Review copies don’t get returned, and other facts of life

During my days as the Literary Arts editor for my school newspaper, The Link, I was initiated into the exciting world of book reviews. As a book geek, the idea of reading free books was a big deal to me, and once I discovered that pretty much all of the publishers throughout the U.S. and Canada would send me stuff from their current catalogues for free, just because I told them I wanted to review their new book for the paper, I was hooked. Paying for books became almost a thing of the past, overnight, as I was able to get my hands on most of the hot new titles I’d been anticipating for years.

This is but one of the perks of working in the publishing industry.

Now, on the flip side of this equation, you have independent publishers and print-on-demand publishing, where the budget for sending out review copies is limited or non-existent. With POD publishing, the author typically has to pay for each copy he or she chooses to send out, and I’ve read many articles from small and independent publishers who say it’s not worth their time and money to send books out for review at all. Fair enough. I would think the same might apply to the big houses as well, who are sending out books to bloggers who may or may not ever get around to writing about those books, and whose reviews don’t make much difference in terms of jacket blurbs (i.e. those glowing words of praise from big-shot writers like Margaret Atwood and whatnot) anyway.

All of that aside, there are still rules to requesting review copies of books, as well as etiquette involved in actually completing the reviews so that the publisher doesn’t write you off as a twit, a thief, or worse. For instance, you should always ask for books you actually intend to review, and preferably the types of books that fit in with your publication’s mandates. At Black Heart, we review mostly books by indie publishers or authors who have chosen to self-publish, along with anything we feel has a theme of rebellion or being an outsider. Although I might really want to request a review copy of a new book that falls outside those parameters, it would be dishonest for me to misrepresent these intentions and get a free book that I never intend to review, even if I will actually read it. Ya dig?

Secondly, if you don’t ever write the review, the publisher probably won’t want to send you any more books, so write the damn review! It doesn’t have to be nice, but it does have to be your honest opinion. I, personally, also prefer to abide by the Quill & Quire standard of book reviewing, which holds that while “bad books happen,” this isn’t something you should take to a personal level. Go ahead and say you didn’t like it, but don’t make it into a vendetta against the author, and certainly don’t review books by authors you have personal relationships with (positive or negative), as this will bias your review.

Finally, most publishers like to see “tear-sheets,” or copies of the review once it’s published. If you publish a blog, all you have to do is send them an email with the link to the permanent URL and voila! Done. It’s just a common courtesy to follow up, particularly if you really enjoyed the book and wrote a nice review. This will show that you’ve done your job, and if you’d like to request more books at that time, it’s a good way to reconnect with the editors and publicists in charge.

Now, on the flip side of things, if you’re an author sending your book to a publication with the intention of getting some glowing words of praise to use on your book jacket, there are also rules. The first and most important of these is this: Book reviews are not necessarily going to be positive.

Yes, I would LOVE to write positive, happy reviews of every book I’ve ever read. But I can’t, because not every book I’ve ever read has been worth reading. (For instance, I would really like to get my time and money back for having read all of those terrible books by Heidegger when I was a Philosophy student, but I suspect ol’ Nazi-lovin’ Heidegger and his estate aren’t going to be coughing up any time soon.) That’s just the way the cookie crumbles, and even if some people think your work is brilliant, there will always be someone out there who reads it and thinks it’s crap. People are weird that way, so don’t take it personally, but do understand that it’s all a roll of the dice.

Secondly, and equally important to remember is this: Books sent to publications for review will never be returned.

Why? Let’s put it this way: your book is going to be beat up by the time it’s been read through, because most reviewers like to take notes, stuff them into bags when they go to work in the morning, fling them across the room when they’re mad at their significant others, and occasionally have to use them to prop up wobbly table legs.  (The books, not their significant others.) And, frankly, once you send the book in for review, it’s no longer yours. You will never get that copy back because that’s life. You can’t go around giving people stuff and then asking for it back; this is not a borrowed copy that you lent to a friend, it’s a work copy you gave, with no strings attached, to a professional reviewer to use for his or her work. That work involves reading and commenting on your work, and therefore the material in question now becomes the property of the reviewer.

So basically, don’t ever ask me to send your book back to you. Not only will I be irritated and delete your email, but I’ll also never look kindly on any of your work again. It’s just not done, and it’s actually quite rude to insist that the reviewer do you this kind of favor when it was assumed that you understood the rules of play from the beginning.

And now that you do, there’s no reason to ask, is there?

Self-publishing is the only way

Despite the terrible things people say about self-publishing, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s the only way to make any money as a writer.

Please note that I hate money as much as the next artiste, and I don’t want to have to sell myself short in favor of a paycheck. However, I will admit that I enjoy writing for money, because I feel it’s the best way to pay for my not-so-extravagant lifestyle, while also affording me the free time to do the things I enjoy, like reading a book a day, watching old-timey movies rented from the local library, and laughing at the so-called artwork at the museums nearest my house.

self publisher” by Flickr user Matt Westervelt

Self-publishing vs. vanity press

Self-publishing is often derided by “real” writers with “legitimate” publishing contracts as “vanity press publishing,” suggesting that writers who are worth their salt will subject themselves to the humiliating and often insanely long process of trying to find a publisher for their work, while anyone else (i.e. anyone who has failed to pass the “legitimate” publishing test) goes on to publish their necessarily badly-written manuscripts themselves.

Daguerreotype of Charles Dickens, notorious self-publisher (image via Wikimedia, by Jeremiah Gurney)

First of all, I disagree with this assessment. Brilliant writers like Margaret Atwood, Virginia Woolf and Charles Dickens have self-published their works, and no one disputes their genius or talent (check out the Self-Publishing Hall of Fame if you don’t believe me). So right there, the whole notion of “vanity press” is null and void.

But even if those writers hadn’t self-published, I would still say that self-publishing has an important place, and that is because traditional publishers are, to put it bluntly, thieves.

Artistic wage-slavery and corporate thieves

I say this because I recently had a chat with a publisher that shall remain nameless. Said publisher informed me that he was interested in publishing my book, but that he would only be able to do so if I myself procured a “partner” who would supply some of the money up front to print my book. Even then, he would only be willing to print a run of perhaps 2,500 books, and this only if I could find someone to do a simultaneous translation of my English version into French. While you might assume that the publisher would pay for such a translation, you would be incorrect: this publisher proposed that I would find said translator myself, and also that part of my royalties would be shared with this person.

To break it down numerically, the publisher was proposing that I would split my 8% royalty with my translator, 50–50, entitling me to a royalty of 4%. If there were a print run of 2,500 books, with a retail price of $25 for each book sold, this would results in sales of $62,500, with my 8% royalty totalling $5,000, split between myself and my translator, leaving each of us with $2,500. That might not sound so bad, except that we would each only be entitled to half of that fee upon publication ($1,250 each), with the possibility of receiving the other half if the book actually sold. If not, we wouldn’t see a dime more.

So that means I would only be guaranteed $1,250 for a book-length manuscript I wrote entirely on my own (including years of interviewing, research, transcription and accompanying photography), while a translator would also receive $1,250 for putting all of my words into another language, tweaking the text where necessary and possibly even adding his or her own bits and pieces to play to a completely different audience (i.e. essentially writing a whole different book). That hardly seems fair for either of us.

Add to that the fact that my publisher also wants me to find a financial backer or partner to put up more money up front, and you can see why I find this to be a very bad deal indeed. The publisher is going to get rich (generating over $60,000 in revenue by doing nothing more than hitting “print” on a computer and spending perhaps $500 to print my books), while I am going to make a measly $1,250? How is that fair?!

You can, perhaps, begin see why I don’t think “traditional” publishing is the way to go.

The principle of the thing

It’s not that I’m greedy. I’m not sure what I would say my manuscript would be worth, but I certainly believe that if I am putting in most of the effort in order to get it published, I should also receive most of the benefits of having done said work. Why should a middleman make 99% of the profit while I stand idly by and get screwed? It’s the principle of the thing.

$60,000 is a lot of money. One might buy a home or an expensive sportscar with 60 Gs. One could finance an education, or live comfortably for several years on that sum. I certainly don’t think that my manuscript is worth that type of money, but if it were, I propose that I would definitely be more entitled to reap that benefit than some third party who has never even had the merest inkling that such a manuscript could exist, much less the talent to write it. (And if you think this publisher is going to front a wad of cash for publicity of this dual manuscript, I think you’re mistaken. If he needs money from a partner just to print it, given the mega-low prices of printing these days, I doubt he is going to cough up for any “extras” like marketing.)

Anyway, based on what I have learned today, I don’t think I will be relying on any traditional publishers to get my book out to its intended audience. Instead, I will either find that financial backer to finance self-publication, or I shall go another route entirely. Whether that will be print-on-demand or selling e-books or giving it away via Kindle, I’m not yet certain, but I do know there has to be a better way.

Traditional publishing has only existed this long because writers have been afraid to be business people. I am not afraid to be a business person. Look out, world: the future is here.

P.S. I would also like to add that without self-publishing, I never would’ve found The Naked Blonde Writer, and that would be a crime beyond forgiveness indeed!

Clamorous Sundays review

So, as I mentioned last night at my Clamorous Sundays performance (and in my previous post), this website was recently deleted when my former hosting provider (Host Refugee, who suck) just up and disappeared on me after about 5 years of service, so this whole Bernie Madoff thing? Totally unacceptable! Anyway, because of this, most of the blogs I used to have on this page are gone. That sucks, but when I think about it, I’m not too broken up about it. I wasn’t hugely attached to most of the things I had written here, because a lot of them were just longer status updates, and that’s not terribly interesting.

In any case, I’m viewing this as a chance for a fresh start, one that I’ve been needing for a while now, and hopefully it’ll inspire me to write a lot more than I have been.

But to get back to the original point of this post, which was a bit of a review of the Clamorous Sundays event, I have to say that it was fun to get out of the house and read in front of an audience, even though the lighting (as Bryan Sentes dramatically pointed out during his own reading) was a bit off. I am terrible with microphones, too, so as I was trying to hold my head in such a way that my shadow wouldn’t stretch across the page I was trying to read, I also noticed that the mic was slowly sliding down, down, down and I was kind of hunching over it. I didn’t want to touch it, since it had been giving off a lot of horrible feedback and booming sounds earlier, so that was pretty awkward.

Aside from technical difficulties, I feel like my readings went over pretty well. Not so sure about the Margaret Atwood story (Margaret Atwood Gets It), since it’s hard to gauge whether or not people even know anything about her or her work—or care one way or another. Since the story pretty much just makes a caricature out of her, based on criticism of her work, it’s possible that this is only funny to people who have spent far too much time in a university, being forced to read Margaret Atwood books and criticism thereof. But I think Aries and An Open Letter to Henry Rollins were more popular, and those were “sexier,” so I should probably just eliminate Maggie from my line-up.

I had also invited some people who wanted to join the erotica writing group to meet me afterwards, but since the show went a bit long and I live in a part of town that ISN’T the Plateau, I had to take off while Nina was still playing her set. So, I must apologize both to Nina Nielsen for missing her music and to the various erotica lovers who may or may not have been waiting to talk to me: Sorry guys!

As far as this erotica writing group goes, it’s a bit frustrating to have lots of people email and say they’re interested, and then when you try to figure out a good time to meet up, everyone emails back to say, “Oh, sorry, I’m actually out of town all summer and can’t participate right now.” This has been happening to me rather frequently lately, with respect to several different projects I’ve been trying to pull together, and it’s starting to annoy me. Not because people shouldn’t go away for the summer, because I certainly don’t begrudge people their vacations, but because it seems to imply that they didn’t really intend to participate to begin with. I mean, why would you contact someone to say you want to join a local group when you’re not in the area—and won’t be for the next two or three months? It’s like those people who would email me from Vancouver whenever I had an apartment here in Montréal for rent, starting July 1, asking if I could hold it for them until they arrived in September for the new school year. Hello? I put up the ad NOW because I need someone NOW, not in three months!

Anyway, I’m not trying to single anybody out for criticism with this post, but I just honestly don’t understand why people seem so eager to commit to things they will never follow through on. Personally, I would much rather have only one person who is totally committed agree to participate than have 20 people express interest and never show up. Email is cheap, after all. It’s what happens in the real world that counts, right?