Off with their heads! It's a revolution, baby...

Revolutions are, historically, bloody affairs. Upheavals of order, changing the status quo, out with the old and in with the new. People – especially the people in charge, for whom the old ways are working just fine, thanks very much – don't like change, and those in authority go down fighting, if they end up going down at all.

The rise of self-publishing – or the 'indie revolution', as some call it – has certainly created upheavals in the publishing industry. And it's sounded the death knell for a few old relics: the idea, for example, that a bunch of editors in New York should decide what everyone's going to read (and what they're not going to read, for that matter). The idea that authors need publishers more than publishers need authors, and that the person who sells the book should make more money than the person who writes it.

These are all good changes, for readers and authors both.

But other things have withered, too. The big advance. The publicity effort for anything other than the most carefully-selected bestsellers. The mass-market paperback, and ultimately the mid-list. All these things have suffered, and could die forever, for good or ill.

But that's okay, isn't it? Because we've cut out the middle man, and that's always a good thing, right? Authors are now in charge of their own destinies, and readers can drive the market like never before. So it's okay. Right?

Right?

Have we really eliminated the middle man? Or have we, like post-Revolution France, merely traded one king for another, and put the elephant in the corner (y'know, that big fat ugly one with ubiquitous online retailer stamped on his forehead) in charge?

Historically, revolutions die because the wrong people are put in power. The French Revolution committed suicide by executing the last man who had any hope of running the place – granted, the bloke was a maniac, but needs must – and calling in the army. The English, likewise, were one forceful republican personality short; their revolution wasted away when their pseudo-King died with no one to follow him. The world just wasn't ready for the ideas they'd birthed.

But I think the 'indie revolution' is different. It's an idea whose time has clearly come. Both for authors and for readers. We all wanted more. Well, now we've got it. What next?

Sure, the pendulum will swing: already, readers are complaining there's too much crap out there to find the good books, and authors are struggling for discoverability in the swamp of indistinguishable content. A shift back towards branded publishing is inevitable. And publishers are responding, with new digital imprints with shorter lead times, better royalties, more flexibility for authors. Wresting back control from General Bonaparte… er, I mean Mr. Elephant Retailer… has become a priority, lest the ideals of the revolution – that is, author control and reader satisfaction, in case you've forgotten – lest the very prizes we aimed for be lost.

The counter-revolution, citizens, is here. Who will emerge on top? Who knows?

But even 'failed' revolutions scatter newborn freedoms in their wake. The outdated and unfair French class system never recovered, and good riddance. The English Civil War birthed the right to silence, the presumption of innocence, representative government and other basic freedoms that every civilized society relies on to this day.

What's all this got to do with anything? I'm not really sure :) But nothing is cost-free. It's clear that you can't change the world without leaving some people bleeding by the wayside. And if you're going to chop off the king's head? You'd better have a plan for what to do next – or the elephant will just trample right over you.

xx Erica
http://www.facebook.com/ericahayes.author

The Digital Revolution: Ultimate Convenience or Scary Dependency

Once upon a time, and it really wasn’t that long ago, getting to the bank before it closed meant the difference between having a “happening” Saturday night and sitting at home because you had no money to fill your tank. Worse, one had to get to the gas station before it closed.

Of course, all that changed in the 1990s when the ARPANet—once a military safety net—exploded into the public Internet. Now, only the “ancients” remember getting an actual paycheck from their employesr, standing in line at the Savings & Loan to convert hard-earned dollars into spendable cash, and then actually calling the movie theater to see what flick was playing.

Now, we deposit our checks electronically and swipe a card to get gas—any time, night or day. If we actually go to the movies, we pull out our cell phone and not only check the listing, we scroll a plethora of reviews to ensure the movie truly rates our attention.  More likely, we sit at home on our couch and download the feature or skip the movie all together to text friends or find out what they had for lunch on Facebook or Twitter—friends we might have once met face-to-face to engage in actual conversation.

Writers who might never have gotten the attention of New York publishers (for either legitimate reasons, because of bad timing, or just simply because the book didn’t measure-up) can now publish and promote a novel with little more than a few keystrokes. Of course, since anyone can hawk a manuscript, the author's book might get lost in the sea of self-pubbed stories and may never sell because readers wonder why they should “pay” when so many free books exist.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the Internet, I’m the ultimate junkie, loving the instant knowledge and instant connection the worldwide web provides.  Hearing a song before I download, buying shoes online so my feet don’t get tired from walking the mall, and keeping up with the antic of Grumpy Cat makes me feel empowered.

I also love the ability to connect with the world.  Everywhere is now local. Working from home is the best thing ever. Or is it?

Over the holidays, I was fortunate enough to ski at a beautiful resort—but the place had absolutely no cellular service. But for good reason. The quaint little mountain village sat smack in the middle of a national quiet zone—for an astronomical observatory.  And did folks ever bellyache. The tiny areas that supported Wi-Fi were more crowded than the slopes.

And what happens if our electronic communications go haywire as the Gloom-and-Doom prophets predict? Do you have paper copies of anything?

I know I should rely less on the Internet. I really shouldn’t need my cell phone more than my left arm, but for now—I’m a digital sheep in the electronic world.  That said, I’m going to print out a few things and make it a point to actually talk to folks in 2014.

What about you?  Are you worried that you might be addicted to your digital devices? Make a note to (fill in the blank) and write it down.  With a pencil.

Robin Weaver
Author of Blue Ridge Fear and Secret Language of Leah Sinclair