Despite reports that the two parties were discussing ways to restore Macmillan’s buy buttons yesterday, customers were still unable to buy Macmillan titles directly from the Amazon site, including Winter Garden, the just released title from Kristin Hannah for which St. Martin’s took out a full page ad in today’s New York Times.
This won’t be over for a long time yet, but the implications are huge. One of the best parts of this, though, is that readers are (hopefully, finally) beginning to appreciate what goes into actually publishing a book and a view into the publishing world in general. I’m very hopeful that this type of energetic advocacy will help us not go the way of the music industry. (And, yeah, don’t think the irony escapes me: that the same company, Apple, which almost single-handedly did in that industry–although swap sites and pirates got in on the act, too–has now fired the first salvo over books.)
More on the Amazon and Macmillan dust-up. Go, Macmillan! And Scott Westerfeld had a fabulous analysis of the whole deal on his blog, as does Tobias “Tobe” Buckell (and I love reading how he thinks about this; I agree a hundred percent and think the same way, but I just don’t say it as well as he does).
But this bit in the NYT’s piece really stuck out and I haven’t seen anyone address this yet:
“Amazon may still hope to play one asset to its advantage. Loyal Kindle users routinely give low ratings to books they perceive as too costly, or whose digital editions are delayed past the publication of the hardcover edition. These consumers could ostensibly reject costlier e-books.”
I know that this happens, routinely, because I’ve seen it with my own beady little eyes on the Amazon site. Happened to one of my favorite authors, John Sandford. I went so far as to a) complain to Amazon about this and b) notify Sandford via his website. I got a very nice reply back from Sandford’s webmaster (his son, I believe), who said they and their publisher have been trying to get Amazon to police its reviews for years around this very issue. Amazon, it seems, refuses to do anything, period.
Now, to be fair to Amazon, it/they have pulled blatantly abusive reviews–at least, for one of my books. But for them to ignore negative reviews on the basis of whether a book’s available on the Kindle or whether it looks GOOD on the Kindle . . . that’s absurd. Worse, if all a consumer sees are the stars (or lack thereof), he/she might just pass that book on by without giving it a second glance. Yet another reason to give Amazon a pass.
Amazon wants to play cop? Wants to tell you what you can read? Let it start by policing itself.
Things will not improve for you, the consumer, or us, the writers and publishers and artists and editors, unless we’re all ready to make some noise. This is a little like that apocryphal story of Teddy Roosevelt reading Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle: Teddy got so pissed, he started hand to hand combat with a sausage.
The reality was different–and just as instructive. Roosevelt went through channels, was reassured by the Agriculture Department and then wrote a letter to Frank Doubleday, the head of Doubleday publishing, and told him how irresponsible the book was. Doubleday responded that it had fact-checked everything–and then Roosevelt investigated on his own and found that Doubleday, and Sinclair, were right.
Now, no one is comparing Amazon to a sausage or the meat-packing industry per se. But what Amazon is churning out–grinding up everything and calling it sausage and aiming to be the only purveyor of sausages around–is comparable. It’s not good for you, period.
Okay, so this got my dander up. The idea that Amazon would pull a publisher’s books on the basis of a pricing dispute should sound a bunch of alarms. (The fact that a lot of my friends’ books are no longer available–temporarily or otherwise–ticks me off, too.)
But here’s what bothered me just about as much as Amazon’s move: comments about the pricing of ebooks (and books in general) by people who know NOTHING about writing or publishing. So I posted a comment which I’ve reproduced below . . . and yeah, you can tell I got my knickers in a twist.
But, folks, this is serious. Monopolies are NOT GOOD.
***
Folks who think that e-books are too expensive–or worth the same, regardless of who the writer is–and believe that writers will do just fine if Amazon continues to throw its weight around have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. That line of argument is complete and utter hogwash. When you factor in the hours writers spend delivering a product that you want to read, most writers do not even come close to making minimum wage. The idea that an ebook is not worth as much is absurd. The author still put in just as much time to write it–and likely rewrote it several times to editorial demand. An editor still spent an enormous amount of time shaping the book; a copy editor proofed it for errors; a cover artist went through multiple drafts to create something that would make you–the reader–want to pick up that book and peek between the covers.
If Amazon had its way, we’d all be reading the equivalent of a literary Big Mac. Some fast food is just fine but not as a steady diet. Amazon’s model is unsustainable and, at its base, censorship. You want Amazon deciding what you’ll be able to read? If a school banned a book, you’d be up in arms. This is no different because Amazon knows that you are much less likely to go into a bookstore–just try finding one these days–or deal directly with the publisher.
Amazon is a distributor, period. Now, they can choose not to be a distributor of a certain publisher but to do so on the basis of a disagreement over pricing is ridiculous. Following that line of logic, all products available at a Target ought to be the same price.
Wake up, people. Amazon should not be dictating your freedom to choose.
Yet another attempt to push through drilling around the Arctic Wildlife Refuge. This is deeply disturbing, if only because it signals more weakening of this administration which has done very little to champion the environment. Considering this and the recent Supreme Court decision to allow for big corporate money to influence our political system (again), Theodore Roosevelt is rolling over in his grave . . .
Go to this site. Protest. Donate. Send this to your friends.
So I had a really interesting evening earlier in the week. A teacher-friend invited me to speak to her class on teaching fiction to school kids (all ages), and they wanted someone to talk about sf and fantasy. Now I’ve done a lot of public speaking–mostly academic stuff–so that wasn’t a problem. But, moi? Try to teach teachers about teaching? Puh-leez. They’re the experts; I just make the stuff up (and I really haven’t written much sf or fantasy in the last year or so).
Anyway, I think it went okay–and one teacher had a really interesting question. Apparently, their textbook talks about sf/f as the literature of possibilities–a way of commenting on humanity from a distance. Well, that’s true, but I would suggest that you can do that with just about any genre and, like everyone else, I know sf/f when I read it. OTOH, because this is a lit of possibilities, that might explain why sf/f really resonates when you’re a latency-aged kid on the cusp of adolescence and on through. Sure, you’re testing your wings, but you’re also focused on exploring just exactly what you can get away with. When you’re 11 or 13, I’m not sure you’re so interested in leaving home as in wishing you could while being secretly glad that you can’t. It’s a big scary world out there, after all. But I watched this happen to my own kids and the reality is that you and they know when it’s time to leave–to bust on out, to reach breakaway and go exploring.
That IS what sf is all about at heart and it may also explain why many people stop reading sf as they age. Your focus changes from exploration to creating a safe world for yourself and, maybe, a family. Thinking about alternatives is only exciting if you can proceed from a secure base, and most of us older folks are way more concerned with that secure base. Oh sure, dabbling is fun–but I think the focus turns inward and narrows again to making sure that your family remains intact. That is, after all, the task of being a parent: providing that safe base and then helping a kid reach breakaway.
Is that sad? Do you lose something? Well, sure, there are always trade-offs. But looking at myself as one example–I followed one career path, established a secure base of operations with my very understanding husband and, because of that, was able to breakaway yet again to follow my dream of becoming a writer.
So the possibility of being able to explore alternative realities is always within reach, and I don’t think that’s something you outgrow. Sure, you can choose to ignore an alternative path, but the invitation to consider a new possibility is what sf–and indeed, YA literature–is all about.
A friend of mine recently complained about the show Lost: “It just seems like they don’t know what they’re doing. Nothing relates.”
Well, this might be true, but I’d suggest that for a television show with a shooting schedule, stars to hire and renewals to worry about . . . the writers probably DO have an idea of where they’re headed. Are there story threads that have meandered and petered out? Sure. But I have a lot of sympathy/empathy for writers — wonder why?– and I’d suggest that what looks like a meander is part and parcel of a work-in-progress.
The show’s producers have acknowledged, for example, that the character of Ben Linus was initially supposed to be around for only a couple episodes. The thing is, Ben grew on them and opened up another story avenue for them to follow–so they did. Has that changed the story that might have been? More than likely, yeah.
I can understand that impulse, though. The book I’m working on now has taken the weirdest turns; things occur to me that I hadn’t thought of before I started–and I started with a pretty detailed outline and a finished draft! Now, in the throes of another rewrite–the first just didn’t gel and while it was “okay” it wasn’t what I wanted or was after–I thought of a complication the other day that made the book way more interesting to me but also changed what must happen. Now I’m simply writing my fingers off, hoping to make a certain, self-imposed deadline (gotta have those or else you’ll never get done).
Will this Ben-equivalent be the key to making this thing go? Hope so. But I do believe that writing is what Stephen King once said about his own approach and process (and I paraphrase): Writing’s like piloting a 747. You take off and you pretty much know where you’ve got to land and there are probably landmarks along the way . . . but, sometimes, when you’re lost in the clouds, you just gotta have faith, follow the path, and hope like hell the runway’s still there when the clouds melt away.
Spend some time here; forget the naysayers (and some of them, friends of mine, think that because the water’s always been there, it always will be); buzz over to Delano’s gallery; think about how rapidly the climate is changing–and then see if you can look at that Arizona golf course the same way again (or San Antonio’s Sea World, for that matter–a real travesty). Many of those pictures are from sites in the U.S. Read your history, folks. This is truly horrifying because the worst bad times might be on us again–and much sooner than you think. Looking away isn’t an option.
The bathtub ring in Lake Mead, from which Las Vegas and Arizona draw water, at 43% capacity.
View over the Colorado River, most of which never reaches the sea.
Okay, I’m still trying to wrap my head around this NYTimes article about the rise in book theft. Could it be that people are finally waking up the value of books?
Naw . . . that would be too logical . Fascinating, nonetheless.
There’s this great line Faye Dunaway has in Bonnie and Clyde: “We rob banks.” (If you’ve never seen the movie, do. In another incarnation, I studied and wrote articles about film and I still think it must be glorious to be paid for watching and then reviewing movies. I never made it to the level of a reviewer–A.O. Scott, I want your job–but I had fun. Even if the movie’s a clunker, you get to write something snarky–and still be paid . . . Remember, however, every reviewer is getting paid for making private taste public–but that’s a whole different entry.)
Where was I? Oh yes, robbing banks . . . Every now and again, people ask what I do. (NB: I never volunteer. Don’t ask me why. I figure if anyone’s interested, they’ll ask.) Anyway, this morning, a Starbucks guy asked what I did. Now I know I mentioned in an earlier blog entry that it took a very long time for me to abandon the “well, I’m a doctor but now I write . . . but I’m really a doctor) line. These days, I’m happy to say I’m a writer, but I noticed something fascinating this morning: when asked, I was actually kind of “well, I’m a writer and I’ve published and I have a couple books coming out . . .” and then, as we chatted about books (the guy doesn’t read much–HORREURS!–but he was full of questions about how you get people–i.e., editors–to notice you), I found that I was feeling kind of, like, oh, no big deal.
Now, for the record: hello, yes, it is a big deal. This is a competitive industry; getting someone’s attention isn’t like sitting in class, on the edge of your seat, and waving your hand around: Oh, pick me, pick me, oh, oh, oh. It’s been more than ten years since my first publication (a short story–a prize winner, yeah, and a big deal–but it took me a couple years and many, many thousands of words to get to the point where it was worthy of publication); I’ve written tons since; I have MANY rejections; and I intend to continue–uh, writing, that is. (Rejection’s just part of the process. Someone asked me the other day how I handled getting rejections. I said something like it never gets easy, but you try to make like a soft wall: you’re dented, but you spring back and then, if a lot of people are saying the same thing, you try to figure out what it is that they’re seeing that you’re not.)
Here’s the deal: I think that if you get me started? I’ll talk about books and writing all bloody day. There is nothing that gets me so excited as talking about writing and the process of writing and books. I’m always shocked/a little deflated/bummed when people admit that they don’t read much. For me, reading is the great equalizer; everyone has read SOMETHING in his or her life. Reading and/or listening to stories is one of life’s great pleasures. I still remember reading and re-reading board books to my children; THEY still remember some of those books. I guess I look at books–and the writing of them–as a great and grand tradition: something tangible I can hold in my hand and know that, maybe, will be hanging around long after I’m gone.
People keep talking about the end of the book, the end of reading, blah, blah. But Andrew Karre is spot on when he talks about his son’s link to and fascination with a book: life is about making meaning and creating narratives; we call those narratives your memories, your personal history. We all do it; we all crave that kind of continual and continuous narrative, a way of slotting ourselves into the world.
I’m happy to be a part of that. Don’t let me ever tell you otherwise.
. Fascinating, nonetheless.
