Chuck Wendig: Terribleminds

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What Flavor Of Publishing Will You Choose?

Should you be your own publisher, or should you find someone to publish for you?

That’s a question that pops up in my inbox often enough it might as well be a coked-up gopher — so, instead of hitting each twitchy gopher with a tiny hammer, I figure I’ll write this one big-ass motherfucker of a blog post to serve as the Mjolnir that will eradicate all the pesky gophers into a fine splurch of bloody mist.

I’m going to answer the question now, up-front, with a somewhat controversial answer.

You should try the traditional route first.

All right, all right, stop yelling, indie authors. Cool your inflamed genitals.

Stop throwing things at my head. Because, seriously, ow.

Let’s offer up a couple disclaimers: first, this is me talking about my experiences and should be viewed as such, and you can of course take my advice or you can wad it up into a ball and shove it deep into a bison’s rectum. You may disagree with anything I say here and have entirely different experiences and that’s all good, dude-bro or lady-bro. I’m shining a flashlight on the path I’ve walked and the things I’ve seen while on it. You may do differently.

Second, I like to approach publishing as a hybridized endeavor, meaning, I do a little bit of everything. Traditional, DIY, crowdsourced, small press, the mystical Akashic Record, stone tablets hewn by the gods, whatever. As such, I am a fan of self-publishing. I do it. I have self-published releases out there. I will continue to self-publish in the future. My self-published releases in 2012 will equate to approximately 20% of my total writing income, which is pretty rad. I will not tell you to never self-publish.

But, I also get to hop the fence and frolic tra-la-la in the meadow of the traditional, as well.

Blackbirds is published via the “traditional method” (which is to say the fiction lay with a publisher in the missionary style and together with a midwife they birthed a book baby in a muddy trench under the eyes of a vigilant god).

In the grand scheme of things, Blackbirds is a fairly small release.

And yet, Blackbirds has been very good to me.

It has an amazing cover.

It’s been published far and wide. Indie bookstores, B&N, airport bookstores, online e-book distributors, and so on and so forth.

It’s received a boatload of reviews across both digital and meatspace. It’s shown up in places like the Guardian, the Independent, SFX, Starburst, Publisher’s Weekly, The Financial Times, io9. It’s got scads of commentary at places like Amazon and Goodreads and even still I get Google Alerts of bloggers talking about discovering the book and digging it.

It made it on a number of “best of 2012” lists.

A number of authors I admire and adore have gotten a hold of the book and told me how much they enjoyed it. Seanan McGuire’s very kind review of the book still gives me a giddy shiver now and again (and further, I’m quite certain it sold more copies of the book).

The book had foreign rights sold in two territories.

The film rights are thisclose to being wrapped up (hopefully this week).

The book ended up in the hands of a different film studio and off that, I was able to pitch a project to them and then to the head of a major film studio. (The pitch went through its paces and didn’t quite land, but gave me great contacts in both studios.)

The book ended up in the hands of a major comics publisher and allowed me to pitch a comic for a character I adore (no word yet on how well that pitch landed, sorry).

The book comes up routinely in conversations with other editors. The book’s relative success has led to other publishing opportunities and deals.

The book has earned me bonafide fans that appear at bookstores and conferences who seem to be (much to my bepuzzlement) genuinely happy to meet me and to have read the book.

The book is a super-weapon that conjures a fire unicorn from the heavens and together we are able to ride on the tail of a comet dispensing food to the hungry and sweet jamz to those without music. …okay, I might be making this last part up. SUE ME. (Please don’t sue me.)

For those of you crass commerce-hounds out there, I will note that a good deal of this has translated into money, as well as that most insubstantial of resources, “exposure.”

Now, the corker:

Most of this in my opinion would not have been possible if I self-published Blackbirds. I would never have gotten such a beautiful cover by the inimitable Joey Hi-Fi. Would’ve never sold foreign rights or film rights or had great reviews that multiplied exposure to the book. I probably wouldn’t have sold as many copies as I had (if sales of Bait Dog are any indication at all). I damn sure wouldn’t be in bookstores. And again, to revert to crass capitalism, I likely would’ve made a lot less money on the book had I gone the DIY route.

Yes, yes, I see you hopping up and down over there — I agree with you. My experiences are not going to be repeatable. Your book may do much better than this, or far worse, in a traditional space. Alternately, if you self-publish, you may end up having the blistering success that many worthy indie releases never seem to find. (Though, I’ll note here that the pot of gold at the end of many self-publishing rainbows seems so often to be a traditional publishing deal.)

So. Okay. All that being said, let’s give some reasons why you should try traditional first.

1) Because all that stuff I just said. Rights, reviews, access, bookstores, authors, $$$.

2) Because submitting to an agent and/or publisher will teach you things about the industry.

3) Because you may receive excellent feedback on your book for free about things that work.

4) Because you may receive similar feedback on your book (for free!) about things that don’t work (and should you end up publishing this way your book will be refined even further by agent and editor).

5) Because if you don’t get a deal, you can always go back and self-publish anyway.

6) Because if you get a deal but don’t like the terms, you can self-publish anyway.

7) Because if you get a deal and take it, and one day they no longer want to publish your book anymore because of sales or because Barnes & Noble shit the bed or because something-something Mayan Flu Gonorrhea Epidemic, you can take your book and self-publish anyway.

8) Because even if you don’t like the Big Six (er, five — or is it four by now?) you still have options to “traditionally” publish with smaller- to medium-size publishers or even with Amazon. Other options exist outside the mainstream, is what I’m saying.

9) Because not that you’re in this racket for respect (writers and respect are like oil and water), but you will get more as one who is traditionally-published than one who is not. Again: not a real good reason, but hey, maybe that sort of thing matters to you.

10) Because a more traditional path to publication may build fans who will then take a risk on your self-published work (where they may before have been averse to it).

11) Because flaming unicorn comet riding. Okay, I said I was making that one up, sorry.

12) Because patience is a virtue writers need to learn and going the traditional path will sure as the sexual charity of Sweet Saint Fuck teach you a mega-uber-ultra-dose of patience.

It mostly sums up to: “It can’t hurt, and it may help.”

Your mileage may vary, of course. Do with this as thou wilt. If you want to self-publish first and only, that’s a path that offers many authors a potential wealth of success in differing ways — so, I’m not knocking it, and I’m not saying it’s a bad idea. I just figure, traditional offers things right now that many writers seek (including cold hard cash), and blah blah blah.

Though, hey, certainly there are reasons to go straight to self-publishing, too: certain genres, for instance, tend to be exploitative toward traditional authors while rewarding indie writers. Further, self-pub allows you to publish risky material in terms of content or format.

Maybe you just got a burning middle finger for authority.

That’s all good. You do as you like. Do what makes you happiest, penmonkey.

*drops mic*

*takes a nap on snoozing unicorn*

Monday Question: Wuzza Wooza Worldbuilding?

Saladin Ahmed wrote a cool thing at NPR called:

At Home In Fantasy’s Nerd-Built Worlds.”

It’s an article about the virtues of worldbuilding in terms of fantasy fiction.

In it, he says:

“Like a detailed model railroad the size of a football field, or a small city of fully furnished dollhouses, the well-built fantasy world astonishes us with the vastness of its intricacies. And from this wood, paint, cloth, metal, and hours and hours of painstaking nerds’ work, a kind of magic is made.”

(Which is a damn fine quote, indeed.)

I’m always a little… reticent to fall too deep into the world-building rabbit-hole, because oh, what a deep and wonderful hole it is. In both my upcoming YA cornpunk series and in my next Angry Robot novel, The Blue Blazes, by golly, there was worldbuilding to be done. But I also found that the worldbuilding was easy to become tangential and distracting — there comes a point when figuring out the details of the world crosses over from “enhances the richness of the narrative” to “tangles the narrative up in its own shoelaces and makes it fall down and chip a tooth and then everybody laughs at it as it skulks home, weeping into its bloodied hands.”

Ahmed points this out — giving some examples of worldbuilding that works (and why) and also noting those examples that perhaps fall towards parody (Robert Jordan, f’rex).

Really heavy worldbuilding distracts me, I think — once I hit that point in a fantasy novel that we have to describe the pubic grooming habits of halflings or the lyrical history of the lizard people’s addiction to chocolate eclairs I start to tune out. But, when done well, it gives you a deeper sense of place and roots you to the story in a way that the plot itself cannot. (This is true in much the same way that details about a character can bring you closer to that character — at least, until they don’t, until they expel you from them like an exorcism purging a ghost.)

I’m fond of saying that I prefer worldbuilding that serves the story rather than story that serves the worldbuilding. (Though the opposite is true in terms of games: a rich world presents myriad stories for me as the player to experience — the deeper the world, the bigger the sandbox.)

It also occurs to me just now that the worldbuilding in the very non-fantasy novel of Ulysses (James Joyce) is actually quite robust. It’s almost like a fantasy novel without the fantasy bits? In that sense that Joyce creates the heroic journey (made mundane) through a capably-realized real world city, and along the way packs in enough allusions and details to perhaps drown a bull elephant. (It’s a hard-to-read novel, though I do quite love it.)

I was never the kid with the fantasy map on his wall, but over time I’ve come to appreciate the power of really good worldbuilding.

Which is all a roundabout way of this week’s question:

What for you is an example of good worldbuilding? Or bad? In genre work or not.

And the obligatory: why?

Follow-Up On The Albee Agency Kerfuffle

If you recall, last month, a book publicity agency — the Albee Agency — posted testimonials on its website falsely attributed to some authors like me, Maureen Johnson, and Myke Cole, using our names without permission. (My post on the subject is here, but also have a look at the Writer Beware entry on them by the most excellent Victoria Strauss.)

Once busted and folks started tweeting to them, the testimonials remained the same but they changed the names associated with those them.

Things have been quiet since then, except recently I caught wind of:

I want this to be very clear: saying the Albee Agency falsely attributed my name and the names of other authors to testimonials they never gave was never an act of espionage launched by some other agency. It was a reporting of details. Nobody paid me. The blog post is not a fake.

I asked the person above (@Murphyverse) about where he heard that.

Was it from the Albee Agency? Is that what they told him?

They might have suggests, at least, that there is a chance the Albee Agency was lying to him about what went down regarding those testimonials, telling clients that those posts were faked and paid for by a competitor (@Murphyverse claimed it was “Smith Publicity” doing the dirty deed), when in fact no such thing was or is true.

Murphyverse followed up with (this time without an @-to me, perhaps mistakenly):

(I assume that’s to read, “harassed you into it.”)

Here, the key is, “they told me.”

Meaning, the Albee Agency told him that.

Meaning, they lied to him about that.

Looking through his Twitter stream seems to indicate other problems with the Albee Agency (issues of payment to them without result, issues of non-communication, etc).

The Albee Agency also now has a “word press blog” (“There is not wrong or right way to write a blog.. it is totally personal to you and your interests.”). But maybe there’s also this one? albeeagencyblog.wordpress.com? (Where they misspell their own name as Alby Agency?)

Once again, this is a reminder to be wary of any company out there in Internet-Land who provides dubious services and throw up a whole shitload of red flags. They particularly like to prey on self-published or “indie” authors. So, again, as Victoria Strauss says: writer beware.

The Qwillery Debut Author Cover Battle!

The end of the year came and I’m happy as hell that Blackbirds made it onto a bunch of best of lists, but I’m just as happy that the cover made it onto so many lists, too — the Joey Hi-fi cover, in my mind, deserves all the kudos it can get. It’s a cover that far outshines the novel I wrote and I am eager to be its champion.

So, forgive the intrusion, but we’ve one more battle left to fight.

The Qwillery Battle debut author cover challenge ends at the end of the day (11:59pm). It’s been a two-week battle, a fierce and snarling challenge between Blackbirds and another ass-kicking Angry Robot book, Chris Holm’s Dead Harvest.

Dead Harvest is, of course, a cover deserving of its laurels — it’s a stellar emblem of how a great cover designer can do something that conjures old elements (in this case, those of pulp novels) and executes in a fresh way. (That cover is designed by studio Amazing15.)

Further, Chris Holm is a writer of immense talent. You should be reading him.

Just the same, I once more cannot let the challenge go by without giving it my all.

I mean, ye gods, look at that Blackbirds cover. Look at it. I SAID LOOK AT IT.

Take at least two hours to just stare at it. I’m happy to duct tape your face to the monitor.

You know, if it helps.

It’s a beautiful cover! A staggering piece of starkly-painted art! My jaw drops every time I see it.

Anyway.

Right now, Blackbirds is down, folks. The tick-tock of the clock reminds us that the battle will soon be over. Go! Hurry! Vote! Vote for your favorite cover which may or may not be Blackbirds but if it is Blackbirds then we shall cross a meadow in slow-motion with giddy looks on our faces and when when we get close to one another we will leap into the air toward one another and freeze-frame high-five as the credits roll over us.

Or something.

What I’m saying is, I appreciate your patience in me yammering on about stuff like this.

And I’d appreciate your vote.

Click here to go to the challenge.

*freeze-frame high-five*

*credits roll*

Flash Fiction Challenge: The Wheel, Part Two

Last week’s challenge: “Spin The Wheel.” (So many entries!)

The past challenge was rather successful, so — I think we’re going to do it again.

I love these “games of aspects.” Eeeee!

Ahem. Anyway. So! Another set of random parameters for you to choose from, whether by rolling a d10 or using a random number generator like this one right here.

As usual, you’ve got 1000 words. Post it at your online space. Link back here.

You have one week. Due by Friday the 18th, noon EST.

Randomly choose one (or if you don’t want random and hate fun, pick one) from each:

Subgenre

  1. Weird West
  2. Comic Fantasy
  3. Wuxia
  4. Bad Girls In Prison
  5. Zombie Apocalypse
  6. Alien Abduction
  7. Lovecraftian
  8. Teenage Noir
  9. Steampunk
  10. Locked Room Mystery

Conflict

  1. Betrayal by a loved one!
  2. Need to hide a body!
  3. Someone’s been poisoned!
  4. The character is being hunted!
  5. Enemy at the gates!
  6. Heist gone wrong!
  7. Man versus nature!
  8. Man versus technology!
  9. Revenge!
  10. Family torn apart!

Must Feature:

  1. Demonic possession
  2. A forbidden book
  3. A mysterious stranger
  4. A bottle of rare whiskey
  5. A vengeful god
  6. Someone gone or going mad
  7. A suitcase full of money
  8. Carnival folk
  9. A secret message
  10. A hidden tunnel

A Short Rant On The “You Can’t Teach Writing” Meme

I see this meme every so often.

“You can’t teach writing.”

That is a hot, heaping hunk of horseshit and you should get shut of that malodorous idea.

Anybody who puts this idea forward is high-as-fuck from huffing their own crap vapors, because here’s what they’re basically saying to you:

“I’m a writer/artist/creative person and I’m this way by dint of my birth — I was just born naturally talented, assholes! — and it can’t be taught so if you’re not born with it as I most graciously was, then you’re pretty much fucked and fuck you trying to learn anything about it and fuck anybody who tries to teach it and you might as well give up now, you talentless, tasteless, cardboard hack. Now kiss the ring, little worm.”

Writing is a thing we learn. Which means it is a thing people teach.

Writing is beholden to mechanical structure — speech snatched out of the air and put to paper. We cram words into sentences, we mark them with punctuation, all in order to communicate on paper (or on rock walls or carved into a dead hobo’s back or however it is you choose to send messages to other human beings). It is a thing we teach to our children. It is a skill that develops as they get older only if it is fostered by the circuit formed between teaching and learning.

Ah, so you might be saying, “Well, what that really means is, story cannot be taught.”

Ha ha ha ha fuck you.

It can too be taught.

I’ve had plenty of teachers who taught me things about stories that I could not myself see or was not sharp enough to realize. And I don’t just mean teachers as in, school teachers or college professors (though those were critical to my penmonkey development, too). I mean, what about editors? Or let’s not forget how other writers instruct us through their own writing advice or by dint of their own writing — after all, every book is itself a lesson in writing books. Hell, my own father taught me things about telling stories — most of them unspoken lessons but some of them about how a joke is constructed or how a tale works when told a certain way.

Story is a thing both of art and craft: it has mechanics same as language does. Stories work a certain way and fail in other ways. Just because the laws of that land are far more amorphous and uncertain than, say, the rules surrounding the cobbling-together of a paragraph doesn’t mean the act of storytelling is without teachable components.

Do we teach ourselves? Certainly to a degree, sure. The best lessons of writing and storytelling lurk in our own mis-steps and victories, but sometimes we need that outside voice — a teacher, I hear they’re called — to provide context and to offer shape to those mis-steps and victories.

Is divinely-granted talent really a thing? Talent may be, though I don’t know if I care to lend its existence to the power of any deity — but talent is worthless without work and is itself an imperfect, incomplete creature. Talent is just a lump of cold, if precious, metal. You still need hard work and effort and desire and trained skill to turn that inert lump into a mighty blade. It doesn’t just fucking happen. Artists are not born into some “magical artist caste.”

Writing and storytelling can be taught. If you want it bad enough, you can learn it.

They cannot be taught in a vacuum, no. They cannot be taught if you do not have the desire to learn and the discipline to execute on those lessons. But one can teach these things to those who truly want to know, to those who truly want to do. Anybody who tells you different is just trying to shut the door in your face in order to feel better about themselves. But, be assured, anybody who sells you that string of turdballs and calls it a necklace is lying to you: just as you will be taught things about writing and storytelling, so were they, at some point.

Go forth and write. And practice. And work. And learn.

And when you’re done, pass some of what you learned down the line.

As a teacher of others.