Ack, gag, barf, die

Yeah, that sinus infection is coming along nicely. I was at least able to finish off The Captive last night, but I think I'll be sticking with lighter fare until I feel better. I'm at that really gross stage where [SQUEAMISH PEOPLE: SKIP THE REST OF THIS PARAGRAPH! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!] I'm finding snot on all kinds of random object. Pick up a mug: snot. Roll over on the pillow: snot. Another reason to stop reading Proust for a bit: It's a library book, and although I've tried my best, I'm not entirely sure I've managed to keep it pristine.

So I'll be lazy and link, like Crabby McSlacker does!

This is a cool interview with Lee Child (via PV), in which he notes that patience pays and that there is no such thing as an overnight success. Not a new idea, but still a true one, and one worth reinforcing and remembering. [ETA: I also really liked Barbara Morgenroth's comment, " The hardest thing to be and the easiest, is to be yourself. If you don’t want to go inward to find out who you are, to find your own path, being a writer is probably going to be one of the worst career moves you can make."] It's also interesting that Child's approach is not that different from Dean Wesley Smith's--just keep crankin' those titles out!

And this Passive Voice post resulted in a comments section that so impressed PG he made it into it's own post (which now has comments...oh my God). Basically if, you feel dismal when you read marketing advice, rest assured that you are not alone. My attitude is, if you like to market, that's great--go for it. If you really don't, remember that plenty of people think that the best way to market a book is to write the next one. If you want to straddle a middle ground, I recommend Lindsay Buroker's advice--she does market, but one of her main priorities is to not let marketing eat up all her writing time. (Of course, I'm neither marketing nor writing at the moment--but I am producing very impressive quantities of nasal mucus!)

I also updated my last post to note that, even if you think you don't notice typos and other small mistakes, you do.

If you're wondering why you should bother with a copy edit....

I got a very nice review of Trang on Futures Past and Present--it makes me happy on a day that has mostly been spent drinking hot fluids and blowing my nose.

Now, after you go and read it and marvel at what nice things the nice man has to say (he's so nice!), I want to draw your attention to the paragraph that reads:

Now, production values.  Once again, an indie author has put together a book that is essentially error free.  I only noticed one typo (although I don't remember what page now).  There was an interactive table of contents.  The formatting was good, and the cover told you this was a novel set in space.  Somehow New York can't seem to figure this out.

Isn't that just so much, well, nicer than:

As for the technicals, there are plenty of typos and typesetting errors. A second set of eyes would've cleared these up.

That was from the review in the New Podler Review of Books, which was written before I had Trang copy edited. Now that review was also mostly positive, and I had and still have absolutely no problem with it--the criticism was perfectly fair, and indeed, a second set of eyes did clear those errors up.

Which is my point. No matter how much a reviewer likes your book, there are going to be complaints--their job is to be critical, and there is no such thing as a perfect book. The idea is to minimize those complaints to things like, "I wanted more about the characters, because they were just so wonderful!" or "I can't wait for the next book to come out!" or "I never wanted the book to end!" not, "For God's sake, get it copy edited!"

Think about the difference in implications between those two excerpts from a marketing perspective. The first excerpt tells readers, hey, this lady's stuff is top quality--even better than what New York turns out. Yeah, he's just talking about the copy editing and the formatting and the choice of cover, but the implication is that the book is just as good if not better than something you'd pay $10 more for. The second tells you that, meh, it's sloppy, and she didn't put enough effort into it.

When I say things like, it's impossible to really enjoy a story that has a lot of errors in it, because your attention is constantly being interrupted--well, you are seeing the proof of that right here in those review excerpts. While I certainly think that changing the cover and description resulted in Trang getting much better reader reviews, I also believe strongly that having the book copy edited--getting rid of all the crap that was cluttering up the book and blocking people from becoming truly immersed in the story--was equally important.

The future of publishing vs. the future of writers

Bertelsmann, which owns Random House, has a new CEO. And apparently he's promised to shake things up there, in a manner that Richard Alan Dickson and Kristine Kathryn Rusch think bodes ill for the whole publishing-actual-books thing that has traditionally been Random House's business.

Of course, the businesspeople who run publishing houses are none too crazy about this whole book and literature thing in the first place. Bertelsmann's CEO specifically mentions "further consolidating and strengthening our portfolio."

Dickson translates the CEO's statements as: RIGHTS GRAB!!! and indeed, he's probably correct. But what I think that's going to be a part of is an even greater focus on properties that Bertelsmann owns that are already popular.

Think about it: If you are a media company, and you own many, many different properties, then "consolidating and strengthening" means putting even more attention into the proven winners. More Transformers! More re-makes, and re-makes of those re-makes, and then they get re-made some more! More boring crap we've already seen 1,000,000,000,000 times!

The focus is going to be on the old, on the predictable sellers. The focus is not going to be on the new and unproven, like new voices and new writers who are writing their own stuff. No way. New writers were already too risky, and now they're going to be freakin' radioactive.

Literature? Oh, Lord no! Creativity? DO NOT WANT.

That's going to be the easy way to do it--a lot easier than building a brand around a publisher, which seems to be the big idea in some quarters.

I do kind of wonder who they will get to write this stuff. I did ghost myself and everything I ever wrote professionally was a work for hire, so I suppose the answer should be clear to me: People who want full-time work, who need health insurance, and who want to learn the ropes without shelling out for an MFA degree.

Buuuuut it does seem like nowadays the tradeoff is worse--you're giving up a 70% royalty for...whatever you get. More marketing behind that book, yeah, but 1. it's not like you get a percentage--work-for-hire typically means you get a lump sum and that's it--and 2. they'll be marketing the property to its fanbase, not you to yours (and your name might not even be on it). Unless your dream in life is to crank out Herbie Goes to Burkina Faso from a ready-made outline, to a specific page length, following a strict style sheet, and featuring the required product placements, I just don't think getting published by Random House is going to have much appeal.

You might think it unlikely that a company like Random House would just stop generating new properties, but you know, why the hell not? I write science fiction, so I've had a front seat to the willingness of large publishers to simply retreat from producing new works.

Nowadays the majority of bestselling Amazon e-books in the sci-fi genre are indie. You might look at that and think, "Those fools!" but it actually makes sense to leave unprofitable markets to those who can make money in them. Those who can nowadays are the self-published writers. And I think more and more of the market will be left to us.

And it keeps on getting cheaper

So, just as I was denigrating the benefits of being in the Illuminati, I received an e-mail from my Web hosting service saying that they are lowering their rates from $256 for two years to $180 for two years. (I am getting less storage, but I'm using only a tiny fraction of what was available before, so that's not a problem.) I've amended my posts about costs to reflect the partial rebate I received, and of course I'll be paying less in the future, which is nice.

If you're trying to estimate your own costs, you can also knock off the $40 per book charge for CreateSpace's ProPlan, since they now offer their books more cheaply as part of their free package, which was half the reason to join ProPlan. The other half, Expanded Distribution, is now just $25, assuming you want it.

One of the things I like to emphasize to people about self-publishing--especially if you just want to do an e-book--is how ridiculously cheap it is. And it seems like it's just getting cheaper....

Bleeeaaagghh....

This is how it always is, right? First I procrastinate, and then I get slammed.

Anyway, I had some car drama yesterday--there's apparently quite a bit wrong with it. It's expensive enough to fix and the car is old enough that I'm definitely going to be looking at replacing it in a year or two (too much needs to be done on the house for me to replace it right away--even membership in the Illuminati has its limits).

Anyway, I wound up taking a long walk in the rain, and now the mild sinus-y feeling I was having is clearly in sinus infection territory. Hopefully I can keep it from getting too bad.

And next week the kids are off from school! Luckily their mom also has the week off, so it's not a guaranteed 24/7 time suck, but obviously I want to spend some time with the things....

Proustian snark

Yesterday I had the kid, and today I wound up making a lot of progress on Proust instead of starting Trials. (Is this just me being slow to get started and treating everything on my to-do list as if it were all of equal priority? Probably.)

Anyway, Proust is bad with continuity. That makes it difficult to remember who Smith, the red-headed lawyer from Lyons is when the last time he came up (three volumes and 1,350 pages ago), he was Jones, the blond accountant from Calais. The footnotes are both helpful and necessary, and today I came across a pretty funny one.

At a party in The Captive, it is mentioned that a character named Cottard has died. According to the footnote, "Cottard will nevertheless reappear--indeed at this same soirée (see p. 371)--to die during the Great War, in Time Regained."

Ghostwriting and the vanity press

This is a fairly hysterical link on the Passive Voice about a company that is offering self-publishing services for...drumroll please...$100,000! Wow! That totally beats the previous record!

But they do include ghostwriting. Yes. Whereas I'll take a little extra time and fiddle with Word so as not to spend $800 on a layout program, you can go a different direction and spend six figures so that you don't have to write at all. Now, that's convenience!

Of course, you might be wondering, If I don't want to write a book, why would I bother with any of this? And this brings me to the wonderful world of ghostwriting.

I ghosted. A lot. I think that's what they have you do in publishing when you really are a writer, but you're working as an editor to get health insurance.

There's a lot of reasons to have people ghost. For one thing, it can be a slippery slope from a line edit to full-on ghosting--line edits can just be tweaking, but they can easily become a complete rewriting. Deadlines are also a factor: If you turn in something to me that supposed to be coming out in three months, and it's totally unacceptable, giving it back to you for a rewrite probably isn't going to work, and finding somebody else is going to take too much time. I'm fast, I'm accurate, and I know what the publishing house wants, so I ghost it.

Another reason is that Person A may be a big name (like Notable Academic was), while Person B may be a nobody (like meeeee!) with the time and expertise to complete the project. Person A is getting paid basically to license their name.

This is really common in publishing, and not just with non-writing celebrities (who usually at least credit their ghostwriter). People get up in arms because James Patterson doesn't really write his own stuff. Well, guess what? There are plenty of writers who appear to crank out book after book after book in the exact same genre who don't really write their own stuff. Carolyn Keene, the writer of the Nancy Drew books, was not even a person. An authorial name is a brand name: Stephen King = horror. It's up to Stephen King if he wants the trouble of writing his own books. To the best of my knowledge, he does, but if he changed his mind, his publisher would be more than ready to accommodate him.

(This blows the minds of journalists, by the way. Putting your name on someone else's work can get you fired in that field. It's a different culture--to them, it's lying, and lying is a huge taboo.)

So, that's the normal ghostwriting that happens within the industry. Now, you also have another, less-respectable kind of ghostwriting, which you might call Narcissistic Personality Disorder ghostwriting. This is where you ghost a book for some NPD-addled idiot with too much money who wants to be able to tell his friends he wrote a book. I never did it, because I was never that desperate, but my thinking is that it's got to be somewhat similar to a guy who pays $1,000 for a call girl--he doesn't think, "Gee, I have to pay for sex, how pathetic," he thinks, "I have so much money that I can get whatever I want. I'm awesome!" (But ego comes into play even with regular ghosting: At one place I worked, the writer had the right to take their name off the project if they didn't like the "editing." They never did. Never.)

NPD is of course why self-publishing was called the vanity press. Even in the old days, self-publishing did have legitimate purposes--your high-school yearbook is an example of perfectly worthwhile self-publishing. In addition to that kind of custom book printing, there were some self-published writers who were good enough and dedicated enough to sell lots of books and break into traditional publishing.

Buuuut...there were also a lot of scams, which were geared toward the NPD crowd. You had a book you thought was genius! The problem is, no one agreed with you--you'd take it to a critique group, and not a soul there would understand your genius! Well, they were idiots--you'd send it out to agents and publishers, and not a soul would understand your genius!

Clearly, your genius was way too rarified for these cretins to understand! At least, that's what you were told by No, We're Not Sleazy Self-Publishing Services, and you agreed! "You are used to working with the very best"! And you deserve it!

So, you fork over a gazillion dollars and wind up with a garage full of books. And you're perfectly happy with that! Given your NPD, you weren't actually expecting to sell your books to all those cretins out there who don't understand your genius.

It's a great racket, you know. People with NPD don't care about results. They can't acknowledge mistakes, which means they're never going to be critical of either a flattering pitch or the outcome.

Someone without NPD might lower their sights. They might notice that they themselves are not a big name. They might wonder how in God's name they, without any track record or celebrity, could possibly make enough money to turn a profit on $100,000 of expenses. They might wonder why a writer who is an "extraordinary talent" and can apparently crank out a best-seller at will wouldn't just self-publish under their own name and start raking in $100,000 a month.

But no, don't think about that. It's not a racket! It's the best! And you deserve it!

That's true!

I'm reading through Michael Stackpole's blog--of course I'd heard about it and read a post here and there (there's been some controversy because he refers to people like Scott Turow as "house slaves"), but this is my first concentrated go-through.

Anyway, he has a nice post on crappy e-book design that's worth a look. But I really liked this post about the need to adapt to e-books: Stackpole notes that since Barnes & Noble now sells the Nook as well as e-books, that means if a customer walks into a B&N and can't find the book they want, the clerk will say, Well, gee, we could special order it for you (which will take forever and you'll have to come back and won't that be a huge pain), or you could instantly and easily buy the e-book on your Nook!

So, the largest brick-and-mortar bookstore chain in the United States has a vested interest in promoting e-books. Quoth Stackpole:

With this being the case, if you don’t have work in the marketplaces toward which readers are being directed, you are out of the game.

"What we should really do is stop publishing books altogether"

In addition to posting helpful links, Passive Guy manages to find things that really get my blood boiling. Today it was a couple of reports from the Publishing Business Conference & Expo held last week. The outgoing president of Sterling Publishing gave a speech in which he offered such chestnuts as “The world does not need another book,” and “We’re still publishing far too many.”

The sad part about this is that it's by no means the first time I've heard this sort of thing from publishers. I remember reading that exact sentiment more than once in Publisher's Weekly back in the mid-1990s.

If you look at how traditional publishing operates, it makes a kind of sense. Because the industry's costs are so high, most books are not profitable. The people in the business end would love nothing more than to stop publishing unprofitable books. But traditional publishing is a hit-dependent industry, and there's no reliable way to predict what's going to be a hit.

But this guy can't say, "We just want to focus on the money-makers! Whaddya think this is, a charity?" Oh, no. He's in publishing. He has to lie. He has to--in this culture, he cannot possibly tell the truth.

So he says that they want the "best content" and that the mid-listers are toast because their books are neither beautiful nor essential.

Yeah, the mid-listers really appreciated that. And in case you were wondering, editors hear that kind of crap pretty much every day--from the people who actually make the decisions. Do you think it makes an editor's life easier when a writer who is reliable and has a good work ethic doesn't get paid? I worked for a editor who practically begged me to stop freelancing for other people to work for him exclusively, and even though I liked him, the answer was no because the checks never came when they were supposed to. We were in NYC, and the people cutting the checks were off in Ohio, and they didn't have to scramble to find freelancers, so what did they care?

So when a traditional publisher tells you that they love books--love love loooooooovvvvee books oh so much!!!! That's why they're in this industry!!!!! We all love books zOMG!!!!!!--you can spread that in your yard and watch the flowers grow. Editors love books. Copy editors love books. The people who make books are generally reasonably fond of them (or at least appreciate a pretty cover).

The people in traditional publishing who make the business decisions about books think there should be fewer of them, and they have thought this way for a long, long time.

Of course, there are some people who think we should have tons and tons of books out there. There are some people who have figured out how to make lots of money from having tons and tons of books out there. These people do not run traditional publishing houses. Increasingly, I think the people who actually love books and want to see more of them won't be working for traditional publishing houses either--they'll be working for self-published authors.

But we're still in a time of transition, and what truly, deeply bothers me is this: There are writers--new, developing writers--who still think traditional publishing is the way to go. I know a few who I've met through critique groups. They are very good writers. In some cases, the stories they are writing is conventional enough that I think maybe they have a shot. (You know, at getting ripped off come contract time.) In other cases, I'm thinking there's no way; not because what they're writing isn't good--it's very good--but because what they writing is different. It's creative.

And to a traditional publisher, a great, creative, different book is just weird. It's unmarketable. It won't fit easily into their narrow little marketing slots, and there won't be a place for it on the two linear feet of shelf space Barnes & Noble will be dedicating to books. They won't know what to do with it. And they will fall back on the same language they always do: The language of quality. It just wasn't good enough, sorry. We publish only the best. This book is neither beautiful nor essential. The world does not need another book.

Useful links about software

The Passive Voice had some good ones today: He posted a link entitled "Word Needs To Die" (YEAH!), which prompted everybody to pile on into the comments and explain what kind of word processing software they use and how exactly they convert those files into e-book files. Probably whatever you use is mentioned.

And he put up a link about a robot editor. This prompted more discussion in the comments section about the various different kind of robot editors out there and how well they work.

And he linked to a series on self-publishing by Bridget McKenna, which includes a lengthy article on formatting e-books.

Editing and editors--a guide

So, I've read a couple of things about different types of editing, and not shockingly, people don't quite have the lingo down. That's in part because the lingo does not, in fact, make sense--so don't feel bad if it confuses you!

So, what is the difference between the different forms of editing? Well, that's a fun question, because when I was an editor, my job varied greatly. Sometimes I edited something by tightening it up a bit. Sometimes I edited something by throwing it into the garbage and starting again from scratch.

The job of an editor is basically to ensure that the prose that appears in a publication or from a publisher is up to snuff, however that business may define "snuff." If your publication has a particular voice, you make sure that the article is written in that voice. If your publication has 20 available inches of column space, you make sure that the article will take up no more and no less than 20 inches of column space. If your publishing house expects all books in a series to follow a certain format, you make sure that book follows that format.

There is, as this person discovered, an enormous difference between an editor and a copy editor. As I mentioned, when I worked in book publishing as an editor, I was never ever a copy editor. This in no way impaired my career as an editor, any more than never having worked as a cover artist would have--they are two very different skill sets, and being good at one does not mean you'll be any good at the other.

Copy editors provide what you think of when you think of proofreading. They call it copy editing, but it is not editing. They are not editing copy, they are proofreading copy.

But why don't they call it proofreading? you shriek. Well, back in the days of yore, manuscripts had to be set into type in order to be printed. Typesetters were not college-educated fancy people like editors and copy editors. They wore overalls, never went to school, spat, drank a lot, and tended to physically assault people who criticized their work. They were infamous for being to all appearances completely illiterate and possibly subhuman.

The copy editor would polish the manuscript to perfection. Then the typesetters would take this manuscript and produce a proof, which was invariably a HUGE mess, not even recognizable as a written language. So you had a copy editor give the proof what was called a proofread, to fix what the horrible typesetters had done. If a copy editor read only proofs, they were called a proofreader.

The further you get in the production process, the less stuff you can change (especially if something is being set in type, as in the days of yore). So proofreaders couldn't change much--a proofreader couldn't really say, "This sentence is awkward. You should rewrite it," because it was just too late for that. Copy editors could, because they were working with the manuscript earlier in the process. So when people act like copy editing and proofreading are very different, that's why. Proofreading jobs also typically were entry-level jobs--a person would start as a proofreader and get promoted up to copy editor. But proofreaders and copy editors use the same skill set.

Nowadays we just convert files, and stuff usually doesn't get all messed up in the process. So the difference between a copy edit and a proofread has gotten more academic. Within the industry, people still distinguish, because stuff can still go very wrong after something's been laid out. But you can call it a "copy edit/proofread," which if memory serves is what I told my first copy editor, and he was not confused at all (unlike my second).

Now line editing is actually editing, done by editors. When you line edit you fix all the clunky crap. Maybe you catch some typos, too, but the copy editors are better at that sort of thing than you are--your primary focus is on making something read well. You also are altering the voice of the piece so that it matches the voice of your publication. When I had stuff I didn't have to throw away and rewrite (which is called ghostwriting, and I did a lot of that), I was line editing.

Story editing is also editing. It's just taking a broader view. If you give me something to read, and I say, You need to cut a ton of exposition, it takes too long to get to the plot, and the ending is unsatisfying, then that is a story edit. (Sometime we called this a structural edit.)

Generally when I'm in a writers' group or am beta reading for someone, I'm doing a story edit. Unless something is awkward or doesn't make sense, I don't feel like it's appropriate for me to line edit--it's overstepping. People should write their own stuff, and I certainly don't want every story out there to read like it was written by me--that would suck!

Sometimes people really want line editing, because they're insecure about their writing. My feeling is that you need to ask yourself if you're comfortable having someone else basically rewrite your book. If you're just nervous about the quality of your writing, I think that if you take your work to a critique group or two and no one complains, then you can calm down. If they do complain, you can revise and see where it gets you. A decent copy editor or beta reader will mark anything super awkward or flat-out incomprehensible, and the rest you can judge according to your own taste.

There are some other kinds of editors--and some, although not all, of them actually edit. I've never been one of these:

Developmental editor. You can see my bafflement at this kind of editing if you scroll down to the comments here, but then someone else explained that another term for "developmental editor" is "writing teacher." Made ever so much more sense.

Technical editor. NOT a copy editor! Or even a proofreader! Technical editors are actual editors who specialize in technical writing, like user's manuals.

Managing editor. A managing editor does not edit (although they'll look stuff over). A managing editor makes sure things happen when they are supposed to and will mercilessly beat those hapless employees who fall behind. Think dominatrix, only less well-paid.

Acquisitions editor. The person who accepts or rejects books for publishers (if sales and marketing will let them). Doesn't edit but will request changes to a book to make it acceptable.

Decisions get made for you sometimes

I just heard from the copy editor--life is screwing with her, so she asked if it would be OK to push her deadline back to mid-April. I said sure. It should work: I should still be able to release the book in May if it comes back then.

And it means that instead of just having a one-week window to resume work on Trials, which hardly seemed worth doing, I now have a three-week window, which is a really significant chunk of time!

The wai-ya-ting is the hardest part

So, Trust should come back from the copy editor in a week or so. The taxes are with the accountant with a note saying, Please look over this carefully and try to make sure that nobody goes to jail. The home-improvement project is one industrious afternoon away from being done. I read and liked Lindsay Buroker's Emperor's Edge (fantasy adventure, and it's free!) and M. Louisa Locke's Maids of Misfortune (historical mystery--it's not free, but come on, it's only $2.99).

I also read Proust's Sodom and Gomorrah, which unlike the other volumes in the new translation of In Search of Lost Time, just isn't translated very well. It's a little clunky, plus the translator decided to save time and just leave a lot of the French expressions untranslated--you know, because when someone pays you to translate something into English, there's no need to be a completist about it. I once was fluent in French, but that was a couple of decades ago, and I'd rather not have to interrupt the story to look stuff up.

So, because of a licensing issue in the United States, all the volumes after Sodom and Gomorrah are available only as the old translation, which kind of worried me. But I'm reading an omnibus volume of The Captive and The Fugitive, and it's actually going fine--I think the old translation of Swann's Way (which is easily the toughest volume anyway, because it's more abstract and the time frame jumps around a lot) is what just kills people.

But, you know, even Proust doesn't really qualify as a B project. I've done all the production tasks I set for myself, and there's going to be a ton more to do--but not until the layout comes back from the copy editor. So now I'm thinking maybe I should start back on writing Trials--I'd have to start and then just completely stop again once the layout comes back, which is annoying, but it may be the best choice under the circumstances.

A note on using other people's true stories

This cropped up on the Passive Voice--a therapist wrote and published an entire book about a patient and her drug addiction without ever mentioning it to the patient. The patient was in treatment the entire time, so there's no, "Oh, gee, I tried to get permission, but I couldn't find her" defense. The patient first found out about all this when she came across the book by accident.

Not surprisingly, she's suing.

As a former reporter, the thing that strikes me as especially dumb about this entire incident is that all of it--the lawsuit, the emotional distress--could have been obviated by the simple method of asking.

"Hey, you know, I was thinking that your story might help other people in the same situation. Would you mind sharing it? Like, maybe in a book if I can get the contract?" "Oh, I don't want people to know about everything that's happened to me and everything I've done." "Well, we could protect your identity by doing X and Y." "But what about Z?" "We could fix that by changing some of the details. I mean, the thing is, people don't think of drug addicts as being from your kind of background, so a book like this might really help other families and other kids." "Well, gee, that's true. Um, OK."

Honestly, a lot of people who have been through some pretty horrible crap are eager to share their stories. But it has to be sharing. They feel very differently about having their stories stolen from them, which is basically what the patient in this case is saying the therapist did--that he extracted her stories from her under the false pretence of helping her.

It's a more-extreme example, but it's in the same camp as going out on a date with a guy, and then trashing him publicly by name. The legal aspects are different (in that case, the date took place in a restaurant, which is a public place, and the guy didn't tell her anything that was actually that big a deal, so he can't sue), but the ethical imperative is the same: If you are told something by someone that they don't expect to see published, you need to get their permission to use it--or at least warn them beforehand.

It's just a dick move not to, frankly--if you publish your friends' confidences willy-nilly, you will soon find that you have no friends. And I found as a reporter that a "no surprises" policy (and yes, that's what it was called at one of my publications) was actually helpful--if you were more forthright about what you were doing in an interview, you were more likely to get useful information. (I couldn't always do this, because it's the nature of journalism that you don't always know what the story is going to be until after you finish the reporting, but it helped when I could.) Let's say you want to write a memoir, and it's going to include a long bit about a really nasty argument you had with your Aunt Edna. It could be really helpful to go back to Aunt Edna and have the (yes, uncomfortable) conversation with her to figure out why she felt the way she did. And even if she doesn't want to talk about it, you've given her a heads-up.

Why is it important to give people a heads-up? As the example of the patient and the therapist demonstrates, surprises get you sued. You thought that publication had a "no surprises" policy because we were so very ethical? Oh, no. Nooooo. In the United States, publications generally win the lawsuits against them because First Amendment protections are very broad. But getting sued is very, very expensive, even if you win. You want to not get sued in the first place, especially if you're self-published and don't have a legal department behind you. And when people find something out on their own that makes them feel shocked and betrayed and angry and outraged? That is when they call a lawyer.

The magical black box of publishing

This is a good post by Kristine Kathryn Rusch about the ability of self-published writers to produce books of good quality. I think part of the problem for writers who haven't worked in publishing is that they view the publishing process as kind of a black box--you write the manuscript, it goes into a magical black box, and viola! out comes a book!

The human mind being what it is, the black box has a certain appeal--you don't have to learn (it's too hard for you, anyway), you don't have to trouble yourself, someone else will take care of everything for you.... Yeah, you've heard this before.

Of course the magical black box is a lie. Publishers hire people--and the people, not the publisher, are the ones who turn your manuscript into a book. It's not like publishers actually pay the vast majority of these people very much money, so even the people who work full time in book publishing routinely moonlight--which means you can hire them, too. To save even more money, many publishers rely on freelancers, who can work for you just as easily (maybe more easily if you're polite and you pay them on time).

Yes, when you do that, you have to be the boss and do some thinking. But at least if you feel that, say, your cover art isn't working, you're in a position to find something that works better--you don't just have to sit there and seethe.

Literary culture

One thing Barry Eisler caught about Scott Turow's ignorant and nonsensical little rant is that Turow uses a phrase that was used in that equally ignorant and nonsensical New York Times op-ed piece. The phrase cropped up again (talking point!) in this more-recent anti-Amazon rant.

The phrase? Literary culture.

I am, to put it mildly, a culture vulture--my idea of a good time is to visit a museum or see a show or read a book. One of the things that I miss the most about NYC is all the culture: Despite the fact that it's a very expensive place to live, the advertising and fashion industries are headquartered there, meaning that visual artists who aren't big names can still find paying jobs. Theater, while hardly a normal industry, attracts and employs a lot of talent. The arts are hugely important to the local economy--the museums and shows attract a ton of tourists.

Culture is everywhere: There is street theater and pay-what-you-can museums and public art installations. Even purely commercial operations, like stores, rely on artists: They have beautiful window displays in winter and huge floral exhibits in spring (and people fly across the globe to shop in them).

Where I live now, there's certainly culture, but I feel like it's less accessible. It's shut away. With a few exceptions, you have to go to it, it doesn't come to you--you usually can't stumble upon it serendipitously, which is one of the great joys of public art. 

Not coincidentally, some of the cultural institutions here are incredibly snooty--I never saw anyone grab their pearls and gasp because someone dared bring a child into an art museum!!! in NYC, but I've certainly seen it here. (And yes, I know the Frick doesn't allow children. That is because it is a historical home filled with breakable antiques, OK?)

Just as the snootiness stems from the unavailability of culture, snootiness causes culture to become unavailable: I don't know where the pearl-grabbers think the next generation of art lovers and supporters is going to come from if children aren't allowed to see museum-quality art. This applies to a lot of things--our tax money subsidizes the production of junk food. Make junk food cheap and good food expensive, and whaddya know? You get a lot of unhealthy people who don't know what cheese actually tastes like, because food that tastes good and is good for you is only for rich snobs.

Snootiness is equally pernicious when it comes to literature. To generalize broadly, I feel like Americans have this idea that well-written or classic literature is just snooty--you read Shakespeare because you have to or to prove to other people that you're the type of person who reads Shakespeare, not because he's a really good writer. A friend of mine grew up in Barbados, and she was really surprised to hear that people here often think Shakespeare is something you have to force yourself to read--apparently the way they teach it in Barbados is, "Here's a really awesome story! Yeah, you have to work a little because of the language, but it's totally worth it! Shakespeare rocks!" Which he does: Hamlet, first and foremost, is as entertaining as hell--there's bodies dropping everywhere.

(This perception that fine literature is necessarily snooty can result in hilarity. I know a woman who got into big trouble in high school for writing a paper on homoerotic themes in a story by William Faulkner. Her English teacher was shocked--absolutely shocked!--that someone would suggest that William Faulkner, a man who wrote repeatedly about interracial sex back when that was something really taboo and who once wrote an entire novel about a woman being raped with a corn cob, might touch on deviant sexuality!)

So in my opinion, if you're really interested in creating a literary culture, you have to make it easy for people to read. This is why I like libraries. It is also why I like e-books. You also have to make it easy for people to write, which is another reason why I like e-books.

Literary culture is not you and your buddies being taken care of while the price of books goes ever-higher and the number of people who read them goes ever-lower. It is people reading. They may not read what you like, in which case you could try to influence their opinions by reviewing books, and then other people would disagree with you, and you could have debates over it that degenerate into bitter feuds just like in the good old days of the Algonquin Round Table. But if people aren't reading to begin with, literary culture hasn't a prayer.

Spinal flair

OK, so here's the newest version of the full cover of Trang, now complete with spinal flair:

 

Titan's not quite perfectly round, but it's going to wrap around the spine anyway, so I don't think anyone will notice that's it's deflating. (I blame the Magic Man.)

Anyway, since I had to go noodle with the paper book on CreateSpace anyway, I pulled it from Expanded Distribution again. That's because of this discussion: A number of people have chosen to offer the book only on Amazon because you can make it quite a bit cheaper, and the lower price compensates for the lack of other outlets. I can see the arguments both ways, but basically the only time I've sold paper copies has been through Amazon, so maybe making it cheaper would be helpful. In addition, there's no actual exclusivity--I can still offer it for sale to bookstores if I want.

Self-knowledge: Good for real people, bad for fictional people

I am of the generation that discovered the television show Beverly Hills 90210: No, Not the New One--Shut Up and Get Off My Lawn. This was back when TV shows were all basically produced by the big networks, and as a result they tended to be very bland and predictable, because they were geared toward not offending anybody.

In contrast, the first season of 90210 was delightfully shocking. For example, you had a character named Kelly, who was super-duper popular. Why was she popular? Because she lost her virginity at the age of 14, when she was a freshman, and the guy she lost it to was a senior. She wielded this fact like a cudgel--you're telling her what to do? Well, honey, are you so hot that you lost your virginity at age 14 to a senior? Guess not!

Trust me, at that time, nooooooobody was suggesting in a teen-oriented show that having sex could make you popular in high school, especially if the guys you were having sex with were a lot older. Of course, out in real life, it certainly could, and everyone knew it, but they weren't supposed to admit that on television.

90210 became very popular, at which point they toned it way down and I stopped watching it.

The episode that made me realize that this show was no longer worth my time was one with Emily Valentine. She was Brendan's psycho stalker ex-girlfriend, who started out as bad news and spiraled down into more and more insane behavior. Finally she doused a homecoming float with gasoline and sat on it with a lighter. Dun-dun-duuuhhh!

And then not only did she decide not to make Emily Flambé, but she proceeded to launch into this lengthy analysis of why she was so unstable. (Her family moved a lot.)

OK. Say, you're emotionally unstable. You've been unstable for quite a while. Your instability is making you screw things up, and which is making you even crazier. Finally you get ready to commit suicide by setting yourself on fire.

You are not in a position to analyze why you are acting this way, OK? You are too unwell. You might understand intellectually that what you are doing is harmful, but you don't understand the forces that drive you to harm yourself, at least not in a helpful way. Maybe after therapy and perhaps medication, and once you get some distance on events, maybe then you can sort out all the whys and wherefores--but not in the red-hot moment.

It's contrivance. In 90210 it was that safe, pedagogical approach to teen fare--you can't have someone do harmful things without turning it into a "The More You Know" moment, otherwise all the parents' groups will accuse you of glorifying bad behavior. I recently read a novel where, despite the fact that it was set in the 19th century, all the characters exposit (constantly) about their family and their interactions exactly the way people who have been through a lot of therapy in the 21st century do. That's also contrivance--historically-inaccurate contrivance.

These kinds of contrivances suck away all the drama. It's not just that having all your characters prattle on about how their father and their brother and their mother and their sister and their cousin and their brother-in-law and their dog all interact now and have interacted at every point in the past is dull--although it's certainly that. It's that Emily Valentine was all better. She was 100% fine--no need to worry about her any more! She's never going to do anything bad again! Please don't care! It's very, very difficult to relate to someone who has a mental-health hotline in their head that will magically call them at any stressful moment in their life and make sure they never, ever do the wrong thing.

Which is not the same as saying a character can't grow and become more stable--but it's a process, and circumstances have to be right. In Lois McMasters Bujold's Vorkosigan Saga, Mark Vorkosigan does this pretty convincingly: He is given a very robust support network, it takes a lot of time, and he's never without his hang-ups. The very fragility and imperfection of his recovery is emotionally engaging. He isn't just bonked on the head by the Contrivance Fairy's wand and magically made all better the way Emily Valentine was.