publishing and beyond

In the year 2020, there will still be only three channels worth watching, the porn industry will be revolutionized by "Sarah Palin: Cougar Loose in Wasilla", and the big guys in publishing -- Macmillan, Random House, and the like -- will all be subsidiaries of Amazon. There will still be small, independent presses, but they will either grow ever smaller or stay right where they are in the big corporate scheme because competing with such behemoths would kill them. That's the nature of a successful corporation, for better or worse: Devour and conquer until you are an obscenely huge fish in a rapidly shrinking pond.

But don't worry, little villagers, all is not lost. In fact, it might be that, in the long run, the big guys are in deeper trouble than the indies. We could be at a new, exciting beginning.... if we want it.

New technologies like POD and e-books cry out to the small fries in publishing to carve out their own niches and thrive in them, consolidation be damned. Indie publishers have the opportunity to reap the ultimate Long Tail strategy: They can create the exact number of books they need on request, and live well of a relatively smaller but fiercely loyal customer base, one that last them well into the future.

With the advent of less wasteful, more financially prudent on-demand publishing virtually at our fingertips, it no longer makes sense to print books in bulk, most of which will rot in a warehouse at a horrendous expense. From the looks of things, the monster publishers either don't understand this or refuse to; their world will get smaller and smaller as the rest of us are freed to explore a brave new world that might well outlast them all.

A fool's hope, maybe, but one that keeps me going.

The Guerrilla model and you: partners in freedom

As I am writing my book report on Jay Conrad Levinson's Guerrilla Marketing, I thought it might be a good idea to actually read the thing. Imagine my suprise when I ended up actually enjoying and -- gasp!-- learning from this very welll-written, informative book.

The fundamental principles of guerrilla marketing are not unlike the "SMART Goals" outlined in class: know your audience and your product, have a strategy, and measure your results to determine what works and what doesn't. That you can do all of us on a shoestring budget using such media as blogs, webcasts and podcasts, and RSS feedds only sweetens the pot.

I especially like the notion, intrinsic to the guerrilla philosophy, that independant entrepreneurs can compete with the big guys using more innovation and passion than money. It goes a long way toward democratizing the publishing process and, broadly, the business world itself.

Plus, I finally did a book report that I enjoyed.

Johnny Got His Gun

"What a hell of a thing, a wonderful, beautiful thing, to wiggle your toes."

It's an extraordinary line, one that can help yank you out of a depression, or at least think about everything you have to be thankful for. That's what it did for me about a year ago, when I read it in Dalton Trumbo's 1939 novel Johnny Got His Gun.

The book's main character, Joe Bonham, wakes up in a hospital bed after being hit by an artillery shell in the closing days of World War I. After coming to his senses, he realizes that the explosion has rendered him literally a shell of a human being: he is blind, deaf and mute, with no arms or legs, left alone in the dark with a fully functioning, but powerless, mind. As he struggles to remain sane and find some way to reach out to the world, he reflects on the life he lost and the one he might have had, the ultimate futility of war, and what connection he still has to his fellow human beings.

This is undoubtedly the most viscerally effecting book I've ever read; you're right there in poor Joe's head, feeling what he feels, wanting what he wants, needing a happy ending that will never come. The passages in which he finds out the true extent of his injuries hit you like a punch in the stomach. His realization that this non-life is the best he can ever hope for shreds your heart into pieces. His memories of his family and his last night with his sweetheart make you smile, albeit with a twinge of sadness. Finally, his resolve to keep fighting to be heard (so to speak) inspires a kind of angry, defiant hope.

Read it if you're even thinking about joining the military (shameless editorial comment -- deal with it). Read it if you want to challenge the way you think about politics, life, anything. Read it if you want somethinig beautiful to pass on to your kids. Just read it.

Pediapress: "wikiality check" for publishing?

The other day at my other publishing class, we had a speaker who told the class about a new advance in the brave new world of internet publishing: pediapress, the wiki-based, DIY publisher that allows you to post that novel on your hard drive out into the big wide world. Or, at least, the sections of the big wide world that you tell people how to find.

On one level, this is pretty cool, at least a writing exercise; this is your chance to get your writing out there where people can theoretically see it -- for free, natch -- an excellent confidence builder for young and beginning writers. I can't get too excited about it, however, because it presents no real challenge to the publishing industry that needs so badly to be shaken out of its complacency.

Essentially, you enter your magnum opus onto the database as how ever many pages of wiki content, press the button, and hey presto you're published. This has its good points, such as allowing people to practice their writing in front of a virtual audience. It also creates a forum for viable talent to interact and learn from each other.

Now, here's that cynicism you've been waiting for. Pediapress makes you a published writer in the same way that wikipedia makes you an expert, and creates visibility for writers in the same way that an open mic night gives a musician a shot at the big time. Sure, it's theoretically possible that a talent scout from a publishing firm could be logging on, but do you really expect to get that call that changes your life from posting on a wiki?

Of course, pediapress could be a good thing for the pure, who-cares-who-reads-it joy of writing... kind of like writing in this blog (I'm still waiting on Random House to log on, though). In the end, however, nothing substantial has changed, so I can't get too excited.

E-Mail ads are the devil. The devil, I say!

As you might imagine from the title of this post, I have never to the best of my recollection bought something online because of an e-mail ad, for pretty much the same reason that I don't take candy from strangers or eat food that's been on the floor for more than five seconds: because it's dangerous and unhealthy.

Oh, I buy things on the Internet, yes sir, and I suppose I've been just as suckered in by the upselling on Amazon and the iTunes store as anyone. But I hit the "junk" button the minute I see an ad for a free 10-day trial, 15% off ink toner, or discounted pills of any sort in my inbox because I did not invite these folks into my inbox and I don't want them to return. There are some serious vermin out there on the web, and once you feed them, they keep coming back.

I will give my information to a site I have actively decided to visit for a product I went there to find. That's it. Anything else is just asking for trouble.

A Heart for Any Fate

Young adult reading might be a booming market right now, but by any literary standard, it's in trouble. The days of Lois Lowry and Judy Blume are long over, and I honestly don't see how their successors could encourage kids to read (I'm no great fan of wizarding schools, and I'm sick to bloody death of pale teenaged vampires making out in the fog). That's why I'm so happy to have discovered Linda Crew's A Heart For Any Fate, published in 2009 by our very own Ooligan Press. It renews my faith in the Young Adult genre.

The novel is based on (limited) research on the actual King Family, a brood of pioneers who embarked on an ill-fated journey from Missouri to Oregon, the fabled West that sets protagonist Lovisa King's heart pounding. At 17, she is already something of an old maid, living only for her family and shunning the older men set on chaining her to a stove. For her, "West" is "The sound of a wish in a single word" -- a wish that is sorely tested as the family's wagon train takes an ill-advised trip down the infamous "Terrible Trail". The already precocious Lovisa will be forced to grow up as she and her family are hit by every challenege, setback and tragedy that was a sad fact of life for the pioneers.

Kids will love this, even if it is historical fiction. And yes, it's historical fiction, so what? It's a real testament to Crew's talent that a family of pioneers circa-1845 relate so easily. Sure, some of Lovisa's problems are set in the time -- starvation, diptheria, buffalo chips -- but her key dilemmas are ageless: find me one who hasn't been jealous of older siblings, resentful of parents, and insecure about the opposite sex. King does it all without making her heroine a girl-power anachronism; Lovisa is spunky and opinionated, but she still fits in with the morals and mores of the time.

Get your kids, nieces and nephews away from damn Twilight and give them this book. I can promise you they love it, and they will have a slower time outgrowing it.

Why I'm Doing This

I should begin this post by apologizing for my previous posts, not a word of which I meant. The truth is, I'm afraid, that I was telling you what I thought you wanted to hear about the nature of the publishing industry and writing in general. The truth is that I have been searching throughout this whole grad school thing for the reason that I'm doing it in the first place, and I think I have finally found it: I need -- as a drunk needs booze, as a junkie needs heroin -- to write with the same passion that any number of books have to taught me to, and I need to find a way to make whatever talent I have pay my bills.

Because I am paying so much for graduate-level education, I need to write in such a way that promotes the publishing industry, or at least makes the idea of majoring in technical/professional writing sound attractive. Well, here's the truth, boys and girls:

*The most commonly available steady writing job you can find is an exploitative freelance contract (have fun with that $100 per gig!).

*If you thought that publishing internships that didn't turn into actual jobs were fun in college, you're gonna love grad school!

*You really should have majored in accounting.

So, now that you know all this, do you still want to waste your time dealing with books and writing? If not, major in something else. If so... welcome to the club, because I want nothing more than to lead the pack of folks who have chosen to carry on writing in any way that they can, regardless of how much it will pay.

As a wiser man than I once said, a life without passion is not worth living.

Amazon and MacMillan -- Goliath and Goliath

On one level, this whole brouhaha about Amazon de-listing MacMillan books is a bit of a tempest in a teapot; Amazon has the right to set prices any way they see fit -- predatory as they may be -- while MacMillan is hardly the first publisher to delay the release date of their electronic editions so that the sale of such doesn't eat into the hardback market. From this perspective, Amazon made a fairly mundane business decision.

On another level, however, the struggle between the two companies is a prime example of what happens when one publisher becomes, essentially, the whole market. Amazon is the Wal-Mart of online publishing -- try to name an online bookstore with even a fraction of its business profile. Like the superstores choking Mom'n'Pops everywhere to death, it is not so much a store as a corporate juggernaut whose main purpose is to obliterate any and all competition. Forget your neighborhood bookstore and the campus library; Amazon has the money, the muscle and, just as importantly, the profile to bully even a publishing giant like MacMillan. A monopoly is wonderful if you happen to own one, but it is unhealthy for the system it grows in because it all but eliminates the competition that, at least theoretically, keeps the system going.

If there is a bright side to Amazon's corporate glut, it is that it occasionally throws its weight around so brazenly that other companies realize just who they're dealing with, and invest instead in the needs of brick-and-mortar companies such as chains and indies in order to preserve a diversity of sellers. It must have worked, because Amazon has said that it will eventually relist MacMillan, who does after all supply a great number of the books Amazon sells.

While MacMillan is not exactly an underdog, and presumably made their decision from a bottom-line analysis rather than altruism, it still stood up to the bigger bully -- and the bigger guy blinked. The system works, kind of.

Niche marketing in the digital era

Nothing is easier than getting lost in the Internet. Legions of businesses' websites have virtually (sorry) disappeared because there was nothing to distinguish them from the literally millions of sites hawking their wares. This is especially common with publishing companies' sites; all the neat graphics in the world will not save you if your company has no focus, no clear direction to set you apart from the herd. Put simply, you can't just "sell books"; you have to carve out a niche for yourself as the best place to go for certain kinds of books. The Internet should be an ideal place for such specialization; in an environment where you can literally (sorry, again) be anyone you want, the possibilities for niche marketing seem endless.

So, why aren't more publishers using this marvelous technology to make a place for themselves on the Web and in the real world?

The theory espoused today by our guest -- that companies are biding their time to better understand this new marketing form so they can carve out such a niche -- rings hollow to me. To me, the more likely explanation boils down to a simple, harsh word: LAZINESS.

The Internet has been mainstream for 20 years, folks; the big guys in publishing have had plenty of time to adapt (and, in all fairness, a few have). But most put forth only the most token effort, as many of us have seen from earlier assignments. I understand that radical change is not easy, but if publishing firms want to survive in this brave new world, they will have to alter the model in order to create a special, identifiable presence on the Web.

Brand vs Product Marketing

Brand marketing is the art of persuading people to put their trust in the name, as they say. Companies such as General Mills and Hoover Cleaning Supplies market themselves as "names you can trust", reliable workhorses who have produced quality products for generations.

Product marketing, on the other hand, focuses on the supposedly superior qualitites of the products themselves, regardless of who makes them.

In a publishing context, brand advertising is found mostly with companies that specialize in a certain kind of book; if I want to buy a dictionary, I'll go with NTC, while I'll likely look to Penguin Classics for a copy of Moby Dick. I will be more influenced by product advertising if I am looking for a specific book; in this case, I am concerned only with the book itself and will buy it from whoever sells it at a price I am willing to pay.

Most firms use one approach or the other depending on the type of book they are selling; a textbook company will trade on its name and reputation for quality textbooks, leaving the actual quality of the book almost irrelevant, while a less niche-based publisher will tout the book itself in hopes that its quality will help cement a name and reputation they don't necessarily have yet. While both approaches are equally effective if done well, brand advertising is quicker and easier, as it sinks into the consumer's mind and, for the most part, stays there.

Why the Internet?

I just got home from my other marketing class, where we were treated to an informational lecture from a longtime book publicist on his role in the marketing and selling of books. A lot of it was very helpful, and he included enough colorful stories of life in the biz (ask him about the "Sophia Loren and the hotel pillow" story) that his presentation came tantalizingly close to not being boring. But one point in his speech left confused, and a bit cold: he said that, at this point, the Internet is not that effective a marketing tool for books.

After my initial fit of PC generation outrage, I started to wonder is it was true -- if, beyond Amazon.com, the Internet is in fact inferior to good 'ol fashioned personal selling. Well, I've thought about it, and come up with the theory that it is -- and isn't.

True, the book marketing business (and, writ large, all business) was founded on personal relationships and connections to the folks one does business with; email will never replace the after-hours drink with a client. But the "faceless" Internet is fast becoming as much a domain of personal connection as the in-store promotion junket or the live author reading, in that the more business identifies with the Internet, the more we can use it to facilitate the support network every book and book seller needs to survive.

Promote your book signing, tour, or reading on Facebook. Send up flares on Myspace. Tweet until your hands are sore. You will reach whole demographics -- younger, hipper, of opener mind -- with whom press releases, commercials and full-page ads have failed. Supplement that with TV and radio spots, and you have the potential to virtually create a new audience, relatively cheap.

So, I would say to our speaker that he should take a closer look at these newer forms of marketing -- he might be pleasantly, and lucratively, surprised.

Two Publisher Sites I Surfed

Hello, all. It's me, your friendly local infohellion, with the skinny on the websites for two of my favorite publishing companies. The two sites I chose were Black Lizard and Penguin Classics.

My biggest concerns with a website are access and user control -- how much access a site grants to related materials on and outside its borders, and the ease with which you can navigate through the site to find what you want. In both of these departments, Black Lizard's site is well done but boring, while Penguin is a model of what a publisher's site should be.

Black Lizard publishes crime and mystery fiction, from old masters such as Raymond Chandler and Patricia Highsmith to such new kids on the block as P.D. James and Peter Straub. It's site is neat and tidy, with a well-organized navigation bar guiding you through the site and well-placed links to chapter excepts, reviews, and the like. And... that's it. Like the bland, workmanlike prose of most contemporary mystery writers, the site does what it sets out to do, but with little imagination or flavor. Writer's blogs and buying information might be nice, or maybe a user comments section (they could use the help, believe me). What you get instead is almost indistinguishable from any other publisher's site, save maybe for the cool, film noir-y background colors.

If you've ever had to read "The Scarlet Letter" for an English Lit class, odds are the copy you bought was by Penguin Classics; they deal in the cornerstone authors of Western literature (and dull, overrated crap like "The Scarlet Letter"). First off, it looks as classy as their catalogue, with elegant spacing and refined yet readable typeface. It provides access to all you need - company info, authors, etc - but then it goes the extra mile: it has an excellent variety of links to outside information such as literature guides and company speakers, links to locations worldwide, and even a run-down of their subsidiary rights. Black Lizard isn't the only company that could learn a thing or two from Penguin.

That's all for now, but I'll be back. Cheers!