THE COST OF WRITING
More and more publishers are demanding money from writers who submit work. Reading fees for submissions, especially for literary competitions, are now commonplace. Often the charge is around $25 per entry. Imagine the cost if you have, say, eight short stories and want to enter for eight different competitions.
Yesterday I saw a novel competition advertised. It was run by a reputable publisher, and the guidelines fitted in just fine with one of my ms. Then I discovered that all entrants had to pay a fee. No, thanks. Shortly after I found another competition with no costs involved at all, and submitted a different work.
The latest fee I've come across is $3 to send your work in through an online Submission Manager on the publisher's website. And you have no choice in the matter, that is the only method of submission permitted. Again, no thanks. I refuse to hand over my hard-earned money without having any idea if my work will be accepted or not. I may as well spend my $25 on a lottery ticket. There are plenty of other publishers who will happily read what I send in without asking for a cent.
Yes, publishing is a risky business today and costs are high. Small publishers and magazines are constantly closing down. But how is it that other firms manage to survive without asking their writers for a subsidy, which is what the fees amount to? This system is especially hard on young emerging writers and those on small incomes. They have no choice but to look for free submission opportunities. If publishers cannot cope without charging fees, maybe they should ask themselves what they can do to increase their circulation and improve their product, rather than plunder the pockets of hopeful writers.
AND THE QUESTION OF MANNERS
Once when you submitted work to a publisher, he would reply, letting you know your submission had safely arrived. If the work was not suitable for that particular firm, a polite letter would come telling you this, and wishing you luck with another publisher. Sometimes the editor would even offer a few hints on what direction you should take next. What a different world! Now the arrival of our submissions, even of full-length works, is often not acknowledged either on delivery or rejection. We are told that if we have heard nothing after three or four or six or eight months we may assume we have been rejected. The publishers are far too busy and important to bother having any contact with us. Presumably if they accept a ms. eventually they will condescend to write or call.
To my mind this system is just plain bad-mannered and thoughtless. How are we to know if the ms. ever arrived safely, for a start? Both ordinary and Internet mail can and does sometimes go missing. Last year I would sometimes e-mail a colleague in the next office, only to have the message disappear without trace, undelivered. And how long is an emerging writer urgently looking for publication expected to wait for the non-reply? This system is full of holes.
Over last weekend I sent away a number of short submissions, stories and verse. To my surprise, several editors sent personal messages already on Monday morning, letting me know that my online submissions had arrived and would duly receive careful consideration. I was pleased and impressed. And by the way, most of the messages came from staff on small publications with limited budgets. Where does that leave the argument that increasing costs prevent publishers contacting us or answering questions about our work? They need to come up with a better excuse. I'll go with the mannerly and courteous editors and readers every time. They deserve our support.
ONCE PREPARING A MANUSCRIPT WAS EASY. You typed it out, or got someone else to if you were a typing illiterate, then put it in the local post box after selecting a publisher's address from the nearest available list. Then all you had to do was sit back and wait for the reply. Now I do believe it takes longer to sort out the right publisher and the right approach, check all the angles, odd requirements, formatting demands and so forth than it took to write the whole novel in the first place.
AND we are asked for business plans, publicity strategies and all sorts of extras that were always the responsibility of the publisher. We have to sell ourselves as well as the books. Why? What is the publisher doing with all that extra time?
More importantly, IS IT ALL WORTH IT? Time will tell.
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MY FRIEND has been watching an action movie nearby while I write. "Are you paying attention?" he just demanded. "They destroyed London in a second just then while you blinked." Oh dear. I can multi-task with the best of them, but peeping over the top of the computer screen at a bunch of comic book characters come to life? It just doesn't ring too many bells for me. All those explosions and evil master minds.
I'd rather just remember London as it was. Solid. Sedate. Old.
PRAIRIE SUMMER STORMS are fascinating - as long as you are a comfortable distance from the actual site of all the action. They come sweeping out of nowhere, create havoc, and just as suddenly as they arrived, disappear. Wonderful. I have never seen such a huge sky, such vast fields stretching away endlessly beyond the horizon, anywhere else except in Russia. Yet in almost everything the two countries could not be more different. The peace between them is still an uneasy one.
