News From The Front by Nathan Lowell

Word is that there's a war a-wagin' between the traditionally published and those subversive types who call themselves indies.

I was surprised to learn about it through a series of articles in the Guardian. I'm not going to link to it. You can find it if you want and you probably already saw it anyway because everybody reads the Guardian, am I right? You bet.

So anyway, I was reading about how traditional publishing is really about saving the cultural heritage, that it's about maintaining the status quo so that profits earned from the most popular books can keep the doors open for those authors who--shall we say--are less popular but who could be groomed to take a place at the big table. The best of the best and all that. The barbarians at the gate would tear this down by making books available for cheap, and horrible works at that. Sorta like the old Catskills resort joke about the food being terrible and served in such small portions.

Except, of course, that all the books aren't terrible and what are being held up as gatekeepers for cultural purity are really business people who really need to turn a profit themselves.

And therein lies that area where lines are being drawn, where ultimata are being issued. The trash talk is flying -- in both directions, to be fair -- but mostly it's "Oh yeah? Well if being indie is so great, where are all the people who've turned down big deals? Huh?" That's usually coupled with a few "But it's just a few exceptions to the rule that are successful!" and "Authors have always had to have second jobs! So what?"

Except the argument has no teeth. A growing number of people have turned down deals with the Bigs. I'm one of them but there are others I know. It's not something that gets press because, really? Who cares? The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence leaving the argument to fall back onto itself. It feels like the only people who really think there's a war on are the people who are trying to maintain that status quo. I'm certainly not bothered by them. Anybody who wants to follow that route is welcome to go. I don't want to stop them, or even dissuade them. It's their road to walk. They're welcome to walk it.

I have this image of an erstwhile Monty Python skit with John Cleese, Graham Chapman, and Michael Palin all done up a la Holy Grail and standing on a grassy knoll.

Cleese mutters, "Watch out, men. They're all around. You never know what they might do."

Chapman nods and scans outward as the camera pulls back revealing that they're in a cow pasture surrounded by cattle who are all very busy doing what cattle do and ignoring the knights glaring around at them.

After a few moments, Terry Jones steps into the frame wearing overalls, a farm coat, and tall, green wellies. He walks up to the group on the knoll and pulls out a watch. "You're about done, then, roight?"

Cleese shouts, "Done! We've barely started, you ignorant sod! The barbarians could attack any moment!"

"Yes, well, you only rented the field for the afternoon..."

Chapman steps over, a concerned look on his face. "What? Already?"

Jones holds up the watch for them to see and they all shrug and pack it in, walking away across the field while Jones waves the camera to black.

There's no war. Honestly, I don't think any of the indies care that the mainstream publishers are doing. Like the cows, we're just busy doing what we're doing and the sturm und drang of publishing happens on a small knoll that nobody really cares about.

The truth--as I see it--is that the successful writers have always been the exception. The only thing that's changed is that readers get to decide what they want to pull from the pile.

And maybe that's what has publishing so upset.