Ignorance is Bliss: More Self-Publishing Nonsense
It amazes me the things people say about the publishing industry. I often wonder if there’s a magical world that some of these folks live in that I somehow missed the train to get to. It’s almost like an anti-publishing psychosis that leads certain individuals to spout nonsense as if it’s fact. I liken this sort of staunch, ignorant anti-traditional-publishing/pro-self-publishing-with-lies to FOX News and its continued claim that it’s fair and balance, when clearly it’s not (it’s not really a news organization either, if you want to get right to it, but most of the T.V. news stations aren’t about news anymore–FOX is just more loudmouthed about its inaccuracies). So, when I saw this post about publishers being doomed and why it doesn’t matter, I about choked on whatever I was drinking at the time. The post is full of so much nonsense it’s like eating a Glenn Beck/Bill O’Reilly/Rachel Maddow/Keith Olbermann orgy sandwich. Case in point, I give you the following paragraphs (edited down to get rid of the fat): Yeah? So what. So we lose publishers and book stores. Who cares? The key in Grisham’s statement is where he says, ‘…and though I’ll probably be alright.’ He means writers will be alright. The big scary fact of the matter is that we simply don’t give a tiny damn whether or not a publisher prints a book or an author does. Publishers read, accept, edit, design, print and promote books. At least they used to. I don’t care what anyone tells you, but we do not need the editors. Writers can do that. You write the book and you edit it and you’re done with it. Readers are getting used to reading writers without editors. That’s why blogs are so popular. No editors…No reader cares about Penguin. There is absolutely no excuse for a writer to work hard on a story, hammering it into existence from nothing, polishing it and making it exactly what he or she wants it to be… and then sit around to wait for some agent or publisher to get back via the U.S. mail so that said writer can be allowed to move on and send out yet another plea for acceptance. Can you see why I liken this to FOX News? There’s so much wrong with this that the only way I can break it down and correct its inaccuracies is to take it to task, piece by piece. Claim #1 — Who cares about losing publishers and bookstores? (WRONG)A lot of people do, including authors. Loss of bookstores means loss of sales. Loss of publishers means authors now have to fork out thousands and thousands of dollars to market their books to even make a reasonable living, while simultaneously fighting off the still legitimate stigma against self-publishing. How many writers do you know who can afford a twenty city book tour across the U.S.? Maybe a few dozen at best, all of them successful because of bookstores and publishers. There are no self-published authors who can meet the financial power of folks like Grisham. None. Claim #2 — Grisham means that all writers will be alright (WRONG)No, Grisham means that he will be alright, which is why he said that he will be alright. Grisham is not a moron. The guy is filthy rich for writing stories that people want. That’s reality. If nobody wanted his books, he wouldn’t be filthy rich. And when he says he will be alright, he understands that the economy, the way books are being marketed, and the way the publishing industry is changing will ultimate change nothing at all for him. For everyone else that isn’t on the same financial tier? They’re probably going to suffer. Claim #3 — We don’t give a damn who prints a book (author or publisher) (WRONG)If the author actually knew the industry, he’d know this claim is a load of B.S. I don’t know who the hell the “we” is, but consumers still care very much about who publishes a book. Authors care too. The assumption in the self-publishing world seems to be that because more people are SPing, that means traditional publishing is losing ground. The reality? The Internet has just made it easier to SP, so more people who might not have done it before because of the cost, are doing it now. That doesn’t mean that self-publishing is magically better than it was before POD or the net, it just means that it’s bigger because more people can do it. Consumers still pay attention to this and still give a crap about who publishes a book. Sales show this to be true. If this wasn’t true, we’d see more self-published books getting the same play as folks like Grisham or Rowling or whomever. Since we don’t, this claim is bogus. Claim #4 — Publishers don’t read, accept, edit, design, print and promote books anymore (WRONG)Publishers may not be promoting as many books as they have in the past, but they are still promoting books, a lot. In fact, you’d be surprised how many books do get marketing campaigns, however small, thanks to blogging and the like. I regular get emails about books that recently came out that have not be chucked out there like all the big boys. I read some of those books too. They promote books all over the place, but since consumers want more books than they ever did before (even if they don’t read them), publishers have to pump out more volumes each year. I don’t like it, but consumers do have a lot of power in the book industry. As for the other stuff: I don’t think the author has ever worked for a publisher. I have, and still do. We read, accept/reject, edit, design, and print (well, in digital form) all kinds of books. I mostly do the reading and accepting/rejecting, but I know that someone edits the books and designs them for release. But, then, this whole complaint by
The Fantastic is in the Genes
If you trace back through time you can see through every generation and era the presence of the fantastic. By fantastic, I mean anything that could be construed as fitting into science fiction, fantasy, magical realism, fairy tale, myth, religion, and any other such genres or subgenres in which something we know is not entirely true occurs. The fantastic is somewhat like a virus in that it worms its way into everything and evolves to fit into new shapes so that it may survive in some sort of dominant mode. So, when I say fantastic, I am using a liberal definition of the term, much as literary theorists have, in some respects. The fact that the fantastic has survived through generations and eras, despite a monumental effort to suppress certain forms of it, is astonishing, and leads me to conclude that there must be something in us, something wired into our DNA, that makes mankind susceptible to the whims of the fantastic (we’ll call it fanty from now on, just so it can have a cute name like SF does–i.e. sciffy–and if you’re really clever you’ll catch the Firefly/Serenity reference). We know this from history: the fantastic is woven into us more finely than a nano-fiber coat (if such a thing exists). The cavemen and other early cultures had some idea what it was, and drew it and exchanged stories about it without realizing that was what they were doing. Numerous religions were founded on the very prospect of the fantastic too, and one cannot deny the relation all religious share to one another, even those religions in existence today. So much of our existence is founded in principles of fantastic discourse as figured through all mediums (fine art, writing, spoken word, etc.). So, is it any wonder that fantasy, as a genre, is doing so well, or that science fiction film (and even fantasy film, for the most part) have such a strong hold on the visual market? The fact that young adults and children gobble this stuff up like so much candy is testament to our human desire for the fantastic; as adults, we may shed some of the “silly” aspects of our youth, but there is always that thread (of course, some of us never grow up, and that thread is still wrapped around us as a coat). Now, the question is: is it possible to cut ourselves off from the fantastic (assuming we wanted to), and if we did, what would the consequences of that be? Would we lose a part of our souls, or would it be like losing a toe (no big deal at all)?
Science Fiction is Not Immortal
Having spoken of the non-death of science fiction, it occurs to me that I should also talk about the would-be-death of the genre. Because, unlike general fiction (or “literary” fiction, if you want to call it that, though that would be unfair), science fiction does have a limited lifespan. To be fair to SF, that lifespan is a long one, since the inevitable death of SF cannot occur until one of two things becomes true (and I have mentioned these before): a) we are incapable of imagining the future any longer; or b) the future ceases to exist. I don’t know how either of these possibilities will ever worm their way into existence short of the apocalypse descending upon us, since, after all, the physical end of human history as we know it would constitute a complete absence of the future. But then, SF wouldn’t exist because there would be nobody there to think about it. So that is not a possible solution to the problematic nature of SF’s mortality. Instead, and I think I have touched on this at some previous point, science fiction will cease to exist in the first instance when some measure of hope (or the utopian ideal of such a thing) no longer occupies us as a bulk entity of fleshy masses, when we literally cease concerning ourselves with the present’s pursuit of the future. How? Perhaps through the creation of a utopian state, as much as one can exist, in which the needs of each man and woman are attended to, in some fashion or another. It’s hard to say what could produce the incapability of imagining the future, but when that occurs, SF dies. In the second instance, however, the future must cease to exist because the limitations of the future itself are as mortal as science fiction. The future is not indefinite, but is replaceable, recycling itself over and over, in a cycle that is finite. It is not a perpetual motion machine, but a machine with a long, slow, drawn out cease-ment-of-living. The future, thus, ends for mankind when there is nowhere else to go. Perhaps that is at the end of life as we know it, or at the end of the universe (the collapsing of the energy that created us all, which would then restart the cycle, restart time like a battery). More than likely, it is at the point in humanity’s inevitably long existence in which we simply have nowhere else to go. Imagine that, if you will: after all those centuries, we come to a point where technology cannot progress, where what is around the corner is little more than the same thing that we saw yesterday, and nothing we do changes anything in a significant manner whatsoever (on a global or galactic scale). That is where science fiction dies. But, a simpler approach, one that is less “philosophical,” if you will, is to try to think about the place we will eventually be in, where science fiction cannot possibly offer us anything else. If we already have space ships and aliens and AI and robots and all of those imaginative constructs, then, really, where else is there to go? Science fiction simply cannot exist in that sort of environment. It will cease to be speculative and forever become the present, the every-day. We’ll stop calling it “science fiction” and, instead, shove it in with all those mainstream and “literary” novels. That is, of course, if literature can survive the distant future. And that’s all I have to say on that. What do you think?
Science Fiction’s Not Dead, Fantasy is in the Golden Age
People are talking about the death of science fiction again. It’s not actually dead, far from it, but as soon as someone says “it’s dead” someone else goes crazy (either because they believe SF has long been dead or because they’re tired of hearing the argument). Apparently the genre has a few dozen lives and manages to die and be resurrected ten or so times a year. The End of the Universe said science fiction has nine lives, but I think that’s too conservative of an estimate. It’s died at least that many times in this year alone… The problem with science fiction isn’t that it’s dead. To be fair to the genre, it’s never actually died, but it has been overshadowed to varying degrees in history. Even in its supposed “Golden Age” science fiction was not exactly as popular people seem to remember. Yes, it was popular, but science fiction never had the popularity of mainstream pop-fiction. That’s not to say it was irrelevant or that no science fiction books sold well enough to make it to the bestseller’s list; quite a few actually did, but in comparison to traditionally larger genres (romance and quasi-mysteries), it really didn’t make the crossover into market dominance at any point in its multi-century lifespan. Fantasy, on the other hand, has, and not because the genre is necessarily better (and neither is it worse). Fantasy is doing well because it got lucky. Now, to be fair to fantasy, it has always done rather well ever since Tolkien became a persistent model for other fantasy writers. As a genre, fantasy had a lot of uphill battles to fight to get to a point where it had a secure market, but once it got there it never let it go. Now, however, fantasy has exploded. Some have said that fantasy is experiencing a “Golden Age” of its own–and I would have to agree. Why? Well, as unpredictable as the market often is in regards to what will be the hot item of the year, I would say that fantasy simply got lucky. The publishers had no way of knowing that urban fantasy would plow through the roof like it did, or that other forms of fantasy (more traditional forms, if you will, and even the exceedingly non-traditional–literary, ultra-weird, etc.) would grow moderately over the last couple decades. It just happened. Now, if I were to argue for a reason, I would say that the last eight years have had a lot to do with the rise of fantasy. Publisher Weekly almost acknowledged as much in the last year when the recession hit and sales of escapist titles (science fiction and fantasy) actually rose (it was temporary in the sense that, while people were going to SF/F for a presumed escape from the present, the downturn of the economy eventually led to an almost universal drop in sales in almost all markets, some of which have yet to fully recover). The reality seems to be that when the proverbial crap hits the fan, readers flock to literature that is less likely to make matters worse. They want heroes and adventures, of a sort. I don’t know if this is true for everyone, but sales seem to reflect that. I am unsure how urban fantasy fits into this assessment–UF tends to be somewhat dark in nature. Either we have to accept that people are somewhat darker at heart than we ever anticipated, or urban fantasy offers a bit of harmless, well, fantasy. I don’t know how long fantasy’s “Golden Age” will last. As with all booms in literature, there are limits, and I suspect that urban fantasy, which seems to be the genre largely pulling fantasy up out of the pool, will eventually wear out its welcome–fantasy, as a whole, will not. For now, we can sleep soundly knowing that science fiction isn’t dead and fantasy is doing quite well. That’s good news.
Racist/Sexist Editors: Still Bad Even If They’re Not
So, apparently if you’re an editor and you don’t publish enough women or people of color in an anthology or magazine, but it’s because your slush pile contained primarily white males, you’re still a sexist or racist bastard. At least, that’s what oldcharliebrown says. It seems that no matter what, even if you have a legitimate excuse, if you don’t publish enough women or people of color, you’re a sexist or racist bastard. Period. No argument. That’s it. Because if your slush pile didn’t have enough women or people of color in it, then you, the editor, clearly didn’t spend enough time “reaching out.” Well I’m calling bullshit. Blaming editors like this is like blaming a police officer in another county for not stopping a drunk driver from driving into a tree. Sound frakked up? That’s because it is. It makes no logical sense. I’m not saying that there aren’t sexist/racist editors out there, but the idea that an editor can only work with what is submitted to him or her is 100% true. The whole idea of “reaching out” is neither here nor there. Whether you “reach out” or not does not suddenly make you a sexist/racist bastard—not by a long shot. The fact that some people are still actively condemning editors even when they are not at fault suggests a mindset that is quite disturbing to me. It’s almost as if some people want editors to be sexist/racist bastards so we have someone to blame for the disparity in minority representation in SF/F. I don’t honestly think there is anyone to blame for this except culture. There are probably dozens of reasons why there are not a lot of women or people of color in the SF/F community, and that long list does not include dozens of different ways to say “racist” or “sexist.” Sometimes racism/sexism is responsible; sometimes it’s not. Let’s not forget that historically speaking, science fiction (and publishing in general) has been a masculine enterprise, or that there seems to be far more people of color writing about issues such as colonialism/imperialism than there are about space ships or magic swords. That’s not to say that there aren’t women who write science fiction (there are quite a few, many of them damn good ones) or people of color who write SF/F (there are a few that I can name off the top of my head, though, to be fair, there could be more that none of us know about because names rarely indicate someone’s skin color). What I’m saying is that there very well may be other factors influencing the percentage of women and people of color in slush piles that have nothing to do directly with editors working today (editors in the past, yes, but today, not so much, with exception). But, then, you have to wonder how anyone knows how many people of color are in those slush piles in the first place if names are not good indicators of skin color…editors do not typically ask for one’s skin color (though a name can indicate sex, but that’s not always a sure thing, particularly if you’re dealing with writers from countries with non-English names like India or China). What needs to be done is for all aspects of the community to reach out, not just editors. History is working against women and people of color, and there’s no reason why we cannot circumvent historical tradition. But, history also does not make editors today sexist or racist bastards just because they do not publish enough women or people of color. If we want to talk about racist/sexist bastards, then we need to go back in time and point a finger at the people who dominated the publishing industry in the first place, and then at society, who played the race and gender game for centuries. The point of all of this is that, yes, it is a viable excuse to say that the reason for gender/race disparities in your work is due to a low percentage of women or people of color in the slush pile. That’s a perfectly acceptable excuse, and whether or not an editor should spend time reaching out is an entirely different argument. I think the problem is that people need someone to blame, and why not an editor? They have their hand on the big button, after all. But there’s more at work here than just an editor. This is a community problem and there are no individuals that can be blamed. That is all.
Writer Problem: Genre “Bias” as Weakness?
Stay with me here. The other day I was thinking about my writing and wondering if one of my problems is that I always write the same genre (or genres, since I occasionally do fantasy, but mostly do science fiction, as far as short stories are concerned). I don’t know how many of you who read this blog are writers, but I’m curious how many of you attempt to write outside of your “comfort zone.” For me, my comfort zone is science fiction and fantasy, because those are the genres I tend to read and enjoy the most and the ones that fill my head more often than anything else. But can thinking only of those things hurt your writing? I don’t know. I’ve started to think that for someone like me, it can, because must of what I write seems to suffer from a lack of character and an excess of plot (something that has been identified by some people to be a male thing). The thing is, while I do read pretty much only science fiction and fantasy, I do occasionally venture outside of that and have, on occasion, enjoyed books so far outside my far outside of my chosen genres that the only thing that remains the same seems to be the language being used (that, of course, is because I can’t read any other languages, although I do have a knack for reading Spanish). For example, I really enjoyed The Dragons of Eden by Carl Sagan, a science book about the evolution of human intelligence. That might not be a great example, though, since science fiction and science often go hand in hand, even though the former tends to get the science very wrong. So, how about a “literary fiction” example: Fog of the Season’s End by … While you could consider this book a pulp-style novel, it is actually a character piece about people dealing with some of the darkest aspects of South Africa’s apartheid. It is one of my favorite books that I was forced to read while at UC Santa Cruz (in a class on South African literature, actually). Maybe I should write a novel like that (not about apartheid, per se, but something that looks at the world I live in, or something). I often feel like I am not educated enough to do that, though, as if I am not in-tune with the world in the way some of the best literary writers seem to be. My fingers aren’t on the world’s pulse. I don’t know where I’m going with all of this, except that I seriously wonder if my obsession with genre fiction might be hurting me. I even tried to break out of it on Saturday in an attempt to do something new, only to find myself resorting to the same science fiction things that dominate some of my most recent work (well, a little different, but I immediately found myself needing to go into the future in order to pull off what I wanted to do). Maybe I have a psychological condition that perpetually puts me in the future, or I just don’t care about the present enough to write about it, or I simply want to write stories that don’t work in the world we currently live in (give it twenty years and who knows). What do you all think about this?