Luddite or Paranoid?
Apr. 17th, 2007 08:06 amI suppose I should say something about the big webscab/technopeasant dust-up here on my own LJ. I’m a dues-paying member of SFWA and I continue to wonder what exactly my membership buys me other than a front row seat to some of the industry’s most inflammatory rants.
In my opinion, it’s really too bad that Dr. Hendrix decided to use language so incendiary that he effectively torched this whole debate before it even got off the ground. It’s really inexcusable to call so many of us working writers “webscabs,” when, really, most are only doing what the current century requires in terms of self-promotion. I’m glad that John![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scalzientered the debate, because even as I was first reading Hendrix’s comments I suspected that Scalzi in particular (but also noted SFWA-electronic-age-agitator Cory Docktrow) was, in point of fact, the main political target.
However, as a former member of the National Writers Union, I find myself unwilling to completely throw in with (![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
papersky) Jo Walton’s call for a free content day either. Yeah, you can read portions of what I’ve written “professionally” for free in any number of venues -- even on my own website. I also have exclusive fiction on my website under Mouse’s house, though that’s not anything that I would even attempt to sell elsewhere. I absolutely agree that in today’s market a reader has to have an opportunity to taste before s/he buys. I also think freebies, like the stuff I make available on Mouse’s house, are a nice thank you to loyal readers.
That being said, I’m leery of posting complete novels or short stories on my website when there may be opportunities for resale (reprints). I’m probably being a hopeless Luddite who doesn’t understand how electronic rights work, but no matter what anyone tells me, I’m unlikely to change my mind about this much. The reason is personal, and here it is:
When I was first starting out, I posted all sorts of fiction on a listserv for vampire fans and I discovered the joys of getting responses (from strangers!) about my work. What a rush that was! In fact, I could probably credit that experience with the drive to produce my first original short story which was a very cheesy vampire short called “The Dark Gift.” About this same time, I took a class at the Loft about writing SF/F and was exposed to the idea of sending stories to market. On the advice of my instructor, I subscribed to, among other magazines, Scavenger’s Newsletter (a paper precursor to Ralan.com). Having so loved the rush of getting responses on-line, I saw all the calls for submissions heartening. I sent my stuff to any magazine that would give me a by-line. I probably gave away four or five stories before it occurred to me that, you know, my writing wasn’t half bad… maybe I should consider getting PAID to do it.
At first, this seemed a little like heresy to me. Paid for my art? That would destroy the romantic image that I’d held in my mind of the starving artist. I wrote for the love, damn it! Also around this time I somehow ended up joining the National Writers Union – probably as part of my constant search to talk to real, live published/working writers. There I was introduced to the concept that not everyone CAN write. What we do, they told me, is worth something. Would you expect a skilled carpenter to come into your home, build fantastic cabinets and then say, “No, no, don’t pay me. I do it because I’m an artist!”? No, you wouldn’t. Now, I might like a universe that operates that way, but the fact of the matter is that we consider most skills -- like carpentry, plumbing, medicine -- to be worth not just money, but a great deal of it.
Not to mention the fact that the carpenter, by virtue of her/his skill can support themselves and their family. People may do carpentry as a hobby, but if you decide to do it for a living, you should be paid a living wage for it.
For me, this idea was a huge eye-opener. For me, it invested what I did – write – with a value that I’d never assigned it before. My writing should be worth something real, like hard, cold cash? Really? Me? On one hand that seemed crass, but on the other it was like saying, “Yeah, you know, what I do is valuable.”
For whatever reason, I turned a corner after that. I was able to sell what I wrote to professional markets, partly, I think because I started taking the business of writing seriously. I told myself that what I was doing wasn’t some frivolous waste of time, it was a real, honest job. In fact, if you were to ask Mason what his ima does for a living, he would tell you, “she writes.” My partner is always very good about reminding me (and Mason) that when I go writers group and such events, this is my work. It’s what I do.
Writers, in particular those who haven’t got book or short story credits to their name yet, have a hard time convincing their friends and family that what they do is real and important. Getting a paycheck is something you can wave in people’s faces to say, “Yes, actually, I got paid to write, thank you very much.”
Even now, I feel like every paycheck is hard won. Every novel written is still carved out of my life in a way that feels less respected than what a plumber does. So, okay, call me a luddite and lump me in with crazies like Hendrix, truth is that I’m a little prickly about giving it away for free. I do what I must to sell myself, but after that, all I have to say is: “Free? Honey, I’m worth more than that.”
Snap.
In my opinion, it’s really too bad that Dr. Hendrix decided to use language so incendiary that he effectively torched this whole debate before it even got off the ground. It’s really inexcusable to call so many of us working writers “webscabs,” when, really, most are only doing what the current century requires in terms of self-promotion. I’m glad that John
scalzientered the debate, because even as I was first reading Hendrix’s comments I suspected that Scalzi in particular (but also noted SFWA-electronic-age-agitator Cory Docktrow) was, in point of fact, the main political target. However, as a former member of the National Writers Union, I find myself unwilling to completely throw in with (
papersky) Jo Walton’s call for a free content day either. Yeah, you can read portions of what I’ve written “professionally” for free in any number of venues -- even on my own website. I also have exclusive fiction on my website under Mouse’s house, though that’s not anything that I would even attempt to sell elsewhere. I absolutely agree that in today’s market a reader has to have an opportunity to taste before s/he buys. I also think freebies, like the stuff I make available on Mouse’s house, are a nice thank you to loyal readers. That being said, I’m leery of posting complete novels or short stories on my website when there may be opportunities for resale (reprints). I’m probably being a hopeless Luddite who doesn’t understand how electronic rights work, but no matter what anyone tells me, I’m unlikely to change my mind about this much. The reason is personal, and here it is:
When I was first starting out, I posted all sorts of fiction on a listserv for vampire fans and I discovered the joys of getting responses (from strangers!) about my work. What a rush that was! In fact, I could probably credit that experience with the drive to produce my first original short story which was a very cheesy vampire short called “The Dark Gift.” About this same time, I took a class at the Loft about writing SF/F and was exposed to the idea of sending stories to market. On the advice of my instructor, I subscribed to, among other magazines, Scavenger’s Newsletter (a paper precursor to Ralan.com). Having so loved the rush of getting responses on-line, I saw all the calls for submissions heartening. I sent my stuff to any magazine that would give me a by-line. I probably gave away four or five stories before it occurred to me that, you know, my writing wasn’t half bad… maybe I should consider getting PAID to do it.
At first, this seemed a little like heresy to me. Paid for my art? That would destroy the romantic image that I’d held in my mind of the starving artist. I wrote for the love, damn it! Also around this time I somehow ended up joining the National Writers Union – probably as part of my constant search to talk to real, live published/working writers. There I was introduced to the concept that not everyone CAN write. What we do, they told me, is worth something. Would you expect a skilled carpenter to come into your home, build fantastic cabinets and then say, “No, no, don’t pay me. I do it because I’m an artist!”? No, you wouldn’t. Now, I might like a universe that operates that way, but the fact of the matter is that we consider most skills -- like carpentry, plumbing, medicine -- to be worth not just money, but a great deal of it.
Not to mention the fact that the carpenter, by virtue of her/his skill can support themselves and their family. People may do carpentry as a hobby, but if you decide to do it for a living, you should be paid a living wage for it.
For me, this idea was a huge eye-opener. For me, it invested what I did – write – with a value that I’d never assigned it before. My writing should be worth something real, like hard, cold cash? Really? Me? On one hand that seemed crass, but on the other it was like saying, “Yeah, you know, what I do is valuable.”
For whatever reason, I turned a corner after that. I was able to sell what I wrote to professional markets, partly, I think because I started taking the business of writing seriously. I told myself that what I was doing wasn’t some frivolous waste of time, it was a real, honest job. In fact, if you were to ask Mason what his ima does for a living, he would tell you, “she writes.” My partner is always very good about reminding me (and Mason) that when I go writers group and such events, this is my work. It’s what I do.
Writers, in particular those who haven’t got book or short story credits to their name yet, have a hard time convincing their friends and family that what they do is real and important. Getting a paycheck is something you can wave in people’s faces to say, “Yes, actually, I got paid to write, thank you very much.”
Even now, I feel like every paycheck is hard won. Every novel written is still carved out of my life in a way that feels less respected than what a plumber does. So, okay, call me a luddite and lump me in with crazies like Hendrix, truth is that I’m a little prickly about giving it away for free. I do what I must to sell myself, but after that, all I have to say is: “Free? Honey, I’m worth more than that.”
Snap.
