One of the kerfuffles that has rolled around lately has to do with a post that Barry Eisler did on J.A. Konrath’s blog, where Barry referenced Michael Stackpole’s consistent rhetoric that writers for NY publishing are like “house slaves” and pointed to another consistent theme in much of the indie-publishing meme which is that those who write for NY publishers are suffering from a form of Stockholm Syndrome.

I want to note that Barry was clear enough that these were analogies–he wasn’t making an actual psychological diagnosis of Stockholm Syndrome, and was referencing other people’s rhetoric. He also apologized for the analogy later on, and admitted it wasn’t helpful, and I appreciate that.

But the language of abuse and slavery and Stockholm Syndrome is rampant among self-publishing proponents. Konrath and Eisler are by no means the worst offenders. It drives me absolutely bonkers. The “abuse” I had to put up with from my publisher was two six-figure deals and inclusion in an anthology with a New York Times bestseller. Weep for me.

I haven’t given up self-pubbing at this point, and I won’t. But I do think that traditional New York publishing has value. I believe in diversification, and I wouldn’t have a problem signing a New York contract for a limited number of books under a limited set of circumstances. After all, book sales multiply with the number of books out. Having more books out–and having paper copies of books on more shelves–would grow my audience so that even if I make less on those books, I could actually make more money in total. So I am perfectly open to the possibility of a NY contract as a method of diversifying myself. That’s a business decision. You might disagree with my reasoning, but I’m surely not oppressed.

I have friends who have worked with utterly magical editors, who would sell books to those editors any chance they get. It’s a business decision to get a smaller percentage for the chance to work with someone who will help you produce books at the height of your capacity. I have friends who do not have the time, inclination, or patience to self-publish–and self-publishing requires a very distinct skillset. It’s a business decision on their part to focus on writing.

I recognize that a critique of tone isn’t always valuable. But I think what this incident demonstrates is that egregious tone can lead to substantive problems and a lack of discussion on the salient issues altogether. Excessive rhetoric strips away nuance. It’s very hard to say, “Publishing is like slavery! But, you know, to each their own individualized circumstances! Sometimes, for some people, maybe it’s a decent business decision. Just not for me, you know, and maybe not for lots of other people.”

The result of the tone issue was that people got pissed off and screamed and yelled about rhetoric. Some people said, “YES! GO! SLAY THE INFIDELS!” and some responded by arguing the analogy instead of talking about Amazon and the future of the publishing industry. Some really interesting and important points that Barry made in that post have basically been ignored because of the rhetoric employed on a side-issue.

There are times when there is no nuance to be had, and so I’m fine with shrill tones under those circumstances. Actual slavery should be opposed. Genocide, ditto. Egregious violations of human rights? Very, very bad. But a decision about how to get your book in the hands of readers? That does not rise to the level of “crimes against humanity.” And using that rhetoric to discuss it means that instead of having a discussion about substance, you end up with accusations flying. And that’s a shame.

One final point: in Eisler’s piece, the question of whether authors are abused (if only by analogy) is ancillary to the point of what we think of Amazon’s power. But Barry claims that NY publishing’s cartel would be equivalent to an Amazon monopoly. There are, of course, a few salient differences between an Amazon monopoly and the NY publishing “cartel” (which I put in quotes since I have no direct evidence that it’s a cartel).

• Economically speaking, cartels are preferable to a monopoly because there is economic pressure to defect from a cartel. There is no way to defect from a monopoly.
• Economically speaking, what Amazon is doing right now is seeking not only horizontal domination over book selling but vertical integration, whereas traditional publishing is only concerned with horizontal domination, at least insofar as it touches the book supply chain. (I’m aware that most publishing houses are part of a vertical integration of media corporations generally–and that in fact does have real consequences, and ones I’m not happy with. But they are not as of yet integrated with retail sales.) Vertical integration raises a different set of economic risks.

These are interesting questions, and I’m sorry they haven’t been explored.

As a personal matter, I like Amazon–how could I not?–but I’m very aware that the reason that Amazon gave authors 70% was not because they were feeling generous, but because Apple entered the market at 70% and Amazon felt pressure to match them.

I’m wary of any large concentration of power. And I’m exceedingly wary of a large concentration of power that doesn’t have a large concentration of power elsewhere to match it. At this point, I think that Amazon is providing healthy competition. But I also believe that the competition would stop being healthy if we stopped pitting Amazon’s near-monopoly market power in the e-book market against the NY publishers.

And that’s the nuance that’s getting stripped from this conversation by the tone: We can’t talk rationally about relative concentrations of power and the future of the market if we persist in labeling one side as an abuser and the other a rescuer. It’s not an abuser-rescuer dynamic.

So there. Those are my two cents. I respect both Konrath and Eisler immensely (which is not something I will say for all the indie prophets out there)–they’re both clever and thoughtful and successful. I’ve talked to Barry several times in the past, and I really value his insight and intelligence. But I don’t think that the rhetoric employed is actually aiding discussion–which is a darned shame, because I think they have a lot to add to a rational discussion. I wish that they were using rhetoric that would facilitate that discussion instead of hindering it.

This is just a brief post. The monster second part will be up soon.

I stated this in the comments to my post last night, but I think this issue is worthy of being elevated to the front page.

Yesterday’s post violated my own rule about categorical statements. It was written because I was angry about a development that I saw, and specifically, was angry about what several individual agents had said and done on occasion. I do not believe agents should develop publishing houses. And I particularly abhor when they do so and make a bad job of it.

But it is wrong to judge from the specific to the general. I had specific examples of specific agents in mind when I spoke, but I didn’t want to call them out–in some cases because the information I know was given to me confidentially. But I didn’t speak about specifics, and I didn’t say “some” agents. I said all agents except my own.

So let me be clear: I’m very worried about the tack that some agents are taking. It’s very clear to me that some agents who have chosen to publish their clients (sometimes at a 50/50 split of profits, a clear conflict of interest) are doing a piss-poor job of it.

But I also know that many, many agents are deeply dedicated to their clients. These are often the people who have not yet announced what they’re doing at this point–because they’re taking the time to do it right. There are a lot of really good agents out there who do advocate for their clients, and I should not have implied that they were clueless. It was wrong of me, and given my past statements, it was hypocritical.

My apologies for painting with too broad a brush stroke, and especially to the agents who are taking their time to be careful, cautious, and ethical, while making sure that their clients receive the best possible care. Authors need agents like you.

One of the most oft-repeated arguments that I see in self-publishing is this notion that you should not give a percentage of your work to anyone, ever.

I think this is mostly because Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch–two very intelligent and business-savvy people–have said they think it is a bad idea, and because Dean and Kristine are often smart and intelligent, they are cited as gospel.

This post by Dean is typical of the argument:

We sure aren’t paying anyone who helps us a percentage. And never will. It’s my work. I ain’t giving parts of it away.

Without any sense of irony, Dean ends the post with this:

…[E]ven if in my opinion, they are stuck on giving percentages away to agents. But oh well, it’s their money to give away (if they ever decide to try what they are pushing). Their headache.

I would rather just keep the full 70% to be honest.

Wait, what do you mean, “full 70%”? What? Last I checked, “full” was 100%. What happened to that extra 30%?

Oh. I see. Amazon took it. A percentage. Dang it, Dean, why are you stuck on giving a percentage to Amazon? I thought you weren’t paying a percentage to anyone. It’s your work. How come you’re giving parts of it away?

Now, that’s not quite fair, of course. The answer is obvious: You pay Amazon 30% of the take because if it were not for Amazon, your take would be much, much smaller, and you would weep.

Why Dean doesn’t think this concept is generalizable, I do not know.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I am very jealous of my percentages, and I wouldn’t go around throwing them away willy-nilly. That being said, I can  see how giving someone a percent would make sense.

Let me give you an example: Suppose that it takes 400 hours to write a book and 100 hours to get it ready for publication: incorporating changes from copy edits, finding editors, finding copy-editors, proofs, chasing things down when they don’t get done, getting covers made, getting formatting done. You may snicker and say, “Courtney, those things don’t take 100 hours!” But they did, for me, for Unlocked. (Partially because I was learning how to do things right–hopefully the process will streamline in the future.)

Do you know what it means to do a good job finding an editor? It doesn’t just mean you find any person who hangs out their hat and says “I edit. Pay me.” You need someone who gets your work. Your voice. Who operates in a way that you can work with. Someone who understands what is good about your book and will work with you to make it even better. That’s not easy to find, and you won’t know if someone fits that bill until you pay them money. Sometimes lots of money.

Some people will do sample edits on a few pages (good to see if you’re in line on the voice thing), but some won’t. So instead, you read books that they’ve already edited—or google to see if they’ve written about their style or writing tips—and you try to guess from that whether they would work well with you.

Maybe you find someone who looks awesome, but she’s booked for the next four months solid. (Yes, this is happening.) Maybe you find someone who looks awesome, and it looks like you’ve got a decent fit, but it turns out that you can’t deliver in the timeframe when she would edit because you figure out you need to rewrite 30% of it, and so you miss the mark.

It’s hard work finding a good editor who works well with you, stylistically. Repeat for copy-editors. There are lots of people calling themselves copy editors these days, and when you ask them what style they prefer they say, “huh?” Or they think that “copy editing” is synonymous with “proof reading.”

Not everyone who formats ebooks does a good job. I wouldn’t trust someone who thinks that you should avoid curly quotes altogether (that’s the ridiculous Smashwords fix—everyone else gets “ ”). How can you tell if someone is doing something right? You download copies of their books and then you unzip the epub file and look at the underlying HTML. That’s how.

It’s a lot of work to find people who are doing things right. It’s even more work to figure out how to do it right yourself.

If you hire someone else, you only need to find one person whose competence lies in identifying people who are competent.

So just do the math: if it takes me 400 hours to write a book and 100 hours to get it ready for publication, that means that I could write 25% of another book if I didn’t have to mess around with all that crap. Under those circumstances, it would make sense to pay someone 15%.

Now, you’re saying, “But Courtney, the solution is obvious. Just pay someone a flat fee to act as your liaison to all these people. You don’t need to pay a percent.”

Sure. But what incentive does the liaison have to do a good job, then? If they’re getting a flat fee, how do I know they aren’t just going to have their friends do it to kick a few books their direction?

Salespeople are put on commission all the time. Key employees often get profit sharing points in the business world. These are not weird or odd or unusual business arrangements. There are times when you want to give someone a percent, and you do it because you think that you will get more money than if you pay them a flat fee. This is not hard or weird or wrong. It is, in fact, entirely normal, and it’s mind-boggling to suggest otherwise.

Most importantly, the assumption in Dean/Kris’s writing is that if you pay someone a percent you must pay them a percent forever–but nothing requires that. What if someone set up a business model where you paid them 10% for four years? Or 20% for two years? Or 50% for the first 6 months, and nothing thereafter? All of those are reasonable choices that give the person you are hiring an incentive to maximize income, but which won’t have any impact on your long-term revenue.

There’s one other thing, and I hesitate to mention this, but I’m going to anyway. Much of what I’ve said above is centered on the fact that I think it’s worth spending time and money to do things right. I would rather produce one story that was tightly edited, brilliantly proofed, properly formatted, and professionally packaged than 20 that were not.

This is not Dean’s model. I’m not trying to knock his model; it apparently works very well for him. But, for instance, take a look at his challenge post:

The Challenge:

—To write 100 original short stories in one year….

#1… Please, I know I will make typos and such.  I don’t care and please don’t tell me. Thanks. If you have trouble reading something with a few typos, please don’t read these stories. There is no such thing as a perfect story and I ain’t trying to write one.

And then, on this particular story:

TOTAL HOURS SPENT (Including writing, publishing, and cover and putting it up here and writing this post) just over 6 hours in one day from first word to finished and up.

Which is fine. It is a perfectly fine business plan to write 100 stories in a year, not edit them, and post them. I think it’s a great writing exercise. You’ll make a few bucks on each story every month–after a year, it definitely adds up to a pretty darned good income.

But it is not the only business model. And I think that the fact that Dean works this way colors his view of what’s acceptable. It doesn’t look like he leaves room and time in his schedule for fussing and nitpicking, and if that’s the case, I completely agree with what he says: just hire someone who’s going to get the job done at minimal cost and move on. If something flops, oh well; there’s always something else in the works.

But if you don’t work like Dean, and you do fuss and nitpick, and you can’t afford to have something flop–it might make sense to have a real business partner who helps you make sure that nothing you do truly flops, and it might make sense to pay that person a percent. If your business model is to try and make your pie very big, it makes sense to give someone a piece of the pie so that they maximize your pie. If your business model is to have lots and lots of tiny pies, obviously you’ll see things differently. Your job then is not to make very very big pies, but to produce as many pies as possible, and the only person who can do that is the author.

There are successful writers who do things Dean’s way. There are successful writers who don’t. Never trust anyone who says that the only way to write is to do it their way. Do it your way. And once you know what your way is, your goal is to match your way of doing business with your way of writing. Not all writing styles are equally suited to all business styles.

Personally, I’m not suited to the write-100-stories-and-post-them-that-day kind of thing. More power to the people who can do that. Dean’s probably not suited to my kind of thing, either. It’s okay to write differently, and it’s okay to engage in the practice of business differently, too.

A disclaimer: At present, the only people I am paying a percentage to are my distributors. But I’m not foreclosing the possibility that I’d make a different choice in the future, and I it bugs me when I see people saying that doing so would be “stupid” when they haven’t bothered to unpack the assumptions behind the original dictum.

If you aren’t paying someone a percentage forever, it’s not that bad. And if a person is helping to make a small pie bigger, a percentage just makes sense.