When writing, one of the last things I worry about is medium of publication. The act of writing, then the words written, consume my attention. When I think the piece is done – done meaning I’m sick of looking at it or it has reached a certain degree of completion – I briefly evaluate whether it’s worth putting ‘out there’ by submitting it to a literary e-/journal, if I should put it on the blog or pretend I never wrote it and do nothing.
There is usually a direct correllation between the effort I’ve put in and where I decide it should go. That is, if I have toiled away, done draft after freakin’ draft of something, I will usually want to put it out there – as, among other things, vindication for my efforts. There are exceptions to the rule ['For modern admirers' became one of the most difficult things I have ever written], and it doesn’t mean I am not proud of the work that gets put on here. But this fact remains: putting it on the blog is an escape – from the hardships of the publication process and of tough, often necessary editing.
With that said, you’d be right if you assume that I have no plans of giving away a novel for free. As far as I’m concerned, the opportunities for publication in Australia are still there and I’m still of the maybe naive opinion that if you’re good enough you’ll get noticed. Which is all a lengthy way of saying I am not completely ignorant of medium. I do have an archetype in my mind – the printed, perfect-bound book, and everything ‘book’ connotes.
But. As the world turns into something increasingly digital, it is a distinct and likely possibility that aspiring/emerging/wannabe writers of this generation, if not the next, and of all levels of success will never have anything in print, that they will exist solely in a digital format. Once again: it is likely that writers of a crazy future that is growing ever-nearer will never have anything they have written in print beyond somebody getting out of their way to press the Print button on their browser/e-reading device.
In the same way that once you’ve built a castle, you’re a castle-builder, there seems to be some general agreement that once you have a book out, you’re a writer. What you did can be seen and touched, your efforts collected in one spot as testament to those efforts. It may border on the primitive, but the fact I may never actually have something tangible I can pass hand-to-hand to somebody else causes me more than a bit of consternation.
It is alarming for more reasons than are obvious. I love books. A tiny part of why I write is I want to be part of that tradition. In contrast, I don’t blog because I want to be part of the blogging tradition. I love British Modernism, which exists in books. I like Borges, whose books often contain stories about books. I occasionally pick through a Classic on Project Gutenberg, but if I’m going to read the story, I give Penguin money and they give me a black-covered book. This is just my understanding of how things are done and I began writing – not that it was all that long ago – with worries of cover designs and type and spacing and something I could put proudly on a shelf or incinerate in a fire in mind.
I am consoled by the fact I am not alone with finding value in the tangible. In his comment on my Microsft Courier post, Nigel said that he loved the “physicality of reading.” Hackpacker, in his defence of indpendent bookstores, described the experience of going into a bookshop as sensual. For him, it is also a social and community-building undertaking.
The digitalisation of careers raises questions of readership, of audience, of format and of price – issues far bigger than this humble post. Mark Barrett at Ditchwalk has recently spent a fair chunk of his time looking at these issues as he embarks on the lonely road to self-publication, so check him out if you’re interested – the allegorical Professionalism and Quality post is a good start. But for me, it also raises questions of completeness, of what I want to achieve.
Which doesn’t mean I will give it all up. In the beginning was the Word - I doubt it’s going anywhere in my life time.
LI
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2 Comments
I think there is hope in these two facts: apparently sales of vinyl records are on the increase (it certainly is in the city I normally live in, because I buy heaps!), and in the last few months some very successful bands have put out songs on cassingle. In terms of books and reading, I reckon more formats the better, as it will surely increase readership.
BUT, personally, you’re right: I’d rather read words on paper. In the last few days I’ve been doing heaps of travelling and am lugging around a laptop, dongle, digitial camera etc. I’m enjoying having this technology at my fingertips, but what did I do as I spent a day going from airport to airport? I read ‘In Cold Blood’. And God how good it was to have with me something as simple as a book. Particularly that book.
In 20 years time we’ll still have bookshops, but like consuming music, plenty of people will also be buying books in different formats.
Well, I can at least SOUND confident, can’t I?
You raise two good points, Nigel. Firstly, that outmoded formats usually do find continued support and, secondly, that there will be a variety of formats available in the future.
Zines and chap books, for instance, continue to exist in niche markets – they may not yield financial rewards but that probably isn’t the point.
And I agree that, for better or worse, multiple formats will co-exist – it only seems logical – in the same way as multiple digital video formats exist now. Either way, I’m convinced that the fact the book has undergone such little change in over 600 years is a testament to its design.