Writers Aren't Always Readers: The Woes of the Self-Publishing World
Okay - So I recently read an article in the New York Times called "You're an Author? Me too!" By Rachel Donadio.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/27/books/review/Donadio-t.html
The article is all about how self-publishing is on a major upswing, while nobody cares to read anymore. This seems obvious enough. We've all seen the cheap lit that floats around out there. But this has me raising a few questions.
1) Yes. We all have writing aspirations. Does this make us just another bunch of self-indulgent hacks?
~ I think not. We actually read, too. Good job book club! I hardly doubt half of these wanna-be-writers really have a clue what it takes to write well. If they did, they would be procrastinating like the rest of us. (Or at least doing their literary research). I mean: how depressing is it that people don't read?? Why do you think that is, and what do you think can change it?
2) Is self-publishing legit publishing at all?
~ I direct this on the behalf of the graphic artist. You see, most self-publishing companies I see, or self-published lit I've come across, has the WORST cover art. Yes. I AM judging a book by its cover. --The quality of the art on the outside of a book is a strong indicator of the quality of its pages, and I think that these lousy self-publishing companies are more clearly a joke because the art world isn't invested in them. Face it: if random house, or penguin isn't interested in what you have to say, and the cover of your book lacks oomph, then you, my friend, are a hack and wasting trees.
This brings me to a third question:
3) Is self-publishing a dirty, no-good business?
~Well, that's just it. It's business. It's like any other amusement park ride, or paid-for pleasure. Pay enough money and you can get a boy band to play at your birthday party. Pay enough money and you can hang out with the A-list. Buy a boat or go on a cruise. Keep an entourage. Put your name up in lights. - in short, self-publishing is like going to a strip club. It's not real love. Just titillation for the average joe who wants to pretend he's something more so he goes out and pays to have a book published and forces all of his acquaintances to buy copies for themselves and their children's Christmas stockings. It's virtual reality. It's business. It's just too darn American. How quaint.
And the big problem with self-publishing, in my humble opinion, is that it further individualizes the American populace rather than uniting it. In other words, if people can run around and say what they have to say so easily--if they don't take into consideration form, and history, and composition, and AUDIENCE--than we're losing the community that was the basis for literature, and for oral history before that. We lose the heart and soul of why it is we write, and it's no wonder that we're losing readers as we slowly branch off on our own--carelessly ambivalent to the constructive criticisms offered by our better critics. But maybe I'm being too hard on self-publishing companies.
Still, I'll say this: I'd rather go down swimming in the sea of sharks that is the publishing world, than piddle around in a wave pool and pretend I'm one of the big fish.
Thoughts?
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