Posted in Book publishers, Publishing, Self-Publishing

Self, main, hybrid, co-op: Publishing may be publishing but you have to follow the money

booksI’ve come to the conclusion that the single most important defining feature of each of the publishing models that I’ve personally tried, or that I’ve explored, comes down to one important question: Who is paying?

Way back when vanity publishing was that icky, underbelly of the publishing world (at least that’s how mainstream publishers and many I-wouldn’t-stoop-that-low self-described literary writers thought), the main defining feature of the genre, if you will, was the question of who pays.  And of course, as we all know, in vanity publishing the author pays.  So, if it is vain for a writer to pay for his or her work to be published, and self-publishing smacks of the same defining feature, they are one and the same – we’ve just sanitized our vocabulary for the sake of appearances.  And the truth is if you begin to protest that there is a difference: availability of editing blah blah blah, you’re really missing the point.

Good ideas, followed by good writing, followed by good editing, followed by good marketing is the formula for a really great piece of writing and getting it into the hands of readers who might appreciate it/learn from it/ be entertained by it.  There is no reason at all why this formula can’t work – and work well – regardless of who is paying.  It’s just publishing snobbery.  The problem of course remains that many indescribably bad books are published by mainstream/traditional publishing models where the manuscript is acquired by a publisher who pays for the publishing (there is no guarantee that the publisher knows a good book from a bad one, nor is there any guarantee that the editing will be done well); just as many unspeakably ghastly volumes are published by authors who are paying out of their own pockets.  The digital age with its consequent ease of publication is what has contributed to the sheer volume of bad books regardless of who is paying.  So, I got to thinking about this notion of following the money.

Last month The National Post’s Mark Medley published an article “Words from their sponsors: Can authors cash in on crowd-sourced funding sites?”[1]  In it he explores the vast new world of online crowd-sourcing for funds for a variety of projects zeroing in on writing.  I had been peripherally aware of the phenomenon – evidently even the saintly and storied Margaret Atwood has used crowd-sourced funds – but I had never really taken the time to look closely.  I think that if you are the funder, there may just be a lot of money to be made on the backs of people with hair-brained ideas who can persuade others to give them seed money.

In general, here’s how it works: you, the writer sign up for one of these funders online (indiegogo, for example), describe your project in a way that entices others to believe that it’s a project that should see the light of day, and wait for the money to flow in.  You then use the money to make it happen.  You can hire an editor (if you want), hire a book designer (if you want), hire a book publicist (if you want), and if you have enough money.  I suppose you could also offer the money to a traditional publisher to defray the cost of publication – but of course since that would be like marrying traditional publishers with the author-pays, vanity approach (there’s a word in academic publishing for that: co-publishing), you’ll probably get an icky I’d-never-touch-that-project kind of response – unless, of course, the project is fantastic and the publisher can see past the end of his or her metaphorical nose.  But there’s another kind of crowd-sourced funding publishing model that I found more fascinating.

I’m talking about the UK online funder Unbound.  Here’s how they work:

“… instead of waiting for [writers] to publish their work, Unbound allows you to listen to their ideas for what they’d like to write before they even start. If you like their idea, you can pledge to support it. If we hit the target number of supporters, the author can go ahead and start writing (if the target isn’t met you can either get your pledge refunded in full or switch your pledge to another Unbound project)…”[2]

When a selected project is funded, the writer then completes it and Unbound designs, edits and prints the book.  The funders get copies and even sometime lunch with the author.  So, the author doesn’t pay.  So it’s not vanity publishing and it’s not self-publishing.  It’s a new model.   In my view it’s an innovative idea that adds to the richness of the publishing approaches.  But does it make for better books?

In the end, I doubt very much that it is the publishing model that has much to do with the success of a book project.   It has more to do with a book that resonates with its readers that is somehow is able to connect with.   Just look at 50 Shades of Grey and its story.  When it comes to commercial success in book publishing, sometimes the writing is fantastic, and other times it’s epically flawed.

But it’s really the writer who is at the heart of it in any case.  If the author pays, what difference does it make?

Posted in Backstory, Writing

Mining the wisdom of the ‘crone’

Senior woman contemplatingCrone.  What an awful word.  And yet I’ve been thinking about her this week, and how I might tap into my own inner crone to see if she has any wisdom that might inform both my writing and my day job these days.

Some definitions of the word suggest that it refers to an old woman who is ugly, thin, withered, cranky.  Wikipedia’s entry on the crone says she’s “…disagreeable, malicious, or sinister…”—a  folkloric character.  But it also suggests that crones are magical, and that they are the archetypical wise woman.

Some years ago I spent a lot of time reading and listening to Clarissa Pinkola Estes (who famously wrote Women Who Run with Wolves) and her stories about the archetypal crone, or as she sees her, the wise old woman.  She conceptualized the three stages of a woman’s life as maiden, mother, crone, implying that if we live long enough, we’ll all enter that final stage.  The crone.  But Dr. Estes doesn’t see it as so bad.  In fact, listening to her tell stories about crones often made me look forward to the day when some of the following might be a part of my life.

  • Not caring what anyone else thinks about what I do…
  • …but tempering that lack of care with the wisdom to know when not to hurt others…
  • …coupled with the accumulated years of decisions, choices, and knowledge that when mixed together and applied judiciously result in wisdom.

And so, I’m thinking about how much wisdom I might have accumulated at this point in my life.  Do I have enough wisdom to be able to stand back and let my younger colleagues make their own mistakes, to let them take the view that older is not better, to let them believe that their considerable erudition is a match for wisdom?  Do I have enough wisdom to apply it to my writing?  Can I mine those choices, that knowledge (of myself and others), those decisions?

The website Crones Counsel says this about the crone:  “Crone women fly directly into the face of ageism and sexism. They refuse to be put down. They do not walk meekly on the road to old age. They are keen to assert their presence if not their influence.”[1]

I guess the part of this that I have had the most difficulty with in recent years is asserting presence without asserting influence.  I’m not sure what happened this week, but I seem to have had an epiphany.  I seem to no longer feel the need to influence external factors.  Perhaps that will serve me well in my interior life where my writing lives before it gets out onto the page /computer screen.

Crones Counsel also says: “…a Crone is an older woman who has learned to walk in her own truth, in her own way, having gained her strength by acknowledging the power and wisdom of the totality of her experience. She is “a wise old woman.”[2]

I’m going to do as they suggest and celebrate the place I am in my life.  It’s time to let go of a few things so that I can embrace my own truth.

Posted in Professional Associations

The Canadian Public Relations Society and its Canadian PR Idol Contest

About a month ago, I responded to a call for proposals for presentations/workshops/panels for the 2013 meeting of the Canadian Public Relations Society.  The title of my presentation is: Did you really say that? The truth about bulls**t and PR.  Here is what I submitted:

The first edition of my ethics book which is more popular in Europe than in North America.  Wonder why...
The first edition of my ethics book which is more popular in Europe than in North America. Wonder why…

When Prof. Harry Frankfurt, a Princeton philosophy professor published his essay “On Bullshit” in 1986, he started a discussion that could only be interpreted as a serious indictment of the ‘truthfulness’ or lack thereof of our field. This presentation will “inspire participants to challenge norms and live beyond the status quo” by understanding what constitutes BS and how PR messaging can avoid contributing to it. Together we will explore the definition of BS and examine instances of BS in PR & marketing campaigns in Canada. It is only through an ethical lens that we can begin to reframe the conversation.

I opened my email this evening to discover correspondence from one of the conference organizers.  Here is what it said, “Thank you for submitting a presentation abstract for the Canadian Public Relations Society’s conference Conversations 2013. Your submission has made it to the next round of review, where we will be asking for the communications community to vote on the sessions they are most interested in seeing at next year’s event. ..”

I read it again.  I shook my head, and the feeling of being professionally insulted started making its way up the back of my neck.  A professional organization is holding a popularity contest to determine what presentations ought to be on the conference agenda?  Well, what a creative idea.  Voting will begin on Friday.

Here is what I said to the conference organizers:

I can appreciate the desire to take a creative approach to planning a conference, however, I did not sign up to be part of “Canadian PR Idol.”  At this point in my career I have no desire to be part of a popularity contest.  My submission was genuine and submitted with integrity.  I had hoped that selections would be made in kind. 

Clearly transparency and its ethical underpinnings are not part of the CPRS conference mandate.  If this information was on the call for proposals, I seem to have missed it. It seems that my take on PR and BS was right on the money.

I thus withdraw my submission…”

Public relations as a field has been the butt of many a joke about its methods and its ethics for a very long time.  As I wrote in my 2009 book Ethics in Public Relations: A Guide to Best Practice (London: Kogan Page), “There is little doubt that, even today, public relations as an industry still suffers from a bad reputation. Consider journalism professor Stuart Ewen’s 1996 book PR! A Social History of Spin, where he describes what he calls a ‘foundational conceit’ in the field of public relations – conceit born of the notion that the public mind can and should be manipulated…”  Well it seems to me that having a popularity contest to select presentations at the annual conference smacks of this conceit because I can assure you that the popular offerings will not be about ethics.  What they’ll be about his year depends on the trend-du-jour.  Whenever I speak at CPRS about ethics, as I have on many occasions before, the same people are always in the room.  I am constantly preaching to the choir.

I thought that the professional association to which I have belonged for many years was supposed to set the highest standards of practice – I thought that the professional association was supposed to concern itself with what the members of its profession need to learn about – rather than what they want to learn about.  I thought that this professional association might take seriously its responsibility to evaluate proposals and accept the best of them (whether or not mine would be counted among those is immaterial: at least the process would have been professional, and I would have been convinced that some set of quality criteria were being applied to the selections rather than the results of popular vote).  I guess I thought wrong.

But make no mistake; most of the submitters will like this approach.  After all, who can argue with the popularity of the competition where the public gets a say in the results regardless of any measure of objective quality?

It’s clearly time for me to retire.  Time to stop talking about ethics, writing about ethics, teaching about ethics.  As far as I can see, it’s pretty much a lost cause.

[Apologies to my subscribers who tune in to read about my writing – this is only peripherally connected, but I had to get it off my chest.]