate it for me. Just don't give it to the Red Cross," Zhang Chu said. He could not guarantee that no Gou Meimei figure would appear in this lifetime.

At that moment, Zhang Chu actually wanted to hand over Hai Zi's original poem. But on second thought, this was a very good way to promote Diary of the Journey to the West.

After all, he was not Hai Zi. He had no signs of throwing himself under a train, and later readers would not read that background into the poem.

A conventional poem was hard to make breathe again. Better to win by surprise; at the very least, that would draw more attention.

After Zhang Chu hung up, he still could hardly believe it. The fan fiction he had written earlier, Sherlock Holmes, and the detective novel Crime of the Mind both fell within the realm of popular literature.

Yet now, because of that adapted little poem in Diary of the Journey to the West, he had actually caught the eye of the heavyweights at Poetry Monthly and was about to step into serious literature.

Of course, no one else knew that the poem centered on the monkey had been adapted. To them, it was Zhang Chu's spontaneous creation, a new poem.

Compared with regulated verse and quatrains from ancient times, this poem paid no mind to form or rhyme.

Zhang Chu could already imagine it: when the new issue of Poetry Monthly went on sale, and those old stick-in-the-muds suddenly found such a poem among all the others, would their false teeth fall right out of their mouths?

...

Even at lunch, Zhang Chu still could not quite calm down. He quickly finished the rice in his bowl and said to Zhang Bowen and Chu Lan, "The poem I posted on Weibo is going to be published in Poetry Monthly. What do you think?"

"That's nice," Chu Lan replied perfunctorily, not even really hearing what her son had said. She was still resentful about the mahjong hand she had played wrong that morning.

Zhang Bowen also chimed in, "Not bad, not bad. Impressive."

That kind of joy, the desire to share it, made Zhang Chu feel rather uncomfortable. His good buddies simply could not appreciate how remarkable it was to have a spoof poem published in Poetry Monthly.

Back in his room, he turned on the computer and checked his related data.

By now, the readers of Crime of the Mind had rebelled several times over. Every day they were asking about publication progress, desperate to see the ending as soon as possible.

The editor, Gu Xinxue, happened to be online, so Zhang Chu clicked in and asked him.

"Editor Gu, when do you think my book Crime of the Mind will go on sale?"

Gu Xinxue worked hard every day too, but Zhang Chu was one of the more promising writers he had discovered so far, so naturally he would devote his full attention.

"We've already gotten the book number from the General Administration of Press and Publication. The design and layout are finished. We're just waiting for printing now. It should take about half a month before it can really hit the market."

Actually, that pace was quite fast. Many books had to be revised repeatedly and then submitted for higher-level approval, which sometimes took four or five months.

Zhang Chu sighed. In another half month, he would already be heading to Imperial Capital, and he would still have to endure that criticism for so long. It was all his own doing. Nothing to be done.

"What about the sales for Sherlock Holmes, the Detective now?" He had not paid attention to that work for quite some time.

Gu Xinxue quickly switched to the report, searched for the figures, and sent over a screenshot. "The physical edition has sold 180,000 copies so far, and the e-book 260,000. That's still quite good. It's already the best-selling detective work of 2018."

The fan work's reputation really was not bad either. Its ratings on Douban Books, Amazon, and elsewhere were all above eight, and it still had strong momentum.

Just in the detective fiction groups alone, many people were envying him. Such a sky-breaking trajectory was not something anyone could achieve casually.

Especially now that Zhang Chu had become famous, his online popularity had been turning into real-world popularity, and every day his work could be seen in the top two hundred of the rankings at the General Administration of Press and Publication.

Even if the ranking was not at the very top, being able to remain steady in the back half was still a skill.

"According to our marketing department's forecast, sales for Crime of the Mind may actually fall short of Sherlock Holmes, the Detective. This book is an original detective novel, and it doesn't have enough buzz. So you should be mentally prepared."

Zhang Chu knew that was the plain truth. He replied with a grin, "Whether it sells more or less depends on the readers. There's not much I can do about that."

If the work had no quality, Zhang Chu could shout himself hoarse and no one would listen.

Sherlock Holmes, the Detective had already sold nearly five hundred thousand copies, yet Zhang Chu still had not received the later royalties. The settlement speed was simply too slow.

If he truly needed money in a hurry, that would be far too late.

Publishers in this country rarely used the large advance-payment model common abroad. They paid in installments, and only after a reprint would further royalties be issued.

Fortunately, Zhang Chu did not have anywhere urgently needing money right now. He was actually thinking of helping his father expand the Hanlin Pavilion bookstore a little. After all, that had been the place where he had relied on his parents in his previous life.

Still, that was not something that needed to be done immediately. Taking it a little slower was perfectly acceptable.