I suppose we should be grateful for a publishing contract when one finally comes along?
After long days, weeks, months, years of careful plotting and distillation of ideas into a cohesive narrative, our hard work - and I do mean hard work, because as all writers will confess, mentally, the process is exacting - is rewarded by recognition by those who profess to having a knowledge of the literary market.
Word whores.
Publishers care not for the hard work it appears, nor the ideas, the imagination, not even the plot. Publishers care about copy, or more precisely, how many copies they can sell.
Is a book commercially viable?
Is the author a commercial asset?
Is the story worthy of a commercial franchise?
The worthiness of a book is not dictated by syntactic excellence, but by how many people feel it is worth parting with their hard-earned cash for. That is what publishers trade on, and why not? After all, they are in the business of making money from their products.
Safe and familiar may seem the most profitable way forward for publishers, however familiarity breeds contempt and before long those many, many similar novels become pulp as those that drive the market become bored, or tired with a product that offers nothing new. Todays trend becomes yesterdays fad and tomorrows vague recollection.
New. New. New.
New is dangerous. New is uncertain. New is the way forward.
In our fast-moving, consumerist, throw-away society the real trend is forward, bigger, better, faster, more technologically advanced. The innovators of the past are those that went beyond the limits of their own expectation and cast off the shackles of conservative conformity. It is risky, yet when it pays off the rewards are immeasurable.
Traditional publishing is but one way of finding a voice available to the many. There are more options now than ever before and it is within the writers grasp to seize and utilise them.
Admittedly there are authors whose work may not stand the test of time, though it should be market forces that decide their worthiness; it should not be the preserve of those who have cynically manipulated and controlled the marketplace in the past. Cream rises.
Think back. Authors who self-published who later became household names - Joyce, Lawrence, Taylor to name but a few. Publishers initially poured scorn on their work but very shortly after had to sit up and take note as their books became impossible to ignore. Contracts followed.
It is time to shake up the world with your words. Cream does rise and when it does along come the cats, salivating, with their guts moaning, eager for a taste of what that cream has to offer.
All that remains, when that does happen, is to decide whether you like cats or not...
Friday 30 November 2012
Thursday 29 November 2012
Creative Apathy - Part 2
Any time spent, in what few bookshops remain on the high street, will reveal a great deal about the current state of affairs in the world of literary fiction. The publishing houses are generally putting their eggs into a peculiarly fragile basket. I like to call it 'zeitgeist fiction' although others have referred to the same thing as familiarity or trend publishing.
You will recognise the various threads of 'zeitgeist fiction' or ZF by their theme or (more latterly) jacket design. Some years ago, you might recall the publishing trend was for books dedicated to harrowing tales of human cruelty towards children with such titles as 'A child called smack me' and 'Forced into sex slavery before the age of seven' and 'Uncle Jimmy made me do it'*. The covers were all very similar - white, with an out of focus image of a child of one sex or another, crying. They were very popular. With some readers. Enough to ensure countless similar stories rapidly appeared, at least.
Vampire fiction was another ZF trend skilfully exploited by many, many publishing houses (and authors) eager to feed the apparent need (or lust) for tales of post mortem exsanguination. Whilst bookshops have always had a space on their shelves for classics by authors like Stoker and Rice, the last few years have seen whole runs of shelves now dedicated to the phenomenally successful glut of pre-pubescent and post-adolescent rape fantasies with fangs.
Sex has reared its head again in the latest ZF offerings and the beginning of the tidal wave of mummy-porn and mainstream erotic fiction with titles such as 'Fifteen shapes in beige' and 'Chained and whipped into submission like a whore' which has meant that such tomes are no longer consigned to the dingy corners of stores like Waterstones, previously only frequented by weird nervous old men in raincoats and butch lesbians, but now (some might think, thankfully) rub shoulders with Ian Rankin, Hilary Mantel and Umberto Eco.
This ZF phenomena is not a worrying new trend, it has happened numerous times in the past. For example, the explosion of Science Fiction in the late 1950's and 60's, the abundance of NHH (or natural history horror) spawned by the likes of James Herbert in the 1970's and the plethora of sword & sorcery tales in the 1980's and 90's. I am not even going to begin to mention the similar literary trending that occurred in the 19th Century.
The interesting thing about these trends are that they begin, often, with just one product, or rather, book.
The book needs only to capture the imagination of the public to become popular.
Popularity of that product ensures that there follows, very shortly, a need for more or similar products and the various producers (competitors in the same marketplace) begin looking for suppliers to meet the increasing demands of the ravenous consumer. Anyone who studies market forces will realise that whilst demand is high, output has be increased to meet it, in order to capitalise on the trend. It is not surprising that some producers turn over their entire production to keep up with demands.
Yet...
If production is targeted only to meet the existing demands of the marketplace, how can new markets ever be created? If suppliers only distribute what is required at a given point in time, what happens when that market becomes saturated? The law of diminishing returns works as well in the world of publishing as it does in any other economic field (no pun intended).
Publishers should not be allowed to put the vast numbers of brilliant undiscovered authors out there in a position whereby they only produce what they think a publisher will want to read. That creates nothing more than creative apathy and imaginative subjugation. The need for integrity and innovation should always be paramount, and certainly the current publishing trends are in danger of destroying countless opportunities and discouraging many new authors.
New. New. New.
New ideas. New thought. New challenges.
Time for a new approach...
*The book titles in paragraph two and four are, obviously, not real. Any resemblance to books with similar titles, are completely unintentional although they do clearly illustrate a point.
You will recognise the various threads of 'zeitgeist fiction' or ZF by their theme or (more latterly) jacket design. Some years ago, you might recall the publishing trend was for books dedicated to harrowing tales of human cruelty towards children with such titles as 'A child called smack me' and 'Forced into sex slavery before the age of seven' and 'Uncle Jimmy made me do it'*. The covers were all very similar - white, with an out of focus image of a child of one sex or another, crying. They were very popular. With some readers. Enough to ensure countless similar stories rapidly appeared, at least.
Vampire fiction was another ZF trend skilfully exploited by many, many publishing houses (and authors) eager to feed the apparent need (or lust) for tales of post mortem exsanguination. Whilst bookshops have always had a space on their shelves for classics by authors like Stoker and Rice, the last few years have seen whole runs of shelves now dedicated to the phenomenally successful glut of pre-pubescent and post-adolescent rape fantasies with fangs.
Sex has reared its head again in the latest ZF offerings and the beginning of the tidal wave of mummy-porn and mainstream erotic fiction with titles such as 'Fifteen shapes in beige' and 'Chained and whipped into submission like a whore' which has meant that such tomes are no longer consigned to the dingy corners of stores like Waterstones, previously only frequented by weird nervous old men in raincoats and butch lesbians, but now (some might think, thankfully) rub shoulders with Ian Rankin, Hilary Mantel and Umberto Eco.
This ZF phenomena is not a worrying new trend, it has happened numerous times in the past. For example, the explosion of Science Fiction in the late 1950's and 60's, the abundance of NHH (or natural history horror) spawned by the likes of James Herbert in the 1970's and the plethora of sword & sorcery tales in the 1980's and 90's. I am not even going to begin to mention the similar literary trending that occurred in the 19th Century.
The interesting thing about these trends are that they begin, often, with just one product, or rather, book.
The book needs only to capture the imagination of the public to become popular.
Popularity of that product ensures that there follows, very shortly, a need for more or similar products and the various producers (competitors in the same marketplace) begin looking for suppliers to meet the increasing demands of the ravenous consumer. Anyone who studies market forces will realise that whilst demand is high, output has be increased to meet it, in order to capitalise on the trend. It is not surprising that some producers turn over their entire production to keep up with demands.
Yet...
If production is targeted only to meet the existing demands of the marketplace, how can new markets ever be created? If suppliers only distribute what is required at a given point in time, what happens when that market becomes saturated? The law of diminishing returns works as well in the world of publishing as it does in any other economic field (no pun intended).
Publishers should not be allowed to put the vast numbers of brilliant undiscovered authors out there in a position whereby they only produce what they think a publisher will want to read. That creates nothing more than creative apathy and imaginative subjugation. The need for integrity and innovation should always be paramount, and certainly the current publishing trends are in danger of destroying countless opportunities and discouraging many new authors.
New. New. New.
New ideas. New thought. New challenges.
Time for a new approach...
*The book titles in paragraph two and four are, obviously, not real. Any resemblance to books with similar titles, are completely unintentional although they do clearly illustrate a point.
Wednesday 28 November 2012
Creative apathy - Part 1
As a business person, the difficulties in establishing long-lasting credentials that will lead to a credible reputation at first seems relatively undaunting. You have an idea, you expand upon it and deliver it to the wider World so that they can either embrace it, or reject it wholeheartedly; hopefully, you imagine, they will embrace it.
Enthusiasm is at an all-time high in the early stages; after all who wouldn't want to learn about your idea, or better still, be part of it? So much time and energy has been invested in that dream that it seems incredible that anyone, let alone other business people, would attempt to sabotage it.
However, in business there are many, many others with great ideas. Naturally, you might believe your idea is the best, but likewise everyone else imagines their idea is the more superior. Creativity is a process that requires so much of it's originator that it understandably engenders all-consuming pride and a maternal/paternal instinct that forces us to protect it at any cost. The idea is our child and in it's first faltering steps we are there to guide and save it from harm.
In the world of ruthless dog-eat-dog executives and entrepreneurs, the rules of existence lean heavily towards survival of the fittest. If the scales can be tipped in favour of one idea at the expense of all others it's creator will generally not baulk at the opportunity to do so. It is how businesses - who adopt new strategies & those that cannot adapt - attempt to survive. Their is little or no cooperation with others and any altruism is reserved for self-centred sycophantic progression. Today, sadly, that is the way that many businesses operate...
It is not surprising, therefore, to find the same behaviour manifest in other spheres of human interaction, including the arts.
Today, I read that the price of Damien Hirst artworks have tumbled dramatically, but rather than attempt to understand the reasons behind this phenomena, a number of tabloid hacks, his critics (and others who have nothing invested in him personally on any level) have immediately gone on the attack. 'His work never really was art', they bleat. 'Hirst always was overrated' and 'his art, at best was a cynical manipulation of a market already saturated with similar pointless dross'.
In their attempts to destroy the concept of modern art as imagined by Hirst - undoubtedly, an innovator and inspiring voice for thousands of aspiring artists the World over - they have no idea of what they will unintentionally and inadvertently create. The destructive processes unleashed were not formed as a result of carefully considered critique, but jealous spite borne out of a desire to see the successful creation of another utterly devalued.
It has happened many, many times before and, will continue to do so as long as man remains the so-called dominant species on this planet. Destruction is not the final process however. Perversely annihilation makes way for new life. Destruction enables creation. Already new forces are at work, ready to step into the space that will left void by Hirst's exit from centre stage.
Nature abhors a vacuum...
Enthusiasm is at an all-time high in the early stages; after all who wouldn't want to learn about your idea, or better still, be part of it? So much time and energy has been invested in that dream that it seems incredible that anyone, let alone other business people, would attempt to sabotage it.
However, in business there are many, many others with great ideas. Naturally, you might believe your idea is the best, but likewise everyone else imagines their idea is the more superior. Creativity is a process that requires so much of it's originator that it understandably engenders all-consuming pride and a maternal/paternal instinct that forces us to protect it at any cost. The idea is our child and in it's first faltering steps we are there to guide and save it from harm.
In the world of ruthless dog-eat-dog executives and entrepreneurs, the rules of existence lean heavily towards survival of the fittest. If the scales can be tipped in favour of one idea at the expense of all others it's creator will generally not baulk at the opportunity to do so. It is how businesses - who adopt new strategies & those that cannot adapt - attempt to survive. Their is little or no cooperation with others and any altruism is reserved for self-centred sycophantic progression. Today, sadly, that is the way that many businesses operate...
It is not surprising, therefore, to find the same behaviour manifest in other spheres of human interaction, including the arts.
Today, I read that the price of Damien Hirst artworks have tumbled dramatically, but rather than attempt to understand the reasons behind this phenomena, a number of tabloid hacks, his critics (and others who have nothing invested in him personally on any level) have immediately gone on the attack. 'His work never really was art', they bleat. 'Hirst always was overrated' and 'his art, at best was a cynical manipulation of a market already saturated with similar pointless dross'.
In their attempts to destroy the concept of modern art as imagined by Hirst - undoubtedly, an innovator and inspiring voice for thousands of aspiring artists the World over - they have no idea of what they will unintentionally and inadvertently create. The destructive processes unleashed were not formed as a result of carefully considered critique, but jealous spite borne out of a desire to see the successful creation of another utterly devalued.
It has happened many, many times before and, will continue to do so as long as man remains the so-called dominant species on this planet. Destruction is not the final process however. Perversely annihilation makes way for new life. Destruction enables creation. Already new forces are at work, ready to step into the space that will left void by Hirst's exit from centre stage.
Nature abhors a vacuum...
Sunday 25 November 2012
My identity is also my logo
All I need to do now is understand fully how this linkage of data works...
Saturday 24 November 2012
Third excursion into the ether
Sounding more like a tag line from another cinematic rendition of a J.R.Tolkien story, I stumble blinking into the radiance generated by the illuminated ones that have gone before me. Yet... Yet... I have, I recall, been here before.
With a strange sense of déjà vu, I step forward, the memories of my times here before now no more than scars, a vague cicatrice in the fabric of existence. Weird recollections of half-mumbled praise and the numbing feeling of terror at the thought of creating something dangerous, something monstrous that might in reality turn on me - it's teeth gnashing inches from me - intent on consuming me, or worse, only partly devouring me.
My first excursion was bold. I was brazen. I cared not for what affect my sudden appearance might have on those who, unwittingly, stumbled upon me. I offered my thoughts, my soul and my beliefs and for a while I achieved that which I had set out to do - I achieved recognition. Though my fame was short-lived and a moment of recklessness ensured that my light was extinguished permanently...
Such was the way of the World back then. There was no place for the mystic. There was certainly no place for the agitator, a role I seemed destined to fulfil.
And so...
I ventured out again. Differently the second time. Certainly I was more cautious and in feeling the trepidation that seeped into every organ of my body, was not the weapon I felt I was intended to be. I was a wolf without teeth. I became a shadow that was bounced from wall to wall, place to place in the fickle glow of the Sun. The winds buffeted me and one day, I, anchored by nothing more substantial than a chain of good intention was dashed against the rocks of prosaic indifference and vanished.
How should I continue this time..? Certainly, the unfeeling are often cut adrift or worse destroyed; picked at and picked on by the ever-growing circle of predatory creatures out there, in the periphery of existence - always striking from the shadows - cowardly except when in numbers that swells their confidence. Therefore I will choose empathy over sympathy and purpose over aggression.
This time.
It is a journey that I embark upon alone, unaware of how may many join me as I travel forward and how many will remain at it's end...
With a strange sense of déjà vu, I step forward, the memories of my times here before now no more than scars, a vague cicatrice in the fabric of existence. Weird recollections of half-mumbled praise and the numbing feeling of terror at the thought of creating something dangerous, something monstrous that might in reality turn on me - it's teeth gnashing inches from me - intent on consuming me, or worse, only partly devouring me.
My first excursion was bold. I was brazen. I cared not for what affect my sudden appearance might have on those who, unwittingly, stumbled upon me. I offered my thoughts, my soul and my beliefs and for a while I achieved that which I had set out to do - I achieved recognition. Though my fame was short-lived and a moment of recklessness ensured that my light was extinguished permanently...
Such was the way of the World back then. There was no place for the mystic. There was certainly no place for the agitator, a role I seemed destined to fulfil.
And so...
I ventured out again. Differently the second time. Certainly I was more cautious and in feeling the trepidation that seeped into every organ of my body, was not the weapon I felt I was intended to be. I was a wolf without teeth. I became a shadow that was bounced from wall to wall, place to place in the fickle glow of the Sun. The winds buffeted me and one day, I, anchored by nothing more substantial than a chain of good intention was dashed against the rocks of prosaic indifference and vanished.
How should I continue this time..? Certainly, the unfeeling are often cut adrift or worse destroyed; picked at and picked on by the ever-growing circle of predatory creatures out there, in the periphery of existence - always striking from the shadows - cowardly except when in numbers that swells their confidence. Therefore I will choose empathy over sympathy and purpose over aggression.
This time.
It is a journey that I embark upon alone, unaware of how may many join me as I travel forward and how many will remain at it's end...
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