If academic politics are the most vicious, writers' quarrels must surely come in a close second. Roger Rosenblatt published a terrific essay about this phenomenon in the January 24, 2000, issue of Time magazine, "Why Writers Attack Writers."
I received
quite a few attaboys for this essay, but it certainly didn't do anything
to change the climate in the community of science fiction and fantasy
writers. In fact, our contentious little band has grown more poisonous
over the past few years. There are a number of reasons for this, among
them e-mail and the Web, which amplify grumblings that once were seldom
heard beyond the boozy confines of hotel bars during a convention weekend.
Whatever the reason behind it, our lack of solidarity hurts us more with
each passing year, as the publishing business grows more fragmented and
competitive.
— mjm
©
copyright
2001
Mark
J. McGarry
Writers are
solitary creatures, often egotistical, frequently insufferable. We see
ourselves as solitary heroes, adventurers, explorers and romantics. We
are the cats who walk by themselves, and all places are alike to us.
What we are not, alas, are residents of the top rung of the publishing
food chain. While we often think of ourselves as rulers of the open plains
of publishing, the major New York houses and the national bookstore chains
increasingly see us as meat. Once a business backwater inhabited by the
gentlemanly likes of Max Perkins and several generations of Charles Scribners,
publishing now is just one segment of the global multimedia industry,
subject to the same earnings-per-share and return-on-investment strictures
as any other business, from telecommunications to meatpacking. In such
a competitive environment, only the lions thrive.
But it is the multimedia conglomerates, national chains and online booksellers
that are lions. They offer flat-fee deals, order to the net, unilaterally
revise or abrogate signed contracts, and they don't display our titles
face out, damn it. They can, because they are the predators. We, by and
large, are wildebeests.
But many of us don't have the survival instincts of a wildebeest. A wildebeest
knows to stay in the herd when the lion comes 'round. We, on the other
hand, mill about, then try to figure out what that wildebeest over there
did to deserve being eaten, and make excuses for the lions' poor table
manners.
Last year, Norman Spinrad offered to sell his completed novel, He Walked
Among Us, for a $1 advance to a publisher who would do well by it.
Poor sales of his last novel, Pictures at 11, and what Spinrad calls "the
current bottom-line thinking in the publishing industry" meant "my
name is a guarantee that the major bookstore chains will not order sufficient
copies of whatever my next novel might be — regardless of content
or quality — for any publisher to bring it out." This from the
author of such important works as Bug Jack Barron, The
Iron Dream and Little Heroes. (Spinrad has since sold He
Walked Among Us to a German publisher, but no U.S. house has made
an offer. For further depressing details, see Spinrad's
web page.)
While Spinrad is not a lion in the publishing world, he is a strong, wily
and much-scarred wildebeest. If this could happen to him, what chance
do the rest of us have on publishing's arid plains?
Yet the reaction among writers was not to rally around Spinrad, but to
say, "He has always been kinda prickly, you know?" or "I
had trouble with his last few books, didn't you?"
Last year,
HarperCollins crippled the finances, and even the careers, of a few score
writers by canceling their contracts. The reaction was, "But those
books were really late." And so they were, many of them. Those writers
straggled, and were cut down by sharp teeth and long claws. Your sympathy
doesn't belong with the lions.
Year before last, Roc decided to simply rewrite the terms of Walter Jon
Williams' contract for Metropolitan, a novel which -- with a different
publisher -- went on to post strong sales and become a finalist for the
Nebula Award. Williams hired a lawyer — his own lion — to fight
Roc. Since Williams had taken care of the situation, SFWA took no public
stand, and missed an opportunity to warn publishers that such actions
won't be tolerated. (And, in fact, other publishers have made similar
moves since the Metropolitan dispute.) I offered to try to interest
the nation's seventh-largest newspaper in publishing an article about
the situation, and the reaction was, "Oh, what good would that do?"
(Newsday's coverage has influenced policy on Bosnia and Desert
Storm veterans' health problems, but sway then-publisher Elaine Koster?
No way!)
Among writers, the first reaction to a publisher mauling a writer should
always be: "Let's do something about this." We may not be able
to do much, in some cases, but we should always, always take a stand.
It's not our job to look out for publishers' best interests. They do that
quite well for themselves, often to our detriment. It's our job to fight
for ourselves. No one else will do it.
We do occasionally manage to band together; this is not gnus. When Barnes
& Noble, the nation's largest bookseller, last month offered to buy
Ingram, the nation's largest book wholesaler, SFWA's leadership was caught
flat-footed, but several members got the ball rolling and organized letters
of protest to be sent to the Federal Trade Commission and the Department
of Justice, which must approve the acquisition. The Authors Guild and
the National Writers Union are, as usual, in the forefront of such efforts.
They know how to keep their herds tight.
If you don't yet belong to a writers organization, you can still do your
bit. Keep your eyes open and your nose to the wind. Stay current on publishing
developments, and writers groups' stands on them. (The big writers organizations
all have web sites.) Don't sign contracts you know are bad, just for ego
or exposure; it's not only bad business for you, it makes it harder for
the writers who have to deal with that publisher after you. Steer clear
of markets that have treated other writers poorly; they don't deserve
your work.
Stay with the herd when the lion comes 'round. Don't excuse the predator's
table manners. You may be his next meal.