I’ve been in the techno-doldrums this week, lamenting my dependance on technology (and an internet connection) at the expense of real-world experience. I know I need to be online pushing my book, and my day job is all about computers, but it’s too easy to become disconnected from real life. I’ve not been feeling very creative this week, and I think it’s down to not unplugging enough (yes, I can appreciate the irony of that as I type this blog post into my web browser…). Digging around in these thoughts, I realised what my problem is with Inception: it lacks humanity – that vital element that sits at the core of great stories.

Possible Spoilers

Aside from Cobb (he has Very Big Issues to motivate him) not one person has a reason for following him on the task. They’re all cyphers – character archetypes who fill a need in the narrative. There’s a mumbling that Christopher Nolan’s films lack heart, and are cold as a result, and I don’t entirely disagree with that, but Inception goes way further. It’s entirely concerned with the HOW? at the expense of the WHAT? and WHY? So I put on my thinking hat, and tried to fill in those blanks myself, and it was then that I realised why Nolan’s characters aren’t human, why they need to be only cyphers – it’s because the core idea of the film is so abhorrent, the only way to keep it under the radar of most watchers is to dehumanise it to an abstract concept.

Now, I don’t read the Daily Mail, and I’ve watched some seriously moody fare in my cinema-going life, so I’m neither easily offended nor a tub-thumping cine-fascist, but Inception pissed me off. It pissed me off bad. It pissed me off enough to write a pseudo-review on my blog, which is something I never wanted to do. And it pissed me off because of the answers to those two questions: WHAT? and WHY?

• WHAT? They kidnap a man, whose only crime is to be the heir to a globe-spanning energy conglomerate and, without his permission, fundamentally modify his personality by injecting an alien idea into his subconscious. If this were technologically possible, I imagine the crime would be swiftly classified as a form of rape on a par with date rape: the victim doesn’t have to endure the horror of the attack, but the after effects  - the resulting knowledge – changes them forever, in fundamentally damaging ways. All rights to the contents of their mind (body) are dismissed as the attackers chase their goal.
• WHY? Money. Somebody pointed out the line Ken Watanabe says about the conglomerate nearing superpower status, but I’ve got one word for that. Antitrust. Maybe pre-Enron, pre-global-economic-meltdown, that would be a defence, but not now. Now it’s just about corporate greed.

So I’m not surprised that the characters were so lightly sketched; if you got to see their true characters, motivations and moral frameworks, you’d probably hate them, leaving only LeoNolan DiChristopher to root for as he wades through the guilt of having previously mind-raped his wife to death.

He’s one sick puppy.

Lyme Park, in Cheshire, is home to a book from the fifteenth century – the Lyme Caxton Missal – an instruction manual for clergymen. It was the first English book to be printed in two colours – a technique beyond English printers of the time, resulting in the printing being outsourced to Paris where the knowledge resided to achieve this feat of advance printing technology. The two colours (red and black) were used to convey the content of what the preacher should say (black) interspersed with instructions as to what he should do (red), which means that the technique had a useful purpose and wasn’t just for show.

The book’s available to view in the house’s library, but it’s under a lot of glass, so its entertainment value is limited. In order to allow people to fully explore the book, the National Trust have installed three computer screens in the library, which are effectively eBook readers. They’re not like any eBook reader currently being touted as the end of the printed word though – these things are cool. The displays are touchscreens – 17″-19″ at a guess – and the application is completely bespoke. The page-turning animation is as smooth as I’ve seen, and the functionality to zoom and navigate is both intuitive and useful. The core text is in Latin, and the option is available to pop-up a translation, or have an audio file play a reading back through attached headphones. All of the added functionality really served a purpose, and the experience was immersive; something more than just reading a book.

I chatted with the attendant in the room, and he commented that he appreciated the irony of reading a 500-year-old book on something so cutting edge, but it was something else he said that piqued my irony gland. He mentioned that the church at the time the book was printed feared the advent of mass-printing, as lower costs and increased availability would allow books into the hands of the peasant class, and subsequent education would make them less amenable to control. I’m not comparing that situation with the current watershed in the move from eBooks as a niche format to something gaining mass-market acceptance, but it does highlight the fact that the idea of restricting development of a technology, or availability of a resource, due to the needs/wants of a controlling elite isn’t a new one.

I’m not trying to get political, or suggest that the publishing houses aren’t acting in everyone’s best interests as they work to find a sustainable business model in the advent of widespread electronic distribution of books. I’m not even sure I have a point to make. My reason for writing is simply this: as I stood, surrounded by some of the oldest books in history, exploring a truly impressive piece of content-presentation software, I realised that the current impasse in the move to reasonably priced, non-release-windowed eBooks is just details. The content of those books – the art, inspiration and creativity – is going to find a way to reach its audience regardless of how hard the gatekeepers fight to hold it back. It’s not going to happen tomorrow, and it’s probably not going to happen soon, but it is eventually going to happen. And everything between now and then will just be history.

@glecharles, 1:00 PM May 19th

I really, really wanted to agree with this when I read it. It resonates with how I feel about my book and what I’m doing – that I’m competing with all books, and not just the independently produced ones. I’d never send my book for review by a publication dealing only with indie books; I’m putting Make a Move up for the Pepsi Challenge against every book out there, and I’m competing on story, character, dialogue and ideas, knowing that my editing and printed product are comparable with anything the mainstream can offer, and won’t let me down. The quality of my book is more important to me than any label I could attach to it, or myself.

And in a perfect world, that would be enough.

Thing is, if you don’t label yourself, someone else will. And that label is “vanity publisher”. It happened to a writer friend of mine last week; she was enquiring about whether attending a seminar on book marketing, targeted at publishers and held by a respected outfit in Manchester, would be of benefit to her. The reply she received told her that there would be little of interest to a vanity publisher. Nice.

This stereotype – the vanity publisher – was weak ten years ago, outdated five years ago, and is now just tired. Even its irony value as an inaccurate, mindless cliché sustained by a supposedly creative industry has faded. It’s time it ended.

I read Zoe Winter’s blog post over at IndieReader.com about how the term “indie author” is starting to catch on, and how indies with the skills and drive to produce a quality product need to stand up and define what it means to be an indie. I agree with her assertion of what it means – or what it should mean to be an indie author – and I’m committed to playing my part on all counts, but I’m skeptical about one thing, and that’s how far we, as indies, can push the title. I “officially” adopted the title of indie author when I changed my About page recently, but I didn’t do it because I needed to feel like part of a movement, or I was looking for validation, or I was yielding to peer pressure; I did it for the reason anyone running a business should do anything: because the customers asked.

I run Google Analytics on this site, and I monitor what people are searching for when they find me. Know what my most frequent search term is? “indie novel”. I don’t know specifically what these browsers want when they search for indie novels, but I hope they want the same thing I did when I used to search the “contemporary” section of a bookshop: something new, inspiring, raw, alternative, edgy – exactly the kind of books that are struggling to get book deals as publishing pounds are redirected to easier sells. So these readers are searching for something, and they’re finding me, and they’re sticking around to explore the site and download my sample episode (okay, I admit it, I have a data fetish).

So there is an indie movement in books, but it’s the readers who are driving it, not the writers. We have no control over where it goes, other than to do our utmost to give the readers print books and eBooks of the quality they deserve. And as for the title of “indie author”, its your choice whether to adopt it, but given the energy, enthusiasm and acceptance of the indies I’ve met since I published Make a Move and started this blog, it’s one I’m proud to accept.

It’s not possible to be cool; it’s only possible to be thought of as cool.

That was something I worked out a long time ago, something that’s since flavoured my perception of all things deemed worthy of my limited attention. Being cool has nothing to do with writing, as authors are generally considered uncool, but it has everything to do with the subjectivity of brands. If you’re marketing your own book, you’re creating a brand: you. You have control over that brand through what you do and say, and what you do and don’t reveal about yourself. What you don’t have control over is how that brand is perceived.

Writers are a predominantly solitary breed, so a common approach to building a brand would be to plan, create, execute and then sit back, safe in the knowledge that you have created a good thing. The benefit of this isolationist stance is that you’ll never know if you were wrong. It could be that your brand is so finely crafted and astutely executed that you’ll perceived as the literary equivalent of Eric Clapton from the second your website goes live, in which case you should probably give up writing and go make six figures a year in advertising. Chances are, though, that you’re not making as good a first impression as you could, and the perception of your work suffers as a result.

So How Can I Be Cool?

I already told you – it’s not possible. It’s only possible to be thought of as cool, and in the absence of the powers to pull off the Jedi mind trick, there’s only one way to achieve the perception of coolness, and that’s to engage your readers in the development of your brand. Give them every opportunity to feed back on:

• Your blog posts – good or bad? too long or too short? too tame or too sweary?
• Your book cover and marketing materials – it took a 1cm drop of my book title to change the perceived message of my book, and I didn’t spot that – someone else did. It really is the little things. 1cm was all the difference between a contemporary slacker-thriller and a Clive Cussler knock-off.
• Your social media – you might think that last Twitter update was biting satire, but there’s a fine line between satire and just being a cock.

No matter how long you’ve been working in solitude on writing the book, you have to let others get involved once you go public. I get the impression that too many indie authors are working in a vacuum (I can’t think of another way to explain some of the ridiculously high prices on Smashwords, coupled with typo-ridden synopses) and that’s not a good place to create a brand that’s going to have broad appeal.

Let’s go one further; how about letting others design your brand? I recently shot an author interview that will be online in a few weeks (volcano, ash, technology shipments, tedious story…) and my only role in designing the piece was to put the team together and show up with cake. The list of questions and the final edit are out of my hands, because that’s the only way I can produce something that shows me and my writing as perceived by others.

Will I come across as cool, and thus enhance my brand and the perceived value of my writing?

You tell me.

As the currents of power and money circulate in the sea of publishing, and authors and publishers from traditional shores wait for an arm to raise from the water, clutching a profitable, sustainable business model, sparkling Excalibur-like in the sun, one word constantly lurks just beneath the surface: Platform. Joanna Penn (at The Creative Penn) defines the term pretty well, but to summarise, your platform as an author is the things you do to engage with the book-buying public. This includes blogging, social media (Twitter, Facebook, et al), podcasting, or any regular event where you contribute as an “expert” (such as writing workshops).

Exploring Social Media

When I first created a Twitter account (@cinemanche), I didn’t know what my goal was. It was pitched to me as a great way to reach customers and sell books, but after six months of active participation, I’ve decided that it isn’t. It’s a great way to connect with people who can help, advise and inspire you, and to return the favour where you can, but these are your peers/friends/contacts; they’re not potential customers. Aside from celebrities, you do see people with thousands of followers, who are clearly marketing a product, but the value of these relationships (mostly generated by spam-like follow/auto-reply behaviour) is negligible.

My Facebook profile is for my real-life friends to stay in touch and let me know, passively in many cases, what they’re up to. Some friends have bought my book, but they were all connected with the project outside of Facebook. I put the odd post about the book on there if I feel it’s a noteworthy achievement, but otherwise, I don’t try to sell to my Facebook friends. If they wanted a copy, they’d have bought one; they’re not potential customers. I do see people on Facebook who are simply using it as a marketing tool, spamming my feed with link after link, but they get their asses hidden, if not blocked, pretty fast.

I set up a Facebook fan page for Make a Move, and again I didn’t know what my goal was. Now it’s a great way for people to follow my progress and get updates first when they’re not on Twitter. In almost every case, my fans have bought the book; they’re not potential customers.

So if these tools aren’t a source of potential customers, what value are they to my platform? None. Because, contrary to what most people will tell you, they’re not Platform; they’re Presence.

Connections

I wrote Make a Move for me. I published it to connect with people. I know that sounds trite, but I sure as hell ain’t doing it for the money. I want real connections – not the one-way street of supplier > customer. I want to have a conversation, to learn something, to be entertained, and my Presence provides the conduit for that. I hope people see my blogging/tweeting/posting as adding value to the Make a Move experience, and that it will keep people with me as I write more books, but I’m not selling anything. It’s just me, online, having fun.

A Time and a Place for Everything

Some of the more aggressive marketers out there would say I’m lazy and ineffectual in not exploiting every available avenue to sell books, but like I said, it’s not a sales channel; it’s just me, online, having fun. When I do want to sell books, I go to places that have a uniquely important resource: book buyers who haven’t read Make a Move yet. You can check out the list of online and offline places comprising my Platform here, but note the common factor; in every case, people go to those places primarily to buy books.

I’m smart that way…

I try not to give advice on my blog, just examples of what I’ve tried and what the outcome was, good or bad. So consider this an insight into my psyche rather than a piece of advice: I’m more than happy to talk, to listen, to collaborate, to drink and dance until the sun comes up, but nothing turns me off faster than the rancid odour of an underhand sales pitch. And I’m not the only one…

One area I thought Apple might explore, given their history of placing pro-level creative tools into the hands of amateurs, is publishing. Maybe adding an iPublish app to the iLife suite that would allow you to upload magazine layouts or text from their Pages app to create online magazines or eBooks for sale from their online store. Maybe iPublish would let you take the podcast you could already create in Garageband and upload it to the iTunes Music Store. I’m just thinking out loud here, like I was back then, but that’s the kind of market shift I was hoping for. There’s still time for them to do this – the iLife suite is overdue for an update, and could be released soon after the iPad with a new twist to offer, but it’s not looking likely.

Then, two days ago, I realised that Apple had actually delivered that market shift; they signed a distribution deal with Smashwords. I know that Amazon have allowed writers to publish directly on the Kindle store for a while, but you need a US bank account to do it, which shuts out a lot of people. Apple have removed the last obstacles to any writer reaching their readers. By signing a deal with an independent distributor of independently published books, Apple have removed all need for publishers and agents. Notice that I said need, not want; there’s every chance the iBook store will devolve into the same morasse as the App Store, so there’s still a strong argument for the consistent “quality” that the traditional publishing machine can deliver, but as long as I can buy a title of the quality of Doom Resurrection in the App Store, there’s hope for its literary neighbour.

This isn’t “the death of traditional publishing”, but something big did just happen. Where we all go from here is anyone’s guess; I’m sure that Apple like to think they know, but they can’t predict what readers are going to choose any more than I can. And Smashwords aren’t predicting anything; they’re just enabling the rest of us.

When Amazon released the Kindle application for the Mac last week, I downloaded and installed it, then went onto the store to see what was available. I wanted to see what the fuss was about. I found some bestsellers around the $10 mark (yes, I have to buy in dollars and stitch a commission when my credit card company performs the exchange) and a lot around the $0 mark. As in, a LOT of free eBooks. Guess which I bought?

Neither. I went to the Amazon UK store and ordered a couple of paperbacks instead. Seriously – I’m not just trying to make a point.

My thinking was this:

• $10, with an exchange commission, is about £7 on my credit card bill. That’s almost the price of a new release paperback in Waterstones. On Amazon UK, I can get the same paperback for between £4 and £5 if I don’t mind waiting a couple of days for free delivery (and bear in mind that this is a book for my reading pile, not music or a movie; I can wait). If I don’t get the physical book to keep, I’m not prepared to pay more than half of the cover price for an eBook edition, so for an £8 print book, my eLimit is £4.
• A price of $0 tells me that you don’t think your book is worth anything. I understand that writers want to build a fanbase and get “sales”, but a fanbase of people who “bought” your book for free is simply a list of people who downloaded your book. They didn’t pay for it, so there’s no compulsion to read it and extract value from it. And if you spent 2 years writing it, and don’t think it’s even worth one penny, why should they risk 10-12 hours of their time reading it when there are books to be read by authors who think their work is good enough to justify charging a fee in return for their time, writing skills and creativity? I know authors whose only goal is be as widely read as possible, and I admire that goal, but I’m not sure giving your work away for free is the way to do it. 1000 unread downloads doesn’t generate word-of-mouth. How about charging one dollar and giving the proceeds to charity (and making the charitable nature of the sale clear in the online store)? Now that would probably sell and be read.

I know that the eBook market is aimed more at customers using eReader devices, but I wanted to buy a book, and if I factor in the price of hardware, that first eBook purchase is going to cost over £200, with no guaranteed savings over the following years to cover that outlay.  And I can get the same book on Amazon UK for £4…

So, my first foray into eBooks was a non-starter. I tried, honestly I did. I looked around and read some blurbs and compared some prices, but couldn’t find a price point I was happy with for a book that interested me. I was disappointed.

So how has this affected my opinion on whether to publish Make a Move as an eBook? Find out tomorrow…

I’ve taken my foot off the marketing gas this last couple of weeks. Balancing writing and promoting is difficult at the best of times, but I let disharmony creep into my domestic life, and that’s been eating away at my free time. Now that I’ve been able to straighten out my schedule, I’m back in the game, but with an air of tension that I’ve somehow damaged my reputation as a self-publisher by not pushing the book as hard as I could have. It’s not been a complete washout – one of my retailers called to ask for more books – but I have this feeling that I could have, and should have, done more. I was beating myself up over this failure, when I came to a realisation.

This project is running to my schedule.

This mantra of promote, promote, promote didn’t originate in my world – it came from publishers of music, books and films who have moved from a position of developing artists over time, to looking for a fast return. If your debut album bombs, you’re done. If a film underperforms on its opening weekend, it’s a flop. The big publishing houses are still putting marketing money behind significant releases, but that window is narrow, with other book slots chasing it, and that title has to hit big in its allotted time. No one cares about letting a product find its market through word of mouth any more, as it takes too long.

Word of mouth is everything to me for two reasons. First, I don’t have access to national/international physical distribution, and second, I want my book to find the readers who will love it, and I know they’ll love it because it’s been recommended by friends who know their tastes.

Word of mouth takes time to build. A long time. And I have that time, as I don’t have to provide an immediate return on this title. Yes, I’m mad that these last two weeks have been unproductive, and yes, I’m working my ass off to catch up, but I’m not stressing about it anymore. There is no deadline.

Not that I’m being complacent, and allowing apathy to creep in. I’m just seeing this project for what it is: my life.

So, this post isn’t writing advice; it’s just some changes I made to my writing and life styles that got me through Make a Move, and that are on my mind as I plan book two. Maybe there’s something in here that will inspire you to make your own changes.

The List

• Don’t plan in too much detail. If you already know every last plot detail of a book, there’s nothing left for you, as the author, to discover. If the writing of a book isn’t filled with delights and surprises, it’s just work, and most day jobs pay better.
• Make it as easy as possible to write. For me, this meant buying a new battery for my laptop and taking it with me everywhere. A lot of people create a sanctuary of creativity in which to work – a haven of peace and inspiration. If you need that to write, what are you doing when you’re not in it?
• Stop watching tv. Okay – this was one bit of advice I did take on board from Stephen King (in his book, On Writing), but I added my own twist. I like tv – I think Make a Move would make a great tv show, so I’m not going to dismiss it, either as an art form or a source of inspiration. What I did instead was to break my watching habits so I watch a show in my own time, rather than when it’s on. I have Sky+ for that, but there are many ways to “time-shift” your viewing (legally…): HD/DVD recorders, catch-up tv services, hell – even a VCR. The trick is to get out of that mentality that tells you “it’s 9pm, time for show X”; that hard stop is like an incoming truck ready to crush your productivity. And try to limit yourself to having one or two shows on the go at a time unless you’re working to a 30-hour day.
• Create demand. The first book you write has nobody waiting on it, so the only pressure to complete it comes from within. If you can, deliver it to your first readers in stages, so that their expectation for subsequent parts is driving you. Make a Move is written in six episodes, so it’s perfect for this, but any book can be broken up during the writing. Those smaller project goals make it easier to keep going too.
• Write something new. Okay – this is a contentious one, but it applies to me, and that’s what this list is about. If you’re writing your own take on a story that’s already in print, all you’re doing is walking in someone else’s footprints, and chances are, their story was pretty good (or why else did you read it) so you’re setting the bar even higher than it needs to be. My biggest issue with this approach is that I feel like I’m copying/rehashing/riding coat-tails (choose a term based on which is least offensive to you), and I can’t think of anything more likely to sap energy and creativity. If you think you’re in familiar territory, make it REALLY different. Play with textures of writing, with readers’ expectations. Break the rules. And if you’re convinced that you can’t get away from that previous work, ask yourself if there’s even a need for your book. Maybe you should move onto the next idea instead.

Like I said, this isn’t advice; it’s just a summary of the thought processes that got me where I needed to be, but like I said above, people love to give advice, so I’m going to give in to temptation and share one cast-iron writing tip:

Adverbs are for children.

The commercial viability of books, and how some books are too niche to sell enough copies to justify the setup costs, is one of the main arguments of the “gatekeepers” – those who decide who does and doesn’t warrant a book deal, namely agents and editors. It’s a fair point; if a book is going to lose money, you’d hope they wouldn’t print it, especially if you have shares in their employer. It’s a shame, then, that so many vocal supporters of the gatekeeper model are so negative about the alternative – namely indie publication (whether small-press or self-published). Books published through these channels are so often dismissed as “not good enough”, but the fact that they could just be “too niche” is never considered.

I don’t think Make a Move is niche (in fact, my current readership is more diverse than I dared to hope for) so this isn’t about me. It’s about a segregated market – and the colour and variety that can provide – being hindered by a curious, self-defeating world view of the mainstream.

I’m not sure what the cause of this view is, but whenever I see some unfair disparity in a situation involving massive numbers of unconnected people, I just assume it’s fear, and it usually is. I know that makes me sound old and bitter (I’m 35, and reasonably equanimous) but I’m pretty sure it’s the case here. Maybe it’s the fear that with the advent of eBooks, there’ll never be another Harry Potter (there won’t – piracy guarantees it) but maybe the real fear is that we might see a literary Blair Witch Project. Now that would upset the apple cart.

It’s not a polished theory, but it’s an interesting notion, and one I’m going to explore more.

Thoughts?