Amazon, Hachette, and...oh yeah, I have a blog.

(I originally conceived this to be a series of tweets, but in the end, it was just to much to say, but that's why it might seem a bit choppy).

Lots of letters going around about Amazon and Hachette.   I have thoughts (that are solely my own).  

The petition is interesting, in that I don’t know what it’s trying to accomplish. Support Amazon? That’s fine…but why do they really need support? I'm pretty sure they're doing okay on their own (consider that Amazon rarely makes statements, making this one from Russ Grandinetti so intriguing).

But it does bring up some good points, namely: publishing is evolving, and there are certain advantages to the Amazon model: 

• It does pay higher royalties 
• The author does have more control 
• It generally has lower prices 

On the other hand, there are problems with the petition’s arguments: 

• eBook royalties are on net revenue, NOT list price (for everyone) 
• “traditional publishing” offers many resources in addition to advances and royalties: things that indy authors have to pay out of their pockets 
• The digital bookspace IS growing, but print is by no means dead, and that’s an important component for both writers and readers 

Sp why ANY author would want to burn a potential avenue to new readers (especially Howey, who has a deal with S&S)—in either direction—is strange to me.  Multiple eggs.  One basket. 

And Amazon has been great for many authors—but so has traditional publishing (even with the BN kerfluffle, how many pBooks did WOOL sell?).

The fact is, the number of indy authors making a living off their writing is a tiny percentage of the number of indy authors.  This is true of all authors, anywhere. Yes, at least authors ARE making money off their works, when they might have been denied the opportunity before, but how many are actually able to quit their jobs versus how many authors have a self-published book?

The odds are stacked against you, no matter what.

And too, like Cory Doctorow's article points out, if you're stuck into an eco-system, how long before that eco-system turns on you? More on that below.

For now, though, I'd like to take a look at the letter from the multiple authors, which is also interesting, and it also feels like a sincere plea.  But… 

Yes, these authors have made Amazon millions.  But, in return, Amazon has sold millions of their books, making them millions. 

As publishers, we should be worried about Amazon cutting into our profits—we’re businesses, after all. 

But we also don’t seem willing to “stand up for principle” either.  Why don’t we pull our books from Amazon?  Because we know it won’t truly hurt them. 

And yes, you could email Bezos if you’re upset by this.  But shouldn't you also email the head of Hachette (or, if we're remembering who we're actually dealing with here, Lagardère Publishing)? Tell them to maybe start selling books directly, and at a discount? 

But they won’t do that: it would upset other booksellers (bookstores, iTunes, Kobo, etc), and that’s the catch-22. Books are a business dependent on two other businesses: 

• First: authors, to produce content. 

• Second: booksellers, to sell that content.

  

And that’s why Hachette won’t just say “screw you” to Amazon: because Amazon still makes them too much money.

As I said above, Cory Doctorow notes this in his article in The Guardian.  He calls Hachette hostages... or at least the headline does.

But the headline is a bit misleading (and I'd love to know if it was Cory or the copy-chief who came up with it) when you read the article, because the article also talks about what the change.org petitition says (although perhaps not as eloquently):

Namely, that most publishers are stuck in the Amazon eco-system because of choices THEY made. And the only way to change is to violently rip our DRM from that system.  In other words, Hachette is a hostage, but they also walked into the rusty van because Amazon had them a lot of candy.

And now they have a stomach ache.

 Yes, the "traditiona" model still works, but nobody has said it’s perfect (and I think even the best-paid authors would agree—I know every agent I talks to would!).  Especially if the value of a publishing contract is solely in the terms of advances and royalties (and not the resources a publisher is also going to--or supposed to--provide the author and their book).

It's important, though, to remember that the model isn't really in question in the current dispute.  And, even more important, neither company is negotiating in terms of the authors.  

So if Hachette “wins,” it’s not like they’re going to up their royalty splits with the authors.

These are two giant companies.  Sadly, I doubt individual authors even come up in these meetings, except as potential leverage. 

  

As an aside, I’ve talked about this with many of my friends outside of publishing, and the thing is: they couldn't tell you the difference between publishers and imprints.Many have heard of Random House and Penguin, but most don’t follow imprints (or know who publishes their favorite authors). We've spent so much time with "author as the brand," that hearing a bookstore has a sale on "Hachette books" can't mean a whole heck of a lot to most readers.  Even I can't name all the authors an imprints at my own company, let alone at Hachette. 

So while most people seem to side with the authors on this (including me: I want to be clear, I think it sucks that they're books aren't available through Amazon; I'll also be clear: I buy most of my books through Amazon, and tend to only buy them when they're on steep discount), I don’t think there’s much indignation against Amazon outside the industry. 

And that’s sad: it should be a bigger deal. 

But it should also be a wake-up call to publishers, since we've given away much of our connection to readers.

  

It wasn't long ago that we all clapped when Amazon came on the stage, and it was even more recent that we all were excited for the possibility of Kindle.

And we also forgot (and tend to forget) this fact: this is a business, and Amazon is a business, and their job isn’t to “preserve literature” (to loosely paraphrase James Patterson).

 Amazon isn’t a museum.  It’s not a curator.  It’s a store.  And unless you publish directly with them, they’re not an author’s partner.  They're their distributor.

But the author letter seems to think they ARE partners, especially when they talk about how authors have provided tons of content for Amazon.  But it’s the same they’d do for anything where there’s an opportunity to sell more books, which is almost certainly how Amazon views it, too: you reach our customers through our promotions, you sell more books, WE sell more books, and everyone makes more money.

  

And consider the argument that the authors are doing this for free, and deserve some consideration now in return (The argument basically reading "after all we did for you, and this is how you repay us?").  

Now consider that a blog post on Amazon reaches 100,000s of readers (and potentially millions): ad space on one of the biggest websites in the world isn’t exactly content-for-nothing.

 I know, it sounds like I'm defending Amazon.  And, on some points I am.Yes, I worked at Amazon, and I loved it.  I think the people there are great, and the authors I worked with amazing people.

But I didn’t work on the retail side.  And if I did, I still wasn’t at the level where I would have been in on these discussions.   

I say this all because I'm not trying to apologize for them.  I just think I bring a different perspective, one from both sides, that might be interesting to others (I do wish it was also a bit more interesting reading, but it's definitely a bit disjointed--I DO apologize for that!).

 Obviously you’re free to disagree with me (heck, I’m disagreeing with most of you!).  But I can't help feel frustrated that this discussion seems so narrowly focused.  Especially since, as an industry, we should be looking beyond this immediate moment. It's an important moment, and shouldn't be dismissed, but unless we look down the road, and look where this will land (and not in the hope that the DOJ will break-up Amazon or somehow they'll find the error of their ways, but things in OUR power), we are in such a touch spot.

What we should be doing is:

• We should be exploring ways to have better control over our own product.
• We should be more dynamic with our business dealings: lower advances, escalating royalties, bonus structures. 
• We should be building our brands—and NOT just the authors, but our imprints. 
•  We should innovate and take risks, instead of reacting.
•  We should have long-term plans that might radically change some underlying principles of our business.

 How do we implement these changes?  How do we innovate?  Those are the tough questions.

But they’re questions that are necessary and immediate.  Amazon has shown their hand: they’re not defenders of content, nor should we expect them to be. It's naive to think that a store owes us anything 

*Remember, they took a risk of selling the product, creating an infrastructure and overhead on their own dime.  Too, remember that Amazon doesn't return books back to publishers; they accept all the risk when they make book orders.

No, they aren't books' defenders. WE are.  Publishers.  Authors.  It’s OUR content.  

(Another aside: That’s where the petition is both wrong AND spot on. As an author, you  have options, and one of them is a partnership with a publisher.  That partnership is a collaboration, and it isn’t a one-way street of communication. For some authors, it will feel like that.  Hell, for some editors, it feels like that.  For there are authors who don’t want to be in a partnership—they want to be in control from soup-to-nuts. And, if you’re willing to do the work, then BE in control: self-publish! But if you want the resources, access, and expertise, then a publisher (even Amazon Publishing) will require compromise.  A good one will, at least. I can’t speak for all publishers.  Sometimes I can’t speak for myself: I get frustrated when author’s don’t take my suggestions.  But that’s because there ARE people involved.)

And unless we once again take ownership of that content (which other publishers--self-publishers--are doing), it can look like that bleak future that keeps getting predicted for the industry is becoming more an more a reality. And a lot of people are going to find themselves in a tough spot, authors and publishers alike.

Yet, that’s the thing I think keeps getting lost: this dispute isn’t about people. 

 Yes, it AFFECTS people.  It affects them big time.

 But this is about money.  This is about market share.  This is about leverage and power.  It’s tangentially about books, and even less so about authors.

I hate that’s the case, but unless we take a step back from our fear and anger (or adulation and reverence), it’s difficult to talk about this in a way that may actually generate solutions.  And that should be what we're trying to take from this, at least at the industry level.  Because whatever the outcome, things have now radically changed for books and authors.

The people who continue to be radical in changing more are surely going to find themselves in a better space.

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One last thing: I started this because this is all rhetoric.  These letters.  Amazon’s and Hachette’s statements.  Even my words, now.

 These aren’t facts without emotion: all of these communications are designed to help you take a side.  I'm not a journalist.  Rather, I'm a guy with a blog and some experience on both sides of the fence.

 So it’s easy to fall into the trap of the semantic argument: nitpicking individual words and phrases—that’s how debaters do it.  Looking back at my words, I've done it a few times myself.

 But always consider: what are these people really trying to say.  

• Is Amazon really good for customers? 
• Do they really champion authors?
• Is Hachette acting in their authors best interest? 
• Do they truly care about readers, per se?

Because actions speak louder than words.  And unfortunately, Amazon is the only one acting. 

And with that, I’m going to read some more submissions.

I Sing the Body Eclectic

It's been a while, my friends. I apologize for nothing.

Let's get started, shall we?

As the haul from Christmas gets sorted into piles, I am once again inundated with media. Hooray! It's hard to get away from it, considering my friends and family know how much I enjoy books, music, and movies (and conversely, how much I distrust my friends and family to purchase clothes that I might actually wear. The comedian Jim Gaffigan put it best when he noted if he gets clothes he doesn't like, he won't return it; he'll throw it out: “Oooh, you got me an errand for Christmas.”). It's equally hard to get away from it considering that I ask my family for books and movies.

But I like books, movies, and music. And I will share that “like” with you.

First up: Stephen Colbert's I Am America (And So Can You!). Any fan of the show will enjoy this continuation of Colbert's perfectly executed satire of any conservative talking-head on cable news. The book uses irreverence, stupidity, and parodied bigotry to provide a “hand-book” for the 21^st Century American.

An Anti-Communist Manifesto, if you will.

It's incredibly amusing. One feature I particularly enjoy is his use of annotations and foot-notes to provide comedic commentary. Too often under-utilized in any entertaining and/or commercial text, it also gives the book the air of a pseudo-scholarly piece, thus perpetuating the “ludicrousness” of his words even more. It helps, too (at least for me), that these asides are usually puns.

What surprised me was that there was still material to delve, here. You would figure that, even with all the wonderful nonsense Conservatives serve up on a daily basis, eventually we'd reach the point where we have to go: We get it! Mission accomplished, Mr. Colbert! But this book has enough originality to remain fresh and laugh-out-loud funny.

However, there is one thing that bothers me: the preponderance of gay-jokes. I'm not offended by the jokes, because I know it's simply an extension Colbert's alter-ego. What I'm offended by is the lack of creativity. Here's the thing: My friends and I go to the gay-joke well (and the mom-joke well – essentially the same aquifer) all the time, for the most part ironically, but even more so because we tend to be uncreative (somewhat taking away from the irony). The big thing is though, that my friends and I are not professional comedians. Hell, I'd be willing to admit that many of my friends are the opposite of professional comedians (which might make them torturers or onions – you know, making other people cry). Therefore, I would expect a professional like Stephen Colbert to not dip his bucket in such a dried up well (when I pay for a joke, I want it juicy).

Some of the gay-jokes are funny, though. Makes me wonder if they'll be so funny when I'm burning in hell (which, after all the “flamer” jokes would be the ultimate irony, eh?)

---

I believe I've mentioned a little television program called “Futurama”? Not only was it one of the best cartoons ever, I would go out on a limb and say it was some of the best television, period. What it did in its four short seasons was combine the wackiness and intelligence of “The Simpsons” with the creativity and heart that was unique for a show of its kind. Whereas the “The Simpsons” had some sweet episodes (generally Lisa-driven) and “South Park” showed a social-conscience, “Futurama” decided to give its characters a humanity that was oddly opposed to the fact that many of the characters actually weren't human. One would think, given the futuristic, science-fiction setting of the show, that there would be a consistent zaniness that would override any sort of emotion. And yet, the writers and producers are aware enough to play on the fact that the main character, Fry, although enjoying his time in the year 3000, is still someone a thousand years past his own time (and thus past his family and memories). If you want to watch a show that will make you laugh and cry, watch the “Jurassic Bark” episode. If it doesn't move you, then you are a cold-hearted bastard.

The reason I'm writing about “Futurama” (a show that was canceled 4 years ago), is because the DVDs are all out. If you have the time, watch them on their own, and then go back and watch them with the commentaries. The three voice actors who consistently show up – Billy West, John DiMaggio, and Maurice LaMarche – are genuinely funny people, and even though they may not be commenting on the show you're watching (which is why you should definitely watch the episode first), they pretty much double the comedy on the DVDs. And David X. Cohen, the executive producer, is really funny too – while providing interesting insights about the making of the episodes.

More importantly: “Futurama” is back! Kind of. What I mean is that a new “episode” (which is really movie-length), has been released on DVD, and it was everything I had been waiting for. Titled “Bender's Big Score,” it's not the funniest “Futurama” I've ever seen. In fact, the beginning is almost pathetically sophomoric, going after juvenile jokes, almost as if the writers had a hard time getting into the rhythm after the long hiatus. But as the movie progresses, the show gets its legs back underneath it, and before you know it, we're back where the show left off: smart and funny science-fiction. The commentary, too, is fantastic.

I hope, of course, that this will be the beginning of getting this show back on the air with new episodes. For now, I know there will be three more straight-to-DVD movies, and I will be waiting breathlessly.

Okay, I'll probably breathe.

---

Richard Ford is one of those authors I had heard of only recently, and was surprised to find out that he's kind of a big deal. Pulitzers tend to do that for authors. So I decided I'd give him a shot and, as I usually do in situations with unfamiliar authors, I went straight for the jugular. I figure, if its an author I'm supposed to read, I might as well read that persons seminal piece, in Ford's case, Independence Day.

I was slightly disappointed that no aliens battled Will Smith for the resources of Earth.

What I wasn't disappointed by was how Ford was able to turn 450 pages of a rather boring story, and keep my interest the entire way through. And, it is boring, perhaps purposefully so. Independence Day is the story of Frank Bascombe, a man who epitomizes “mid-life crisis.” While not going crazy with a ridiculous car or younger woman (although he does flashback to a time when he spent a year in France with a med school student), he has clearly come through the traumatic experiences of his son dying and getting divorced with a radically changed philosophy.

In an odd way, he reminds me of Ron Livingston's character from Office Space – nothing really fazes him anymore. He is content to be content, moving through the part of his life Ford constantly points to as the “Existence Period.” It is almost depressing, seeing this lonely man live out a weekend of phony connections, and yet I have no sympathy for him, nor do I think he's asking for any. Bascombe is not, in any way, a loser (making the Willy Loman comparisons from some of the cover-copy disingenuous). Rather, he's man who is relatively successful economically, has a beautiful lady-friend, enjoys his job (despite people constantly denigrating it), and is excited for the time he will spend with his troubled son and the holiday in general. All in all, things are generally looking pretty good for a guy who, in 1988, is looking at a troubled economy and unsure political future.

What really impressed me was that, despite it's firm setting in an era that we are long past, I had no problem connecting with the story. For one thing, Ford is not shy about going all expository on us, interspersing dialogue with dense essays about Frank's beliefs and exploring the meanings behind the places and events going on around the characters. For another, Bascombe is funny in a way that makes us laugh with him, and not at him. Maybe it's the wrong impression, but I connect with him and enjoy him. His is an American life, but he isn't dragged down by it as so often movies and literature want us to believe is our natural condition. He is a father who isn't set up as being entirely at fault – his ex-wife, Ann, shares a great deal of the burden for the family's problems. Bascombe is, then, atypical of the American Man as such a being is often portrayed.

Frank Bascombe is a guy who moves past his flaws and, ultimately, learns from them. And if that isn't great writing, then maybe you should stop reading this blog.*

*Please don't stop reading this blog.