Reader Question: Current Events and Reader Preferences and Experience
TruGenius recently left a comment asking me the following: How do current social events shape readers preferences? I’m going to start this off by saying that I am in no way a genius on this subject. I haven’t spent years studying book sales, trends, etc. So everything I am going to say on this subject is going to be based on what I know and think I know either through my readings on the Internet or interactions with friends, family, and readers. One thing that has always surprised me about the publishing industry and readers is how unpredictable they can be at times. I imagine someone saw the boom in urban fantasy coming from a mile away, but I don’t think anyone could have accurately predicted that young adult fantasy and science fiction would explode as it did, nor that young readers would be so eager to set aside their video games and cell phones to dig into a book. Looking at YA numbers is usually a jaw-dropping experience for me–I’m used to seeing 50,000 units sold as the “big number,” rather than the massive 500,000 to 1,000,000 that seems relatively common in YA these days. But is any of this indicative of social trends in response to the events of the last decade? Some of it, perhaps. There is certainly something to be said about recession and book sales. We saw the sale of e-readers spike (as well as ebooks), and polls have shown that people are reading more now than they were before the initial crash of the economy. I can’t say if these increases have remained steady: I suspect that the sales have not, but the reading has. And there isn’t anything there to indicate any specific trends (such as in genre). But this post is more about the influence of current events on reader preferences–specifically what kinds of books people are more likely to read during social, national, or global stress. From what I understand about trending, the economy can have a big influence on what kinds of books sell and what movies will succeed. io9 had a post a while ago about the trends of dystopias during economic booms and recessions that showed a correlation between strong(er) economic status and the success or rise of dystopic movies. The same thing seems true about books: dystopian fiction seems to do better, or at least is more prevalent, during economic booms (or stable trends in the economy). But this isn’t always the case. Recently we’ve seen a flood of Mayan doomsday novels (and films), most of which are doing quite well, even in these difficult times. I suspect that our relative proximity to 2012 has a lot to do with this and don’t be surprised if 2011 is filled to the brim with written works all across the board. With all that in mind, I think it’s safe to say that dystopias will shrink during this recession, Mayan doomsday fiction will remain steady, and other forms of fiction (possibly more optimistic forms) will see an increase. I could be wrong, though, and probably am. The one thing I’m not wrong about is that we will see an increase in desire for adventure-based fiction and highly escapist literature. This may not be reflected in sales, particularly because the economy is hurting just as bad as individual people are, but it will be reflected in readers themselves, who may or may not spend more time at libraries or reading their backlist of books they’ve bought, but never read. I would also suspect that Obama’s historical presidency would have some influence on books in the U.S., but I haven’t seen much in the last year in the way of future ground-breaking U.S. elections. Maybe we’ve yet to see Obama’s influence on literature. I think what I’m trying to get at here is that it’s sort of impossible to truly know what the market will do at any point (the market, of course, responds to sales, which leads directly to reader preferences). We can look back and see how major events in the world have influenced literature and reader preferences, but can any of us say that we could have predicted those changes, or that we can use what happened in the past to reflect upon the future of trends? I don’t think so. The problem is that each event is relatively unique from the one that precedes it. Current events do shape literature, but it’s hard to tell where that shaping will go. Sure, bad times seem to produce greater desire for escapism, and happy times produce greater desire for depressing fiction, but that might be the only trend we can actually pin down, with the exception to war. There are, I think, two trends in reader preferences during war: one is a boom in war-based literature with clearer indications of good and evil, and the other is a boom in war-based literature where the boundaries turn grey. We get that boost of patriotism in the beginning, and then when things turn out to be different than we imagined, we begin to see that fade. We saw this happen with the Bush Administration (at least I think so). At first, when 9/11 happened, we saw patriotism explode: readers wanted books on the subject, even when it was in their fiction; they wanted heroes of all shapes and sizes. But when things started turning ugly, when we began to see what was wrong with the war in greater numbers, then readers seemed to want something else: they desired fiction proposing “the truth” (and sometimes conspiracy theories or propaganda); they wanted stories about wars going in ways unexpected and characters who were flawed, imperfect people. This is more based on what seems “dominant” than one whether one exists and the other does not. Both exist and always have, I think, but they shift back and forth depending on what is going on in the real world. With all that I have
Self-publishing Sucks and Small Presses Rule
Mulluane recently pointed me in the direction of this interesting discussion of the 21st Century Writer knowing full well that I would take issue with some of the points. I’ve come to learn that the old bat has me pretty much pegged when it comes to talking points. The problem with that post isn’t that it’s necessarily wrong; on most points it is correct and the 21st Century Writers is largely being defined by the more progressive, technologically impacted forms of promotion and distribution. The problems I have with the discussion involve the author’s perspectives of self-publishing and small presses. To start with self-publishing, I’ll point to something the author said that made me curl my brow: I no longer engage in the self-publishing debate since it no longer matters… We no longer have to go through the gatekeepers (agents, editors, and publishers) in order to get what we want out there, to get our voice, saying what we want it to say, heard. While it’s true that writers don’t have to go through traditional channels to become a success, the notion that one can become like, say, Scott Sigler, Tee Morris, J. C. Hutchins, Mur Lafferty, etc. is misleading. These folks got, to put it simply, lucky. Yes, they worked their butts off to get where they are–which is still far from the fame of people like Stephanie Meyers, J. K. Rowling, or Stephen King–but hard work doesn’t always pay off. There are loads of folks who worked hard, who promoted and poured tears and blood into their work, but ended up getting nowhere. Most self-published authors (whether doing traditional paper versions or podiobooks) fail. This is simply the reality. They may sell a handful of copies or a few hundred, but I think it needs to be made quite clear that sales in the thousands of copies are exceedingly unlikely. Self-publishing, however easy and desirable for some, is not a picnic. A lot of people seem to think that one can waltz into the self-publishing scene and find success. Most of those folks fail and either disappear or become bitter writers. Factored into this is quality, obviously, something which self-publishing as a whole is constantly battling. Self-publishing is seen as simple largely because one can do it for practically no cost. But it’s not simple. One has to market to sell books, and most don’t know how. Even those that do know how often learn that marketing is not an exact “science.” Sometimes no matter how hard you work, you will fail. It’s inevitable. Some people aren’t cut out to be writers, no matter how much they or their delusional friends and family think so. Self-publishing is as brutal a business as traditional publishing. What really killed me about the article, however, is this quote regarding small presses: And please don’t say the “Small Press.” I’m sure the small press is the answer somehow, but these days the small press is sort of like the independent movie makers. A lot of them are small and independent because they couldn’t make it in New York or Hollywood. So in the end they’re looking for someone young, pretty, and fast the same as the big boys. They care no more about the content in the books they publish than do the name brand publishers. My immediate reaction was: bullsh*t. Comparing small presses to independent movie makers is a bit of a low blow. First off, most small presses actually do care more about the content of the books they publish than name brand publishers. The reason for this is that small presses tend to be niche markets: some publish short-story collections almost exclusively, while others delve into very specific forms of fiction, whether it be Christian speculative fiction or literary fantasy. Of course small presses want to make money (most of them, anyway), but that doesn’t mean that they are interested in simply publishing stuff that will sell thousands of copies. If they wanted that, most of them would have stuck to publishing mainstream fiction, not niche markets. And small presses aren’t at all like the independent film makers who couldn’t hack it in the land of the big guys. Small presses are small not because they simply couldn’t cut it, but because they serve a very specific and vital purpose in the publishing industry. Major publishers aren’t printing a lot of the works that small presses cover primarily because those works will have, by default, smaller audiences. If you were to try to publish an epic poem in today’s market, you might find it almost impossible, with the exception, perhaps, to Toby Barlow’s Sharp Teeth. Epic poetry is not exactly something that folks look for anymore–and poetry in general, to be honest. Its market is going to be understandably smaller. The small press is able to provide a publishing field for such work. One of the things the article does a great job pointing out, however is how much the publishing industry has already changed and will change as technology progressively becomes more a part of how authors and publishers have to market the works they put out. In a way, successful self-published authors have a talent that many new authors don’t: they’ve been there and have had to learn from start to finish how to make their work successful without the help of another. It’s true that these folks, even if they aren’t self-published, will become more important to the publishing industry as the Internet becomes a greater tool for spreading the word and selling books. I disagree that to be an author one has to be popular. To continue being an author, one definitely has to gain a readership, but there are plenty of authors still being published these days that start largely from nothing. I don’t know yet if this is a good thing. Some part of me yearns for the olden days. But perhaps those days are fast becoming a thing of the past.
Fantasy Clichés: The Good, the Bad, and the Published (Part Two)
In the last part of this, I talked about whether or not clichés are bad. Now it’s to the discussion of whether or not fantasy clichés have any influence on publishing, in my opinion. My short answer is: well, yes, but… The “but” is the important part. While it is assumed by some that publishers are on the lookout for the next original fantasy novel, the reality is that they’re just looking for well written novels. That’s it. Sometimes they get it right, and sometimes they don’t. Publishers don’t care if you think that your novel is the most original thing since Tolkien. They’ve heard the same ego trip before and, at this point, it’s a bit stale. It doesn’t matter how original you think your novel is, because it’s not. Unique, sure, but not original. And that’s the important part. The best fantasy novels, as I mentioned before, aren’t ones that are claimed to be original by the author (who is almost always wrong and is almost always writing obviously clichéd fantasy trash); the best fantasy novels are ones written by authors who take clichés and make them their own. Publishers, again, are not concerned with whether or not your fantasy novel is cliché, because it already is by default. What they are concerned about is whether or not your novel is interesting, well-written, and worthy of the paper it may potentially be printed on. If a publisher doesn’t think it can sell your work, then it’s not going to take it. Period (with rare exception to those small presses that are less interested in sales and more interested in purely unique stories; such places have a tendency to focus their attention on matters of style and the nature of the content than on anything else). Having said all that, there really is little to be concerned about in regards to clichés. The only time one should be concerned is if their work is a direct ripoff of something already told, or if the clichés are made exceedingly obvious by poor execution. What this means is that you probably shouldn’t retell Tolkien’s LOTR series and you probably should avoid having Tolkien elves who live forever and act like Spock. Of course, you can still get published with these sorts of things, but I suspect that has more to do with a well-crafted plot than anything else. There is, of course, a problem with all this. We all have different opinions on what constitutes good execution. A lot of novels that are quite obviously cliché have been published, and quite a few have been rather successful. What does this say about the publishing world? I don’t know, to be honest. Those novels sell, so perhaps what it is saying is that publishers are simply following the money. As long as we buy the books, they’ll keep making them. So while many fantasy purists and junkies may find the clichéd forms of fantasy to be trash, but such folks aren’t necessarily the largest demographic for fantasy. They’re the folks who read the stuff that sells well, but not always well enough to get onto the bestsellers list. Perhaps the question to ask about all this is whether or not fantasy clichés are a good thing in the publishing world. What do you think? Are the more cliché forms of fantasy literature necessarily lesser forms (in the same way that media tie-ins)?
Fantasy Clichés: The Good, the Bad, and the Published (Part One)
Recently over at Dragon Federation (the quite awesome new site for SF/F blog reviewers and their fans can hang out and tip back a few imaginary beers) SparklingBlue brought up an interesting topic that I have discussed before, but haven’t really delved into: I was wondering your opinion on the subject of clichés in fantasy–are they a good thing or a bad thing; and will a book still sell even though it has what is considered cliche in fantasy? The problem with fantasy fiction is that it is, by default, a clichéd genre. Very little, if any, original fantasy is being written today. What is being written is fantasy that utilizes interesting methods of retelling old ideas, revitalizing classic fantasy creations, etc. I’ve said similar before, and I often get lambasted for doing so. Why? Because readers of fantasy don’t like to have their genre criticized for what is a reality. Fantasy is incapable of escaping its mythic roots, as much as it tries–contemporary fantasy and magical realism are really as close as you get to an escape, and even then it’s only a faux escape hidden under flowery language or the intensely strange. It is embedded into the mythology of thousands of years of human history and equally as embedded into the exceedingly long, and truly astonishing history of literature. From the dawn of the written form (whether as words or pictures) we have been telling stories of gods, monsters, magical beings, and heroic journeys. Obviously these are some of the most cliché elements of fantasy, but I’m using them to make a point, because most fantasy uses some or all of these in some capacity or another. Some call the things I refer to as clichés “tropes,” which is pretty much the same thing in terms of literature (which seems to have its own dictionary in much the same way that science does, apparently). Whether they are tropes or clichés, these elements, whatever they may be, are built into the fabric of the fantasy genre. It is incapable of disentangling itself from its history and easily as incapable of disentangling itself from its commonplace parts. This is why the notion of “original fiction” is, by default, nothing more than a noble gesture. Fiction is only original in the sense that a particular author manages to do something different with an old thing. Some might argue here, however, that science fiction is a genre of the original; the problem with this assessment is that it assumes ideas are the same as plots, characters, etc. Science fiction is only original in that it sometimes invents new things that are separate, in some capacity, from the body of literature that precedes it. This has a lot to do with the fact that science fiction is as embedded into the present as fantasy is embedded into the past. None of this is necessarily bad. To get upset over this reality–that fantasy is a cliché genre by default–is like getting upset over finding out that ice cream and frozen yogurt come from cows at some point down the line. But clichés make a work crappy, right? Well, no, not always. Clichés are bad news when: There are a lot of them. The author fails to do something different with old concepts. The author tries something sadly obvious to make it seem like he or she is being original (having elves and calling them bingles instead, for example). The above list isn’t set in stone, though. But we’ll leave that to the next post, which will address the publishing side of all this. For now, I’ll stick with whether clichés are good or bad. The thing about clichés is that they are perceived to be bad when they are written poorly. It becomes pretty obvious when reading a book that the author didn’t care enough to try to mask his or her use of clichéd elements. You’ll find elves and wizards doing what they’ve always done in fantasy and the reader (us) is left wondering: why did I bother with this crap? Good writers try to write clichés in a way that doesn’t draw attention to the fact that you’ve seen it before. A prime example, I think, is Karen Miller (author of The Innocent Mage and The Awakened Mage). With these two novels, Miller succeeded in avoiding the instinctual drive towards originality by taking several clichéd elements and writing them in a way that doesn’t automatically draw the reader’s attention to the fact of their commonality. Her work takes clichés like prophecies and magic and spins them on their head. Instead of just another story of the chosen one rising up and winning against the evil bad guy, Miller gave us a story in which the chosen one is not at all what one would expect, and someone without any interest in matters of prophecy, magic, higher culture, etc. Her use of magic, too, avoids the cliché all-too-prevalent in fantasy (the white-haired or old wizard mentor) and instead twists magic around, making it dark, but necessary. There are few, if any, super-powered ninja wizards running around blasting holes in the moon. And Miller may be one of the few fantasy authors with the ability to write dialects into dialogue. Her main character, Asher, speaks with a clear type of accent, and the she writes his dialogue draws us into that world of peasantry and class conflict. All this is to illustrate the point that one doesn’t have to be original so much as unique. Yes, those terms are different. To be original is to precede all others, to be the first. To be unique is to be radically distinctive. Miller, I believe, is just that. And I think that will conclude this post. In the second installment I’ll talk about how the nature of clichés influences publishing (as I see it). If you have an opinion on this, feel free to let me know in the comments!
Royalties: Should Used Bookstores Pay Them?
I’m sure this is a subject that has been discussed over and over in the past, but it seems to have been mildly revitalized in the last few months by the blogosphere (such as at Teleread). What has probably driven it out of the wood works, if it was ever there in the first place, is the crash of the economy and the rippling effect that tore through the book industry. Used bookstores, of course, have been hit hard by the economic crisis, with many of our favorite indie used bookstores shutting down and some we thought were secure due to their popularity now shivering in their boots. But what about those used bookstores that are still around? They’re selling loads of second-hand books, tossing around cheaper prices, and undercutting the big guy, right? Sure, but should these stores have to pay royalties to the publishing houses for selling second-hand? Or should things remain as they were? Of course, this excludes stores that also sell new books, since obviously they would have to pay full price for those books anyway. Then again, we don’t generally expect to pay half price for a brand new book (well, maybe some of us do). My personal opinion is that used bookstores shouldn’t have to pay royalties for the following reasons: I’m selfish and if I can get an older book for dirt cheap, I’ll jump on it. Trying to charge royalties to these stores will shift the cost to the consumer, will shut down most, if not all, of the second-hand industry, and will drastically change the entire structure of the book industry in general, which will have adverse effects on everyone. I see this as a way of latching on to profits that have been lost due to poor marketing or the failures of the industry to sell books. But this is something illogical that is stuck in the back of my head and I am, as of this moment, incapable of quantifying it. The cost of applying a royalty-payment system (for tracking, etc.) will trickle down from both the publishing and second-hand industries to all of us, which could reduce the attractiveness of used bookstores–most will go out of business. Teleread points out that a lot of people will stop buying books altogether when the cost rises due to economic reasons. This is probably true, at least for a segment of the population. What will most likely happen is that readers will buy fewer books, which, in turn, will cause a fallout in the book industry as independent bookstores drop off the face of the Earth, more people lose their jobs at publishing houses, etc. Perhaps in more economically stable times this would have seemed a “good idea,” but I wonder if the folks proposing royalties for used bookstores in the U.S. have considered the ramifications of these ideas in today’s society. All this isn’t to say that I don’t understand the reasoning behind wanting second-hand stores to pay royalties. I completely get it. But it’s also problematic, and I think trying to problematize the book industry further will be far worse than simply adjusting with the times. Besides, second-hand bookstores are already concerned about a future where there will be fewer dead tree books and more electronic books. Sooner or later, I suspect, the second-hand industry will dwindle as newer books fail to get into their stores some ten years after publication. But that’s just a guess. What do you think about all this? Do you think used bookstores should pay royalties?
Ten Things That Make Me Stop Reading
Hinging off Matt Staggs’ recent post on the same subject, I thought I would talk about what elements in a novel make me stop reading.I’m a notoriously picky reader, especially when it comes to novels. Some of my TAs at school have learned this, and others are probably oblivious, but when I’m not entertained by a book, it instantly becomes a chore and, thus, difficult for me to actually get through (sometimes I stop reading entirely, even though they are school books). Since I already have to read so many novels, I find myself largely becoming uninterested in books that don’t immediately grab me and, thus, I develop a more sophisticated (not necessarily better) taste in literature.Here are ten things that will almost always make me toss a book across the room: Unrealistic Sex ScenesI realize that the uber dork meeting an attractive woman and then having an all-night-romp of passionate, intense love making is appealing, but it’s also incredibly unrealistic and somewhat pathetic. What about nerves? What about guys who aren’t reincarnated sex machines? Most men aren’t super lovers who can go seven times in half a day (I’m looking at you, Greg Bear; that scene in Blood Music was absolutely absurd and seemed too much like a personal fantasy). Of course, most men won’t admit this, but that’s not the point. The point is that sex isn’t perfect. Not everyone who is inexperienced will magically be good at it. Most will suck. Let’s put some of that into our novels, please. The unrealistic inexperienced lanky guy who gives his partner five O-moments in one night is a bit, well, overused and easy to see as poorly disguised personal fantasy. Rape (Used Poorly)Any time when rape is used for shock value, I’m out. The same can be said for scenes following a rape in which the victim seems relatively un-phased. I don’t find rape entertaining; most people don’t. Rape should be put into a story to serve a purpose. This is why I couldn’t stand The Hills Have Eyes 2: the rape scene was there only to be shocking, not to develop a character in a certain way or drive the plot or anything (it was an opportunity to do something disgusting in order to make our skin crawl). I will drop books that do not address rape as an important and emotionally devastating thing. It’s no walk in the park and I want to see that in the writing. Violence For the Sake of Being ViolentI don’t mind blood and gore. But just as with rape, it has to have a purpose. If you’re just showing me limbs being chopped off because you like it, then I’m likely to drop the book. I want violence that takes itself seriously, that tries to convey a scene realistically and with logical consequences. If a character is involved in a war and manages to survive relatively unscathed after seeing all his friends get chopped to bits, how does he respond to that? If your answer is anything like “he goes off and dances to lively elven music while remarking how awesome the battle was,” then I’m out. Being Artistic For the Sake of Being ArtisticConsider this literary snobbery, if you like. I absolutely despise novels that try to do new things with language or story for the purpose of being artistic. The problem I have with a lot of literary fiction is that most of the people who write that stuff are so focused on the art form that they have forgotten how to tell a story. Literature is here to tell and show us stories. Novels that don’t give any attention to the story and all the attention to language and style are ones that eventually get dropped by me. Entertain me with your pretty language; don’t bore me to death. Laggy BeginningsIf it takes more than fifty pages for something to happen that is interesting, then I’m not likely to finish the book. In a 300-page novel, it’s not much to ask for a bit of action or something in the beginning, even if it’s something small. Set up a question or show me something crazy. Do something. You’ve got more space to get me interested in the rest of the book than you had with your editor. The ending shouldn’t be boring, period. Crappy WritingThis one is pretty obvious, right? I’m going to lob all forms of crappy writing in there: bad style, lots of spelling/grammar errors, poor plotting, etc. I don’t think I need to go beyond this except to say that how you tell a story is extremely important. If reading a work is like trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphics, then clearly whatever it is I’m reading doesn’t deserve to be published. Poor Science Played Off Like Legit ScienceI’m perfectly fine with letting slide things like faster-than-light travel, aliens that look human-ish, etc. What I don’t like is when a science fiction author writes a story filled with explanation about some “new” science that, in reality, is actually a load of absolute nonsense. If you want to write fantasy, then write fantasy. If you want to write hard SF, then stick with sciences we know. The one thing that non-hard SF writers do successfully is represent their “fantasy” tropes as just that: tropes. FTL for them is simply there, thus allowing them to focus on the story rather than trying to explain how their FTL works without violating the laws of the universe. Don’t explain to me how FTL works, just tell me it does and move on. Confusing Names and Other Bad Worldbuilding CrapNames need vowels. Fjfjcbvyx is not a name; it’s what happens when your cat runs over your keyboard. The thing that bothers me about some fantasy novels is the endless repetition of the unpronounceable name. This alone isn’t enough, though. There have to be a collection of worldbuilding-related things working together to get me to drop a novel. These include, but