Don’t Embarrass Me

I’ve been “enjoying” (if that is indeed the right word) the “controversy” (if that’s what it is) over on John Scalzi’s blog concerning the unconscionable contract boilerplate which Random House proposes to inflict upon the victims, um, I mean authors in its new ebook programs.

I won’t summarize the issues here, that’s what the link is for.  Suffice it to say that the loathsome little asswipes at Random House propose to acquire all rights for no money and charge the author for expenses normally incurred by the publisher, such as conversion fees, plant costs, etc., including printing costs if the publisher decides to produce a physical copy (which they can, y’see, having acquired all rights for no money).

It is no surprise that Random House has acquired its share of defenders, because, y’know, it’s the Internet, where stupid people are allowed, and some aim to achieve a sort of pathetic fame by being stupid in a singularly noisy and obnoxious way.  The Internet is like a big house, in which there are pleasant parlors and well-stocked kitchens.  But in a house there are also toilets, and sometimes the toilets have turds in them.

Labored metaphors aside, seeing President Scalzi unload on Random House and its benighted followers is dreadfully amusing, if you’re amused by that sort of thing, dreadful as it is.

What I’d like to do is address the matter from the perspective of a writing teacher.  Because what I’d like to tell my students is this: If you ever sign a contract like that, I will be deeply embarrassed for you.

Because it means you have no goddam pride, either in yourself or in your work.

If you have even the least bit of ambition as a creative person, you want to be proud of what you create.  You want to point at it and say, This is mine, and nobody but me could have done this.  

And if you’re proud of your work, you think it’s worth something.  You don’t throw it away.  You don’t pay someone to publish it, because that means that you think it’s so bad that no one will publish it unless you bribe them first.

The Random House contracts violate Rule Number One of the writing business: Money flows to the writer.  If the money flows in any other direction, there’s something profoundly wrong, and probably the writer is being scammed.

What you’re saying if you sign the contract is this: I am am a pathetic whipped dog begging for scraps at the table of my master, even though I know ahead of time that I won’t get any scraps but just another beating.

Now if you decide to become an indie publisher and publish your work yourself, either in e-formats or audio book or something else, that’s a different matter.  In that case you pay contractors like an editor or copy-editor or cover artist to help produce a professional work that readers will want to buy.  I’ve done this with my backlist that I’ve made available in e-formats.  And the key thing in this case is: you pay them once and it’s over.  You don’t give away your work to them.  They have no more claim on you once they’ve been paid for their work.  They’re your employees.  You’re the publisher, and they work for you.

So do your work as well as you can, and treat it, and yourself, with pride.  Because if you don’t have pride in what you create, you can be damn well sure nobody else will.