In case you're late to the party, here is Translation Party!.
Enter a phrase in English. The phrase is then translated into Japanese, then back to English, then back to Japanese, over and over until the phrase no longer changes from one translation until the next. That is, until equilibrium is found.
I decided to run a well known poem through the matrix. The changes are interesting, but what is more interesting, I find, are the phrases that glide perfectly from one language to the next, with nothing lost in translation.
Anyhow, here is -
W.B. Yeats - The Second Coming
Enlarge vortex
Can not hear the falconer's hawk.
If you, or you can move the distance to the center?
In the world of anarchy, loosed is
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed?
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
Belief, all the best for the worst.
Are full of passionate intensity.
The revelation of several cars.
It has been revealed.
February 2! , Most of these words
Mundi in the case of multiple ethanol of the code
My first problem: the waste of desert sand;
Body of a lion and the head of the human form,
This is in the sky, flying like a cruel sun
The slow-footed, back to the top of all
Birds of the desert, cross the wind shadow.
Dark again, I know now reduced
Centuries of stony sleep 20
Consider the nightmare of the birthplace of rock
And the rough beast, the final round, the following
What Slouches born in Bethlehem?
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
If Not For the Editing
Back when I studied creative writing at York University, one of my profs, Richard Teleky, told us that he felt Nino Ricci was a good writer, but not necessarily a great writer*. The reason why he felt this was that Ricci's debut novel, "Lives of the Saints" was by far and away better then the next two books in the trilogy, mostly because the first book was the beneficiary of a great deal of sublime editing. Ricci had written the novel while earning an MFA at Concordia, and as happens to any MFA student, their major work in a program is never only a singular effort - each student is surrounded by a number of like-minded, intelligent and perceptive writers and editors who all pitch in with helpful suggestions and critiques.
The point of my old professor's illustration was to drive home the point that it was not a great writer who made a work great, but a great editor, and that without the second part of the equation, even the most talented writer would quickly slip into mediocrity. A case in point being J.K. Rowling (bear with me, here), whose first three Harry Potter novels, all heavily edited, polished and slimmed down volumes, were far better then the latter four. When it came time for "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," Rowling's sales and recognition were already a world-wide phenomenon, and she was able to resist much of the editorial control she had put up with in the beginning. When it came time for the seventh book, you have to wonder if the editors were even allowed in the same room as the manuscript.
As far as Rowling was concerned, that didn't really matter much. She was a popular writer, the bucks were rolling in, and literary merit, "good writing" and "bad writing" all became moot points. If her name was on the front, people bought it, just as the buy Tom Clancy, James Patterson, Stephen King, Danielle Stelle, et al.
But, if you are the sort of writer whose popularity is derived from the literary merit of your work, as opposed to a character, genre, or place, that sort of slide into mediocrity often quickly translates into a one-way ticket back into obscurity. This is why literary writers often take so very long to complete a novel, and why the editing process is often so drawn out. Great literary writers almost always have a great, and usually a specific editor to work with. In Canada, that meant someone like Ellen Seligman, who, as the National Post declared, [I]"has edited more Giller Prize winners than anyone."[/I]
As Patrick Lane put it "Hands-on doesn't even begin to describe what Ellen does. Ellen inhabited my manuscript. That's the only way I can describe it. She entered into the novel in a way that just stunned me. I was not prepared for the way she climbed inside the novel." As Lane described it, he worked with Ellen for three hours every day when editing his first novel, and at times up to nine hours at a stretch.
When you look at a list of who Seligman has edited, it's a veritable who's who of CanLit - Margaret Atwood, Rohinton Mistry, David Bergen, Leonard Cohen, Elizabeth Hay, Jane Urquhart, Michael Ondaatje, and Anne Michaels.
All of which begs the question - if each of these writers is considered to be a "great writer," yet the common element between them all is the same, doesn't that beg the question as to who, truly, brings that touch of greatness to their works? Is it the editor? According to Seligman "[e]ditors, certainly in Canada, we don't change things. Our job is to make recommendations." So, in other words, no. It's not the editor, it is the author. Case closed, end of discussion, next subject please.
Still, you would have to wonder whether such a statement was true, or editorial boilerplate, a way of obfuscating the process the way a magician does their tricks. Ask any editor, and they would probably say the same thing. Admitting to being a co-author of a work, for editors, would be a breach of ethics on par with a psychologist passing around a highlight reel of their sessions with clients. So the question as to how complicit an editor is in the creation of a work is one that will go unanswered. If the author is successful, they're not going to blab, and even if the author bombed and decided to blab, who would listen? Who would care? Sour grapes from a failed writer are about the last item on anyone's to-do list.
One way for the truth to surface, however, is if the story is told from beyond the grave. This, as it turns out, recently happened in regards to Raymond Carver. As the Times of London has shown, Raymond Carver reputation as a master stylist is about as deserved as Bernie Madoff's reputation as a master investor. As time has told, it was all, in the end, a lie.
Which brings me back to my old prof, Richard Teleky, and the sermon he told his class of half asleep poseurs, most of whom, like myself, allowed words like "craft," "editor," and "editing" to splash off of them and dissipate into the air, deflected by the impenetrable shields named "the muse," "my art," and "talent." Maybe trying the be the best writer the world has seen is not the best use of my time. Perhaps I should start looking for a good editor instead.
-----
[I]*Keep in mind that Ricci has won TWO Governor General's Awards and a Trillium Award. Which means that any aspersions should not be taken at face value.[/I]
The point of my old professor's illustration was to drive home the point that it was not a great writer who made a work great, but a great editor, and that without the second part of the equation, even the most talented writer would quickly slip into mediocrity. A case in point being J.K. Rowling (bear with me, here), whose first three Harry Potter novels, all heavily edited, polished and slimmed down volumes, were far better then the latter four. When it came time for "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," Rowling's sales and recognition were already a world-wide phenomenon, and she was able to resist much of the editorial control she had put up with in the beginning. When it came time for the seventh book, you have to wonder if the editors were even allowed in the same room as the manuscript.
As far as Rowling was concerned, that didn't really matter much. She was a popular writer, the bucks were rolling in, and literary merit, "good writing" and "bad writing" all became moot points. If her name was on the front, people bought it, just as the buy Tom Clancy, James Patterson, Stephen King, Danielle Stelle, et al.
But, if you are the sort of writer whose popularity is derived from the literary merit of your work, as opposed to a character, genre, or place, that sort of slide into mediocrity often quickly translates into a one-way ticket back into obscurity. This is why literary writers often take so very long to complete a novel, and why the editing process is often so drawn out. Great literary writers almost always have a great, and usually a specific editor to work with. In Canada, that meant someone like Ellen Seligman, who, as the National Post declared, [I]"has edited more Giller Prize winners than anyone."[/I]
As Patrick Lane put it "Hands-on doesn't even begin to describe what Ellen does. Ellen inhabited my manuscript. That's the only way I can describe it. She entered into the novel in a way that just stunned me. I was not prepared for the way she climbed inside the novel." As Lane described it, he worked with Ellen for three hours every day when editing his first novel, and at times up to nine hours at a stretch.
When you look at a list of who Seligman has edited, it's a veritable who's who of CanLit - Margaret Atwood, Rohinton Mistry, David Bergen, Leonard Cohen, Elizabeth Hay, Jane Urquhart, Michael Ondaatje, and Anne Michaels.
All of which begs the question - if each of these writers is considered to be a "great writer," yet the common element between them all is the same, doesn't that beg the question as to who, truly, brings that touch of greatness to their works? Is it the editor? According to Seligman "[e]ditors, certainly in Canada, we don't change things. Our job is to make recommendations." So, in other words, no. It's not the editor, it is the author. Case closed, end of discussion, next subject please.
Still, you would have to wonder whether such a statement was true, or editorial boilerplate, a way of obfuscating the process the way a magician does their tricks. Ask any editor, and they would probably say the same thing. Admitting to being a co-author of a work, for editors, would be a breach of ethics on par with a psychologist passing around a highlight reel of their sessions with clients. So the question as to how complicit an editor is in the creation of a work is one that will go unanswered. If the author is successful, they're not going to blab, and even if the author bombed and decided to blab, who would listen? Who would care? Sour grapes from a failed writer are about the last item on anyone's to-do list.
One way for the truth to surface, however, is if the story is told from beyond the grave. This, as it turns out, recently happened in regards to Raymond Carver. As the Times of London has shown, Raymond Carver reputation as a master stylist is about as deserved as Bernie Madoff's reputation as a master investor. As time has told, it was all, in the end, a lie.
Which brings me back to my old prof, Richard Teleky, and the sermon he told his class of half asleep poseurs, most of whom, like myself, allowed words like "craft," "editor," and "editing" to splash off of them and dissipate into the air, deflected by the impenetrable shields named "the muse," "my art," and "talent." Maybe trying the be the best writer the world has seen is not the best use of my time. Perhaps I should start looking for a good editor instead.
-----
[I]*Keep in mind that Ricci has won TWO Governor General's Awards and a Trillium Award. Which means that any aspersions should not be taken at face value.[/I]
Monday, July 27, 2009
Differing Perceptions of Time (Cont'd)
Yesterday I put up a post about perceptions of time. I'd cross posted this on the bulletin board at my MFA program, and quickly received a somewhat negative response. Basically, I was told that while my point could be understood, and sympathized with, I was still "a shit" anyways.
When the gloves get thrown down like that, you just have to respond.
One element that was at the back of mind, but which I forgot to mention previously was that of the short term vs. the long term. When you are on call 100% of the time, then I think the only way you can write is to write like a manager, and not a maker. But this is hard to do. Or, conversely, you need to find the right type of job, one that allows time to work on your writing. When I was doing my BA, one of my jobs was as a parking attendant.
During rush periods, you were busy, but on evenings, weekends, and afternoons, there were always long stretches without any interruptions. My coworkers and I thought of it as like being paid to study. In fact, a good friend of mine who is in her late sixties and retired, has been doing degree after degree (she never had the chance earlier in life), while supporting herself and finding the time to read and write while at work.
As for being "a shit" (In all honesty, I don't think I disagree!), I actually do understand the urgency of little ones. This is why I inevitably leap up and take care of whatever needs doing, right then and there. If I was a single parent, or a parent in a two income household, there would never be a question about this. Priorities are priorities. But, you see, I'm in a different situation, not worse, or even close to as bad by a long shot, just different.
There are four adults in this house, three of whom do not work, and do not study. And it's not that I think that because I bring home the bacon, I can sit in a chair and do nothing every evening, because I actually love being with the kids. In this house, Daddy changes the diapers, makes the milk, dresses the kids after a bath, submits himself to an hour or two of being used as a jungle gym, and puts the kids to sleep. All of which, I want to stress, I love doing. I love changing their diapers, I love playing with them, and putting them to sleep. In fact, I would prefer to do all that over sitting on the computer and writing, any day of the week. In that way, I like to think of myself as being similar to Ray Bradbury.
You see, Ray Bradbury, in the introduction to the 50th anniversary edition of Fahrenheit 451, spoke of facing a similar dilemma. He would write in the garage, but then his daughters would come by, and without fail he would put down the pen and go play with them. But the family had to eat and he had to pay the bills, so he ended up taking off to the library every day, where he paid 10 cents an hour to use their typewriter, working as fast as he possibly could in order to keep costs down.
The thing is, I'm not doing an MFA as a lark. If I just wanted to write as a hobby, for the enjoyment of creating something, I could have joined a group of bloggers, or hung out on fanfic bulletin boards. But that's not my intent. That's not why I am taking this MFA. I'm doing it as part of a plan, a plan to open up earning opportunities my family otherwise would not have. Right now I teach high school in Dubai. But our family has no wish to stay in Dubai permanently, which means that I have to upgrade my education and credentials so that when we leave, I will have a better chance of landing a decent job. A secure, professional, and salaried job. One of the jobs we have in mind is the possibility that some day I might secure a tertiary teaching position.
This means that even though I would prefer to just take care of the kids every evening, and give my wife a break, which is beneficial to her, and enjoyable to me in the short term, in regards to the long term, I would not be acting in our best interests.
If I am to get through this MFA, but also develop as a writer, build a profile, and eventually get published and/or hired into a better job, I need to go through the daily grind as every writer must. Just as anyone good at what they do must also do. It would be no different if I wanted to be a pro ball player, or a cutting edge computer programmer. To gain mastery of something, you have to put in a whole lot of time.
On some level, my family knows this. But what I have found is the same as what many writers I know have found - it is impossibly difficult to impress upon your family why it would be good to perhaps structure activities such that, at least on a couple nights a week, you could have a stretch of time to work. Even when they agree, and even when they understand the reasoning, when something pops up, their first thought isn't "let's not disturb him, he needs to work, let's find another way to deal with this" but "he's only sitting there, it will only take a minute, and then he can go back to work."
This is where the problem is, and why I liked Graham's "Makers vs Manager" article so much. I have always felt the problem, but was never able to articulate it.
Back when I was doing author interviews on the radio, I lived on manager time. I would schedule an interview at Random House for 10, one at McClelland & Stewart for 11, and (optimistically) one at Penguin for 12 (so long as I could catch the right train). If I had a spare hour, I could add something in, and while riding the train, or waiting in the lobby somewhere, I would take care of other tasks. I would multi-task, or compartmentalize tasks and complete them in discrete units of time, and this always worked for whatever I needed to do, except for writing.
I found that when I had to write something long form, I always underestimated the time I needed by a massive factor. Though I could and still can type at a relatively fast pace, all that other mental stuff related to writing always slows me down. The reading, planning, editing, revising, and polishing. And it is not just the time as an absolute that is the problem. A project that may take five hours to see through, will not take five hours if there are interruptions, it will take ten, or fifteen hours. Taking out the amount of time lost during a disruption will only account for a fraction of the lost time. The rest of the lost time is lost trying to retrace mental footsteps, get back into a flow, remembering how A was supposed to get to Z.
The same thing happened to my grandfather when he made furniture in his workshop. He and my grandmother, when would get in arguments until they both worked out an arrangement where he would have long stretches of time to work, and other times he would be available to take her somewhere, or help her around the house. If not for those long stretches, he would never have been able to make the many bookshelves, tables, chairs, dressers and more that grace the homes of all of his children and grandchildren.
When the gloves get thrown down like that, you just have to respond.
One element that was at the back of mind, but which I forgot to mention previously was that of the short term vs. the long term. When you are on call 100% of the time, then I think the only way you can write is to write like a manager, and not a maker. But this is hard to do. Or, conversely, you need to find the right type of job, one that allows time to work on your writing. When I was doing my BA, one of my jobs was as a parking attendant.
During rush periods, you were busy, but on evenings, weekends, and afternoons, there were always long stretches without any interruptions. My coworkers and I thought of it as like being paid to study. In fact, a good friend of mine who is in her late sixties and retired, has been doing degree after degree (she never had the chance earlier in life), while supporting herself and finding the time to read and write while at work.
As for being "a shit" (In all honesty, I don't think I disagree!), I actually do understand the urgency of little ones. This is why I inevitably leap up and take care of whatever needs doing, right then and there. If I was a single parent, or a parent in a two income household, there would never be a question about this. Priorities are priorities. But, you see, I'm in a different situation, not worse, or even close to as bad by a long shot, just different.
There are four adults in this house, three of whom do not work, and do not study. And it's not that I think that because I bring home the bacon, I can sit in a chair and do nothing every evening, because I actually love being with the kids. In this house, Daddy changes the diapers, makes the milk, dresses the kids after a bath, submits himself to an hour or two of being used as a jungle gym, and puts the kids to sleep. All of which, I want to stress, I love doing. I love changing their diapers, I love playing with them, and putting them to sleep. In fact, I would prefer to do all that over sitting on the computer and writing, any day of the week. In that way, I like to think of myself as being similar to Ray Bradbury.
You see, Ray Bradbury, in the introduction to the 50th anniversary edition of Fahrenheit 451, spoke of facing a similar dilemma. He would write in the garage, but then his daughters would come by, and without fail he would put down the pen and go play with them. But the family had to eat and he had to pay the bills, so he ended up taking off to the library every day, where he paid 10 cents an hour to use their typewriter, working as fast as he possibly could in order to keep costs down.
The thing is, I'm not doing an MFA as a lark. If I just wanted to write as a hobby, for the enjoyment of creating something, I could have joined a group of bloggers, or hung out on fanfic bulletin boards. But that's not my intent. That's not why I am taking this MFA. I'm doing it as part of a plan, a plan to open up earning opportunities my family otherwise would not have. Right now I teach high school in Dubai. But our family has no wish to stay in Dubai permanently, which means that I have to upgrade my education and credentials so that when we leave, I will have a better chance of landing a decent job. A secure, professional, and salaried job. One of the jobs we have in mind is the possibility that some day I might secure a tertiary teaching position.
This means that even though I would prefer to just take care of the kids every evening, and give my wife a break, which is beneficial to her, and enjoyable to me in the short term, in regards to the long term, I would not be acting in our best interests.
If I am to get through this MFA, but also develop as a writer, build a profile, and eventually get published and/or hired into a better job, I need to go through the daily grind as every writer must. Just as anyone good at what they do must also do. It would be no different if I wanted to be a pro ball player, or a cutting edge computer programmer. To gain mastery of something, you have to put in a whole lot of time.
On some level, my family knows this. But what I have found is the same as what many writers I know have found - it is impossibly difficult to impress upon your family why it would be good to perhaps structure activities such that, at least on a couple nights a week, you could have a stretch of time to work. Even when they agree, and even when they understand the reasoning, when something pops up, their first thought isn't "let's not disturb him, he needs to work, let's find another way to deal with this" but "he's only sitting there, it will only take a minute, and then he can go back to work."
This is where the problem is, and why I liked Graham's "Makers vs Manager" article so much. I have always felt the problem, but was never able to articulate it.
Back when I was doing author interviews on the radio, I lived on manager time. I would schedule an interview at Random House for 10, one at McClelland & Stewart for 11, and (optimistically) one at Penguin for 12 (so long as I could catch the right train). If I had a spare hour, I could add something in, and while riding the train, or waiting in the lobby somewhere, I would take care of other tasks. I would multi-task, or compartmentalize tasks and complete them in discrete units of time, and this always worked for whatever I needed to do, except for writing.
I found that when I had to write something long form, I always underestimated the time I needed by a massive factor. Though I could and still can type at a relatively fast pace, all that other mental stuff related to writing always slows me down. The reading, planning, editing, revising, and polishing. And it is not just the time as an absolute that is the problem. A project that may take five hours to see through, will not take five hours if there are interruptions, it will take ten, or fifteen hours. Taking out the amount of time lost during a disruption will only account for a fraction of the lost time. The rest of the lost time is lost trying to retrace mental footsteps, get back into a flow, remembering how A was supposed to get to Z.
The same thing happened to my grandfather when he made furniture in his workshop. He and my grandmother, when would get in arguments until they both worked out an arrangement where he would have long stretches of time to work, and other times he would be available to take her somewhere, or help her around the house. If not for those long stretches, he would never have been able to make the many bookshelves, tables, chairs, dressers and more that grace the homes of all of his children and grandchildren.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Differing Perceptions of Time
You know, I find it really hard to explain to my wife exactly why I not only need time to write, but that our separate understandings of what "time" means, are very different. To her forty five minutes means I've been writing for long enough. "Isn't that enough time?" To me, forty five minutes means I've just gotten started. "Enough? Are you crazy?"
It's an endless argument that circles about ad infinitum, always leaving me angry, yet hopelessly unable to articulate how I view things. If I say "I need a few hours, uninterrupted," it translates as "Go away, I don't want to be with you." The invariable result of these exchanges is hurt feelings on one side, guilt on the other, with anger, and frustration for both.
It is not that either side is right or wrong, but that the two sides are mutually incomprehensible to each other. What is needed, I think, is an advocate who can articulate the differences in a way that is easily understood, and reasonable.
Today, as luck would have it, I came across "Maker's Schedule, Manager's Schedule," by Paul Graham.
The crux of his argument is that there are two types of people when it comes to time - Manager types and Maker types.
Manager types break down the day into discrete blocks or sets of activities, and are always used to both multi-tasking, and fitting additional stuff in. They are kind of like my wife, who, when faced with a moment of respite, will decide that a certain cupboard needs reorganizing, or the laundry that was going to be done tomorrow could just as well be done right now, while she is cooking dinner, and chatting with a friend on the phone.
Maker types don't break down the day into discrete blocks of time, because that often impedes their ability to get a workflow going, to go about the business of making. Interruptions break the concentration, stop a making in it's tracks, and every time this reoccurs, the maker is starting at the beginning again. Makers avoid interruptions, and try to suspend their awareness of time. This is kind of like me, who will sit down, start tapping out an idea, exploring it, organizing it, adding to it, revising it, and polishing it. Time will flow without my knowledge until the task is done.
The problem comes when the Manager and the Maker conflict. I'll be in a flow, getting something straight in my head, and all of a sudden a holler from out of the room will break my concentration. My wonderful, lovely wife will inform me that I have to come, now, this instant, and see to the children. Why? Because she can;t do everything, you see, and she is already cooking, doing the laundry and currently talking to her friend! At first I would point out that if perhaps she did one thing at a time, then she wouldn't need to me to run out and deal with something that swift motherly hand and a corrective word could take care of.
The response, after omitting the unprintable string of words that immediately follow, usually relates to a strongly worded question as to why can't I just "help out?"
And it's true. Why can't I just help out? Why can't I just pause my brain, and hop back into it without a hitch? By not helping out, I'd only be proving what a cad I am. But on the other hand...
And that's just the problem. For this, can there even be an "other hand?"
I'm thinking I'll have to delve more deeply into the "Writing and Parenthood" subject. Hopefully something helpful will pop up.
It's an endless argument that circles about ad infinitum, always leaving me angry, yet hopelessly unable to articulate how I view things. If I say "I need a few hours, uninterrupted," it translates as "Go away, I don't want to be with you." The invariable result of these exchanges is hurt feelings on one side, guilt on the other, with anger, and frustration for both.
It is not that either side is right or wrong, but that the two sides are mutually incomprehensible to each other. What is needed, I think, is an advocate who can articulate the differences in a way that is easily understood, and reasonable.
Today, as luck would have it, I came across "Maker's Schedule, Manager's Schedule," by Paul Graham.
The crux of his argument is that there are two types of people when it comes to time - Manager types and Maker types.
Manager types break down the day into discrete blocks or sets of activities, and are always used to both multi-tasking, and fitting additional stuff in. They are kind of like my wife, who, when faced with a moment of respite, will decide that a certain cupboard needs reorganizing, or the laundry that was going to be done tomorrow could just as well be done right now, while she is cooking dinner, and chatting with a friend on the phone.
Maker types don't break down the day into discrete blocks of time, because that often impedes their ability to get a workflow going, to go about the business of making. Interruptions break the concentration, stop a making in it's tracks, and every time this reoccurs, the maker is starting at the beginning again. Makers avoid interruptions, and try to suspend their awareness of time. This is kind of like me, who will sit down, start tapping out an idea, exploring it, organizing it, adding to it, revising it, and polishing it. Time will flow without my knowledge until the task is done.
The problem comes when the Manager and the Maker conflict. I'll be in a flow, getting something straight in my head, and all of a sudden a holler from out of the room will break my concentration. My wonderful, lovely wife will inform me that I have to come, now, this instant, and see to the children. Why? Because she can;t do everything, you see, and she is already cooking, doing the laundry and currently talking to her friend! At first I would point out that if perhaps she did one thing at a time, then she wouldn't need to me to run out and deal with something that swift motherly hand and a corrective word could take care of.
The response, after omitting the unprintable string of words that immediately follow, usually relates to a strongly worded question as to why can't I just "help out?"
And it's true. Why can't I just help out? Why can't I just pause my brain, and hop back into it without a hitch? By not helping out, I'd only be proving what a cad I am. But on the other hand...
And that's just the problem. For this, can there even be an "other hand?"
I'm thinking I'll have to delve more deeply into the "Writing and Parenthood" subject. Hopefully something helpful will pop up.
Friday, July 3, 2009
It's Better to Be a Hack
Whither the writer? That is, what should a writer do? With the market shrinking by leaps and bounds, and reading seemingly going the way of the General Motors car, all doesn't appear to be going well for our literati these days.
I had a few thoughts on this issue, but first I thought I'd mention that I recently came across an old column by Cory Doctorow that says it better than I can. Still, though it's been done better, I've got to give it my try.
Why Should Writers 'Give it Away'?
The idea that we should give something so personal, so valuable away for free is anathema to the spirit of every mama-san ever to drive off young men with a broomstick when they came sniffing around the garden. In almost every other endeavor in life, giving 'it' away for free, be it your labour, your time, or your virginity, has never been seen as the most astute business move. So why is it different with writing?
The basic notion is that you, the writer, are carrying on a conversation with your readers. You can't be a success if no one listens. Meaning that the biggest threat to any writer is not whether someone might steal your work, it is nobody knowing about your work at all. Obscurity is what should be feared.
You know, I think the publishing industry needs a Maple Music type company. Maple Music basically stepped in and became the distributor for independent musicians and groups in Canada, and has, since its inception, gone on to become one of the major players in Canadian music, benefiting the artists enormously. They mostly distribute online, saving in production and distribution costs, with an on demand inventory system, and split the proceeds with the artists themselves. I think it's a 50-50 split, actually.
Why can't we do that as writers? Honestly, when you take a hardcover book, sold at $40, and subtract the cost of materials, distribution, shelf space, and marketing, and the cut to the publisher, what is left for the author? $1, $2 maybe? Imagine getting $5 for every digital copy someone purchased? Sell a few thousand, and that's a year's salary. That's a mortgage paid, and student loan debt serviced. Amazon and others sell the same books for $10, and guess how much of that is pure profit?
All those marginal writers who subsist on meagre earnings could suddenly increase their earnings very substantially this way.
Why is it that there needs to be an agent - publisher - editor - marketer - pr chain for books? If agents are the gatekeepers, selecting for quality, why can't they be the publishers also, or the editors, marketers, and PR people all in one package? The technology is there to radically alter the business, to make it cost efficient, and more effective.
I'm telling, you there's a massive market there waiting for somebody build the model and exploit.
It is stuff to think about especially with news out that Canadian publishing has not only hit hard times, but as the Calgary Herald says (via Bookninja)
Whither CanLit? Or should that be “wither CanLit”? Seems like the latter, after a new Harris/Decima poll came out showing that 50 per cent of Canadians surveyed do not know the name of any Canadian authors, and of those who do, only four were mentioned by more than four per cent of them.
And there is a good reason why this is happening.
Who are these writers? Where are they? For the average person, CanLit seems remote because it is remote. Authors take too long in between books. Then, beyond the book tour and a few readings, how much connection is there really with the readership?
Kids authors get a following. Murder/Mystery authors get a following. Science Fiction & Fantasy authors get a following. Even Oprah gets a following...
How does Oprah fit into this? Well, have you ever wondered why Oprah Book Club authors sell a gazillion copies? Not because everyone realized that author X is actually really good. Nope. They buy the books because Oprah says they are good, and they care about Oprah. She converses with them every day on television, and every month in her magazine. She cares about them, and they care about her, and they care about the things she says they should care about. Thus the books that she features are forevermore placed in a marketable genre. They become Oprah books, and they sell massively to a massive Oprah audience.
I think CanLit needs to become a real genre. When I go into the bookstore, there is "literature" which takes up most of the space, with gads of books on the shelves, and maybe one or two people shuffling past on the way to the tiny cramped little genre shelves that are packed with people shifting around each other to look at the meagre sampling on offer.
There is no equivalent "literature" section for movies. If a film is independent or foreign, it is marketed as such and directed at a crowd who specifically like independent or foreign films. Those are genres, every bit as much as a genre as horror, romantic comedy, or action. They reach audiences because an audience has been created that is receptive to films created for them
But when it comes to CanLit, what do you get? You don't know. The book could be a family drama, it could be about a murder, or a mother's quest to know her son. Who knows. There is no targeted audience, so when the reader looks at the "literature" shelf, there is no expectation, and no expectation, overall, is a bad thing.
Think about it. When you turn on the TV, or go to the cinema, you ask whoever you are with what they "feel" like seeing. If you go alone, you'll think about what you "feel" like seeing. Then you will choose the film that will fit that feeling. You will know the genre of the film, and thus have an expectation about what you will encounter. But with CanLit, is there an expectation? No. It's a mixed bag, and while you might find a gem, it's often a better bet to play it safe and get the latest James Patterson on the shelf.
In order to thrive, CanLit authors need to become regular genre writers. A few years back I spent some time with Robert J Sawyer at his penthouse condo in Mississauga. I was there to interview him, and while I was there, I got to see his massive, gold plated Hugo Award. It was like I was touching the Holy Grail. Well Robert has long had a site filled with freebies for his audience, and he has built up his readership by being there, on the ground at signings, at Word on the Street, at conventions, by writing on blogs, publishing magazines, and beating the war drum for his own books. One of his novels, Flashback, was optioned and is being filmed for ABC as a pilot for a series. His career has been incredibly successful, and while he will never hit J.K. Rowling levels of wealth, he won't ever be worrying about needing a day job for the rest of his life.
As Cory Doctorow says, "Science Fiction is the Only Literature People Care Enough About to Steal on the Internet." And why do readers care? Because they know the writers, they speak to them, see them at conventions, read their blogs, go to their writing workshops, etc, etc.
I think CanLit writers need to take page from the the genre hacks.
I had a few thoughts on this issue, but first I thought I'd mention that I recently came across an old column by Cory Doctorow that says it better than I can. Still, though it's been done better, I've got to give it my try.
Why Should Writers 'Give it Away'?
The idea that we should give something so personal, so valuable away for free is anathema to the spirit of every mama-san ever to drive off young men with a broomstick when they came sniffing around the garden. In almost every other endeavor in life, giving 'it' away for free, be it your labour, your time, or your virginity, has never been seen as the most astute business move. So why is it different with writing?
The basic notion is that you, the writer, are carrying on a conversation with your readers. You can't be a success if no one listens. Meaning that the biggest threat to any writer is not whether someone might steal your work, it is nobody knowing about your work at all. Obscurity is what should be feared.
You know, I think the publishing industry needs a Maple Music type company. Maple Music basically stepped in and became the distributor for independent musicians and groups in Canada, and has, since its inception, gone on to become one of the major players in Canadian music, benefiting the artists enormously. They mostly distribute online, saving in production and distribution costs, with an on demand inventory system, and split the proceeds with the artists themselves. I think it's a 50-50 split, actually.
Why can't we do that as writers? Honestly, when you take a hardcover book, sold at $40, and subtract the cost of materials, distribution, shelf space, and marketing, and the cut to the publisher, what is left for the author? $1, $2 maybe? Imagine getting $5 for every digital copy someone purchased? Sell a few thousand, and that's a year's salary. That's a mortgage paid, and student loan debt serviced. Amazon and others sell the same books for $10, and guess how much of that is pure profit?
All those marginal writers who subsist on meagre earnings could suddenly increase their earnings very substantially this way.
Why is it that there needs to be an agent - publisher - editor - marketer - pr chain for books? If agents are the gatekeepers, selecting for quality, why can't they be the publishers also, or the editors, marketers, and PR people all in one package? The technology is there to radically alter the business, to make it cost efficient, and more effective.
I'm telling, you there's a massive market there waiting for somebody build the model and exploit.
It is stuff to think about especially with news out that Canadian publishing has not only hit hard times, but as the Calgary Herald says (via Bookninja)
Whither CanLit? Or should that be “wither CanLit”? Seems like the latter, after a new Harris/Decima poll came out showing that 50 per cent of Canadians surveyed do not know the name of any Canadian authors, and of those who do, only four were mentioned by more than four per cent of them.
And there is a good reason why this is happening.
Who are these writers? Where are they? For the average person, CanLit seems remote because it is remote. Authors take too long in between books. Then, beyond the book tour and a few readings, how much connection is there really with the readership?
Kids authors get a following. Murder/Mystery authors get a following. Science Fiction & Fantasy authors get a following. Even Oprah gets a following...
How does Oprah fit into this? Well, have you ever wondered why Oprah Book Club authors sell a gazillion copies? Not because everyone realized that author X is actually really good. Nope. They buy the books because Oprah says they are good, and they care about Oprah. She converses with them every day on television, and every month in her magazine. She cares about them, and they care about her, and they care about the things she says they should care about. Thus the books that she features are forevermore placed in a marketable genre. They become Oprah books, and they sell massively to a massive Oprah audience.
I think CanLit needs to become a real genre. When I go into the bookstore, there is "literature" which takes up most of the space, with gads of books on the shelves, and maybe one or two people shuffling past on the way to the tiny cramped little genre shelves that are packed with people shifting around each other to look at the meagre sampling on offer.
There is no equivalent "literature" section for movies. If a film is independent or foreign, it is marketed as such and directed at a crowd who specifically like independent or foreign films. Those are genres, every bit as much as a genre as horror, romantic comedy, or action. They reach audiences because an audience has been created that is receptive to films created for them
But when it comes to CanLit, what do you get? You don't know. The book could be a family drama, it could be about a murder, or a mother's quest to know her son. Who knows. There is no targeted audience, so when the reader looks at the "literature" shelf, there is no expectation, and no expectation, overall, is a bad thing.
Think about it. When you turn on the TV, or go to the cinema, you ask whoever you are with what they "feel" like seeing. If you go alone, you'll think about what you "feel" like seeing. Then you will choose the film that will fit that feeling. You will know the genre of the film, and thus have an expectation about what you will encounter. But with CanLit, is there an expectation? No. It's a mixed bag, and while you might find a gem, it's often a better bet to play it safe and get the latest James Patterson on the shelf.
In order to thrive, CanLit authors need to become regular genre writers. A few years back I spent some time with Robert J Sawyer at his penthouse condo in Mississauga. I was there to interview him, and while I was there, I got to see his massive, gold plated Hugo Award. It was like I was touching the Holy Grail. Well Robert has long had a site filled with freebies for his audience, and he has built up his readership by being there, on the ground at signings, at Word on the Street, at conventions, by writing on blogs, publishing magazines, and beating the war drum for his own books. One of his novels, Flashback, was optioned and is being filmed for ABC as a pilot for a series. His career has been incredibly successful, and while he will never hit J.K. Rowling levels of wealth, he won't ever be worrying about needing a day job for the rest of his life.
As Cory Doctorow says, "Science Fiction is the Only Literature People Care Enough About to Steal on the Internet." And why do readers care? Because they know the writers, they speak to them, see them at conventions, read their blogs, go to their writing workshops, etc, etc.
I think CanLit writers need to take page from the the genre hacks.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Passed a Milestone
Almost two months ago I decided to hop on the inter-tubes and get blogging. Almost two months isn't much as far as milestones go, but yesterday I passed the big one oh oh. Over 100 posts, two a day, every day, since I began.
Now that's nothin' stuff compared to almost every other blogger out there, but it marks a bit of a sea change for me. As someone who has pursued writing relentlessly since the beginning of high school, to actually go about and do the business seriously, not as a requirement for an assignment, but for the sake of it itself, is new.
Like a lot of writers, I got used to writing sporadically, in spurts. Back in high school I took two extra credit courses, independent studies that had to be completed after school, in addition to everything else, where I wrote a series of short stories, and then a novella. In my OAC year (This was back when Ontario still had grade 13), that is, my second OAC year (I liked high school so much that I took, in effect, grade 14), I took Creative Writing, got the highest mark, an award at the end of the year, etc. This led me to decide that I'd take a B.A. in Creative Writing, which I earned at York University, which led me to take an M.F.A. in Creative Writing, which I'm doing right now at the University of British Columbia (Number 34 on the Time Higher Education's top 500 list, ahead of Berkeley! Woot!).
In retrospect, I may have made a foolish decision to pursue the course I have. I never went about writing overly seriously, but kept studying it at successively higher levels. But to what purpose? Newspapers are dying (no jobs there), publishing houses are falling (very little new talent development now), and with a full sized family at my back I don't have the luxury of scrapping it out as a lowly P.A. in the TV biz, hoping to get a shot someday as a TV writer. It's like I'm looking at a barren desert out there.
If I had been able to see the future, way back when, no doubt I'd have done something different. I would have taken a more practical view of my education, and pursued a course that streamed me into a career. I would have run for the money, just as pretty much every foreign student I knew (including my wife) had done.
But I didn't have that crystal ball, and when I think about it a bit more, I'm glad I didn't. For if I had, I wouldn't have had an education, I'd have had training. You don't need education for an occupation, you need training. After having worked umpteen jobs, and going through training for each, I know now that, for the most part, an education is wasted on a occupation, the way building the Taj Mahal is a waste if it's only something you need to keep the snow off your Jack Russell terrier.
Training is something you can do in a short period of time. You learn skills for a specific job, skills which often transfer to other jobs which you can be trained relatively quickly for also. But an education is what you need for a vocation, and it is what I needed for my vocation - writing.
I'm stuck with this thought now, and it's not an original thought by any stretch, that what I do and what I do, are two separate things. That is, what I do for money, and what I do because it is what I'm good at.
Lately I've gotten to feeling that what you do for money, your job, your profession, whatever, is important, but only in the way breathing is important, or remembering to eat breakfast. It is a necessary task for survival, but in no way constitutes living, or life in general.
But what you do because you are good at it, or because you like it, is something else entirely. That is the essence of a vocation - the expression of a talent or predilection that it either God given, or if you're a devotee of Dawkins, a result of genetic expression influenced by cultural and geographical externalities.
That's why, almost two month's in, I've realized why I stopped worrying and learned to love the blog.
Now that's nothin' stuff compared to almost every other blogger out there, but it marks a bit of a sea change for me. As someone who has pursued writing relentlessly since the beginning of high school, to actually go about and do the business seriously, not as a requirement for an assignment, but for the sake of it itself, is new.
Like a lot of writers, I got used to writing sporadically, in spurts. Back in high school I took two extra credit courses, independent studies that had to be completed after school, in addition to everything else, where I wrote a series of short stories, and then a novella. In my OAC year (This was back when Ontario still had grade 13), that is, my second OAC year (I liked high school so much that I took, in effect, grade 14), I took Creative Writing, got the highest mark, an award at the end of the year, etc. This led me to decide that I'd take a B.A. in Creative Writing, which I earned at York University, which led me to take an M.F.A. in Creative Writing, which I'm doing right now at the University of British Columbia (Number 34 on the Time Higher Education's top 500 list, ahead of Berkeley! Woot!).
In retrospect, I may have made a foolish decision to pursue the course I have. I never went about writing overly seriously, but kept studying it at successively higher levels. But to what purpose? Newspapers are dying (no jobs there), publishing houses are falling (very little new talent development now), and with a full sized family at my back I don't have the luxury of scrapping it out as a lowly P.A. in the TV biz, hoping to get a shot someday as a TV writer. It's like I'm looking at a barren desert out there.
If I had been able to see the future, way back when, no doubt I'd have done something different. I would have taken a more practical view of my education, and pursued a course that streamed me into a career. I would have run for the money, just as pretty much every foreign student I knew (including my wife) had done.
But I didn't have that crystal ball, and when I think about it a bit more, I'm glad I didn't. For if I had, I wouldn't have had an education, I'd have had training. You don't need education for an occupation, you need training. After having worked umpteen jobs, and going through training for each, I know now that, for the most part, an education is wasted on a occupation, the way building the Taj Mahal is a waste if it's only something you need to keep the snow off your Jack Russell terrier.
Training is something you can do in a short period of time. You learn skills for a specific job, skills which often transfer to other jobs which you can be trained relatively quickly for also. But an education is what you need for a vocation, and it is what I needed for my vocation - writing.
I'm stuck with this thought now, and it's not an original thought by any stretch, that what I do and what I do, are two separate things. That is, what I do for money, and what I do because it is what I'm good at.
Lately I've gotten to feeling that what you do for money, your job, your profession, whatever, is important, but only in the way breathing is important, or remembering to eat breakfast. It is a necessary task for survival, but in no way constitutes living, or life in general.
But what you do because you are good at it, or because you like it, is something else entirely. That is the essence of a vocation - the expression of a talent or predilection that it either God given, or if you're a devotee of Dawkins, a result of genetic expression influenced by cultural and geographical externalities.
That's why, almost two month's in, I've realized why I stopped worrying and learned to love the blog.
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