by Pari

What business do you know that lends brand new items to the seller and allows those items to be shipped back, anytime, often in lousy shape? What business do you know that wants many of those items to be defaced prior to being shipped back?

Welcome to the wonderful world of book returns.

Amid all the conversations about book sales, the publishing industry, finding the right agent, we don’t hear much about returns. I think I know why. It’s a crappy system no one understands fully and NO ONE seems to know how to fix.

A little history:
Back during the Great Depression, publishers sought a way to get booksellers to continue buying books and to try new authors. So, someone (maybe one of you readers can give me the name) came up with the idea of offering more books without risk. If something didn’t sell, it could be returned for credit — no questions asked.

Back then, I think the model worked well for everyone because
1. There wasn’t the volume of books published today (and that’s an issue that deserves more than one post).
2.  Though illiteracy may have been higher, I suspect many more people per capita turned to books and reading for their entertainment and information gathering.

Flash forward to today. The book return system aggravates just about everyone.

For authors
It can be good for new authors because bookstores can "taste" new works without worrying about being saddled with clunkers. However, any traditionally published author is never going to know how sales are going . . . not really. A book can be returned months after publication, sometimes even years. Publishers often hold back a portion of royalties against this possibility. Sales may look magnificent at the beginning of a book’s life because bookstores will order in large quantities. And then poof! Three quarters end up getting returned or, if they’re mass market paperbacks — they’ll be stripped (it’s heartbreaking, really).

For Bookstores
You’d think bookstores would adore this arrangement; after all it was created for them. But with the ever increasing number of titles, it’s impossible to predict what will and won’t sell. Over the years, publishers have changed their return policies and bookstores need manuals to meet their specifications. Some stores now only deal with wholesalers because of this (and other reasons of course. . . that’s another post if I can ever get enough info on it).

Even if everything is totally hunky-dorey with the system, returning books is still labor intensive — there’s packing, labeling, removing stickers (autographed copy! discount!) and keeping track of this revolving inventory. That’s why people like Steve Riggio of Barnes and Noble are calling for a major revamp of the system.

For publishers
It seems obvious why they’d dislike the system, doesn’t it? So why the hesitation to change? When HarperCollins announced a new imprint that would be return-less, many people screamed. What would happen to new authors? What would happen to the booksellers’ freedom to have a broad inventory? EEEEEEEE!!!!

Wholesalers/Distributors
I don’t know how they feel about the system. Their existence depends on variety and making life easier for bookstores, but in my research for this piece, I didn’t find anything specific on the subject. If I do, believe me, I’ll write more.

So, what to do?

*  Authors could write fewer books. Uh hunh. (I can just hear the response to that suggestion: "We’ll do that when we get paid more.")
*  Booksellers could stop over-ordering AND/OR commit to selling what they order. But how would they decide? What would be best for their customers and also great for the business bottom line?
*  Publishers could stop publishing as many books AND they could commit more marketing dollars to the ones they do produce. Has anyone ever seen that happen?

I don’t know what the answers are, or if there are answers. Far greater minds have tackled these questions. I found two interesting articles on the subject here and here.

Right now, I think it’s important to talk about returns and changing the system.

What do you think? Booksellers? Publishers(editors)? Writers? Readers?

Is there anything we can do to transform a dinosaur into a dragonfly?

_______________________________________________________________

Next Monday, Roberta Isleib takes the reins for a guest visit. Please join me in welcoming her.

by Pari

I got the email last Thursday. My friend Cary is dying.

Six years ago when Cary was diagnosed with 4th stage ovarian cancer, all of her friends uttered a collective, "Oh, crap."

"I’m not dead yet," was her response. She proved it too. During her chemo, radiation and numerous surgeries, during the devastating news that the cancer had come back again and again, Cary continued to work as a photographer (go here to see her recent work for me). She even managed to achieve a life-long dream when UNM Press published her book and it went on to win a national award (It’s still garnering new praise).

But now she’s in hospice. I can’t pretend there’s going to be a different outcome, no more emails about her "beating the odds."

Today, I’m thinking about grace. Though I haven’t been in Cary’s innermost circle, I’ve known her for 20 years and have always appreciated her incredible professional eye and her marvelous humor. Since her cancer diagnosis, I’ve been floored by her ability to rise above becoming the disease and her insistence on eschewing any inclination for self-pity.

Cary has shared her journey through group emails. She’s written about the cancer’s merciless progress and we readers have witnessed her determination to live her life fully until . . . Damnit, there have been so many setbacks and she’s always managed to pull through. But three weeks ago, her email began with:

"My dear friends, family and colleagues,
The truth is that the news from me is not very good . . . "

The road block this time was too big, too much. In another recent email, she included this poem:

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

. . . my friend Cary was saying goodbye.

Today as I write this, I am heartbroken.

I’m also grateful. Through the bounty of words and her photographs, Cary has created a legacy that will outlast her too-short life.

We human beings are bound most fundamentally by the truth of death. We mystery writers think about it every day — in our fiction at least — and yet when it slaps us upside the head, we still reel from the blow.

Though I feel tremendous grief right now, a sore rawness in the final waiting, I want to honor Cary and all that she has accomplished . . . 

When a fan sent me this link I immediately thought of Cary’s well-lived life. It’s for an indie film about the fan’s father; he’s determined to find and photograph all the Native American petroglyphs in New Mexico before they disappear due to natural or human causes. 

Please take the two minutes to watch the preview. It’ll inspire you.

And then take a moment more to look inside yourself — at your own dreams, your own life, your own creative legacy — and give thanks.

_____________________________________
UPDATE: I just got the email this evening. Cary died today . . .

by Pari

You wouldn’t think it when you sit in the bar with us, but we writers are an optimistic lot. Staring sternly into our flat beers and swirling the last remnants of our scotch in ice that melted too quickly, we bitch ‘n’ moan ad nauseum.

But even the grouchiest, most disillusioned, complaining-est scribe holds a secret hope that his or her work will hit the BIG TIME, earn out an obscenely large advance lickety split, be optioned for a blockbuster movie and climb the NYT bestseller list purely based on pre-orders.

In short, writers are suckers for the idea of luck.

Lately, I’ve been trying to dissect what we mean by luck. I figure, if I can understand it, I might be able to manufacture a little of my own. Ya know?

I think the unexamined assumption we make, the latent definition, goes something like this: Luck is the confluence of unexpected and fortunate elements over which we don’t have control, but which finds us and bestows wonderful gifts.

Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered. attr. William Shakespeare

Well, maybe . . .

But that sounds like a cop out, doesn’t it? And it can lead to the following idea pretty easily.

I believe in luck: How else can you explain the success of those you don’t like? attr. Jean Cocteau

I know I’ve felt that way. An acquaintance of mine (and not a very nice person) and I sold our first books at about the same time. Hers went to auction and landed at St. Martin’s for nearly $500,000. Mine went to UNM Press for, um,  . . . not quite that much. In the intervening time from purchase to publication, I watched this woman on the Today Show and saw her work hit the national bestseller lists. And I found myself explaining her success in terms of "timing," "riding a wave," and her ethnicity.

Here’s a slightly different twist:
Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.  attr. Seneca

In some ways, my attributions about this writer’s success were right on. For example, she did cash in on her ethnicity  . . . very well, in fact. In truth, she was a shining example of someone who decided to study and craft her work, to CREATE the wave she then caught. She did it deliberately, with tremendous aforethought and skill, and she ended up with a great result.

Oh, and here’s another truth I had to look in the eye . . . she’s a damn fine writer too. 

It’s not nice to think of myself as petty, but I was. After the fact, to make myself look good, I tried to put her down (never by name or in public, at least I had that much sense) with the rationale that her success was because of luck.

What a stupid move. It set me back emotionally far too long. (Here’s my post on jealousy, btw.)

[How many of you reading this blog today are silently holding on to equally unpleasant and self-paralyzing thoughts? You don’t have to admit it to me — or in the comments section — but please make sure to admit it to yourself.]

After thinking about the subject for a few weeks, I’m approaching the whole concept of luck differently.
I look at the quote attributed to Shakespeare at the beginning of this post and say, "Hey, Will, that may be true, but someone must’ve put those boats out to sea in the first place."

I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work, the more I have of it.  attr. Thomas Jefferson

Yeah, that sums it up. The writer who goes to a conference and meets the editor who changes her life did something to further her career. The novelist who takes Alex Sokoloff’s posts about screenwriting to heart and applies some of the principles to his own work — thereby creating a book that works like a dream AND lends itself to a blockbuster movie — took action.

That’s where I’m at now.
Working.

I like it better than waiting for my ship to come in.

Go and wake up your luck.  attr. Persian proverb. 
Yeah, I can live with that.

How about you? 

by Pari

Many of the truly important lessons in life come at a cost. They also seem to be the ones that bring us the most satisfaction.

Case in point: Two days ago, I earned my black belt in Tae Kwon Do. After more than four years of incredibly hard work, too many bruises, pain, a broken big toe and a lot of frustration, I finally crossed that rubicon.

Master Kim, the man who runs our Do Jang, commented several times during the testing about the fact that he was impressed that I’d never given up, not even when things looked bleak.

But to me, that’s only part of the story. The bigger narrative was that I never stopped trying, in spite of my physical limitations, to get better at this martial art. Each setback became a dare, a personal challenge not merely to succeed, but to excel.

Usually, discussions about perseverance descend into platitudes. The most common one is the idea that a person simply has to hold on to the dream no matter what. When we’re talking about publication, the implication is that if you put your work out there and keep on writing, you’ll get published someday.

"Just hold on," we murmur. "Don’t give up. It’ll happen."

But that’s not true. Not everyone gets published.

"But, Pari," you say. "Why are you trying to bring me down? Everyone else says it’s just a numbers game. If I send out my stuff to enough publishers, someone will eventually buy it. Right?" Your voice raises an octave here. "Right?"

"Um, maybe." At this point in our conversation, I might back away. After all, my message could seem like a real bummer. Everyone knows someone who disproves it, too. Who hasn’t met a writer who talks about perseverance being the key, who claims that all you need is stick-to-itive-ness to land that three-book deal?

You know what? I’m beginning to think that’s utter crap.

Let’s not sugar coat this anymore. I think we authors ought to be more candid. Rather than only offering encouraging and predictable cliches, we might say something like this: "You’re not published? Is it possible it’s because your work isn’t ready yet?"

No. We’re NEVER that frank.

We never even raise the issue. Instead, we continue blathering about keeing your eyes on the prize, never abandoning your goals, going for the gusto, blah blah blah . . .

What an incredible disservice to those who truly seek our perspective and/or advice.

The longer I’m in this profession, the more I’ve come to realize: Commitment isn’t enough. You have to see a project through until it’s the best it can be.

If my first manuscript had been published, I’m not sure I’d still be a novelist. Quick success would’ve prevented me from learning that I had to strive for more. Since that attempt more than eight years ago, I’ve gotten to experience discouragement, self-doubt and despair. I’ve had to earn enough rejections to single-handedly deforest a couple of mid-sized islands. My mettle has been so sorely tested it looked as red and raw as carpaccio.

All of the years I spent trying to get published taught me the value of perseverance-plus, the absolute necessity of trying harder rather than blaming others for my lack of success. As a result, I’ve never taken this ride for granted. With three books under my belt, I’m working with more dedication than ever to hone and enrich my craft.

I think it’s this continuation, the push to improve, that defines a career over time. I got in the habit of trying harder with each project years before I was published. That habit has been reinforced tenfold since.

Perseverance goes beyond a single goal accomplished. It’d be such a service to add that critical concept to the equation every time we published writers encourage anyone who wants to venture down the same bumpy and gorgeous road.

Because determination is just the beginning.

It’s how you respond to the challenges — and your unrelenting commitment to improvement — that will help you reach your goals and make them relevant and satisfying for the rest of your life.

by Pari

I’m a goal oriented kind of gal. Give me a mountain to climb, a river to ford, a meatloaf to make and I’m a happy camper. But unlike most of the ‘Rati, I don’t have externally set deadlines for my novels. Not yet.

Anything I do, good or bad, is self-imposed.

You’d think that this situation would be a lovely thing — to have the freedom to determine my own timeline — but I’m finding it an odd challenge. You see, my super-ego is in overdrive. No matter what else I do in the day — take care of my children, exercise so I’ll live long enough to see my kids grow up, cook, clean, spend time with my husband, garden — there’s always this voice telling me that I’m not doing enough to further my career.

Even when I sit at the computer and edit or write, that same damn voice screams for attention and most of its messages are negative. I wouldn’t mind if it helped inspire me or urged me to stretch creatively.

But no.

It destroys joy. It smashes fun into shards of guilt, cuts my feet until they’re bloody and makes a huge mess where there could be giddy adventure.

So what to do?

I suspect I’m not alone; I’m not the only writer with this conundrum. As a matter of fact, it might be one of the prerequisites of the job — with or without deadlines.

Lest you misread my words, I’m NOT talking about self-discipline here. I’ve got that out the wazoo. This is something far more insidious and potentially paralyzing.

And it takes more than just the pleasure away; it diminishes productivity.

I’ve tried daily writing goals and I’ve met them. The stupid voice still pounds in my ears. I’ve tried ignoring it or reasoning with it or visualizing myself free of it. I’ve tried shoving it out of my mind with positive affirmations: "I’m making progress." or "I did more than I thought I would today." Or "I am doing as much as I can."

But it’s like some kind of mutating computer virus that keeps adapting to whatever I throw in its path.

If I have to live with the damn thing, I will. I’ve done pretty well so far and have managed write a fair number of manuscripts, books, stories etc. But if there’s a way to put it in its place, to push a mute button, I’d sure like to know how.

So that’s my question for today: Do any of you, Dear Readers, experience this in your own writing or other professions? If so, tell me how you quell the tyranny of the should.

___________________________

* From Neurosis and Human Growth by Karen Horney. This is a seminal and fascinating book on neurosis. I studied it while in grad school.

by Pari

I wasn’t a kid who grew up wrestling with brothers, tackling dads in impromptu football games, or even shoving a bully out of my way. The worst I had to contend with was an older sister who’d pin me down on the floor and tickle me until I peed in my pants.

I didn’t like fight scenes in books either. Part of this aversion was a lack of understanding; I couldn’t visualize the reality from the words on the page. But an even larger reason was my idealism. I just didn’t want to think that people really would hurt each other in those ways. I didn’t like the idea of glamorizing violence through literature.

Pollyanna and I had a lot in common then.

But writing about murder has a way of changing one’s perspective.
Wanting "to get it right" does too.

I tried the armchair pugilism route and realized quickly that it couldn’t work.

My first real fight scene was in The Clovis Incident. It was an amateurish attempt, but works — I think — because my protag, Sasha, doesn’t have a clue about physical fighting. Neither does her assailant.

Neither did I. But I did realize that I had to get up and actually try to sense what the fight would feel like. I didn’t punch myself in the stomach, but I did tap it hard enough to leave a little bruise . . .

Today, I no longer can pretend not to know. Since I’ve become a more serious martial artist, I been slammed in the solar plexus by a fist twice my size of my own. I understand what a well-placed kick to the front of the knee can to do someone who weighs a good 100 pounds more than the attacker. A palm strike to the chin or nose, an elbow strike to the jaw, both can take a person out. I also know how to fall well and poorly, how to think in terms of offense and defense.

As I’ve learned more, I’ve also become a much more attentive — and critical — reader of other writers’ fight scenes. There are those that contain reams of information; the author obviously knows a tremendous amount about the logistics and effects of the techniques. But after a page or two, I tend to get bored for some reason. Maybe it’s because when you’re in a fight, time passes so quickly and the description doesn’t convey that urgency. Other scenes don’t have enough information to help my imagination flow; these frequently assume the reader has the same specialized knowledge the author does — that everyone knows what a tornado kick to the head means. I usually skip ’em too.

And then there are the writers who seem to get it right every single time. Dick Francis comes to mind. I bleed and ache with his protagonists. I can feel the dull thud of a fist connecting with the hard muscle under flesh. I can hear the crack of a broken rib.

Do you have any favorite fight-scene writers? Can you share a sentence/paragraph of what you consider to be an excellent example?

P.S.
I passed my pre-test for my black belt in Tae Kwon Do last Friday night and have been invited for the formal test on August 2. Hold a good thought for me. I’ll post the results on August 4.

by Pari

Shhh. Come in close. I don’t want anyone else to hear. Yeah, I know my breath tickles . . .

Okay, here it is. I’ve found the literary Fountain of Youth, the equivalent of the Seven Cities of Gold. It’s been a long search, nearly fifty years of sacrifice, difficulties galore. Privation times two. But it was worth it. So what if I couldn’t afford food for awhile? I know how to live off the land. And I can tell you, when the Water Authority cuts you off, honeysuckle nectar is a fine substitute.

But that’s a different story . . .

This is the biggie, the jackpot.

Hey, maybe I should write a book about it. I know it’d go to auction. Sell for, like, a million bucks. I’ve always wanted a yacht. Nothing fancy, a couple hundred feet. I’d go to Tahiti, see if I could scare up an original Gaugin or two. You never know what you can find at those little markets. But I digress . . .

The secret. Here it comes, the key to never having writer’s block again.

Are you ready?

It’s . . . it’s . . . oh, hell, I forgot!

Just kidding.

It’s all in two words. "Look and do." Okay, that’s three, but you know what I mean. You don’t? Do I really need to spell it out for you? Okay.

LOOK
You can find inspiration in the most ordinary things.
    Take this morning. One of my kids walked into the office while I was staring at the computer and biting a hangnail.
    She tossed a set of keys on the desk. "What are these for?"
    "Hell if I know."
    "What should I do with them?"
    Bingo! I had the beginning of a short story about safety deposit boxes, or a poem about smelting metal, or an essay about closed doors and open hearts. I could write a novel about a group of kids who go to this magical school and find this enchanted bunch of keys. It could be the next Harry Potter. Hey, Oprah might call!

Um, sorry.

AND
There’s not much to say about it. I’ve always found "and" to be useful.

DO
The trick is to actually take the stuff in your head and get it down on paper.
    I don’t care how you do it. Tappity tap on the keyboard. Or use a tape recorder. Or hire one of those people that sounds like that club for brainiacs — a menses? No, Mensa. That’s not right either. You know, an amanuensis. Yeah, that’s it.

Well, maybe there’s one more word:
STOP

NO! Don’t stop writing!
    Just stop that editor in your head that freezes your brain and makes you scared to put sentences together because they might all sound like a fifth-grader’s paper about the water cycle.
    You see, when you’re trying to get your ideas down in the first place, you’ve got to go for the gusto, reach for the stars, make your dreams come true — even if every other phrase is cliche. Who cares? We’re not talking about editor’s block here.

So, that’s it. I’ve blessed you with solid gold. Diamonds. Gas at $.25/gal.

Just do me a favor. If Oprah calls, give her my number too.

by Pari

The only guarantee in life is that it’ll take unpredictable turns. I’ve learned this ad nauseum in parenting and my writing career. Not that I’m complaining; both rides have been fascinating so far.

But every so often, there’s this brief and shining moment of utter clarity where I can see the trajectory of a decision or action right to its final destination. These laser-bright opportunities are astoundingly rare and tremendously gratifying.

Example #1  In Parenting
A few years back, when one of my daughters was at the ripe age of five, she became enchanted with the idea of being a model. Well, I’m not saying this aspiration is bad . . . for other people. I’m just saying, "No way in Hell. NOT in my house. Never. Nosireeeeeebob!"

So when my little darlin’, with her eyes so blue, said, "What do I have to do to be a model?"

I asked myself, "What response can I give that will forever nix this goal in the bud? What can I possibly say that will be so totally repugnant that she’ll never, even vaguely, want to pursue it further?" Then I came upon the answer. It was diamond clear, sparkling with myriad facets of confirmation that it wouldn’t be misinterpreted, that it’d be a bullseye hit.

"Well, Honey," I said. "You have to throw up a lot."

Example #2    In Writing:
Way back in the Cretaceous Period when I wrote my first two Sasha manuscripts — both of which were rejected too many times to count, thank God — I realized that something was fundamentally wrong with my concept. It was kind of like everything else out there: smart-talking PR pro finds dead bodies. Whoopie do.

I struggled for months until I came up with the idea that Sasha could specialize in small-town tourism. The second I landed on that premise, things began to fall in place. I also realized that it would achieve three important ends:
1.  It’d be fresh because it’d celebrate places few people in or out of New Mexico knew.
2.  It’d give me the chance to write about what I loved — my home state.
3.  I’d get to travel all over NM, a place wanted to know more about; even if I never got published, I’d still have a load of fun.

That decision turned out to "make" the series, to give it a distinctive twist. And I knew, the instant I came on it, that it’d work.

So today I’d like you to think about your own crytalline moments — in parenting, writing, relationships or anything else. Let’s celebrate these glorious and accurate flashes of insight into our futures. 

by Pari

Every Friday night when I’m in Albuquerque, I do something no sane person would do.

I spar.

This isn’t light contact; it’s the real thing. Granted, we use protective gear (mouthpieces are my friends), but most of us don’t wear face masks. Sorry to say . . . I get nailed with embarrassing frequency.

So why do I do it?

First of all, I think it’s important to experience taking a punch — especially for women. It’s important to know what it feels like to have a man attack you. There’s also something incredibly powerful about getting clocked in the jaw or gut and realizing that you have to keep going. In three years, I’ve caught a fingernail to my cornea, sidekicks that have knocked the wind out of me, and at least four punches right in the nose. Sometimes I’ve learned from my mistakes in missing the blocks. Other times I haven’t. That’s not the point. The big lesson is that I’ve stood up and kept at it.

The second reason sparring is so important to me is that it’s both predictable and unpredictable, kind of like life. It’s guaranteed that every single person sparring on any given night is going to miss a block and get punched or kicked. It doesn’t matter how experienced you are, how quick or agile. It happens to everyone. No exceptions. The unpredictability comes in because you never know who is going to really challenge you to be better that same night and who is going to make it too easy.

Sparring is also great practice for writers who want their work to be read by anyone other than friends/family. Because, you know what? It’s predictable that your writing is going to get slammed; it doesn’t matter how good or famous you are. There are going to be nasty critics out to get you. And, it’s just as unpredictable because you’re going to find confirmation in places you never expected.

The important thing is to know as a writer that you can — and must — keep going.

Rejections, bad reviews, snarky readers, misunderstood themes/messages, rotten buzz campaigns, insults, trolls . . . yeah, we’ve all caught at least some of these on the chin. But those of us who work on our protective blocks, who step up and learn how to counterpunch and kick . . .

We’ll survive no matter what.

Today, I’d love to learn about your own sparring experiences, your tests in life, that have made you more resilient, determined and strong.

___________________________________________________________________________

Next Monday, Murderati alum Jeff Cohen is going to take the helm. He’s got a new book coming out. Please stop by and make him feel welcome. I know I will.

by Pari

I adore words. What writer doesn’t? But lately, it feels like meanings are changing faster that I can keep up. Really rarely denotes truly; people now use it interchangeably with very. And what about gay? Few speakers equate it with giddily happy.

Words tied to qualifications have shifted too. It used to be that doctor meant someone who had graduated from medical school and survived an internship. Now, PhDs often use the term without specification. Naturopathic, chiropractic and osteopathic doctors employ the shorthand as well. I’m not arguing whether these folks have the right to simply call themselves "doctors" — they do — but the assumptions their listeners make often are based on half the facts.

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t go to a PhD in English for an appendectomy.

Author used to mean something different too. That’s when book production was difficult and required a lot of equipment. Back in 1995, I was told on more than one occasion, that author meant "a person whose manuscript had been bought and published." I bet that was the main definition in 1885 as well.

But in 2008, I think the word has lost its oomph, its clarity.

Publishing has changed. There are two distinct models:
#1 is democratic; if you’ve got the money to do it, you’ve got a book. You’ve got total control from beginning to end. (Publish America falls into this model.)

#2 involves a group of people who judge the merits of your work against whether or not they can make a buck off of it. If they think they can, they invest in you.

However, just as an optometrist doesn’t have the same training as an opthalmologist, a writer who opts for model #1 in publishing doesn’t have the same experience as the person who opts for #2.

Which brings me back to the word AUTHOR.
It’s not enough anymore.

The act of writing a manuscript may be similar for all of us. We create. We suffer. We hit blocks and merciless valleys. We keep our butts in the chair long enough to finish. We all deserve a big ol’ pat on the back.

But what happens to that completed manuscript — and our part in its journey to people’s hands — just isn’t the same.

I can’t speak to self-publishing for novels; I’ve never done it. However, I have written this blog for more than two years — AND I’ve been published in magazines and newspapers. In one case, I’m my own editor. In the other, I have to deal with editors. These experiences are significantly different.

As a traditionally-published author, I suspect that the process from manuscript to novel with UNM Press is also substantially different from that at iUniverse. I am certain that the latter doesn’t include the publisher’s initial vetting read; the editorial review; the editing; the copyediting; the fact checking; the editing again that happens at my publisher with every single book.

I find it distressing that the discussion about self-publishing and traditional publishing has become so acrimonious.

As far as I’m concerned, self-publishing is great for some people. Publishing traditionally is wonderful for others. Readers have more choices. Fine. Dandy. Next customer, please.

But damnit, I want a new word (or two).

I want something that more accurately reflects the difference in the two processes of publishing. I don’t want the term to be loaded with judgment or arguments about quality; after all, there’s a need for both opthalmologists and optometrists in this world. A person could make the same argument about self-publishing and traditional publishing.

But they’re not the same. I’ve never paid to have my work in print. I DO want potential readers to know that.

So . . .

I want a NEW WORD!

Any suggestions?