LUNA MASTERSON SEES DEMONS. She has been dealing with the demonic all her life, so when her brother gets tangled up with a demon named Sparkles, ‘Luna the Lunatic’ rolls in on her motorcycle to save the day. Armed with the ability to harm demons, her scathing sarcasm, and a hefty chip on her shoulder, Luna gathers the most unusual of allies, teaming up with a green-eyed heroin addict and a snarky demon ‘of some import.’ After all, outcasts of a feather should stick together…even until the end. This is the volume one in The Bone Angel Trilogy by Mercedes M. Yardley, author of the award-winning novella, Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love.

Write the Book You Want to Read.

You hear it all of the time, but oh, hey! Wow! It’s true!

I was in a reading rut. I wanted a fast, urban fantasy tale, but I’ve become disenchanted with these amazing, ball-busting woman who are perfect with a knife or gun or katana. They’re born with The Gift, or they’re brought into demon-killing when their parents were murdered. The fire of ungodly revenge stokes their souls.

I wanted something different. Give me a book about a socially awkward girl who is more of an outcast than a lone wolf. Make her clumsy and give her hair like Siouxsie Sioux.  Oh, and maybe she’s tone deaf.

Such a character doesn’t exist? Well, then. I’ll create her. Then I’ll read the heck out of this book.

The Recipe for Marmalade.

It’s easy. I make it in a bread maker because I’m a writer, and I’m writing Big Important Novels and my brilliant self is strapped for time. Or I’m lazy. That’s more accurate.

Take three oranges and a lemon. Zest one orange and that lucky little lemon into the bread maker pan. Juice the lemon. Peel the oranges (very important) and cut them up. Add the lemon juice, oranges, 1 ¼ cup sugar and 2 Tablespoons pectin to the bread pan.

Start the bread maker. Let everything mix. Stop the bread maker and set it on bake. Let it cook for an hour.

Voila, you clever, clever thing! You have made marmalade.

Why You Need a Recipe for Marmalade

Writing a book is wonderful and amazing and sometimes all-consuming. Especially if you have other things going on in your life, like a family or work. You can find yourself living on cold soup eaten directly from the can with a spoon. But some soft and gentle touches can make everything happy and homey, and make you feel loved. Warm homemade bread made in that same bread maker with melted butter and marmalade will remind you why you write in the first place. You write because there’s some joy or obsession there. You write because there’s magic in the world. Every writer in the world should have homemade bread and marmalade. It will improve your quality of life, and you’ll want to live again.

Also, your family will appreciate you more if you ply them with delicious treats.

 I Learned How to Ride a Motorcycle.

I grew up riding on the back of bikes, but I didn’t know how to drive one. I’m not a backseat type o’ person, and I always wanted my own bike, so I decided it was just time to do it. I was the only woman in the class. I learned how to hop over boards and zip around and accomplished something that was important to me. I now have a motorcycle license, and decided that when Nameless come out, I’m buying a motorcycle. Guess what? It’s here!

I’m scouring the ads for my own bike as we speak.

“But the main character in Nameless rides a motorcycle!”  Yes, she does. It was absolutely directly influenced. I learned that a bike was everything I ever wanted and more. I felt happy and free.

Writing Can Be Fun.

Of course, it’s supposed to be fun. But sometimes we lose that aspect of it. There’s so much pressure to create, to do it fluidly, to add subtleties and nuance and make everything a deep, dark mystery. To have your work kissed by the gods. To stay true to your voice and style and niche and not disappoint the people who expect a certain something out of you. I realized that I was approaching my writing with trepidation and fear.  Fear of writing something that I wasn’t proud of, or something nobody understood, or something simply “unworthy”. Nameless was written for a dear friend, so I threw all of my apprehension aside and just wrote. The characters were snarky and fun. The demonic entities were creepy. I had a ball writing this book. So much fun! I didn’t ever think it would be my first published novel, and instead of stressing about it, I let it be my playground. This was perhaps the best lesson of all.

Mercedes Yardley: Website | Twitter

Nameless: The Darkness Comes: Amazon

Not much to say here except: you had me at “Tim Lebbon is writing an Alien novel.”

Tell Us About Yourself: Who The Hell Are You?

Tim Lebbon, born in London, living in South Wales, writing since I could pick up a pencil. I’ve been published for 15 years and made a living from it for the past seven. It’s not easy, but it does happen to be the best job ever. I’ve had 30 novels published and hundreds of short stories and novellas, won some awards, had some stuff optioned but have yet to see anything on the big screen. I like real ale, chocolate, Indian cuisine. I run marathons, walk in the mountains, compete in triathlons and Ironman races. Little known fact: my favourite animal is the duck billed platypus.

Give Us The 140-Character Pitch:

Ripley was adrift in the Narcissus for 57 years before a deep space salvage team rescued her. But she wasn’t always asleep.

Where Does This Story Come From?

The basic premise comes from Fox — as does the whole loosely-connected trilogy (forthcoming books from James A Moore and Christopher Golden). But past that all the detail, the plot, the setting and characters are mine. Apart from Ripley, of course, who one or two of your readers might already know.

How Is This A Story Only You Could’ve Written?

See above. It’s my story built around a one-page concept from Fox. I’ve been an Alien fan for years and have always wanted to write an Alien novel. Dream job.

What Was The Hardest Thing About Writing Alien: Out of the Shadows?

Knowing it had to end. Honestly, I had a great time writing this book. The whole process, including notes and feedback from Fox and dealing with my splendid editor at Titan, was a pleasure.

What Did You Learn Writing Alien: Out of the Shadows?

Ripley is even more of a hard-ass than even I knew.

What Do You Love About Alien: Out of the Shadows?

It’s an action packed story, and yet I tried to give it a distinctive feel, much as each of the Alien movies feel different in tone and theme.

What Don’t You Like About It?

That it had to end.

Give Us Your Favorite Paragraph From The Story:

Wow, that’s a difficult one. How about this…

He grabbed a fixed seat and hauled himself upright. Lights flashed. Cords, panelling, and strip-lights swung where they had been knocked from their mountings. Artificial gravity still worked, at least. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to recall his training. There had been an in-depth module in their pre-flight sessions, called “Massive Damage Control,” and their guide—a grizzled old veteran of seven solar system moon habitations and three deep space exploration flights—had finished each talk with, But don’t forget YTF.

It took Hoop until the last talk to ask what he meant.

“Don’t forget…” the vet said, “you’re truly fucked.”

What’s Next For You As A Storyteller?

I’m working on THE SILENCE, a new horror novel for Titan in the UK and US. Titan US are also publishing my zombie apocalyptic novel COLDBROOK soon, and I’ve just finished a thriller which I’m hoping will find a home soon. I also have ideas for several new novels … so many ideas, so little time.

Tim Lebbon: Website

Alien Out of the Shadows: Amazon | B&N

I’ve known Myke for a couple-few years now and he’s an incredibly hard-working writer who keeps upping his game. This is evidenced in part by his blog, where he’s been writing posts of increasing awesomeness about writing and life. Here is he to bring the hammer down on his newest, Breach Zone:

TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF: WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?

I’m busier than a one legged man . . . uh . . . who works a lot. I have three jobs: I do specialized work for the NYPD, I command a Reserve Coast Guard boat squadron (we do search-and-rescue and maritime law enforcement in the waters all around New York City), and I write fantasy novels.

The irony is that I often feel like I’m not where I want to be in life. Then I take a minute a realize that I’m being paid to split my time between fighting crime and making art.

Who am I? I’m kind of a cross between Batman and Tolkien, and honestly? It’s fucking awesome.

GIVE US THE 140-CHARACTER STORY PITCH:

Trilogy’s end: Watch a magic-wielding US military defend New York City from an invading army of monsters. Oh, and there’s love and sex too.

WHERE DOES THIS STORY COME FROM?

Two places, really. The first: The SHADOW OPS trilogy has always been about a failed government policy steamrolling decent people. As I was writing and revising BREACH ZONE, the Manning case wrapped up and the Snowden case broke. There was a lot of food for thought in both of those regarding government control, the tradeoff between security and civil liberties and the amount of power people should have over their own government. Without my realizing it, BREACH ZONE became an exploration of that.

The second: New York City is a tough town. The old salt “if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere,” is spot on. I’ve been here about three years now, and this town has been kicking my ass for every minute of it.

With BREACH ZONE, I get to kick back.

HOW IS THIS A STORY ONLY YOU COULD’VE WRITTEN?

BREACH ZONE is a fantasy novel that features a US Coast Guard cutter, the combined might of the US military and the NYPD, and takes place across all five boroughs . . . well, except Queens, but Queens has been neglected by New York City stories since its inception . . . Oh, wait. I forgot about Eddie Murphy in Coming to America. *Sigh* Nevermind.

Anyway, I’m a Coast Guard officer who works for the NYPD and lives in New York City and writes fantasy novels. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that that’s a unique combination of traits that lend themselves fairly well to a book about . . . well, those things.

WHAT WAS THE HARDEST THING ABOUT WRITING BREACH ZONE?

When I first set out as a professional novelist, I was immediately classified as a “military writer.” That’s okay. For one thing, it’s true, and the truth is that I milked it for its marketing potential. I do have a particular background for a fantasy writer, and if that adds authenticity to my work, then so much the better.

But that label rankles. Yes, I’m a writer of military fiction. Yes, the military is a huge part of my life. But people are complicated. There’s a lot more to me than my job, and the truth is that just writing military fiction for the rest of my career sounds really boring. I don’t want to be a military writer. I don’t even want to be a fantasy writer. I want to be a writer. Full stop.

Stories are about people. In the end, that’s all we really care about. The Formics in Ender’s Game are people. The rabbits in Watership Down are people. This is why reality TV is so incredibly popular. We’re clanar. We’re social. We want to know about one another.

This is the heart of the romance genre. The plot is almost secondary. What matters is fascinating people, interacting with one another. Character is all.

When I learned that men don’t usually don’t write romance under their own names, I was furious. Men love, men have sex. Those outstanding people stories apply to us too. I swore then that I would learn to be an effective writer of romance.

BREACH ZONE is, at its heart, a love story. It is the first one I have ever written. I hope like hell that I pulled it off.

WHAT DID YOU LEARN WRITING BREACH ZONE?

I’ve heard writers say “I just put the characters on the stage, and they act on their own. I just sit back and take notes.” That NEVER happened to me, and I always thought that was a mark that there was something wrong with my creative process.

BREACH ZONE was the first time that happened. Scylla turned on her heel, faced me, and flatly refused to move the plot forward.

Like I said, people. People are complicated. They’re chaotic. They’re not easily ruled.

WHAT DO YOU LOVE ABOUT BREACH ZONE?

Scylla. Beautiful, brilliant, solid steel. She is the love of my life laid out in text.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO DIFFERENTLY NEXT TIME?

Ease up on myself. The pressure ratchets up with each novel. Every book *must* be better than the last. But reminding yourself of that every thirty seconds doesn’t help. It just makes you crazy. No novel was ever improved by its author going nuts from the pressure.

GIVE US YOUR FAVORITE PARAGRAPH FROM THE STORY:

My favorite paragraph is a MAJOR spoiler, so I’ll give you a paragraph (uh, a few paragraphs actually) that I like a whole lot (this is Scylla talking to Jan Thorsson, who my readers know as Harlequin):

“And what were you promised, Jan? Are these humans you’re so ready to die for rewarding your loyalty? Are they treating you like the hero you are?”
Harlequin swallowed. Faces flashed through his mind, the vein throbbing in Hewitt’s forehead, Knut’s curled lip.

“They’re terrified of you, aren’t they?” Scylla asked. “They curse you even as they beg you to save them. Why, Jan? I don’t understand.” Because it’s not about me. It never was, he thought. But all he said was, “You can’t understand.”

“Jan,” she said, her voice low now, all anger gone from it, quivering ever so slightly. She sounded hurt. She sounded genuine. “Jan, please. Don’t do this.”

WHAT’S NEXT FOR YOU AS A STORYTELLER?

My next novel, GEMINI CELL is already fully written (I’m sending the 4th draft off to my agent as soon as I finish typing this). It’s set in the SHADOW OPS universe, but many years before CONTROL POINT in the early days of the Great Reawakening. Readers will get to see the SOC in its infancy, and meet a US Navy SEAL who is one its first members.

Like BREACH ZONE, GEMINI CELL is a love story at its heart, and has the most detailed sex scenes I’ve written to date.

I am also finally taking my first stab at breaking out of the military milieu. I have 50,000 words of a dark fantasy with a young girl as a protagonist. It’s called THE FRACTURED GIRL and I am hoping that it impresses my agent enough for him to agree to represent it. I think it represents a new level in my writing, and I’m hopeful it’ll find a publisher who agrees.

Myke Cole: Website | Twitter

Breach Zone: Amazon | Indiebound | B&N

* * *

Indiebound / Amazon / B&N / Angry Robot / Trailer / Add on Goodreads

Miriam Black knows how you’re going to die.

All it takes is a touch — a little skin-to-skin action.

Now someone — some rich asshole from Florida — wants to pay her so he can find out how he’s going to die. But when she touches him, she receives a message sent back through time and written in blood: HELLO, MIRIAM. It’s a taunt, a warning, and the start of a dangerous and deadly game for everybody’s favorite carcinogenic psychic, Miriam Black.

* * *

My experience in releasing books is this: the first week see very strong sales. Then the remainder of the first month, sales drop a little each week. Then after that month they drop somewhat considerably, and over time kind of creep back up and then yo-yo up and down over the course of many weeks. Watching the sales line is like watching a drunken crop-duster ply his aerial pesticide craft as if he were, instead, a stunt pilot.

(One book that deviated from this is The Kick-Ass Writer, which appeared to go up and up for many weeks after its release — not sure why this is, exactly, but I shan’t complain.)

Anyway!

Point is: The Cormorant has now been out for just shy of a month. We are approaching the dreaded dip and I thought, well, this seems like a fine time to signal boost. Particularly since the book is with Angry Robot — who, while very wonderful and inventive, remains a small publisher. Which means I can’t just take a nap on all these bags of sweet author money. (A contrast to this is Under the Empyrean Sky, which was published by Skyscape/Amazon — they ran a promotion where the book appeared on folks’ ad-subsidized Kindles and as a result, the book sales were rather phenomenal during the weeks of that marketing event. It was a bit boggling in the best way. I felt drunk! SALES DRUNK.)

So, today’s signal boost comes in the form of a contest.

A Twitter contest.

I want you to tweet about the book.

This tweet must include two things:

a) the hashtag: #miriamblackisback

b) a link to this very blog post.

Your tweet can contain anything else you like. Which I know opens me to you inserting some weird emoji of, like, a cartoon dick eating a hamburger, but that’s my cross to bear, not yours.

(The goal is to get people to come here and, you know, at least consider checking out the book. And for those who have already read it, the secondary goal is to ask for reviews. Reviews help a book survive and even thrive, and I appreciate every one that crosses my eyeballs.)

This contest runs from noon EST today (1/28/14) to 11:59PM EST tonight (1/28/14).

Tomorrow morning I’ll pick three random winners.

First picked winner will get all three of the Miriam Black books, signed. (That means: Blackbirds, Mockingbird, The Cormorant.)

Two other winners will each get a copy of The Cormorant, signed.

(Also: I autograph the Miriam Black books by predicting how you’re gonna die.)

I’ll pay shipping — unless you’re outside the U.S., in which case, shipping is on you.

One tweet only, please. Multiple tweets won’t count.

And that’s it. Thanks for signal boosting. Everyone’s favorite psychotic psychic thanks you, too. Probably by predicting your demise then pushing you down some stairs so she can steal your cool calculator watch. Because that’s how she rolls. Usually.

Yesterday, I wrote a post, blah blah blah — self-publishing is not the minor leagues. Basically: we can all do better, be your own gatekeeper, stop celebrating half-ass efforts, etc.

Shorter still: a rising tide lifts all boats.

The resultant response continued a bit across a few forums and blogs — which is good! I like this conversation, and I understand that what I said is controversial to some and I recognize that pushback is inevitable and important. Some of that conversation carried on at kboards, where — maybe unsurprisingly — it got a little hostile (anybody wonders why I find kboards not very welcoming, well, there you go).

I want to use that conversation to zero in on something, though, to maybe shine a light on maybe a core attitude that represents the culture I’m talking about.

Here’s a kboards comment from author Emily Cantore (excerpted):

In the end, more linkbait from Chuck Wendig, as per usual. His arguments aren’t supported by evidence. He builds strawmen and then argues against them (such as these supposed self-publishers who openly say they don’t care about the reader. Where are they Chuck? Are they actual authors or just halfwit idiots out there who you are picking to support your straw?).

He says this:

“Don’t celebrate mediocrity. Don’t encourage half-assing this thing for a couple of bucks.”

And my answer is: I celebrate mediocrity. I celebrate half-assing things. I celebrate someone writing a book that objectively is terrible and going through the steps to make a terrible cover and a terrible blurb and publishing it and then they keep on going and write something a little better, with a better cover and a better blurb and then they keep going some more.

I celebrate the massive tsunami of creativity that has been unleashed and unlike Chuck, I recognize there are entrants at every level. There are terrible books being put out there but those authors will iterate and get better and one day will be making a lot of money.

No one will argue that you shouldn’t try as hard as possible but it is also not true that you need a professionally designed cover and x, y, z that someone else says you need that happen to cost more money than you have.

Self-publishing tore down many many barriers (we’re down to: are literate, have a computer that can make a word document and an image and have internet access and a bank account) and here we have Chuck trying to put up more barriers. It must be professional! It must be better than traditional publishing has to offer.

No. Do your best and iterate. Go again and do your best. Soon your best will be better than their best.

Ah, but again I don’t know why I’ve spent so much effort refuting Chuck’s unsupported posts. As I’ve said before, it’s mostly low-effort link-bait and gulp, we all swallow it.

Okay, so. Casting aside for a moment I don’t think we’re going to agree on the definition of “link-bait” and “straw-man,” let’s talk about, drum roll please, the reader.

The reader is held up as a gatekeeper here, right? The idea being that all barriers have been removed from the author-audience relationship. All those kept gates of old-school publishing have been blown open and now only one portcullis remains: the one manned by the reader.

Now, let’s cue up a commercial. From darkness come the sounds of a sad Sarah McLachlan song. And soon we’re treated to a slideshow of images — images of readers staring in utter bewilderment at their WUNDERBAR KINDLEMASCHINES. Some of them are crying. Some of them look bemused, others horrified. One looks into his empty wallet and pouts. Another has broken open her e-reader and is guzzling all the e-ink just to wipe her memory of what she just read.

At the end: who will think of the poor reader?

See, I’m with Emily in that I celebrate the tide of creativity. I think this is great. The Internet has given us all a voice, and we’re all part of a beautifully discordant chorus. It’s powerful, wonderful, weird stuff where we all kind of blur together as author and audience. I love it. I roll around in it like a dog in stink, covering myself with it.

But that, to me, is writing.

That, to me, is storytelling.

And for that we have a wealth of places to put our writing. We have blogs. We have Tumblr and Twitter and FB and Circlesquare and Crowdzone and SexyFistingFinder-dot-com and whatever other social media outlets will pop up. We have places like Wattpad and Book Country. We still have the remnants of Livejournal, where you can post your fiction and then get digitally shanked by some sentient Russian spam-bot who steals your credit card and your dreams.

Point is, we can write, write, write.

We can iterate our writing. In public! We can find an audience there.

You have permission to suck.

For free.

Free, there, is key.

Because the moment you go somewhere — Amazon, Smashwords, B&N, wherever — and you start charging money, that changes the equation. By a strict reading, that’s no longer Hobbytown, Jake. You’ve entered pro grade territory. You’re asking readers to take a chance on your work for one buck, three bucks, five bucks, etc. You’re not hosting a party. You’re running a lemonade stand.

So stop pissing in the lemonade and asking people to give you cash to drink it.

When an author says — I celebrate mediocrity. I celebrate half-assing things. I celebrate someone writing a book that objectively is terrible and going through the steps to make a terrible cover and a terrible blurb and publishing it and then they keep on going and write something a little better, with a better cover and a better blurb and then they keep going some more.

That’s the culture I’m talking about.

It’s a culture that scares me a little. It’s a culture that cares more about itself and its personal freedom to publish than it does about the result of that publishing. It’s a culture of me-me-me, a culture of wagon-circling, a culture that refuses to look at itself and take responsibility for what it’s putting out. It feels exploitative. It feels careless.

And it’s is not an uncommon attitude amongst author-publishers, and what it tells me is, you care about yourself as a writer but not your readers.

It tells me that you’re comfortable asking readers to pay you so that you can get better.

It tells me you have no interest in being your own gatekeeper — and, very plainly spoken, it literally says you’re not going to give this your best effort and investment.

Readers are a resource. A living, breathing resource. They’re how authors get to do what they wanna do, and the more we pile on the audience’s shoulders, the more garbage we rain on their heads, the more turned off they’re going to be. You know how many readers will tell you, “I tried a self-published book and now I won’t give them a shot?” This is true in traditional publishing, too. A reader reads a bad book by a publisher — not bad as in, I didn’t like it, but bad as in, Doesn’t meet basic standards, they’re potentially going to stop reading books by that publisher.

Asking readers to be your gatekeepers is putting a lot of responsibility on the people who are paying you. Stop saying you’re going to let the readers figure it out when it comes to sorting through what’s crap and what’s not. You need to figure that out. That’s on you.

Eventually, readers will grow tired of having to be your gatekeepers.

And they’ll ask someone else to do it for them.

I’m not advocating new gatekeepers or new barriers.

I’m advocating you as your own gatekeeper. A critic of your own work. Be an example for others. Help lift the other boats. Help other authors be great, not mediocre.

This is true in all forms of publishing.

Said it before, will say it again:

Writing is a craft, storytelling is an art, publishing is a business.

If you’re charging money for your work, you owe it to the reader to give them your best. Not your most mediocre. Not your half-assiest. Is this really that controversial?

[UPDATE: I don’t intend to be hovering around here too much today — too much to do, I’m afraid — but I will ask that folks keep it civil in the comments, or I’ll punt you into the Spam Oubliette. While I don’t agree with Emily’s post in its entirety, her points deserve fair consideration and commentary.]

(This plays a little with the baseball metaphors dropped by Scalzi last week.)

Let’s all agree that self-publishing is a viable path.

It’s a real choice for authors.

You can, if that’s the type of person you are, be the publisher of your own work.

You are author-publisher. Behold your mighty yawp! Freeze-frame heel-kick high-five!

It is, overall, an equal choice to traditional publishing.

Let’s go ahead and just agree that. Even if you don’t agree — for now, nod and smile.

That means it’s time to stop treating self-publishing like it’s the fucking minor leagues.

See, here’s the thing. Though acting as author-publisher is a viable choice, it’s one that retains a stigma — lessened, these days, but still a stigma carried by other writers, by those in publishing, by bloggers, and in some cases by readers. The air, suffused with an eggy stink.

You want to get rid of the stigma once and for all? Clear the room of any bad smell?

Good.

Then it’s time to take a long look at the culture surrounding self-publishing. We’ve moved past the time where we need to champion the cause, okay? We’ve seen enough success in that space and have plenty of positive examples it’s time to stop acting as cheerleaders.

And it’s time to start acting as critics.

The attitude that pervades self-publishing is that it’s a good place to test your craft, to hone your work. We are reminded constantly that the cream floats to the top, that all the crappy self-publishing efforts have no effect on anything or anybody ever despite evidence to the contrary. The culture forgives and sometimes congratulates even the most meager of efforts because of how courageous someone is to take the plunge to publish their own work. The culture says, “Just click publish!” The culture criticizes the faults of traditional-publishing, but excuses (or celebrates) its own. And yet, sometime in the same breath, self-publishing gets painted as a path to traditional publishing, not as a path separate and scenic all its own.

The culture is full of contradictions.

“Traditional publishing screws you and you won’t get paid anything!” And then: “It’s okay to make $100 off your self-publishing because you just bought yourself dinner, now you’re living the high-life.” Well, which is it?

“Traditional publishing is just corporate control! Down with the Big Six! Er, Big Five! Big Four? Whatever!” But then: “Let’s hug and squeeze Amazon, a giant monolithic corporate entity kaiju who has changed the rules on us so many times our heads are whipping around wildly upon our necks! Amazon is the Big One! Yay lack of competition! Huzzah, all our eggs in a single basket! Woooooo corporations!” Wait, do we like corporate control or not?

“The readers are our gatekeepers, that’s who we care about.” Except: “Publish your first effort — it’s okay that it has errors, as long as people buy it! Who cares about readers as long as I’m satisfying myself?” Do we like readers, or do we wanna punish them with sub-par efforts?

“Self-publishing is a revolution! Traditional publishing is risk averse!” And then: you publish the safest, softest low-ball efforts that suggests it’s not a revolution but, rather, more of the same.

“Traditional publishing does it wrong!” And then: you do it worse. What the crap, people?

Get your head straight. Point north. Care about this thing you’re doing. You don’t want to be inferior to the books on the shelves at Barnes & Noble. This isn’t a garage sale. You want to be better than the books on the shelves at bookstores. You say those books have errors? Ugly cover or bad books or lack of risk? So go and do different! Do better, not worse.

Let me get ahead of this — someone somewhere, here in the comments or on another site, is going to accuse me of bashing self-publishing and its authors.

I am not.

Self-publishing is an amazing option. You can now write a novel however it is that the novel demands to be written. That book that lives in your heart? You can now crack open your breastbone, rip the book out and hold the throbbing crimson creature in front of readers and say, “This is the story I wanted to tell and nobody was able to stop me.” You can not only write it your way, but edit it, design it, market it — again, all your way. Nobody but readers can say “boo” about it. You’ll have no publisher telling you the material is too risky. You’ll have no publisher trying to put a cover on your book that you don’t feel represents the story you told. You won’t feel like the publisher has forgotten the book when it comes time to market it. If anybody fucks it up, it’s you.

Self-publishing is also great for traditionally-published authors. Acting as your own author-publisher is a way to put out material staggered with your other releases. It’s also great to have as an option for if the time comes when publishers don’t want your other work. They start giving you the we love it but can’t sell it story, all you have to say is, “Well, if you won’t publish it, I will.”

I will continue to exercise my own self-publishing options this year with a few releases.

I don’t just like the option. I fucking love the option. It has changed the game for authors. Anytime creative people have a new door carved into the giant wall in front of us — the wall separating our work from our audience — I’m going to cheer and gibber and wail and probably swallow a half-dozen gin-drinks and maybe rub an aromatic lotion into my beard and then summon dark entities from beyond and couple with them.

But that love can still come with a criticism of the culture. Just as my love of traditional publishing can be tempered by its own criticism, too.

In fact: I criticize because I care. Because I want to see the option done right. If I didn’t give a shit, I’d just point and laugh from the sidelines and snarkily snark with other smug, self-superior traditionally-published authors. (And just as that superiority isn’t attractive from them, it’s not attractive from the side of author-publishers, either, by the way.) The authors who often get held up as paragons of the form? They’re doing it right. They’re treating it like it’s a professional endeavor, not some also-ran half-ass effort. They’re acting like it’s the real deal — a trip to the Majors, not time spent in some Dirt League.

Self-publishing isn’t a lifestyle choice.

It isn’t a hobby.

It’s not a panacea. It’s not pox on your home.

It is neither revolution nor religion.

(Oh, and it damn sure isn’t a place to improve your craft. That’s called “writing.” Writing is how you improve your craft — by doing a whole lot of it, by reading, by having your work read by friends and family and by other writers and by editors. Publishing is not where you improve your craft. You don’t learn to pilot an airplane by taking a job with U.S. Airways. A job as an executive chef is not analogous to a cooking class. You wouldn’t expect that of other careers, so why are we okay with it when it comes to author-publishers?)

Self-publishing is a financial and creative decision.

Self-publishing has no gatekeepers. That is a feature, not a bug.

So you’re going to have to be your own gatekeepers.

You are your own quality control. You are your own best critic.

I’ve said before and I’ll say again: it’s time to put down the Pom-Poms and time to pick up a magnifying glass — or, for some, a mirror. Don’t celebrate mediocrity. Don’t encourage half-assing this thing for a couple of bucks. This is scrutiny time. This is time to not to say, “Here, you’re doing this wrong,” but “Here, let me help you do this better.” This is time for conversation and constructive critique, not empty applause and pedestal-building.

The culture will need to start asking tougher questions. If we’re going to admit that self-publishing is an equal choice, then it’s time to step up and act like it. It’s time to stop acting like the little brother trailing behind big sister. Time to be practical. And professional.

Defeat naysayers with quality and effort and awesomeness so blinding they cannot see past you.

To reiterate:

Fewer cheerleaders. More critics.

Self-publishing isn’t the minor leagues.

You’re in the majors, now. Which means:

It’s not time get hit with a pitch and expect a high-five for it just because you stepped to the plate.

It’s time to play hard or get off the field.