FULL BLEED: GONNA MAKE A DEAD END ON YOUR STREET

Last week I went to an SFF show. In person and everything. And people say I’m antisocial and never leave the house. Not entirely true.

I was only able to make it down for a day, given circumstance and it being on a holiday weekend and needing to be around to take care of a family member who has one of those things where they’re never going to get better from, going to always be there. Which is one of the reasons why I don’t get out as much as I used to. Like I’m going to miss a comic con in Stockton this weekend, just an hour away. It is what it is.

Maybe that day was enough. I’m not saying I had a bad time. I didn’t. Got to talk to a longtime correspondent on Bluesky, got a nice compliment that someone had admired my writing for a long time (which is really weird for me, honestly.) Had a couple tasty meals. Sat in on some panels. Perused the dealer room (a distinct lack of folks selling old used paperback SF). Was able to straighten out why I hadn’t heard from anyone at World Fantasy this year, which I’m supposed to be going to. I’m still going. Yay.

But parts of these shows are simply not fun. Mostly the insular part. Not the people themselves. That’s not it. The whole, who gets to be discussed and treated like a real writer and who doesn’t. Yeah, that chaps my ass. There’s still very much a need to publish and get published underlying a lot of discussion that floats around these shows. And very much, from some folks, the sense that if you’re a self-publisher, you’re not even an indie writer and not worth discussing.

And I get it. There’s a lot of folks out there calling themselves writers. Some of them are using AI to buff up those numbers. And a quick aside. If someone that you haven’t really heard of has manage to accumulate fifteen stories published in a year or so of a career, something is really, really wrong. Like, folks are eager to publish a certain sense of a story moreso than an actually good story (whatever that means). So it’s not just the authors who are thirsty. But that’s an exploration for another time.

The notion that a writer needs to be pursuing a career in publishing before they’re a “real” writer is one that has to go away. I’ve chronicled the contours of Publishing Chicxulub and it’s getting worse before it gets better. Particularly when you figure in the second through thousandth waves of AI slop impacting on readers and small publishers who are literally not big enough to withstand such an onslaught. And why?

Because of prestige. There is prestige in being published. Believe me, I know. Even though I’ve given up on it. I’m contending with that decisions regularly. There’s stuff about it that I like and stuff about it that I hate. Being written off as a freakazoid who is skill-less and has nothing to really say does get tiresome.

But there’s also prestige in being a publisher. Hence the gold rush to find new voices. I won’t go into what certain sides of the readership do with that. Look up Isabel Fall and I’m sure you get the picture. That prize prestige of being published, particularly with a certain identity, was enough to drive some folks into a frenzy and attack.

Prestige is the prize. And if you’re not pursuing it, you’re clearly not a real writer. At least according to lots of folks. I listened to a freelance editor harp on “self-publishing isn’t really writing, it’s not even indie writing” and I know there’s precisely zero good outcomes from engaging in the field of a panel discussion. None. Nobody’s mind is going to be changed. Nevermind that huge names (Weir and Howey, for instance) started self-publishing. I guess it’s okay because they sought the prestige of “real” publishing. They’re no longer non-entities. They have been blessed by, ultimately, the capital expenditures of publishers and to be fair, readers. They’re real boys (gender-nonspecific).

Granted, this person tossing aside self-publishing has a vested interest in things. They want clients whose work will be improved by their editorial touch and might become writers of prestige, worth talking about. I get it. Nobody wants to miss a meal or the opportunity to take their bite off the gravy train as it comes around. Same reason why podcasts and influencers aren’t really interested in a writer unless that writer can bring them some heat (or advertising dollars.) Nobody’s doing this for free. That counts me as well. I’m not giving these books away. I run a Kickstarter and print and ship books out, etc. And yeah, my last Kickstarter will probably bring me a bigger payday (lol) than the last time I got indie published, all things considered.

Are my books real? They’re not worth becoming discourse chum because I don’t have any heat. I don’t have a milkshake to bring all the gender nonspecific folks to the yard. And that’s all most everyone is looking for. Which all becomes its own game, right?

What if I’m just interested in writing the books? Telling weird and off-kilter stories the only way I know how to? And I put garish and florid covers on them, covers that aren’t either fantasy or horror or crime so people just get confused. That’s a game too, right? The whole genre game? The whole you know exactly how you’re going to feel after reading this book so it’s safe to pick up game. We’ve taken all the risk for you!

What if I’ve lost all interest in the career path of publishing? I want people to read the books, sure. I don’t know that I can do any other part of it. Which means no contracts, no gentle mentoring, no interviews, no coverage, no awards. Which, let’s be real, is how most writers will get through their entire goddamn lives.

Anyways, my books are absolutely real. Sure, I’d like more people to know about them. I’m not holding my breath that any publishing house is interested in conferring prestige upon me (and themselves) by picking up an intergenre series that is only really worried about telling one story at a time, even if they do feed into each other.

All the same, it’s exhausting to get written off.

I know. Git gud.

In other news, prepress for My Gifts Are Hungry is underway, nearly done. Waiting on a proof from Amazon, now that it’ll let me upload files. Sadly, it’s not going to show the page until the book goes live, which for now is on August 10. Trying to arrange signings with friendly stores. Will update if that happens. Planning on being at some area shows in the late summer into the fall. You’ll hear it here first.