The other day, in “Because I want to,” I mentioned John Scalzi and his Whatever blog. Always cogent and frequently awesome, Scalzi covers all manner of things, plus, he’s won all sorts of awards and even initiated a successful write-in campaign for president of the Science Fiction Writers’ Association (by “successful,” I do not mean he won; rather, I mean that he did not but people still talk about it, and he certainly had a shot at winning. Unlike, say, Ralph Nader).
Today, after I got home from a long day that included a normative grading session and a class full of students fresh out of the linguistics lecture that takes place immediately before my class, I began to skim blogs. The first I check is always Neil Gaiman’s, because he’s been my favorite writer for many years. That he had a novel basically free on the Web for a month was enough to make me mention it straightaway. I didn’t pass go.
After I did pass go, I started to check out the other blogs. Scalzi’s is second in my bookmarks.
When I got to Scalzi’s, I got sad.
The first post I saw had to do with his cat. Or one of them. Scalzi has a few, and talks about them, and sometimes tapes bacon to them.
(that last sentence is fun. And true, on all clauses)
The second mentioned a feature he’s run for a while, called The Big Idea. Basically, he spotlights writers and their newly released books, specifically some big idea or other about it. Scalzi’s spotlight is bright, intense, and probably rather hot. Scalzi’s spotlight is arguably the kind of spotlight people on stage look up at and think, “Okay, I’m done on this side,” mainly because Whatever gets, like, 40,000 hits per day (and again, deservedly so, because, again, it’s frequently awesome).
So when he mentioned that he was looking for authors who weren’t specifically sci-fi/fantasy, I thought, hey, that’s pretty rad. Maybe I should drop Mr. Scalzi a line.
But his first guideline was simple. I’ll quote:
First, authors must not be self-published, or solely electronically published, or published by a publishing house that offers $1 advances and/or can’t get distribution into bookstores. Yes, I know. I suck. But this is the line in the sand. Deal with it.
His first guideline, of course, is what made me sad. I’ll be the first to admit it. To a degree, it offended me, and made me grumpy. So I took a nap, defiance in my head, but then realized that sometimes the things that offend us most are the things that strike closest to the truth (I’ll also note part of my first reaction was remembering the old Warner Brothers cartoons with my grandfather, because we all know what you do when you come to a line in the sand is, don’t we? That’s right: you cross it, because it’s a line in the sand. Ain’t like it’s a wall or something. Just step right over).
If you’re reading this, you probably know why it struck close to the truth, because you’ve probably seen my Lulu page; you may have even purchased, from it, my debut collection of fiction, essays, and poetry (and if you have, thank you. You’re awesome. I hope you loved it). Which means two things.
The first is that I am, technically, a self-published author. It’s not a label I prefer, but then, as my buddy once said, “fuckin’ labels’ll get you every time.” I say that because: who thinks in labels? When people ask Neil Gaiman or John Scalzi what they do for a living, I doubt either says “I’m a traditionally published author” or “I’m a commercially published author” or “I’m an author published by a major, conglomerated publishing company based in New York.” I’d wager both men, when asked what they do, would have a simple answer: “I’m a writer.”
No labels, no qualifications, no credentials. Simple.
When asked further, I’m sure they might reveal either who published them (when talking shop) or where someone might buy their books (to a new acquaintance interested), but how the stories and the words get out there is usually dead last among writers’ priorities. The big ones are truth and honesty in storytelling. The big ones are whether our characters are believable and this plot works and this ending is satisfying.
With them I share that in common, mostly. Actually, I must qualify that, because when people ask me what I do, I generally tell them I teach writing at the University of Southern California, where I’m finishing my master’s in writing. But still, I am a writer.
And the other thing that having a book on Lulu, available for sale, which people have bought, means is that I’m a professional writer, to boot. Does writing pay my rent? No, it doesn’t, but then, for how many writers does it, actually? I know of lots of writers (and am friends with several) who’ve published several novels who still haven’t given up their day jobs.
I generally understand the stigma against self-publishing; it is, by and large, an endeavour generally undertaken by amateurs, some of whom write decently but haven’t studied the finer points of actually publishing. Publishing is not just about putting a book in someone’s hands; it’s about carefully editing that book, designing it as a physical product people will read, and understanding subtle points of marketing. Companies like Lulu and PublishAmerica, to whom I think Scalzi is alluding when he mentions the $1 advances, mean just about anyone can publish; that just about anyone can doesn’t mean everyone should, of course, and self-publishing is full of a glut of crappy books.
But here’s the thing: publishing in general is full of a glut of crappy books. Theodore Sturgeon, a noted science fiction author in his own right, once coined the law that “90% of science fiction is crap, but 90% of everything is crap.” Which is probably true, but the inverse would seem to mean that 10% is not crap, and, moreover, that final 10% is subjective to the whims and predilections of the culture at large.
What I ultimately mean is that a lot of people think self-published novels are crap, but I know lots of people who think The DaVinci Code is crap. Rarely does everyone tend to agree on one book’s quality, and even when we manage, as a culture, to, we sometimes overlook flaws. The Great Gatsby is obviously a classic, and is, in fact, one of my favorite novels, but read it and try to figure out the chronology of it.
Scalzi’s feature is called The Big Idea, but I think a big idea is that distribution into bookstores, in the age of iPods/iPhones/Amazon, means very little. A big idea is that readers don’t care how they get their stories, so long as they get them. A big idea is that big news in publishing today is that one of my favorite author’s best novels is available online completely free. A big idea is that Steve Jobs thinks nobody is reading anymore, and so doesn’t really see the viability of an e-book reader, but still, somehow, despite that nobody’s reading and it’s not viable, still my collection became the first e-book on the iPhone just a week after the device came out.
I think a big idea is that in a few days I’m writing a check to the United Way New York City, to fulfill the promise that I’d donate $1 dollar from the sale of every copy, as well as every digital download of “What I saw that Day (September 11th, 2001).”
I think a big idea is that one day writing might be judged not by the means by which it is distributed but rather by the content of its ideas and the quality of its prose. That one day books might be judged not by where their covers appear but rather by what appears between them.
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A little while back, someone asked me if I was a photographer…mostly because I had my camera and I was studying a bird rather seriously. I told him, “Sometimes.” He was confused. I then told him, “I live my life.” For me, that’s good enough. It means that I teach; I write; I snap pictures; I contemplate; and I love.
I remember when I first felt like I was an adult. It wasn’t that long ago, actually. Was I an adult long before then? Technically, yes. I’ve been paying my own bills and living on my own for a long time now. There’s a difference between what we call ourselves and who we actually are. The labels we stick on our own existence usually, I find, come from other people and are rooted in our need to be approved in some way. If we call ourselves something, does it make it true? I’ve read tons of research about words and what they means–how, if you apply a label, eventually that something takes on properties of the label. Is it true? Maybe, maybe not. I think it has to do with what you believe–where you put your respect–how you live your life. Some people need recognition. Others don’t.
For me, calling myself a “writer” or a “photographer” or a “teacher” or an “adult” seems a bit silly. These are all labels for things I do, not a roadmap for who I am or the quality of my life. I don’t need to stand up and proclaim that I’m worthy of the title. I just do my thing, as well as I can and want to do it, and keep going. To call myself anything at all actually limits my ability to do that thing well. To believe my own hype actually distracts me from the act of being whatever it is I need to be right now.
With all due respect to Mr. Scalzi and any other “writer” out there who feels the need to universally judge another person’s work, being lucky enough or connected enough to be recognized and read does not indicate an ability to write well. It indicates an ability to make shrewd connections with people who may or may not ever do anything worthwhile during their lifetimes. It means being at the right convention and shaking the right person hand. It means tapping into something that can be exploited. It indicates an ability to type words. That may make you a “writer” by your own standards. It may make you a writer my industry standards. But does it mean anything at all if what you write says nothing?
I’ve seen so many self-proclaimed “writers” whose life’s work will be forgotten in 2 years–whose books aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on.
So, my advice to you, Will, is to keep being a man who writes–who isn’t defined by it. Be a man who is strengthened by his ability to see the world and filter it. Be a man who does it out of love and not for fame. If you do that, it doesn’t matter who publishes you. You’ll find an audience.
Heh. When people ask me if I’m a writer, I generally say, yeah, I do some writing.
And usually I do, every day.
Today, I’m doing some grading, though. And maybe some reading.
Unfortunately, commercialism, tends to rule the world (people fall for the exterior before examining the interior). Unfortunatley there are many who want something just because everyone else has one, or they want it because someone told them they should.
What Alma said really hit me though… “be a man who does it out of love.” People can tell when you love something. And more importantly, you can. When you blogged about success being defined as something from within I think that spoke of love. It’s how we feel about ourselves that makes us successful, and this will usually translate into our work and other areas in life. We do the things we are passionate about because we love them, they make us feel good.
I think society has so many labels to make understanding easier for the average. It labels us so we have to be less creative in thinking, detracting us from who we really are.
Reading this blog made me remember something you once said: “I’m just a guy who writes.” And to me that statement was as simple as it was meant to be, and it stuck with me.
When I look at my son, who is now approaching three years old, it saddens me to think that slowly society is jading him. At his age right now you could be blue with purple spots and he wouldn’t care, as long as you were engaging him. Sure, he’ll ask you why you look different, but he focuses more on what’s important, that being the quality of the time spent.
Yep, I’m still just a guy who writes. Though now I’m also a guy who teaches, which is almost as rad, most times.
Your son has a great mom. He’ll do well in everything, of that I am certain.
Obviously, a ripe topic for many quasi-pro bloggers and all self-published authors. I love your blogs, Will!
There’s an bizarre separation between self-published authors and self-produced moviemakers—while they are in essence the same thing, viewers seem to pay little attention to a film’s origins… but pay greater attention to a book’s origins. It could be due to a theory of Darwinist self-selection: a film’s expensive and collaborative nature makes it much harder to produce a movie than publish a book, so there are fewer bad movies than bad books. On top of that, bad filmmakers usually can’t find financiers to continue producing more bad films, whereas books are much easier to throw money at.
Quality is the keystone. Quality work, whether in filmmaking or writing, will sell itself. If there is a prejudice against self-publishing, it is because the usual vetting parties—a vigilant third-party editor and a willing financier—are notoriously absent. When examining a self-published book, savvy book buyers (both consumers and book distributors) must ask themselves, “If this book is really all that good, why couldn’t they get their own editor and get published with a major book house?” Most self-published authors would do well to create their own publishing company and rid themselves of this crippling handicap at the starting gate.
I actually wrote three blogs about self-publishing a while back… enjoy.
1. Publish a Book
2. Selecting a Screenplay
3.
Apparently, even I need an editor! heh.
3. On Self-Publishing
@Ross: interesting point you bring up, though I’m not surprised you do given your background in film and screenwriting. I think the idea that independent authors are really no different from independent musicians and independent filmmakers is actually very important, and could do with some exploration. For example: the Coen brothers wrote, directed, produced, and edited No Country for Old Men and were lauded for it (of course they didn’t distribute it themselves, but everything else? Pretty much, I think). No one, however, asks: “If this movie is so good, why did the Coens have to do it all?”
Yes, good point. The question should probably be rephrased to equate book publishing with film distribution, although with the Coen brothers, they now have a loooong track record with many awards to parlay into clout with film distributors. However, no distributor is going to gamble money on an unknown filmmaker on the same scale that any Coen brothers film does. And for every Coen brothers filmmaker, there are 1,000 failed filmmakers… but we never see those films because they don’t get distribution. The vetting process works as it should to weed out the crap. That said, there are many great films & videos which deserve distribution and the internet is filling that niche with user participation web sites like Videosift.
George Lucas is also an independent filmmaker and, while brilliant in many ways, he would have done well to have someone else direct his last three movies. The Empire Strikes Back is a favorite for many Star Wars fans and one has to wonder if it had anything to do with Lucas not being its director…
I’ve learned so much in almost 40 years working in the industry. I’ve enjoyed many self-published authors (you know how I feel about your book) in recent years while I couldn’t stomach some whose books were published by major houses. It’s one of the reasons I finally started my own. I know the tricks, and I know how to get around the “can’t get into booksellers” attitude, because we are already in some booksellers on regional levels with access spreading slowly but surely as time goes by. One of the reasons for this is because we were smart enough to make the same connections the big houses have, and use them wisely.
RE: Steve Jobs. Please. The man hasn’t picked up a book in decades. He says people aren’t reading, but have you looked at the stats from Publishers Weekly lately? He’s very wrong.