We’re back after a long and involuntary hiatus, about which more later. For today’s post, though, I wanted to share my response to a Murderati post by the inestimable Pari Noskin Taichert. Pari asks:
Does publisher brand matter at all? Do Harlequin or St. Martin’s mean anything anymore? Is Simon & Schuster still known for quality? Do Random House, Mira, Intrigue, Soho, Poisoned Pen or Tor carry any value-added as far as the customer is concerned? I don’t know, but those questions beget more:
Will publishers as we know them become such behemoths, slow moving beasts, that even traditionally-published authors will opt to self-publish in order to get rid of the middlemen (publishers and distributors)? When the big chains install print-on-demand machines in their stores, will there be any benefit whatsover by going the traditional route?
I find it interesting, from a business standpoint, that people seem to look at traditional publishing vs. self-publishing as an either/or proposition. It seems there are people who argue vehemently that traditional publishers are the only ones who matter, and others who argue with equal vehemence that the big publishing houses are pushing themselves to irrelevance. My question is, why does it need to be an either/or? Consider what happens when you shift focus from publishing to another business. Starbucks produces vast amounts of coffee, and has a great distribution network. They offer their customers a certain ubiquity, along with a consistency of product. They offer their suppliers access to a huge marketplace, and in return they likely receive those goods at a discount. On the other hand, my friend Alma serves darned good coffee at the Mexican restaurant she owns. Alma has five employees, all family, and no aspirations of becoming a multinational corporation. And the fact that Alma’s coffee sales in a year wouldn’t come close to what Starbucks sells in a day doesn’t mean she should sell her coffee pot and move on. Some people love her coffee and look askance at the masses who pay twice as much for the same product from the green-apron folks. And, likewise, some people happily pay $4.75 for their morning latte while looking down their noses at Alma’s tiny restaurant. So, who’s right? Which coffee is better? I think it depends on what you’re looking for. And, coming back to the publishing industry, it depends there too. To stretch my metaphor a bit, the big publishing houses are rather like Starbucks — they offer great distribution and (potentially) marketing channels, and a certain consistency of product. The tiny presses and self-published authors, on the other hand, are like my friend’s restaurant — they don’t have the visibility of the big guys, but they can still make a darned good cup of coffee. So, why should the publishing industry be any different than any other? Why couldn’t multiple business models coexist, giving authors the freedom to make choices — throughout their career — about which model would best suit their short- and long-term goals? Why does “published through a traditional publishing company” still make sense as a definition of who is and isn’t an author? My friend Frank has written a couple of spy novels. They’re self-published, and they’re not (nor do they aspire to be) Frank’s attempt at becoming the next Clancy or Le Carre. But he’s sold a few hundred copies, and is now in his third print run of one of them. None of the big publishing houses would likely pick up his work. But he’s content to tell his stories to a few hundred interested fans, and it seems silly to me to argue that his choice isn’t a valid one.
Perhaps self-publishing isn’t the choice all of us would make, but it’s brought him the level of success he wants and a local fan base that enjoys his work. So what’s the problem? Why should he have to aspire to be a Starbucks, when he’s perfectly content with serving up a few hundred good cups of coffee?
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