Marco

[Jude Hardin]

In a former life, I tended bar at a Mexican restaurant. It was a hole-in-the-wall dump of a place, a converted Frisch’s Big Boy with a few colorful blankets and sombreros and piñatas tacked to the walls for “atmosphere.” The food was authentic, though, and we always got good reviews in the newspaper.

I started each shift by cutting dozens of limes into wheels for garnishes, mixing five-gallon tanks of margaritas, and generally prepping the bar for what we called “Fiesta Hour.”

Between 2PM and 7PM, you could buy jumbo margaritas and well drinks for half-price, and you could eat fresh tortilla chips and homemade salsa for free. In theory, the cheap drinks and free snacks were supposed to stimulate customers’ appetites. In theory, they would then order a plate of rellenos or enchiladas or pollo con salsa verde. In practice, however, quite a few patrons regularly came in strictly for the cut-rate tequila buzz and comp munchies.

One of those patrons was a guy named Marco.

Mid-thirties, tall and thin, stringy blond hair, big Adam’s apple, still lived with his parents.

He always ordered multiple margaritas on the rocks (light on the ice; he got more booze that way), multiple baskets of chips, and multiple tubs of hot and mild salsa. He never bought anything off the menu, and he never tipped me a dime.

But those weren't the main reasons I dreaded seeing him.

You see, Marco was a self-proclaimed perfumier. He had a “laboratory” set up in his basement, where he distilled oils and essences, spices and extracts--all sorts of exotic and volatile concoctions designed to titillate the human olfactory nerve. Drop-by-drop, Mad Scientist Marco filled tiny glass vials with these precious potions of his, and then mounted the vials in a briefcase for display. Sometimes he brought the briefcase to the bar with him.

There was only one problem with Marco’s fragrances: they didn’t smell very good. In fact, they stunk.

That’s not just my opinion. Everybody who ever smelled Marco’s products said they stunk. Popping the cork on one of his bottles was like unleashing the hounds of perfume hell. Imagine an elevator full of blue-haired, lipstick-toothed octogenarians, whose senses of smell died sometime during the Carter administration. Add a couple of funeral sprays, some rubbing alcohol, and maybe a dash of Pine Sol. Shake well.

Oh, he occasionally sold one of those vile vials, to a kindly cocktail server or a nearby customer who took pity on him. I even bought a bottle one time, only to pitch it in the dumpster on my way home.

Unfortunately, our patronage only encouraged him. He kept making more of that kerosene cologne, kept trying to hawk it during Fiesta Hour. Eventually, the restaurant owner had a talk with him. Marco didn’t come in very often after that.

Marco’s dream was to be a famous perfume designer. The way I see it, he went about it all wrong.

Shouldn’t you know a little bit about chemistry? Shouldn't you be aware of how various substances might interact with human glandular secretions? Shouldn’t you maybe spend some time in Paris or New York or somewhere studying with masters of the trade? Shouldn’t you analyze popular scents on a molecular level to see just what it is about them that turns people on?

Marco didn’t do any of that. Marco bought some smelly stuff through the mail, pumped it into amateurish-looking containers, tried to sell it from a briefcase at the cantina.

And he wanted to call himself a perfumier.

Sorry, Marco, but you have to earn that title.

Just as, in my opinion, writers have to earn the title of published author.

Anyone who can scratch out words on a page can have those words printed and bound and put up for sale on sites like Amazon. To me, that type of publishing is tantamount to bottling perfume from a basement lab and selling it from a briefcase in a bar.

In other words, it’s very likely that the end product will stink.

I was at a writer’s conference one time, outside smoking a cigarette, when a fellow attendee strolled up and asked for a light.

“What kind of stuff do you write?” he asked.

“Hardboiled. I’m working on a private eye novel.”

“Anything published yet?”

“Not yet. I’m still looking for an agent. How ‘bout you?”

“Yeah, I have a book out.”

“Really? Who’s the publisher?”

He named a certain POD outfit. "Here, let me give you one of my cards...”

He handed me a business card and walked away. He avoided me for the duration of the conference, preferring instead to hang around with other “published authors.” I felt like grabbing him by the collar and shouting you’re not published either, you punk, but of course I didn’t. Anyway, I doubt my harsh words would have penetrated his cloud of arrogance.

There are no shortcuts to becoming a published author. You have to earn the title by landing a contract with a legitimate publisher, and that can take years of hard work.

Some folks would rather throw up a lab in the basement and start hawking product right away (throw up and hawk being the key words there).

That’s their choice, I suppose, but I really don’t see the point.

[John Dishon]

There's no vetting process for writing that is going to assure quality the same way a surgeons' schooling will (and even that schooling isn't going to guarantee greatness). What qualifies as good writing is highly subjective. What qualifies as a surgical success is not.

As you can see, I never said writing is too subjective to be assessed properly. I said it cannot be compared the same way as surgery. My point was that your comparison is a bad one, and I still stand by that. John, below gets it.

A surgery is either a success or it's not.
When a plumber leaves your house, the leak is either fixed or it isn't.
When a book is published, it's either good or it isn't, but who decides that? A lot of people love The Nigh Gardener, for example. I think there's nothing great about it. Who's to say one or the other is right?

But anyone can tell if your pipes are still leaking. Sometimes it takes time to see if a particular surgery was as successful as hoped, but in the end you know.

That's why your comparison is not a proper one.

[John Dishon]

EDIT: One more thing. Let's go with your comparison. A surgeon should be highly qualified. What is the equivalent for writing. The highest creative writing degree that I know of is an MFA (is there a PhD for creative writing?). Anyway, for the sake of argument, let's just say it's an MFA.

So unless you have an MFA you shouldn't be publishing books. You're not qualified enough for me to be assured that you will write high quality works unless you've had the proper schooling. You wouldn't want an unlicensed surgeon working on you, so why would you want to buy a book from an author who hasn't attained the highest credentials?

Note: I don't like this comparison, for reasons I've already stated. I'm just playing devil's advocate here to show that with your comparison, it means most of the people on Crimespace are not qualified enough.

[Eric Christopherson]

That you can point to a difference in the two groups juxtaposed in an analogy is hardly surprising and not very relevant IMO. My point in drawing the analogy in the first place was to underscore the foolhardiness of dismissing experts in their field, which you appear to do.

You wrote: "I'm sure self-published authors get tired of being told they're not really published because they didn't follow the "correct" route. There's chauvinism, yes, but also bigotry." What does this statement imply? IMO it implies that you are dismissing for some unknown reason the ability of publishing professionals to discern writing quality. Every field respects its credentialism. In regard to writers, agency representation and publishing contracts are the forms of credentialism. If you don't have these credentials, then there isn't any objective reason to believe you're any good. (This doesn't mean you're not any good, but that's beside the point.)

[John Dishon]

I can't reply directly, so I'll just do it here. It's starting to get confusing which reply goes where.

Anyway, I'm not trying to suggest that publishers aren't able to discern quality, but I don't think they are necessarily better at it than an average reader. The reason I think this is because of all the bad books that get published.

You don't even have to be a professional author to be a published author. Publishing just means its available for distribution to the public. Even the industry uses this standard. When you submit a story to a journal, they want submissions that have not been published before. That means not even a story that you posted on your blog. That's how easy it is to publish something.

So self-published authors probably get pretty tired hearing they aren't published authors when they meet this basic requirement by having a book available for the public. Even these comments we're writing counts as being published.

But we all know Jude isn't arguing this point. He's talking about a vetting process that in the end gives him the right to say he's good enough. He respects the traditional publishing route and uses that to determine whether an author is good enough (just so everyone know, this is the way it seems to me. I'm not trying to put words in anyone's mouth) to call himself a published author, and by that, I take it what he really means is now I've made it. I can start calling myself a writer when people ask what I do for a living. That's my impression of what Jude is getting at, hopefully he will correct if I am wrong.

What I'm saying is that this is all well and good for him, but not everyone needs such validation and not everyone puts the same importance on the title as he does. There is more than one way to look at this. Why can't a self-published author say he writes for a living, that writing is what he does? Just because he didn't go through the same vetting process that Jude thinks is needed?

No one has the authority to deny someone the title of "published author" if they have indeed published a work. Jude doesn't think self-publishing counts, but who is Jude? He's no authority on the matter and neither is anyone else.

So ultimately, I say just let people call themselves whatever they want and don't worry about it. Concentrate on meeting your own goals. Because what does it matter to Jude if this guy calls himself a writer? It doesn't change anything. The iUniverse guy is satisfied with himself, and that's all that really matters.

[Eric Christopherson]

Well for once John I mostly agree with you. It's what one means by "published" that can cause confusion, I suppose.

However, I've got to critique: "Anyway, I'm not trying to suggest that publishers aren't able to discern quality, but I don't think they are necessarily better at it than an average reader. The reason I think this is because of all the bad books that get published."

First point: you really are dismissing the expertise of literary agents and editors. Agreed? But how can you? I don't get it. If you spent 40 hours a week trying to fix cars--meanwhile learning from those who've spent years doing the same--don't you think you'd eventually become a decent auto mechanic?

Second point: Don't you think it's possible agents represent and editors publish works they know to be drivel because they also know it sells? Publishing is part art and part business.

[John Dishon]

Your second point I do indeed agree with. But how do I know if an editor thinks a given book is drivel that will sell or is a decent book that will sell or a great book that will sell?

So then, for your first point, I dismiss the notion that agents and editors are intrinsically better at discerning quality than an average reader. They do read a lot more works than others do, but that doesn't necessarily mean they will begin to make better choices. An editor has his own likes and dislikes when it comes to writing. I'm sure we've all heard of famous authors that were rejected before getting accepted elsewhere. So personal taste is involved, as well as the business side as you said.

What I think is a good book may not be what you think is a good book. Working in the industry will give you a better idea of what will sell, but does reading a lot help you discern quality? Yes it does, to a certain extent. You're going to be exposed to a lot more different styles and techniques. But some people aren't going to like Faulkner's style, for example, no matter what. Does it mean he's bad? Well, to them maybe. But there are others who love Faulkner.

So while the honing of craft does have a role and is to some degree quantifiable, ultimately personal taste trumps it (disregarding the business side, which will trump it all).

Yes, I do not believe that editors and agents are intrinsically the best determiners of quality works. Can reading manuscripts for 40 years dull your senses of what is good and what is not? I don't know, but it's debatable. Working on cars isn't really the same thing because you can measure your proficiency more objectively than with writing.

[Eric Christopherson]

I think your unit of analysis is inappropriate. Sure one agent or editor may be repulsed by the next Faulkner, but as a group, NY publishing is eventually going to take that next Faulkner into the fold.

Also, writing is a craft. There are indeed objective criteria one can learn. You know, standards of grammar and syntax. "Show, don't tell," etc.

[John Dishon]

I just said fixing a car is more objective. Yes, there are specific things you can learn. Using these techniques is not so objective.

Faulkner was just an example. I don't know if you're saying the principle of what I'm saying is wrong or just the example I used. The point is, what one person likes another might not.

[Jude Hardin]

I can pick up a football and throw it. Should I therefore call myself an NFL quarterback?

Only if I'm delusional.

[John Dishon]

Another bad comparison. All it takes to be a professional football player is to be paid to pay football. To be an NFL player, specifically, you'd have to be part of the NFL, meaning being a member of one of its teams.

Writing doesn't have professional leagues. You are a professional writer if you get paid for what you write. You are a published writer if your work is available for the public to read. That is the only real requirement for being published (the only one the courts rely on, anyway and there is no central writing authority). Everything else is just what people make up to make themselves feel special.

Now if you wanted to be a member of the MWA or PEN, or some other writing organization, than you have to meet their requirements, whatever they may be. But none of these organizations is an authority on the art or profession of writing. So there is no one correct way. I don't know about football, but with hockey or baseball, the NHL and MLB are not the only professional leagues. They happen to be the most popular ones.

[Eric Christopherson]

Writing does indeed have professional leagues, and some of the big league teams are named: Random House and Knopf and Dutton and Little, Brown, etc.

The small presses might be considered minor league professional sports teams with Triple A, Double A, Single A, and B, C, and D divisions.

The self-published are perhaps your weekend warriors who get together on someone's lawn for a flag football game.

[John McFetridge]

True. and within those big league teams there are starters and people warming the bench.

Sometimes people have to decide if they want to get in the game in the minors, or ride the pine in the show, so to speak. With the way things are going in publishing, a lot of those big league teams are shortening their rosters (we call it eliminating the mid-list).

Soccer might be a better analogy. In European soccer there are semi-pro teams with some of those weekend warriors on the roster who sometimes win enough games to move up a division or two and play against teams made up entirely of pros.

It's not really a concept we have in North America, though on another discussion board I take part in with soccer fans, it's a hot topic.