Still incredibly super-duper busy these days, trying to brain out some last minute revision issues before I go on vacation. Plus, I just agreed to moderate a panel at the Brooklyn Book Festival in two weeks, meaning I have some reading/re-reading/question-development to do!

But I just had to share this.

Last week, I showed you the first look at the finished Archvillain cover.

Well, today the UPS man dropped off a couple of boxes of the finished book! Sweet!

Check it out:

Of course, a contest will be imminent. As soon as I figure out how best to give some of these suckers away, I'll do it.

See you next week!

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The usual disclaimer: The opinions and ideas expressed in WWwP? entries are ruminations, not rants. I’m thinking out loud here. Even if it seems like I’m demonizing some quarter of the industry, I’m really not — I want publishing (every aspect of it) to be stronger and better. Everyone has a role to play. I welcome your thoughts in the comments. I adore just about everyone I've met and worked with in publishing; nothing I say here should be construed as denigrating any sector of the industry.

Short blog this time because I mainly would love to see some feedback in the comments. Especially if you have experience in the area in question, but everyone’s thoughts are, of course, welcome.

The topic? Advertising.

I’m not talking about advertising in books themselves. I find that to be repugnant, as welcome as a sticker for Advil on Munch’s "The Scream." Books, in my estimation, should be sacrosanct experiences. Occasionally there will be an ad for other books tucked unobtrusively in the back of a paperback; this doesn’t bother me so much. And I’ve already talked about placing excerpts of my other books in my new books — this is, technically, advertising, but I think we can all agree that it’s a different sort of animal. (If you disagree, feel free to chime in, but I think it’s a semantic argument not worth having.)

So, if I’m not talking about advertising in books, I must be talking about advertising for books.

The world moves quickly. And even though we as a culture have more leisure time than any other society has ever had in human history, that leisure time is still finite. Furthermore, we live in an ad-driven society. If you don’t believe me, try using Gmail or Facebook or a free iPhone app — all of them are supported by ads, cropping up in places that didn’t even exist a few years ago. Go to the movies and watch the ads beforehand; I'm not talking about the trailers -- I mean actual product advertising. We used to think “ads” equaled television commercials or pages in magazines, but in the last decade or so, ads have infiltrated almost every area of our lives. (One more reason I want books to remain sacrosanct!)

I don’t like this encroachment of advertising, but it’s a fact of life, and if I have to live with it, I might as well try to make it work for me.

There are a lot of ways to make reading sexier and more desirable than other pursuits. But those efforts, ultimately, must come secondary to reminding people that there are books out there worth reading. That the books are available and ready and cool and fun. Currently, most book advertising tends to be of the “promote books to the stores, not the readers” variety, an attitude I’ve talked about before. That works only insofar as it puts books into stores. But then what? If no one comes in looking for that book, it might as well be sitting in a warehouse.

Right now, the average Joe looking for a distraction is bombarded everywhere he looks with ads for movies, TV shows, videogames, recorded music, live music, interactive social experiences, gambling, sporting events, magazines, and hell, even sex. What is not on that list? Books, of course. (Which isn't to say there is no book advertising. It's just lost in the more pervasive and more effective storm of all the other ads.)

Talk to anyone in publishing and they will tell you that it’s axiomatic and accepted wisdom that books succeed based on word of mouth. People read a great book (or a lousy one, but they don’t have good taste) and tell their friends. Who read it and tell more friends. And so on. Much of publishing’s promotional efforts revolve around putting advance copies of books into the hands of so-called “loudmouths,” a term that is not used pejoratively at all, but rather connotes tastemakers who are not shy about pushing books they love on their friends. This is an effort to start the word of mouth boulder rolling down the hill, and it's all well and good. But word of mouth -- while enormously effective -- is unpredictable and should not be relied upon. Word of mouth can do a lot of good, but word of mouth combined with a smart, effective ad campaign can do even more.

I know we’re in an economic downturn. And I know that advertising is expensive. And I know that publishing is perpetually and legendarily on the brink of fiscal collapse. But I firmly believe the time to act is when things look bad, not when things look good. Furthermore, as I believe I’ve pointed out in the past, publishing is an industry that — even though on the ropes — still manages to pull in decent money on a regular basis.

While publishing can’t rival, say, the videogame industry in terms of profits, there’s no reason why it can’t pool its resources and make a respectable effort to put a few cracks in that wall of sound assailing our potential customers each and every moment of their lives.

While there are organizations and initiatives dedicated to promoting the very concept of reading and the benefits of literacy (and let’s pause here to applaud them), there is no industry-wide effort to grab the average Joe by his lapels and scream — as loudly as a movie trailer — “HEY! DUDE! READ THIS AWESOME F-ING BOOK!”

A part of this, I believe, is because publishing people tend by and large to be genteel sorts. They are attracted to publishing precisely because it is not all about hype and boisterous boasting and screaming at the top of your lungs and getting in people's faces. They enjoy working in an artistic field and on artistic endeavors where the work itself truly matters.

That’s all well and good, and I truly believe that, too. But sometimes it’s necessary to make some noise.

Personally, I would love to be able to grab a couple of coked-out, arrogant Hollywood douchebags and toss them at book publishing for a month. Just to see what happens. After their initial shock at the paucity of the budget, I think they’d actually find some creative ways to raise the profile of books in general and individual brands in particular, using some in-your-face tactics that will grab attention.

(I should mention that I’ve been heartened by the trend towards producing book trailers (of varying quality). I’d like to see this become more widespread and official, with a certain base standard of production values. And it goes without saying, of course, that authors should be involved in them.)

Now, I’ve been sort of vague about exactly what form(s) this advertising should take. And that’s intentional. The obvious answer, of course, is TV commercials, which is the first thing everyone thinks of. I’m not sure that’s the best bang for our buck, though. I’m open to being persuaded, however.

No, I’m actually not going to make any sort of definitive statement as to what form that advertising should take. Honestly, I think in the early days there will be as many failures as successes (probably more) and as much money wasted as employed effectively. It’s just the nature of the beast. What matters is taking a step forward, making an effort, putting in place a system that allows publishing to promote itself and its wares on the same stage as the other elements competing for average Joe's leisure time.

I’ll just quickly point out two half-thought-out ideas I’ve mentioned in the past and then turn it over to you guys for your ideas.

First of all, there was my idea that movie rights to book should come with a cost: The movie has to give some free advertising to books.

And second of all, there was my crazy, harebrained idea of advertising books during the Super Bowl.

I offer these just as a way to start the conversation. Now it's your turn. How should we advertise books?

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I have been super-busy today, hence the lateness of this post.

I spent most of the day doing some final tweaks to I Hunt Killers before sending it off to my second round of betas. Now, usually I send a manuscript to all of my betas at once, but the way schedules worked out this time, I ended up doing two rounds. Which is actually good for me right now because it means that I got to implement some changes to fix that problem I mentioned before these new people could see it. Now I can get their reactions to the fix without them having been biased the earlier version. Score!

The fix for that problem, by the way, necessitated adding a few thousand words to the book. Can I just say that I hate adding text to a book? It feels somehow artificial to me. But I know that readers won’t be able to tell: "Hey, this part was missing originally! He added it in later!" If I do my job right, it will be seamless.

And I guess that's the problem: It'll be seamless to the reader, but it'll never be seamless to me. Every time I look at a book I wrote, I can always tell what got added in, and it bugs me. I feel like everyone can tell.

Some good news to report: I've received my very first finished copy of Archvillain! This means that I finally got to see the cover treatment my editor has been trying to describe to me for months now. It's really cool! He rattled off a list of processes that were involved, but I don't remember any of them because I was distracted by shinypretty.

I took a picture:

 

 

And I shot some video, just to see the effects "in action." Unfortunately, the picture and the video still don't really do the cover justice. I think this is one of those things you just have to see in person. So, come October, everyone head to your local bookstore and check out the cover!

Should you feel compelled to buy the book, too, well, that's OK. :)

See you next week!

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Molly, an MFA student, conducted a brief Skype interview with me last week. It's now up on YouTube, so take a look!

Check it out:

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The usual disclaimer: The opinions and ideas expressed in WWwP? entries are ruminations, not rants. I’m thinking out loud here. Even if it seems like I’m demonizing some quarter of the industry, I’m really not — I want publishing (every aspect of it) to be stronger and better. Everyone has a role to play. I welcome your thoughts in the comments. I adore just about everyone I've met and worked with in publishing; nothing I say here should be construed as denigrating any sector of the industry.

Sigh.

I know I said last time that I was done talking about e-books for a while, but, like Michael Corleone, I keep getting pulled back in.

Over the weekend, a thought occurred to me. This isn’t really a full-blown argument or even a rationalization. It’s just a notion that might shed some light on e-books and the pricing and DRM-ing thereof.

Then again, it might just complicate things. :)

OK, here’s my beginning: When we purchase something, we are — by and large — making a statement that the thing in question is, in our opinion, worth the price paid. Now, for things like medical treatment and other basic necessities, this isn’t always true. We may not have a choice, for example, but to pay an extortionate gas price. Or electrical bill. Or what have you.

But in general, we pay for something because we think it’s worth what we’re paying for it.

Now, when you plunk down somewhere between six and twenty-odd bucks for a book (depending on discounts and format), you’re making the statement that you believe the book itself is worth that. Especially since books rarely fall into the “necessities of life” category! (I mean, I would feel a lot less alive if I couldn’t buy books, but I wouldn’t die.)

So far, I don’t think I’ve said anything controversial. Here’s where that changes.

What is a book? More to the point, what are you actually buying when you buy a book?

Reading what I’ve said above, you might be tempted to say that a book is specific content made into a physical or digital artifact. That’s a decent enough definition.

Or is it?

What if the definition of a book is really this: Specific content made into a physical or digital artifact, each with varying properties and freedoms.

What I’m getting at is this: People become upset at the idea of any sort DRM (even the sort I consider very reasonable) on their digital books, but might that be because they’re not looking at it the right way?

People say, “When I buy an e-book, I want it to act exactly like a real book, only on my computer.”

To which I say (having just realized this): “But they can't act exactly the same because they're not the same thing. The content is the same, but that's just part of what a book is. And besides, you’re paying so much less for it!”

Say physical books cost anywhere from $6.00 to $30.00, depending. And say an e-book runs you less than that $8.00. (How much less doesn’t matter right now, but let’s stipulate that it’s a nontrivial amount less. Enough that you notice.)

Well, in that case, when you buy the physical book, you are buying specific content made into a physical artifact with specific freedoms. In other words, you pay a premium and you get a premium: The ability to loan, sell, trade, or give away that book. You’ve never thought of it that way before because there was never a different option. In the past, it was impossible to buy a book that you could not loan, sell, trade, or give away.

When you buy the e-book, though, you are paying less. The savings aren’t just from the non-physical nature of the book (as I discussed last time, there may not be huge savings to be had there after all), but also from the fact that you are literally getting less. You are buying specific content made into a digital artifact without specific freedoms.

So if all you want is to read the content and you don’t care about anything else, then buy the e-book. Or buy the physical book, but that case you are overpaying. You’re buying more than you actually want or need. No one’s stopping you, but that’s what you’re doing. And, yes, this means a lot of people have been overpaying for centuries because the technology did not yet exist to give them the option.

It’s like the difference between free, ad-supported software or TV and pay-for-access, no-ad software or TV. I can watch Modern Family on ABC for free, but I have to sit through the ads. Or I can buy it from iTunes, in which case my money buys me freedom from the ads. (Yes, I realize that the sources seem reversed in this example. The sources don't matter in this case -- it's about the idea of paying more [or paying at all] for specific freedoms.)

It’s your choice: Pay a premium to be able to re-sell, trade, loan, or donate. Or pay the rock-bottom price and get just the content for your own personal use.

Now, I don’t think this is necessarily a perfect solution. For one thing, the price differential between e-books and physical books would have to be perceived to be great enough to justify this distinction in freedoms. Note that I said “perceived to be,” not that it actually would be. The perception part is the problem. Many people already believe that the lack of a physical medium means that an e-book should cost in the smaller fractions of the price of a physical book. No publishers have opened their ledgers to me, but I have a sinking feeling that such a drastic price cut may not be possible. If it is, great! I’ll be happy. But if it isn’t…

Well, if it isn’t, then this argument will be going on for a long, long time.

So, there’s my latest thoughts on e-books. Feel free to tear me a new one in the comments. :) Next time, I really will move on to something else.

I think.

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