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msagaraIt's come to my attention that some people find this Journal a tad on the depressing side. That wasn't my intent. Nor has it been my intent to position myself as an expert of any sort; because of the nature of Journals in general, I've assumed that this is a somewhat personal take on professional things. Because of that -- and face it, because I'm lazy and no one is paying me to write these -- I'm not particularly careful about punctuation and proof-reading; I tend to write what I think and send it up.
It is entirely what I think, and what I observe. I try to put down the tracks by which my observational trails can be followed, this being the basis of my odd universe's sense of causality -- but as I've said before, and will no doubt say again, there are writers, agents and editors who would disagree with what I've said here. Or take issue with some of it.
Publishing is a business. All businesses are wonky. You only have to read Dilbert to get that. There isn't any business I've ever seen that runs smoothly and efficiently 100% of the time; if you get 80, you're doing well.
Publishing is also a business in which people begin because they love books. They usually start at a non-living wage, and work their way up slowly, if they don't eventually tire of the pay, the hours and the stress, and leave for other employment in which these things don't exist. This is as true of editors as it is of writers, although it can be argued that the non-living wage that assistant editors earn is more than the non-living wage that beginning writers earn. It can also be argued that none of those editors, assistants or no, are earning what someone like Robert Jordan earns <g>.
I haven't said this often enough; let me say it now, and clearly.
I care about books. No one starts working in bookstores who doesn't. The pay, as is the case for most retail operations, is abysmal. The hours are better than editorial hours, and there are wonderful elements of store work -- finding the right books for the right readers, whatever those books may be -- that make it seem like a worthwhile job.
I care about stories, especially mine. I won't write something I can't emotionally invest myself in because I can't write it. I've tried once or twice, and that was more than enough.
The news about book lengths? It's not good news to me. Those of you who've read my books know that I'm so far away from 120K words the idea of 120K words gives me hives and a bad case of jitters. But I know it's not personal; it's business. For better or worse, the large publishers are tied to a set of rules and dictates that have to be followed; they have flexibility, but not a lot of it.
Every writer who starts out in the business knows that the one thing you have to develop calluses from is rejection. You've got to learn to take rejection for what it is, and you've got to live with the gnawing sensation that something you've poured yourself into just isn't wanted by the market you sent it to. If you're going to get better, you just keep going, and after a while, it doesn't hurt as much. It's never happy, but it's just one of the things that you learn to dodge.
In some sense, examining your work from an industry view is not unlike learning to live with rejection; it's something that's outside of your control, and it's something that is separate from your text. Even getting published doesn't mean that you won't have to deal with this issue -- in fact, it guarantees that you will.
What I've been hoping, in these posts, is to give you a sense of why inexplicable business decisions aren't actually all that inexplicable. And in those cases where I think they are? Doesn't matter; they're sort of like weather. Or geography. They're what you have to just live with.
Writing for market is always a tricky proposition. Sometimes the market favours you; sometimes the trends in the industry favour you; timing is not everything, but being in the right place at the right time really does grease the wheels. Sometimes, however, it doesn't. In that case, my advice is to write anyway. Write the stories that you care about passionately. Finish them. And then start worrying about the business of selling them, with the understanding that it's trickier.
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kate_nepveu posted notes about a panel for New Writers at Noreascon. It's here, and you should read it.
http://www.livejournal.com/users/kate_nepveu/70493.html
And, since I've already mentioned John Scalzi's wonderful blog, The Whatever, I want to also slide in a pointer to his advice to writers, which is funny and in many ways dead on. It's here.
http://www.scalzi.com/whatever/archives/000701.html
Anyway, part of tonight's short ramble is about format. Yes, format.
Hardcovers and trade paperbacks are for the bookstore trade, as someone mentioned in a different thread here. For the most part, the colloquial use of "trade" to mean "large-size" will do. But mass-market paperbacks in North America started out being distributed by magazine distributors in the days before my birth. Magazine distribution works in one of two ways. The expensive way, in which retailers make very little money, involves trucks and delivery people who will both drop off new magazines and at the same time pick up the old ones that haven't sold.
The less expensive way involves tearing off strips of the covers of the magazines (the titles and dates) and newspapers; these are returned, and the rest of the magazine is pulped or thrown out or read by employees. This is how most places deal with magazines & newspapers to this day -- and as the people who were distributing much of the mass market paperbacks were used to doing business this way, this is how it was done, and this is how the strip cover returns started.
Is this a generalization? Yes. It's more complicated than that, but that's the historical essence of it.
I've heard many people say that British mass market paperbacks aren't returnable. This is hogwash. And technically, the "mass market" term for British books isn't applicable; they're all trade paperbacks. British paperbacks, just as the large format ones and the hardcovers, are fully returnable -- you just have to send the whole book back.
It is entirely what I think, and what I observe. I try to put down the tracks by which my observational trails can be followed, this being the basis of my odd universe's sense of causality -- but as I've said before, and will no doubt say again, there are writers, agents and editors who would disagree with what I've said here. Or take issue with some of it.
Publishing is a business. All businesses are wonky. You only have to read Dilbert to get that. There isn't any business I've ever seen that runs smoothly and efficiently 100% of the time; if you get 80, you're doing well.
Publishing is also a business in which people begin because they love books. They usually start at a non-living wage, and work their way up slowly, if they don't eventually tire of the pay, the hours and the stress, and leave for other employment in which these things don't exist. This is as true of editors as it is of writers, although it can be argued that the non-living wage that assistant editors earn is more than the non-living wage that beginning writers earn. It can also be argued that none of those editors, assistants or no, are earning what someone like Robert Jordan earns <g>.
I haven't said this often enough; let me say it now, and clearly.
I care about books. No one starts working in bookstores who doesn't. The pay, as is the case for most retail operations, is abysmal. The hours are better than editorial hours, and there are wonderful elements of store work -- finding the right books for the right readers, whatever those books may be -- that make it seem like a worthwhile job.
I care about stories, especially mine. I won't write something I can't emotionally invest myself in because I can't write it. I've tried once or twice, and that was more than enough.
The news about book lengths? It's not good news to me. Those of you who've read my books know that I'm so far away from 120K words the idea of 120K words gives me hives and a bad case of jitters. But I know it's not personal; it's business. For better or worse, the large publishers are tied to a set of rules and dictates that have to be followed; they have flexibility, but not a lot of it.
Every writer who starts out in the business knows that the one thing you have to develop calluses from is rejection. You've got to learn to take rejection for what it is, and you've got to live with the gnawing sensation that something you've poured yourself into just isn't wanted by the market you sent it to. If you're going to get better, you just keep going, and after a while, it doesn't hurt as much. It's never happy, but it's just one of the things that you learn to dodge.
In some sense, examining your work from an industry view is not unlike learning to live with rejection; it's something that's outside of your control, and it's something that is separate from your text. Even getting published doesn't mean that you won't have to deal with this issue -- in fact, it guarantees that you will.
What I've been hoping, in these posts, is to give you a sense of why inexplicable business decisions aren't actually all that inexplicable. And in those cases where I think they are? Doesn't matter; they're sort of like weather. Or geography. They're what you have to just live with.
Writing for market is always a tricky proposition. Sometimes the market favours you; sometimes the trends in the industry favour you; timing is not everything, but being in the right place at the right time really does grease the wheels. Sometimes, however, it doesn't. In that case, my advice is to write anyway. Write the stories that you care about passionately. Finish them. And then start worrying about the business of selling them, with the understanding that it's trickier.
kate_nepveu posted notes about a panel for New Writers at Noreascon. It's here, and you should read it.http://www.livejournal.com/users/kate_nepveu/70493.html
And, since I've already mentioned John Scalzi's wonderful blog, The Whatever, I want to also slide in a pointer to his advice to writers, which is funny and in many ways dead on. It's here.
http://www.scalzi.com/whatever/archives/000701.html
Anyway, part of tonight's short ramble is about format. Yes, format.
Hardcovers and trade paperbacks are for the bookstore trade, as someone mentioned in a different thread here. For the most part, the colloquial use of "trade" to mean "large-size" will do. But mass-market paperbacks in North America started out being distributed by magazine distributors in the days before my birth. Magazine distribution works in one of two ways. The expensive way, in which retailers make very little money, involves trucks and delivery people who will both drop off new magazines and at the same time pick up the old ones that haven't sold.
The less expensive way involves tearing off strips of the covers of the magazines (the titles and dates) and newspapers; these are returned, and the rest of the magazine is pulped or thrown out or read by employees. This is how most places deal with magazines & newspapers to this day -- and as the people who were distributing much of the mass market paperbacks were used to doing business this way, this is how it was done, and this is how the strip cover returns started.
Is this a generalization? Yes. It's more complicated than that, but that's the historical essence of it.
I've heard many people say that British mass market paperbacks aren't returnable. This is hogwash. And technically, the "mass market" term for British books isn't applicable; they're all trade paperbacks. British paperbacks, just as the large format ones and the hardcovers, are fully returnable -- you just have to send the whole book back.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-13 12:52 am (UTC)I have been enjoying your posts. Thanks for writing them.
Harry