|Publishers: Gorging on Authorial Hope|
Friday, February 26th, 2010
If you write a great literary fictional story, and if you're not famous or infamous, your chances of publication are minuscule. Remember when writers sent their best to a publisher, waited three to six months for the usual rejection, and then sent the same work out again, and again, and again . . . always with the expectation that someone would some day believe in their talent? There were galaxies of hope and expectations. Besides, it didn't cost anything. These writers believed they were being judged on quality . . . if they worked hard and learned their craft, they would be rewarded with publication and the possibility of recognition. There were a few slicks (Atlantic, Harper's, The New Yorker, for examples) that published a new writer occasionally, and many small, usually university, presses that had a few slots, but published infrequently, and had a tenuous circulation. But, in reality, these were at least publishing resources available where writers had a fair chance of a fair read and a fair reliance that some threshold of quality was being applied to the possibility of acceptance. But that life is almost gone. Authors have been slow to realize it, but both print and online publishing have shifted; literary magazine publishing is killing it's life source–good writers with talent who write imaginative fiction–by charging fees for submission cloaked in the guise of contests.
Of course it's true that it's not just contests that kill fiction. There is the trend to publish memoir and nonfiction as "fiction." But the need for income from submissions has significantly changed literary fiction. In the past, magazines that published quality fiction encouraged submissions. Most of what they published was agented fiction, or from famous authors, friends, or celebrities. Still, there were always a few slots for the undiscovered writer of literary fiction. Now, even those few slots have been diminished by dangling the carrot of possible publication before authors in undisguised manipulation for profit. Publishers are using competitions and contests to encourage volumes of submissions, both commercial and "nonprofit" presses, to simply make money. The contest prizes are paltry, often less than what a magazine would pay after acceptance before the contest mining of fees of fifteen to fifty dollars per submission was instigated.
Every publisher seems to reflexively say they receive ten thousand submissions a year. Wow. You can make $50,000 per contest. Let's do more contests! Have a contest for under thirties, stories about dogs, tell us about your family, or most recently a contest for six-word stories that will cost you $15.00 bucks per submission. If it takes less than five seconds to read six words, that's a profit of about $10,800 dollars per hour. Why not have a six-word story contest every month? Forget the 5000 word limit and literary fiction. Forget about traditional literary fictional stories of quality. To what avail? All this bloated submission activity fills the same number of limited slots available prior to contests (which skyrockets the odds against an author winning and/or getting published).
The impact of these new contests on the great literary fictional story are more than transitory misdirections. Consider the multiple groups that relate to the publishing of fictional stories in general: the publishers, the readers, the submitters of work to be published, and the subscribers (and donors) that represent a source of income. Until now, publishers covered operating costs with subscriptions and gifts from donors, and to varying degrees, advertising. Until recently, submitters were not paying to be read. Now operating-income sources have shifted to what have become more dependable and profitable submitter fees. Subscribers and donors to magazines that published literary fiction were diminishing in numbers anyway. So who cares? No one but a few of the submitters and, with less intensity, the rare careful reader. But the readers should recognize the effect on the publication of a great fictional story. As publishers work to increase their revenue through submissions, they are openly trying to attract any style of writing, and have been willing to publish any style as fiction. Specifically, memoir and "creative nonfiction" writing is sought and published as fiction, along with genre-based story writing such as mystery, sci-fi, and romance, partially in the belief that this is what will attract readers, but mainly because it makes a profit. The effect on the literary fictional story writer is severe. Well-written literary fiction with dramatic conflict and character based plot is not valued. And with the new ways magazines fund themselves, good fiction has little chance of competing with contest winners who have been wooed with themes that work against the creation of great literary fictional stories.
This publisher effect on literary fiction has a painful irony; there are a significant number of readers who crave literary fictional stories as an art form who are ignored. Almost surely, publishers could make profits by maintaining standards and morality to attract writers capable of creating these stories. Such an effort would keep people reading for enjoyment, especially the serious reader. It seems so necessary with the tidal-wave trends for story to be delivered on TV, film, and the switch of many former readers to methods of story telling like sporting events, where conflict and resolution, as well as the unexpected injury, defeat or death–are delivered for satisfaction without the use of prose media. Yet prose remains, for some stories, especially those with significant meaning, the superior way to deliver the story. Isn't it reasonable to ask publishers to resist the trends that story telling are taking, and support the quality of writing and story telling that talented literary fictional writers can deliver?
With equal impact is the loss of readers seeking great fiction. The readers of magazines who want literary fiction have realized that present day fiction is not what they seek (they have to rely on the classics) and they have stopped buying subscriptions or reading publications that claim fiction but don't deliver. This affects writers too. Even for a good literary fiction writer who occasionally will get a significant fiction story published, the chances the story will find a significant readership have mostly disappeared. And so the publishing industry is in more ways than just contests is extinguishing the literary fictional story as an art form.
It's a wonder these contests that require these veiled fees for submission survive. They blatantly mine the endless hope of a writer. And it demeans those writers who succumb to what could really might be classified as a scam. Writers feel foolish reading the winners of contests they've submitted to for a fee. They feel humiliated when they discover that most contests are not anonymously read; judges are unknown and may not be consistent; there are no criteria for what is acceptable and what's not; there is no guarantee of being read, even briefly; that there will never be oversight of the contests that should be provided by government; and that friends and associates can (and do) win.
This is mining the lodes of hope buried in every writer. Oh, those dreams of being interviewed on Oprah, those visions of royalty checks, those expectations of readings in Barnes and Noble with attentive listeners. This is taking money from the addicted gambler yearning for a quick, but almost impossible, reward . . . money needed for food and housing, and to dress the kids warmly for school. Fading reality. Why is there not outrage from literary writers at this publisher behavior?
Publishers are losing any aura of altruistic professionalism. If there were only some justice for all those writers affronted. Certainly refusal to submit could trigger financial loss as justice for publisher's greed. Maybe the Internet will develop ways for writers to be recognized without having to participate in lottery-like schemes. It's the hope for the future, something that all writers should work to create–a system to connect writers with their readers without unfair financial loss to both.