I’ve been told that self-publishing is the kiss of death. If I want to be a real novelist — that is, one who gets paid for her efforts and receives the benefits of partners who help edit, package and publicize her books — I should bury The Blind Pig. I should take it off my website, remove it from my resume, close down this blog, and pretend the whole thing never happened.
While driving up to New Hampshire last week to run Boston Prep in the frigid near-zero temps, I was contemplating this advice (which wasn’t the last word on the subject, just the most brutal). I’d already decided that I most definitely wasn’t going to bury The Blind Pig. Rather, I was going to try to sell the hell out of it.
But I couldn’t say why I felt so strongly about this. Was I being stubborn and inflexible? I can become pretty rigid when I’m being led somewhere I don’t want to go. I can also be fiery about it. I blame my German and Irish roots.
As I drove, my iPod flipped and Billy Bragg started strumming his classic Great Leap Forward:
There I was, chiming in with what I could remember of the lyrics, and out came these words:
If no one seems to understand
Start your own revolution and cut out the middleman
Be still my heart.
Self-publishing is a publishing revolution. And like most upheavals, it is uncomfortable for everyone involved.
I can assure you that I am uncomfortable. I took a big risk by self-publishing. Some may judge The Blind Pig by it’s publisher. They may assume that it didn’t get picked up by a legitimate agent because it’s not good enough. They may fear that it’s pages are filled with bad writing, a plodding narrative and flimsy characters. They may dismiss it, their foregone conclusion that it suffers a lack of editing.
I have heard from many authors that they get pages of edits from their editors and that these revisions almost always make the book better. I’m sure my book would have benefited from more editing. Even now, with the book already “out there,” I would welcome the chance to receive suggestions and to make the book better.
To me, it’s all a process.
Maybe I think that way because of my software roots. I’ve never worked on a software project that was “done.” Despite the large teams of highly-paid, over-educated engineers working long hours, the products always ship with bugs. Eventually they get fixed and packaged in a newer, better version.
I also think this way because I came to writing in a step-wise way. I didn’t set out to be a writer. I didn’t dream of being a writer as a child. The prospect was as absurd as being a singer (which would be more obviously absurd if you had been in the car listening to me sing the other day). Not practical. Not for sensible folks.
When I did start writing, I didn’t set out to write fiction. And then when I started writing fiction, I didn’t expect to get anywhere. I certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with it. And when I self-published, I didn’t think I could earn a living as a novelist. I just wanted to share my book. Now, however, I know that I want to write novels for a living. I would never have gotten here, to this moment of realization, if I hadn’t self-published The Blind Pig.
This is my path. I’m paving it with a mix of discomfort, agitation and hope, and I’m waiting for my great leap forward.
This is a great example of the tension between democratizing technologies that enable increased engagement in cultural heritage, and the established desire to control engagement with cultural heritage to maintain some delusion of aura about original (or legitimate) works of art.
I just taught Walter Benjamin’s 1936 essay _The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction_ in my Remix Culture class. We talked about the role of communication technologies that enable reproduction of cultural content. This technological shift is democratizing in a way in that it enables people to access reproductions of cultural content they otherwise may not be able to engage in. As a result, seeing the controlled original isn’t so important – all those schmoes who can only see the reproduction have to make something special out of that “experience of the copy” since they cannot access the “experience of the original aura,” rather they can only access the reproduction. Some feared that this would lead people to become passive consumers of cultural heritage – that if cultural artifacts can be reproduced for us to access, we’d have no motivation to make our own and add to the heritage. On the other hand, some industries built themselves on the idea of few cultural producers and many many passive consumers.
Fast forward to the Internet and new media, and it isn’t only the reproductions we have more access to, it is also the technologies themselves that we have more access to. Now there is a tension as those who built controlled heritage industries struggle to deal with the fact that their controlled means of reproduction and distribution are no longer inaccessible, no longer closed controlled systems. So, a new meme develops that describes uncontrolled access, production, and consumption of cultural objects as “illegitimate.”
I am amazed at how many times we relive this pattern – in publishing alone!
Beth- Don’t doubt it, it’s a fine book. Any book could use editing, that might never end, but as is the Pig is a provocative, engaging novel. I’ve been reading Gibson lately, a giant of Sci Fi, lately, and you stood up- different, much less obscure & enigmatic, more polemic, but excellent work. I had no sense of anything but a professionally published work, took a while to comment but felt a need to.. Absorb and digest first. Carry on, full steam…..
I really like your transitions and clarity. I have been producing for Ghost Writers for a while now, and they pay me very well to write blog posts like this, or content articles. I clear $100-$200 on a poor day.
Judging by your skill with the written word, you may enjoy doing the same.
It wouldnt hurt to check them out.Here are the details