Sunday, October 5, 2014

Should my books be free? Sure, Bub!




I decided to run a comment (below) which was posted in reply to Russell Smith's Globe and Mail column about the ascendency of blockbuster books (i.e. Fifty Shades of Grey), which have rendered the moderately-selling "midlist" novel practically obsolete. I found Russell Smith's piece oddly comforting because it made me realize (unlike all the other forces around me, which seem to be telling me it's all my fault) that all this is driven by global economic conditions and not the personal failure that has sometimes rendered me suicidal. In fact I  have re-run it a couple of times, as a reality check and to keep me from jumping off the bridge.

But this is the first time I have read the comments. I took the name off this - something I would normally never do - because it's a comment, not an article, and because I'm not maligning this writer so much as demonstrating just how desperate we have become just to get our work out there.




It seems it's now necessary to give our work away in mass quantities, powered by something called (astonishingly) BookBub, in order to eventually take in "hundreds of dollars" by selling our books at the astonishing price of  $2.99! But how to sustain yourself on a few hundred dollars? Is that a living wage? Where has our dignity gone?

What bothers me most of all however is the eagerness, the excitement, the sense of promise, even gratitude for this opportunity, the "next big thing" for writers. No one seems to see the sweating desperation behind it, but maybe that's because nobody feels it any more.  Give it away? Are our stories worth literally nothing, after so many years of hard work, reams of time, careful crafting and praying for opportunity? Must we grovel and scrape and learn to love Big Brother to get anywhere at all, to keep from dropping into the pit of oblivion that swallowed me a long time ago?




I can't keep up with things like this, or with ugly, even grotesque names like BookBub. At first I thought this was satire. It had to be. Then I PRAYED it was satire: Jesus, look at the lengths we have to go to, just to get our work into people's hands and people's skulls! Then, with a sickening feeling of the floor dropping out from under me, I realized it was true. Not only that - you have to PAY them to give your work away, in full knowledge of the fact that in our money-driven culture, free things are generally perceived as worthless, of interest only to garbage-pickers and other scavenger types.

This is what we must do and even what we must feel good about in these shark-infested waters. We must keep up with all the new warts popping up, infestations that ask YOU to pay THEM so that you can get your books out there for free.  I am constantly told, "well, Margaret, that's just what you have to do these days, you don't have any choice, just hold your nose and do it." Open your legs, and close your mind.

No thanks. I'd rather be a no-list writer, keep my dignity, and make my few hundred dollars from actual sales of actual books, bought by actual people. And that's the way it's going to stay - Bub.





Mr. Smith offers us a snapshot of a continuously evolving process. No one knows what publishing will be like a year from now, or two, or ten. We are making it up as we go along.

I'm what the industry calls a midlist author, neither a bestselling star nor a miserable failure. I'm paid (though not very much) for the sf and crime novels and short stories I write, and my readership occupies a definable niche well away from the middle of the bell curve.

To see what the long tail might mean to me, nine months ago I began self-publishing my backlist -- books that had been trade-published but whose rights had reverted back to me -- as well as collections of short stories that had appeared in mass-market magazines. I found I could sell ten ebooks a day, which didn't make me rich but it did give me an income stream from past work that otherwise had no commercial value. 






But then the sales began to trail off, despite all the Facebooking, blogging, and tweeting to which we midlisters are encouraged to devote daily time. So I cast around for another strategy and came across BookBub. It's a service that advertises ebook bargains (free or 99 cents) to more than a million subscribers.

I reduced the price of one of my sf titles to zero, and for $80 BookBub sent an email to 240,000 sf ebook readers. In 24 hours, some 15,000 people downloaded the free text off Amazon, Kobo, and Smashwords. Now I wait and see how many of those freebie-takers will come back and buy one of my $2.99 titles. 






Even if only one or two per cent do so, I will earn hundreds of dollars from that $80 investment. If ten per cent come back for more, I'll take in thousands.

The thing is, I couldn't have done any of this two years ago, because BookBub didn't exist before January 2012. Now it's a serious player for self-publishers needing marketing support. And next year, or the year after, some bright spark will come up with yet another profitable way to help us authors make money off the long tail.

Because this revolution is just getting started.







 

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
    It took me years to write, will you take a look



(WARNING: this is a real book, sold for real money. But not too much. I promise you!)



Visit Margaret's Amazon Author Page!

Friday, October 3, 2014

A horrible transformation




One of the rare intriguing things I've seen on Facebook lately. As usual, there was no credit given anywhere for who did the animation. I've looked all over the place. It's creepy and fascinating and all too true what happens to this pink little figure, ruthlessly mauled by calipers and scalpels and pliers and suction hoses. I just did a post on how "neurotic" women (women who are "reserved", worry about things, get angry, anxious, etc.) are more likely to get Alzheimer's. For some creepy reason, this feels like part of the same thing. Now, girls. Don't have a body like THAT. Have a body like THIS, and maybe your rate of acceptability will fall into line. It's all a way of containing us, because if we're not contained we turn into madwomen. We run amok.

Let's go, then.



 

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
    It took me years to write, will you take a look


Dementia: don't worry your pretty little head!



Neurotic women 'more likely to get Alzheimer's'

Helen Williams

PUBLISHED 02/10/2014 | 02:30

Anxious, jealous, moody or distressed middle aged women may be putting themselves at risk of developing Alzheimer's disease, according to a 38-year long study.

The claim, which appears in Neurology online, comes after scientists used personality and memory tests to track the health and welfare of 800 women who had an average age of 46. They found that 19pc of those women developed dementia in later life.

The tests also looked at their levels of neuroticism, whether they appeared to be shy and reserved, and if they were outgoing characters.




Neurology online is the medical journal of the American Academy of Neurology. Study author Lena Johannsson of the University of Gothenburg, Sweden, said: "Most Alzheimer's research has been devoted to factors such as education, heart and blood risk factors, head trauma and family history.

"Personality may influence the individual's risk for dementia through its effect on behaviour, lifestyle or reactions to stress."




Neuroticism involves being easily distressed and can be linked to worrying, jealousy or moodiness. People who are neurotic are more likely to express anger, guilt, envy, anxiety or depression. The study also looked at women who appeared to be shy and reserved plus those who seemed to be outgoing.




The women were asked if their work, health or family situation had left them feeling stressed for at least a month. Stress might be spotted by feeling irritable, tense, nervous, fearful, anxious and not being able to sleep properly.

Responses were ranked from zero, where the women never felt stressed, to five, where they had constantly experienced stress in the last five years. Women who chose responses from three and five were considered to have distress.

Those women with the highest scores on the tests for neuroticism had double the risk of developing dementia compared to those who scored lowest on the tests, according to the study.




This foul little report is currently all over the internet, leading me to wonder: whatever happened to all the progress we supposedly made in the last 60 years?

Not only is all this crap completely skewed by the fact that MEN ARE NOT EVEN CONSIDERED (any more than they are ever shown wearing adult diapers on TV), the tone of it is just headspinning in its implications.

It reminds me of those old Miles Nervine ads, with women being encouraged to take sedatives rather than express their discontent, or the Bayer aspirin commercial with the irritable woman snapping, "Mother, please, I'd rather do it myself!" Surely a woman who allows herself to fuss and fret and get her head in a tizzy DESERVES to end up as a drooling idiot. She's bringing it on herself, isn't she? Getting herself all worked up over nothing. The implication is that you'd better put a lid on all that neurotic, needless fulminating, ladies, or guess what. You may just end up in the loony bin, the place of no return.




Under the medicalise in this probably-completely-meaningless study I smell the faint stink of punishment, the price for for deviating from certain expected norms. Good little women, cheerful little women, women who don't fuss, who "accept", who don't rock the boat by becoming pointlessly angry about things (rape, child abuse, the destruction of the planet) are far more likely to make good, cheerful little grandmothers! They'll keep their marbles, in other words. None of that awful drooling, incontinence, brain rot and puzzling resistence to artificial restraints. 

Or could it be this way? Good little women are so conditioned to be bright and cheery and outgoing, to be happy all the day, to always smile, smile, smile (as so many women are rigidly trained to do) that when those pesky lines and wrinkles begin to show, there won't be any DIFFERENCE between the frozen zombie state of their emotional and spiritual submission to societal norms (smile!) and the frozen zombie state of Alzheimer's. 




What an advantage! No one will even NOTICE they have dementia because they were Stepford Wives for an entire lifetime! The advantages of this can't be stressed enough.  The transition will be ultra-smooth, from spotless kitchen to bright, sparkling ward.

Meantime, women who allow their feelings to show, who dare take time for themselves instead of constantly pleasing and hostessing the world, who aren't always cheerful but express anger and indignation and fear and lust and exultation and anxiety and depression and all the things human beings are known to feel BECAUSE THEY ARE HUMAN, will at least KNOW when they are being pursued by the forces of sexist medical oppression. They can put on their neurotic little running shoes and RUN RUN RUN from the suffocating norms that would keep them safely corralled in cheery 1950s-style servitude.

Don't be nice, girls. Don't smile unless you mean it. And when the threat comes, run. Run for your lives. Even if you do go barmy, at least you'll have the satisfaction of being who you really are.