Reading and writing is simply encoding and decoding. I capture say an image in my head, convert the image to text. The reader receives the text and re-assembles the image, simple.
So, all the writers go on their creative writing courses and they read Swain or whatever. Their brains are fully upgraded with 'English Language for writers version 9.71." Using their latest software version, they begin to encode with 'tag delimited dialogue', 'anti-sentence fragmentation.' and 'embedded scene-goal enhancement.' The resulting work is nothing short of a masterpiece.
They show their work to their peers. In turn their peers say "This is a masterpiece." Next on to the editor, he exclaims. "'Tis indeed a most brilliant work."
The masterpiece is on the shelves and the readers intent is to enjoy. His joy is blighted by constant error messages. 'This page cannot be displayed', 'Your current software version is English Language for readers version 6.57. To receive the full value of this text, please read spend 2 years in further education upgrading your brain to version 9.71 for writers. Unless you install and run the 'Swain plugin', scene-goal enhancements may not function correctly.'
If you are truly a brilliant story-teller, then the lowly reader can still 'get' enough of the text to build a pretty picture.
What's this got to do with self-publishing? Cutting out the editor and the literary appreciation society enables the writer to stick a label on his book. 'Requires English Language for Readers version 6.57.' You may think this makes no difference but trust me. When the box containing the movie software says. 'Enhanced for Dolby 5.1 users', and you don't have it, you feel inadequate. There's a moment when you consider renting a different movie.
The fouler stench of the Grim Reaper lingers around the publishing industry as he prepares for a mighty cull. He doesn't wait for me, I am waiting outside. Surely after he has rampaged and created carnage, a wall will come down. And as is standard with these operations, applying to leaders of states and corporations alike, they will blame their advisers.
Once movies packed theatres and music was produced by those expressing their art. A time when albums such as 'Bridge over Troubled Water' and Thriller' had their time on the chart measured in years.
Then came the gurus and the coaches with the message. "You are welcome to express yourself as long as you do the way we say." Pop music turned into 8 bars of this followed 16 bars of that, and was crap; requiring so much promotion that even a #1 single represented a financial loss. All hope was pinned on album sales. Movies followed the same pattern, 18 minutes of this, followed by 54 minutes of that. They were crap, and required Sharon Stone and other actresses to show their beavers and other body parts in order to get people to watch the film. It seems paying Demi-Moore $20 million dollars to bare her breasts was preferable to using a decent original script.
They did not understand – Painting by numbers, is not art.
Two industries sunk. The publishing industry proved a tougher nut to crack, all that history and tradition. But they succeeded, and the Macdonald's paperback was invented. To be read, shelved and forgotten. Each the same story within certain parameters, the instant hook, the three acts and the positive end. As the mp3 came to destroy the guardians of Sony Music. The ebook will be the nemesis of Random House and Harper Collins. Take your laptop, turn it sideways – what does it look like to you? Soon a book will be an electronic facsimile of it's current form and publishers will be all those with an internet connection.
And as digital subscriber lines carry away yet more corporation profits will anarchy ensue? No Way. A time is near when the contents of your inbox will be listed on your tax return, probably.
It's been several days since my last blog. Nothing to report. The Devil's in the Details got a big remix. And Frank and Forthright is certainly a new direction.
Other than that the future's greyish, with some greenish bits in the corner.
In other news.
A man with a weakness for adverbs would write a story about his cat. After 32 submissions and 11 rewrites he does not realise 'cats' as subject matter are wholly unfashionable. Surely common sense would dictate he put the manuscript aside and write of a helicopter; a tale full of adjectives.
I fear he is obsessed with editing towards a moving target. As a man cutting off table legs to prevent a slight wobble; without a guide he will trim down to nothing. Does he not realise all he need do is wait for cats and adverbs to come into fashion? He may well learn during this process of editing but he is chasing a shadow. Between the time he puts his manuscript in the post and the editor begins to read, a rule or two will have changed. Cats are in, adverbs are good but third person is so last season (week).
Pre-Obituary Thoughts
I'd love to make her moan, my remark to my mates on the day that I first spied wife.
Now I'd just love her to stop.
Open your mouth, a game that we'd play, back in a time when our headboard would bang.
Now I pray for those lips to be sealed.
As she lay asleep in our bed, I'd watch in wonderment at the rise the fall of her breast.
Now I just want it to stop.
It is the breath that powers the mouth, to make the moan. 'You never take me out!'
Now I've decided, I will.
I've joined a forum, and I've learned loads. It's good, there's a couple of people who will go out of their way to help you with your craft. Anyway, I feel really guilty. We are required to review each others stories. So I'm reading these chapters and it's late. I've been awake 48hrs and I'm getting kind of cranky. This author, whether through idleness or arrogance, didn't write a synopsis. I read the first couple of pages and it's about Nazis, by page 5 they're murdering millions of Jews. When it came to the review I abused the poor chap! So I feel at tad guilty, the book was about escaping and stuff. - It's not the point! I did what anybody would have done in a bookshop or a library. By page 3 I'd decided I wasn't interested and nothing was going to change my mind.
In other news. I've always struggled with the point of short stories. Unless you've got a bunch of 'em, what are they worth? A book voucher as first prize in the village church short-story competition perhaps? I use them to practise, you'll usually find something odd or difficult about mine. I'll not allow myself to use essential components like dialogue or thought or imagery. I even thought about submitting a screwed-up blank sheet of A4. Claiming it was representative of the destiny of a Caucasian middle class child – Nah! They'd see through it.
Where was I going? Yes, I've been reviewing short stories and coming across a lot of – short stories! I'm reminded of Lethal Weapon, II - I think. Danny Glover summarises the murder together with the motive in very few words. Mel Gibson replies 'It sounds a little thin.' ..
I'm running in to a lot of that lately. If I were a reviewing a physical manuscript – I'd be checking page numbers, checking under the bed to see a pages had fallen out, stuff like that. Then you really really think about it and you start getting paranoid. You KNOW you're missing something, but you just don't get it. Bizarre thoughts enter your head, like; Maybe the protagonist was a cross-dressing Aborigine. In the end – you realise. It was a story about a boy who met a girl, nothing more. And just like after consuming a McDonald's burger, you realise; you didn't particularly enjoy it and your stomach still complains about lack of sustenance.
What do I want (Yeah, you're damn right – It's about me!) I want the reader (reviewer) to appreciate my art! Judge me on the task I've set out to achieve. You know I won't criticise in this manner unless I have a go myself. I've tried to write two 'thin' stories at the same time. I've to make over-clever 'Camera shot' transitions from past to present. Not to confuse the reader, but to make them take pause, draw breath and say – 'Oh, I get it.' And recognise the stupidity of romance. Why did she skip over cracked paving slabs? Why did they start speaking as Shakespearian characters.
Whilst the reader ponders and wonders in awe over the genius of the rapid tragic conclusion. I want them never to know, it was not contrived. My daughter wanted to use the computer to 'go on' MSN, and I wanted to watch Holby City.
There's too many snobs and old farts around who are resistant to change. I don't think any new writers are under any illusions about self-publishing. It's 2008 and every day the world changes. To claim to be an authority of x amount of years is almost irrelevant. We have new toys now like microwaves Ebay and mobile phones! So yes, shit's changed. As POD costs are reduced the literary world will change. More raw un-edited unprocessed work will enter the market. Books will be better for it – the reader will have more choice. Perhaps a chance to experience raw talent not yet shaped for the mass consumer.
As much as the 'experienced' are adamant self-published books will not be taken up by publishers, logic dictates that they will. Perhaps not today, but soon. It's called 'How business really works.' Popular products struggling to reach potential customers through lack of production capacity or distribution facilities are purchased by larger companies, if the figures stack favourably.
If you tell me that publishers will only ever accept 'single sided; double spaced; 12pt; TNR manuscripts' – I'll tell you all quality newspapers are broadsheets.
I've said it before – The cost of producing a single novel via POD is now competitive with printing the manuscript on a domestic printer. When busy editors realise the printed book format is easier to read on the train and in bed, no doubt it will become the new standard. Who in their right mind wants to walk around with 400 loose sheets of A4 and an elastic band anyway?
I might be talking a complete load of bollocks, it doesn't really matter. All of what I've said is possible. While we have possibilities, we have hope. Most of us [hopefully] are at the beginning of our publishing careers. How publishing used to work and still would if I had my way', is of little or no use to us. Self-publish:- 'How publishing will work for you in the future.' - I'll buy a copy.
I'll tell you what, they've done us ain't they? Strike me down, no word of a lie, they've stitched us up good 'n' proper. We fought off them bleedin' Krauts during the war but these lot 'ave done us. When them Germans came up with their Arian supremacy bollocks, we give 'em stick, made 'em clear off back to their own manor. This new lot, I tell you what, it's stealth. The bastards snuck in, bosh bosh bosh! Stitched us up like kippers, it's all over.
Mark my words, it's all come on top. 2008, year of the brown baby, trust me. They infiltrated us haven't they. The cheeky buggers. In the 60's, started breeding with our birds didn't they. We didn't mind 'em havin' a few of the rougher ones! I mean that Gloria, rough as old boots. Who'd want her? Anyway, we was set up, 2008 Year of reading they told us. While half the bleedin' country's got their 'ed stuck in a book, one of 'ems scored hat-trick for the England footy. Well course, everybody loves 'em now. So next another one sticks it the Wops, don't he. He goes and wins that formula one thing, so they've got us all lovin' em. Before you know it, bosh! Another one's in the White House, he's got all them launch codes to them nuclear bombs, we're done for. I ain't racialist me, in fact I'm protected. When that Winston geezer put our Donna up the duff, I became family. Nah, you know what, I take me 'at off to 'em. Operation Melting pot, good luck to it.
The practical. Those with an eye on fortune and glory. They who dream of seeing '#1 Best Seller' adjacent to their name and title. Surely they have a plan. A carefully plotted method to achieve their goal. I said practical, didn't I? Agent; Publisher; Editor; edit; Editor; publish! Agent; Hollywood; producer; adaptation; Director; Movie. So right, by my reckoning we're gonna hit the big time in 2011/2012.
Who will guide, train us to write this work to make the public part with cash to learn of the contents of our imagination? Most of us will seek pattern from what has gone before and adapt to our own ends. The creative writing course does not speculate, it only serves to detail how it was done.
At this point, we, cease. There is only you (them) and I.
James Bond could not start in our times, let alone in 2012. It is tradition. With tradition come the fouler stench of racism and sexism. A superior white (English) man with superior technology and superior intellect trying to stop people (usually foreign) from taking over world. He must bed a bit of skirt or two on the way. Now is better to paint him a cheat, on the take from the government. Perhaps I should finally write the Mrs Bond chronicles. All the time in suburbia, with the three little Bonds. Finally she wonders why her husband has been going on 'fishing trips' for years but has yet to bring back a fish.
As all media merges into one, I gamble on the teachings of CRT, LCD and Plasma, my window to the world. Globalisation is upon us. Random House look to sell 1 billion copies of each book.
Let's take Desperate Housewives with its 150 million viewers and the creator signing an EIGHT figure deal – The man doesn't even write it! He's a runner. Forget Teri Hatcher, the writing, the acting, they were all contributory factors. Carlos and Gabrielle, the Hispanic protagonists. The expertly deployed, well timed, money shot. Successful Latino protagonists who were neither drug dealers nor maids and cleaners. Desperate Housewives didn't simply get translated into Spanish, it's remade in four different versions. 'Amas de Casa Desesperadas' is the toast of South America There's the Argentine version, another for Ecuador and Colombia with a Brazilian version for those speaking Portuguese. The Walt Disney company struck the mother-load. Gabrielle and Carlos were their heroes.
Did I say Heroes?
Another global bomb, representative of the target audience. A worldwide success, the cast represents more cultures than the Beijing Olympics. Each of the Heroes being a hero to their own cultural origin. Is it cynical? Hell yes! Is it successful? Undoubtedly! Will it apply to the literary world and best sellers in 2011/2012..... ?
I had an idea for a book, a story, I'm sure everybody does, but we don't all actually write it do we? Well I was just trying to tell him, my drunken brother, my idea, you know, the general plot.
“This guy goes to America,” I started.
“Why?” he interrupted me.
“His wife left him.”
“Why?”
“She had a termination, didn't tell him, felt guilty.”
“Why?”
“She didn't think she could cope.”
“So how did he end up in America.”
“The marriage couldn't take the strain, he needed to get away.”
“Oh, right”
“Anyway, so while he's in America visiting his cousin, he gets shot and dies.”
“Why?” he took another swig of his drink.
“His cousin's a drug dealer, it's mistaken identity thing!”
“I see,” he said.
“So he takes the dead cousin's passport, assumes his identity and comes to England.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Because, he got revenge for his cousin's death by killing the dealers that shot him.”
“But why would he come to England.”
“He's murdered three people, maybe the police are after him?”
“Okay,” he muttered.
“Where was I? Oh yes, right, he meets up with his other cousin, the dead guy's brother. The brother loses his job as a barrister.”
“Why did that happen?”
“Because, they think he's on drugs but he's not. His girlfriend gives him alcohol while he's on medication.”
“She's not a very nice girlfriend then is she?”
“It was an accident! She didn't realise!” I was losing my patience.
It took me two hours to explain the simple outline of the plot. However, in the cold light of day I realised I had learned my first lesson. His persistent childish questioning combined with my stubbornness created the basis for a solid plot. I refused to answer any of his questions with 'I don't know.' If I didn't know, I made something up. I also learned not to put random elements into my work, somebody would always ask, why? So that was how it was going to work. Just to tell my simple story, I was going have to do an awful lot of explaining.
When I'd finally finished it and typed THE END. It was then that it dawned on me, my character didn't actually go to the USA until page 51. I thought that I had told a story from beginning to the end. I hadn't, all I had done was written 483 pages explaining why the events or event on page 484 occurred.
God dam the educated, for they are inherently stupid and left unchecked they would afflict others with their stupidity. They are the drones of society, idly spreading gossip and rumour. If I more educated than you, and held as educated in your mind. Do you not take my words as gospel and spread them as the only truth. Did someone not say the earth was flat, and were the others not educated to this fact? Surely an intelligent man would see the sky meet the earth before his eyesight did stop and say of his doubt.
Today the author, trained and educated in his trade, does not pause for thought. An intelligent man may ask. Why are book sales falling? Why are libraries closing? Why can't I get a publishing deal? Blindly, the educated man seeks more education from the educated. He tries harder to write to the level of his peers.
You learned to write along time ago though times have changed since then. You are no longer the market leaders in mental stimulation to the masses. In the house, you've competition from the TV and the Playstation. Outside, you're being assaulted by the walkman and the mobile phone. It seems you lack the intelligence or innovation to format a strategy for survival.
Refusing to accept 80% of the urban public, don't want to read the wares you pedal, your answer seems to be obsess over the arc of the second act. I'm inspired by the disparagement of me by the educated, and what's more you've left 80% of the market all to me. All those people capable of reading, but don't. My trump card – I'm one of them.
Not being a reader, I can only write what I know, TV. From the multi-protagonist serials, to the single camera sitcoms. I'm fully trained in them all, years of studying their construction. The question is, untainted by literature am I able to write TV. Not a screenplay, they are for actors. In literary style, I'm already part way there. In choreography, I already write of who walked where and personal imagery a little too much. In referencing I already favour the screen. “White like Casper,” is preferred to “A pale English rose.”
So while you 'authors' are claiming television (the screen) is for thick people. Here's expos latest top money earning writers. What do they all have in common?
1 JK.Rowling ?160 million [$283 million]
2 James Patterson ?26.7 million [$47 million]
3 Stephen King ?24 million [$42 million]
4 Tom Clancy ?18.7 million [$33 million]
5 Danielle Steel ?16 million [$28 million]
6= John Grisham ?13 million [$23 million]
6= Dean Koontz ?13 million [$23 million]
8 Ken Follett ?10.6 million [$18.7 million]
9 Janet Evanovich ?9 million [$16 million]
10 Nicholas Sparks ?8.5 million [$15 million]
They've all been to Hollywood, except Janet Evanovich but I have it on good authority she's on her way there now.
So there you have it, maybe I'm just trying to cut out the middleman on the road to success.
My last thought to the self-publishers. Public transport is your friend. Sod the editor. If the man on the tube or the woman on the bus likes you. - You have hope.
Now, I've educated you all.
|