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March 29, 2007

The Da Dume Code

I let Stumpy take a look at my masterpiece, now that I'm ready to send it out into the world. Why, I have no idea, since his mind doesn't work like normal people's.

He's scanning the text for what he calls 'subtext'. This is, apparently, different from 'footnotes' (of which there are none) or clauses in parentheses (of which there are none). He's looking for a secret message, a hidden meaning behind the words, a deep and devious comment on modern society.

Or so I believe.

If there's a hidden meaning in the book, I didn't put it there. If there's a secret message, it's so secret I don't even know what it is. As to a comment on society, well I have little to do with society aside from occasional visits to the village. Since they hide whenever I visit, I hardly think it counts as 'socialising'.

I wrote it for fun. That's it. I hope some agent, someday, will read it and have as much fun as I had writing it. Then I hope they'll sell it for me. I also hope to avoid those who send a bill along with a request for a full. Good luck trying to get money out of me, guys. I'm not in Scotland without reason, you know.

It has occured to me that if Stumpy wants to make a big deal out of any message he manages to derive from the book, it can't hurt sales. There could be whole committees of people debating over Stumpy's imagined conspiracy, and they'll need to read the book to decide whether it's there or not (a clue for the clueless: it's not).

Well, committees rarely do anything useful, so it'll keep them busy for a while. If they conclude there is some kind of underhand brainwashing going on, it'll help to sell the second book. For once, I think Stumpy's lunacy might prove to be of use.

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March 23, 2007

Economics and ego

I've thought it feasible, for some time, to get a final-ish-draft copy of a novel from Lulu. Just to see what it looks like in print, you understand, not for any great personal ego-boost or anything. Well, maybe just a little. It sounded expensive and unnecessary. Why bother? If I did that, I wouldn't make it available to the public. I'm the only one who'd ever see a copy. So it would be nothing more than a pointless bit of self-gratification.

Having just completed yet another revision of the Great Book, I considered it again. The Book is now cut in half, down to 95,000 words, and is finally in a condition that makes it worthwhile trying to query. I have enough out-takes for another novel, although it would be an exceedingly dull one since the out-takes are all the boring bits. There were a lot of them.

Double-spaced, it'll print to a little under 400 A4 sheets. A lot of paper, a lot of printer ink, and an unfortunate waste of both since it needs one last pass for blunders before it goes out. I can't do that on screen. It makes my eyes hurt. So I have to kill some trees, and probably several ink cartridges, to print it all. All of that draft will be thrown away.

I looked at Lulu again. To put together a primitive paperback would cost me £6.40 (about 12 Yankee dollars, for the sake of internationality) plus postage. Considering the price of ink cartridges in the UK, that might actually be cheaper than printing it myself. It would use less paper and put the whole thing in a bound book, which I can then fill with sticky notes and pen-marks. I won't lose pages. They're all stuck together. It's small enough to carry around so I can tut-tut at typos and other mistakes wherever I am. I can even do it while enjoying a bottle of Bob's Bile Beer on one of the swamp-loungers at the back of the castle. The wind won't blow pages away and it's no trouble to grab it and run for the house should the Scaly Swamp Thing decide to call in for a bite.

So that's the plan. It's an ego-boost, but I'll be the only one to see this Only Copy of This Version. Ever. It won’t go on sale at Lulu. Once the copy arrives, I’ll delete it from Lulu’s site. I’ll use that copy to make changes.

I will not, of course, fall into the trap of sending a bound copy to an agent or editor. Such a move would be greeted with derision, and responded to with a small piece of paper carrying a very big ‘No’. Perhaps, also, a personal annotation by the editor to the effect of ‘Do Not Do This’.

No, the submissions will be on plain, unbound, A4 paper, printed double-spaced, just like it says in the Things You Must Do part of the Publisher’s rules—also known as ‘The Guidelines’. For that, I have no option but to refill my ink cartridges and print until the printer screams for mercy (It took a while to add that feature, but I like it).

Should this book ever become famous, my descendants will have the option of auctioning the Old Version, of which there will be one copy only in existence, for a large bag of cash. Should the book flop, well, the paper Lulu prints on is quite soft and absorbent, so it won’t go to waste.

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March 16, 2007

Behind the veil.

dume1.jpg

 Stumpy has lost his mind. He's been rummaging around in the old part of the castle again, and found what he insists is a helmet for some kind of devil-beast. He thinks i'm planning to go all Saruman on him, and create my own race of orcs.

I tried to tell him. It's just my mother's wedding veil. From what I was told, my father lifted the veil, with help from the best man, at the end of the ceremony. He immediately put it back down, then refused to let her take it off for the next twenty years.

When she did finally remove it, I could see his point. She wasn't any prettier underneath. I used to think I'd had a traumatic childhood with this mask peering over my cot every night, but when I saw her face, well, let's just say I counted my blessings.

Anyway, since he's found it, I've put it on a stand for display. At least for the duration of Mother's Day.

 

dume2.jpg

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March 15, 2007

The terrible self-publishing thing.

There's a lot of chatter going around the blogs on the perils of self-publishing. I lurk on other writer's blogs, I admit, and rarely comment. I can't help it. I'm a lurker by nature. My father lurked, my grandfather lurked, and so on. We have the lurky gene.

Anyway, the upshot of it all is simple. If you just send it somewhere to be printed, it's not a publishing credit. If someone (agent and/or editor) has assessed and approved it, then it's a publishing credit.

Self-publishing also means you don't get any help at all with proofreading, editing, or any form of error correction. To those who consider themselves above all that, consider this; that's probably why you're not getting accepted by traditional publishers. Nobody likes a smartass.

There's also the marketing to consider. You can spend all your time doing this yourself, or you can let a publisher's marketing department do it for you. They know how. It's what they do. While they're doing that, you can be writing another book.

I don't think any kind of self-publishing is worthwhile for fiction. There are many non-fiction instances where it can work: say you researched your family history and wanted it in a bound book. Who's going to buy it?

Suppose you want to do a photographic record of your local area. Who'd buy that?

If you wrote any kind of academic or specialist book, who'd buy it?

The market for those things is very small and often very local. You're not going to interest a New York publisher in a photo-collection of the cheery vagrants of Marchway, nor of the fascinating mutated and often carnivorous plant life of Dume Swamp. For the village residents, such a book would be invaluable, but even so the total expected sales wouldn't exceed 50 copies. So it'll never have the Random House of Penguins on the cover, that's for sure.

My sarcastic friend, Romulus, has self-published a small book on ghosthunting. It's very short, and likely to appeal only to a small group of readers. So he put it through Lulu. That makes sense. No publisher would look at it, because it'll never sell enough to pay them. Plus, he doesn't really care how many he sells. It's not his primary source of income, not by a long way.

One idea that was mooted, I forget where, was that a writer might want to get themselves a printed copy of their finished novel before they send it out for agents to reject. Even after acceptance, it takes a long time before the book appears on shelves. You might not want to wait that long to see what it looks like in print.

Well, you can do that through Lulu too. Just be sure never to make the book available to the public, or you've shot yourself in the foot. The best option would be to load it up, get as many copies as you want printed, then delete it (after the copies arrive). These are working copies only, you don't need to fool around with pretty covers. Don't buy too many: one to write on when you find the blunders you missed on screen, one to store away so you can remind yourself what it looked like before the agent/editor changed it all. That's all you need.

Lulu doesn't charge you to put books up. They only charge for the copies you buy. I can see where such an idea might be attractive, but beware - be absolutely sure the public don't get so much as a sniff, and be sure it's deleted before you send to agents. If they search on your name, or your title, and they find it on Lulu, they'll be reaching for the form rejection in the next instant.

Also, don't pass your Lulu copies around. It won't be as good as the final print, and if you have a lot of friends who are interested in it, why would they buy it if they've read it? How much money you make depends on who buys your book, not who reads it.

If you're a writer, you're self-employed. Even if you have another, real-life job, your writing counts as self-employment the moment you try to sell any. Just ask the taxman. It's your job. You should be paid for it, you shouldn't be giving your work away for free.

Most of all, you should never pay anyone anything in your quest to be published. Never. How would you react if, in your day-job, your boss demanded you pay for permission to come to work?

If anyone asks you to pay them to let you write for them, react the same way.

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March 13, 2007

On a lighter note...

If you're a fan of Dr. Who (I prefer the ratty old doctor played by William Hartnell myself) and also of Monty Python, you might like this combination:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfNfDiqAF9Q

It even made Stumpy almost smile.

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March 10, 2007

One good visit deserves another.

Ah, it's wonderful to be visited by escaped convicts. There's no need to be concerned that someone might know where they are. It's certain they didn't leave a note of where they were going when they escaped unless they're exceptionally well-trained prisoners.

One of them was tall enough to provide a good base for the Tall Man sculpture. He was rather heavyset though, so I'd have had to carve away a fair amount. Rather than waste all that flesh, I decided to build a Hellboy instead. I hope this one will animate. The Pinhead didn't work last time.

The other convict was a scrawny specimen, useful only as a base stock for soup. I'll have Stumpy deal with that when he wakes up. He's slept all day, just because I asked him to stay up to work my trap. Well, escaped convicts don't catch themselves, you know.

These two had the good manners to bring the file and the knife along with them. That saves me having to use another set when I bake a cake for next visiting day. I wonder who I should visit next time?

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March 04, 2007

Blood moon time

That idiot Stumpy distracted me last night with some babbling about the sphere I asked him to catch. Well, it's his job, and I told him not to bother me until he had it. He's getting uppity lately. I might have to make some adjustments. I hope I have a strong enough saw to cut through that thick skull of his.

To add to my woes, I could barely see the blood moon. That's really irritating since the next one's not until next February and there's not likely to be another for years after that. The swamp's constant murk refused to part, so I could see only a hazy copper orb in the sky. The ceremony went okay, I suppose, even though I had only a lawyer to work with. Why the village had one of those is a mystery, but nobody seems to have objected to his disappearance. That makes a nice change. Usually there's all sorts of grumblings when someone goes missing.

It seems the Professor had better luck with the blood moon. He has photos.

Now, I have to deal with that idiot Stumpy. He's off in the old part of the castle somewhere, ranting about alien conspiracies. I've never met an alien. I wonder what they taste like? Stumpy sees conspiracies in everything, but then I have to make allowances. He's not entirely normal, you see.

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