First off, let me just say: I love books, even though I’ve long ago reached the age where I have way more books than my house and office can hold. That age came early for an academic, esp. an English professor who doesn’t like to get rid of books—and there are two of them, plus an avid reader offspring in our house, so we are surrounded by books, even when we do occasionally go through the painful process of culling.
This post is somewhat inspired by a Medium article on “New Ways of Bookselling.” I only read the title in the email roundup I get, since I haven’t been reading much on Medium, but this title reminded me of all the other articles I’ve seen lately about new ways of publishing. (Yes, I probably misread the title, scanning quickly, since the article is actually about “community building in art bookstores,” but it still sent me down this rabbit hole.)
People always seem to want to reinvent the wheel in publishing, and sometimes that leads potentially good opportunities for writers — serializing a book on Medium or Patreon or Substack, for instance, might make money for an author and not be that different than the 19th and early 20th century novels that were serialized in magazines. Magazines don’t do that anymore, as far as I am aware, though maybe we should.
Other ways of reinventing publishing seem to be aimed more at making money off of writers than providing a platform where writers can earn some income. The jury is out on Medium, Patreon, Substack and other platforms — will they work to the writer’s benefit or will they primarily enrich themselves on the labor of writers? It seems that if you work hard to make a name for yourself on these platforms, you can become successful, or at least some people can. That’s not the kind of author I want to be, so I don’t think I’ll use them as a publishing platform for anything more than a free newsletter (which I’m toying with on Substack—I mostly plan to use that to send news about my books, readings, etc., while I’ll keep this blog for other musings).
To me, Medium, Patreon, and Substack seem like a new take on self-publishing. Writers do all the marketing, all the editing, all the design, and all the production, what those platforms provide is the means to publish, and for that they do deserve a cut of the profits. What remains to be seen is how many writers can really make a go of it in that ecosystem and how many end up investing in the platform (on the platforms with fees) or investing a lot of their time and effort without much to show for it. These platforms may help writers make a name for themselves and earn some income, but they also don’t result in a physical book. I won’t be able to fill my shelves with Medium articles or even serialized novels. Libraries can’t lend them to their patrons, and used bookstores will have no value in them. I still love a hard copy book, in other words. But it is not just the book that I’m nostalgic for, it is the relationship with a publisher.
Over the years, really spanning my whole career as an author, there have been publishers that claimed to reinvent the traditional book publishing model, and they remind me why traditional publishing is so valuable, even today. When I first started trying to publish a book in the 1990s, there were four models, which are essentially the same today: vanity presses (where the writer pays a fee to print the book), self-publishing (which was still frowned upon), traditional publishing (small presses and the big houses), and co-op publishing, which at the time was a new model where the writer and the publisher both made an investment in the book.
Today, this model tends to go by the name “hybrid publishing,” rather than “co-op,” but the idea is really about the same, and I’ve seen more and more publishers who drop the “hybrid” and claim they are traditional publishers, though they tout innovative contracts that still leave more responsibility for the cost of the book in the hands of the writer. This may be in the form of pre-sales requirements rather than fees, or it may be in fees for editing or other “services.” Or it may mean a departure from the traditional royalty system. I would approach any of these publishers with a healthy dose of caution. If you’re willing to essentially self-publish and do all the work yourself, then you might gain something by publishing with a press like this, but you might also be just as well off publishing on your own.
The value of working with a traditional publisher comes primarily from the relationship you build. A publisher should be willing to invest in a book. They should design it, edit it (though editing isn’t as common as it once was, esp. in small presses), market it, send it to reviewers, distribute it to bookstores, and help the writer get out and sell the book at readings or other events. It has never been the case that the publisher does all the work after the writing, of course. Writers have always lined up blurbs for their covers, helped to find good reviewers, and promoted their work through readings. But a traditional publisher invests time and resources in taking the written manuscript and turning it into a book. It takes a team to do this well and to then ensure that the book is successful once it’s published. A publisher provides that team, makes that investment, and takes a healthy cut of the profits on the book sales as a result. The author’s cut is usually around 10% (my latest book contract is for 8% of the retail price, which is actually quite good compared to the royalty of 10% of the net price that I’ve seen in previous contracts—net price factors in the discount the retailer received when calculating the royalty, retail price is based on the cover price not the discount).
Why do I care so much about royalties when I know that my book of poetry will never earn me a ton of money? More than cash, it’s about respect. I want my poems to make money for the publisher. I want them to stay in business, and I want them to continue to sell my book. I respect the fact that they are investing time and money into my book, and I want a standard royalty that reflects the time and energy have put into the book and will put into promoting it. The “new,” “innovative,” or non-standard publishing models I’ve seen don’t seem to be based on the same level of respect.
When a publisher invests money and time in a book, they have an incentive to see it do well. The publisher is invested in selling the book as much as the writer is, maybe more so. When the writer pays fees or does all the leg-work to promote a book before it is even published, the publisher has little incentive to sell the book. Many of these publishers sell their books on their websites and maybe on Amazon or through Ingram. If they get them in bookstores, it is likely only due to the efforts of the writer or through special orders. The nontraditional publishing models I’ve seen seem set up so the publisher’s main incentive is to publish more books so they can generate more fees or get authors to drum up more sales. But since the publisher hasn’t invested in the book, they have little incentive to do the work of selling it. Sure, they’ll be happy with the sales generated by the author, but they are less likely to exert much effort themselves if they can find ways to get the author to do it.
Many of these publishers argue (I’ve read their literature) that publishing is moving in this direction anyway. It is true that even at the big presses writers end up doing more self-promotion than they used to. We are all on social media, we are all out there giving readings, visiting book clubs, publishing in magazines, and finding other ways to make ourselves known. There is less money from publishers for book tours, so more tours are self-funded (which has always been the case at small presses). And yet, I’ve never known a traditional publisher, even a small press, that didn’t do something to promote their books. If I’m going to have to do all the things for self-promotion, I’d rather have a committed partner with a traditional publisher who is also invested in making my book a success. I value the relationships I’ve built with traditional publishers, and I trust them to do right by my book. That’s what I’m looking for when I look for a press. For all its flaws, the traditional book publishing model has evolved in ways that make this respect possible.
Kendall Dunkelberg 