Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages. Geoffrey Chaucer said that about 600 years ago as part of the prologue to the Canterbury Tales, the first writing we would recognize as English. I believe it. What would life be worth if it weren’t a pilgrimage? Every day. I hope you will join my pilgrimage. I’m writing a book … well, several. Writing is pilgrimage, and I’ll need sustenance along the way. I hope you will follow along, comment, help lead me. C’mon, it will be an adventure …
Here’s a nice, straightforward discussion of Platform: 7 Ways To Build a Platform Through Your Online Community.
Can it have been a month since the last post?
Oh, yes. The holidays, perhaps the handiest excuse for inactivity.
My question to myself has been sitting there, sitting there, day after day: Self publish or traditional?
In favor of traditional publishing: It’s traditional. People have been making a living at it for pushing 600 years (not counting the monks working the vellum). Somebody out there knows the many-more-than a few hundred people I could contact by myself. Somebody knows how the business is done. Right?
Well, maybe not. I see randomness, chaos and poorly executed fundamental practices.
So, self-publish, right?
Umm … maybe. Amazon’s out there throwing business models on the wall to see if they stick. One can self publish, hard copy publish, audio-book publish, get reviews from other writers, offer up completed books for reviews … all on Amazon. I think of Amazon as an avuncular alligator, happily consuming writers’ products as long as market share keeps rising. As self publishing flattens, as it reportedly has, does the alligator tear off your arm for a snack? (Pardon my mutilation of metaphor.)
Dunno. A couple more contests coming up. More queries. Freshen up the platform (Ugh!) Who knows? Soon, I may get writing again.
Claire Cain Miller writes an interesting article in the New York Times titled, As Robots Grow Smarter, American Workers Struggle to Keep Up.
Yes, I know, we have been through what, three or four “computers are going to kill jobs” moments in the last half-century. Economists think those prior scares didn’t kill jobs. Miller’s article is worth reading, and it raises the issue of intellectual property.
Sure. The general thinking has been that computers/automation/artificial intelligence is stripping the repetitive, lower-skill jobs, so we all ought to go to college and get jobs that require more brain and less brawn, right? Create intellectual property, right?
Okay. Great idea. But consider the reality that intellectual property — songs, music performance, writing — is highly undervalued. And that seems to be a trend, one which seems to be exacerbated by — guess what? — the same forces of technology that are supposedly driving us up the intellectual content curve. Whether we are discussing musicians or writers or sports or (in the future) college professors, the new electronic media tend to make the few, the very top-notch (in public opinion), available to all. So the great jazzman that’s not famous struggles to make a living. Smashwords says that the average self-published author makes a pittance. The wonderful university professor’s lecture is trumped by the famous guy on TED talks.
I’m not sure what the solution is, but we’d better find one. Intellectual property really shouldn’t be free.
I have an exasperating problem. Here I am writing (rewriting, actually) an exciting novel, capturing great thoughts, basting it in the oral tradition, riding high. Except the quote marks keep coming out wrong.
There are two kinds of quote marks: straight up and down (like a typewriter) and curly. As the Chicago Manual of Style notes, straight up and down quote marks are ONLY for legal documents and philosophical treatises. I learned the difference right quick when my first edited piece came back marked up because my much-loved Scrivener software seemed to have salted my Times New Roman with straight quotes.
I won’t bore you with the details, but after about four hours and several pounds of expletives later, I know the source of the problem, and I think I know the solution. The reason is I found a wonderful site covering many aspects of the appearance of a printed work. The site is Butterick’s Practical Typography.
When your protagonist’s voice is clear and consistent, when the metaphors and similes draw gasps of appreciation from your writing group, when you have taken out the grammatical gaffes and turgid prose, then you need to resort to Butterick’s. Before you get shredded by your editor.
I believe there is a version of the 5-stage Kübler-Ross model of grief related to editing: Denial/Surprise/High Dudgeon/Fascination/Damn, I’m glad I did it.
I’ve often been told that every writer needs an editor. Of course, my grammar and syntax are impeccable, so that admonition was easy to ignore. Pay for advice that I surely didn’t need? On my budget? Really?
Of course, I was in the first stage of the model, Denial.
A writing group friend caught me up short when he said, “Writing without an editor is like playing tennis with yourself.” My second novel is in draft and is being pummeled by my writing groups. But maybe the first novel needs … help?
Finally, I decided to dip a 50-page toe in the ocean.
When the manila envelope bearing the edited product arrived, I opened it wondering why I felt a little like the moment right before I ripped the paper off a present from my certifiably loony aunt. (You never knew what was coming. When I was ten, it was a heat lamp. Just the bulb.)
This is a waste of time. He’ll only be able to argue with word choice.
First page: 4 marks. I gasped. Second page: 8. Third page: 9. Surely, he must be wrong.
Surprise threatened to become High Dudgeon.
I put the envelope aside for a couple of days and pretended to be too busy to look at the other 47 pages.
Then the fourth stage, Fascination, saved me. I don’t (well, didn’t) know the convention about single quotes, and the editor’s word choice suggestions were excellent.
Over the last several days, I have achieved the fifth stage, Damn I’m Glad I Did That. Guess I have to adjust the budget.
So, let me ask (rhetorically), would you put the pictured cover on a book? ‘Sell … Like Wildfire,’ emblazoned (pardon me) over a book of matches? After several years of devastating wildfires set by arsonists? And would you name your website startawildfire.com?
I am sure that I will be thrust into the black hole of crotchety old guys by Internet savvy folks and, in particular, Internet marketers. After all, the brave new world seems to be driven by click-thru activity rather than substance.
I got an e-mail advertising a ‘free download’ on book marketing. That interests me, so I punched through to a page that wanted me to sign up for info on a self-publishing house. No free download. Intrigued, I e-mailed the publisher. Several days later, I got the appropriate web address and clicked on the ‘article.’ It turned out to be a book chapter. Presumably, I would read the chapter and buy the book.
So, the net result is a plus for the marketing database (several click-throughs). They didn’t really lie. The only down side I see for the marketer is bitter experience tells me those hyper-energetic, hair-on-fire promotional efforts are usually a thin coat of paint covering lack of substance. Oh, and there is the fact that the slightly misleading but relatively harmless come-on is the only data I have to go on when and if I self-publish. That doesn’t convert to very many future click-throughs.
I have been dilatory in my blogging. All of the reasons are good, but like intentions, they pave the way to hell (in the form of low readership).One of the several delaying factors was the success of my writing groups. More people, more writing and more time spent critiquing. I’m learning that bad writing is perhaps more helpful to me than good writing. Don’t get me wrong. I love reading a beautifully-crafted paragraph or watching another writer’s character do something that explains a volume in a few words. That writing adds in an ineffable way to my skill as a writer. But the bad writing, the times when the narrator becomes a blowhard, or the writer has the character tell us something we already knew, or the sentence is just too ugly for a simple ‘k’ in the margin … those are the times I see the same weaknesses in my own writing.So, long story, but the critiquing I’m doing now is doubly time consuming, because I spend as much time fixing the embarrassing parts of my own writing as I do critiquing.Wait a minute. That’s what it’s all about, right?
Since the delivery person already brought it to me, it has no further place to be brought, does it?
Seems to me (and very few other curmudgeons, apparently) that we are in an era of grammatical entropy. Articles on the subject seem to concentrate on the reality that language evolves (Duh…), that grammar really needs to represent what people speak, and so on. Maybe it’s that the brave new 140-character thought processes we seem to be bathed in so much of the time just can’t contemplate fine distinction, but the bring/take distinction is, it seems to me, different than, e.g., the who/whom distinction. Making all mentions of movement become ‘bring’ loses an important distinction, possibly … no, probably … causing confusion. Who/whom rarely does that, because it’s usually obvious to whom we are referring in a sentence. (And then there’s the issue of ending the sentence with a preposition.) (And sentence fragments.)
Maybe I need to find the address of the presumably long-suffering NYT delivery person and add to what must be a mountain of plastic bags in his/her living room.
Of course, it’s possible that all material things are meant to be brought to that black hole where odd socks and occasionally car keys are said to reside, from which they can never be taken out (of). Now, that’s entropy.
The Economist has a special section on publishing in its most recent issue. Very non-doctrinaire, sensible, and hopeful. Maybe that’s why I enjoyed it so much.
I was privileged to hear jazz singer Kate McGarry interpret Show Me, the Lerner and Loewe classic from My Fair Lady. Most of my thoughts these days turn to writing, and these lyrics seem to me worth several pages explicating the admonition to Show, Don’t Tell:
Here we are together in the middle of the night!
Don’t talk of spring! Just hold me tight!
Anyone who’s ever been in love’ll tell you that
This is no time for a chat!