Hello, Friend!
Shelley Burbank here, author of the Olivia Lively, P.I. Mystery Series and currently couch surfer extraordinaire.
At the Atlanta Botanical Garden
I’m writing today from Atlanta, and it seems to be my lot to end up in places without internet on the days I have a Type M blog due. While in Maine, I visit certain people who do not subscribe to any internet service providers, period. To work when I’m there, I drive 15 minutes or so to the small public library where I take over the children’s area table to plug in my Chromebook and log onto their server.
The librarians are kindly older ladies. They don’t seem to mind my being there for hours at a time. I’m grateful.
Here in Atlanta, the internet went down in the whole building last night. It’s a big apartment complex in a nice part of town. So now, a veteran of lost connections and travel, I’m typing this on my phone and will find some way to post. There’s a library branch nearby. The weather is nice. A walk will do me good, plus I’m curious to visit.*
Thank goodness for public libraries!
I tend to take technology/connectivity for granted these days; I bet most of us do. We notice how intertwined we are with the ‘net only when it stops working. It feels like a lost limb. It feels untethered.
In a way, it feels free.
I’m old enough to remember the time before Netscape Navigator and the World Wide Web. When we wrote papers and stories on electric typewriters and listened to music on the radio via airwaves, not streaming. Was life better then? Is it better now? Who can say?
Publishing changed dramatically after the internet and the ebook and Amazon. There are pros and cons. Pro: It’s easier than ever to produce a book and list it for sale, bypassing gatekeepers, and keeping a greater percentage of profits. Con: It’s TOO easy. Everyone is doing it. We have a glut of books. A surfeit of stories. An excess of content. Only a few writers can make a living, ‘cuz capitalism, baby. Supply has vastly outstripped demand to the point a 100k novel is worth less than a Dunkin.
It’s disheartening.
I’ve been thinking about this state of publishing, figuring out my place in the literary ecosystem, wondering whether it’s worth doing anymore. Have I given it my best shot? I haven’t yet put my indie novella project up for sale. I’m reluctant. It’s not the book biz I wanted to be in when I started, back when trad publishing was viable for someone who worked hard and had some talent.
But now I realize that era—roughly mid-20th century to 2010–was a unique period in publishing history. Before the 1900s, authors usually paid to print their own books. Writing itself was time-consuming work, too. No word processors. No spellcheck. Can you imagine hand-writing multiple manuscripts? (On the other hand, newspapers serialized novels and magazine actually paid for stories, so…it’s all relative.)
In some ways, the writing lifestyle we see now is a RETURN of an older way, not a new-fangled situation at all. The tools have changed, that’s all.
The librarians are kindly older ladies. They don’t seem to mind my being there for hours at a time. I’m grateful.
Here in Atlanta, the internet went down in the whole building last night. It’s a big apartment complex in a nice part of town. So now, a veteran of lost connections and travel, I’m typing this on my phone and will find some way to post. There’s a library branch nearby. The weather is nice. A walk will do me good, plus I’m curious to visit.*
Thank goodness for public libraries!
I tend to take technology/connectivity for granted these days; I bet most of us do. We notice how intertwined we are with the ‘net only when it stops working. It feels like a lost limb. It feels untethered.
In a way, it feels free.
I’m old enough to remember the time before Netscape Navigator and the World Wide Web. When we wrote papers and stories on electric typewriters and listened to music on the radio via airwaves, not streaming. Was life better then? Is it better now? Who can say?
Publishing changed dramatically after the internet and the ebook and Amazon. There are pros and cons. Pro: It’s easier than ever to produce a book and list it for sale, bypassing gatekeepers, and keeping a greater percentage of profits. Con: It’s TOO easy. Everyone is doing it. We have a glut of books. A surfeit of stories. An excess of content. Only a few writers can make a living, ‘cuz capitalism, baby. Supply has vastly outstripped demand to the point a 100k novel is worth less than a Dunkin.
It’s disheartening.
I’ve been thinking about this state of publishing, figuring out my place in the literary ecosystem, wondering whether it’s worth doing anymore. Have I given it my best shot? I haven’t yet put my indie novella project up for sale. I’m reluctant. It’s not the book biz I wanted to be in when I started, back when trad publishing was viable for someone who worked hard and had some talent.
But now I realize that era—roughly mid-20th century to 2010–was a unique period in publishing history. Before the 1900s, authors usually paid to print their own books. Writing itself was time-consuming work, too. No word processors. No spellcheck. Can you imagine hand-writing multiple manuscripts? (On the other hand, newspapers serialized novels and magazine actually paid for stories, so…it’s all relative.)
In some ways, the writing lifestyle we see now is a RETURN of an older way, not a new-fangled situation at all. The tools have changed, that’s all.
(For much more on this, please read The Untold Story of Books by Michael Castleman. It's an excellent history of publishing over the last 600 years. I've read it three times.)
What happens, though, when authorpreneurship depends on the internet working rather than on typesetting by hand and steam-driven printers? What happens when the tools are increasingly held in the hostage-grip of big tech companies? When , at the end of the day, we are “content creators” for the machine?
I wish I had a clear vision of what MAY come beyond this era. I don’t have a crystal ball. However, something like an idea is beginning to form. It’s nebulous. It’s the opposite of rapid release and BookTok. It’s not traditional publishing with the Big Five, either.
It's about being an artisan and creating beautiful pieces that will hold their value over time. Read: don't count on the money.
What happens, though, when authorpreneurship depends on the internet working rather than on typesetting by hand and steam-driven printers? What happens when the tools are increasingly held in the hostage-grip of big tech companies? When , at the end of the day, we are “content creators” for the machine?
I wish I had a clear vision of what MAY come beyond this era. I don’t have a crystal ball. However, something like an idea is beginning to form. It’s nebulous. It’s the opposite of rapid release and BookTok. It’s not traditional publishing with the Big Five, either.
It's about being an artisan and creating beautiful pieces that will hold their value over time. Read: don't count on the money.
In a way, I suppose, my attitude reflects a loss of faith in the literary economy of that earlier era in which I grew up, the 70s, 80s, and 90s, when writers like Stephen King and Danielle Steel could fumble around at first, earn their break, and then go on to establish long, fruitful careers publishing one or two books a year. (Steel now pumps them out every couple of months. Her readers—myself included—don’t seem to mind. Still, she established herself as a name brand back in the 20th century and what we call traditional publishing.)
Back then, mid-list writers who did not become household names like King and Steel still managed to earn a basic living from solid advances and a long tail of backlist royalties—if they stuck it out for a couple decades.
 |
| Can't see around the next bend. Can you? |
Those days are over. Something new is ahead. What’s coming? I don’t know, but I can feel it. The hairs on the back of my neck are rising. It could be good. It could be devastating. We’ll know when we know.
The suspense is kinda killing me.
____
*The internet came back before I left the building, so I am now finishing up from the comfort of the couch. I might still walk down to the library just to take a peek.
