So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish

SFWA, at its usual slow lumbering pace, is heading towards answering the question of whether or not the organization should allow self-publishing as a way to qualify for membership. For those unfamiliar with the current requirements, it involves sales to traditional publishing markets: three stories or a single novel advance at a specified rate (current 6 cents per word for stories and a $2000 advance for a novel, from a market listed as a SFWA qualifying market).

Do I believe results with self-publishing should qualify someone for SFWA? Yes, absolutely. To me the only question is how to define those results in a way that makes them comparable with the existing criteria.

The Economics of Being an Author

I believe that increasingly a 100% traditional publishing model is not as economically rewarding for most authors as one which combines it with (or may even be restricted to) self-publishing. Some authors will be able to make that approach pay, but the jury’s still out as to which way that trend will go in the future. However, I believe that SFWA members who follow a path restricted to traditional means will at some point be the minority — if they’re not already. Certainly the results of the poll we took show a lot of SFWA members (43% of responding Active members, 38% of Associates) are pursuing one form or another of self-publishing.

Sometimes people mention the self-publishing “bubble,” with the implication that all this newfangled stuff like e-readers is just a fad. I don’t agree. The experience of reading is undergoing a sea change. While physical books aren’t going away anytime soon, e-books are here to stay.

Are the Traditional Gatekeepers That Crucial?

Some of the arguments I’ve seen focus on the importance of the traditional gatekeepers (editors, publishers, and (to a lesser degree) agents) to the qualifying process. The argument falls along the lines that those gatekeepers are necessary because their economic investment in the text is the most acceptable way to certify quality. This argument also tends to be made primarily by editors and publishers.

While it’s true that self-publishing makes the author the sole and obviously biased person to answer the question whether something’s worthy of publication, luckily there are other ways to determine whether or not something is “professional-level” or not: an economic-based criteria that is already in the qualification rules.

To rely entirely on economic criteria is a more than adequate answer. SFWA already has them in place with the definition of minimum advance and per-word dollar amounts. Beyond that, what a publisher deems “good enough to be published” boils down to economic concerns as well: it means that the publisher believes it will make them enough money that an initial financial investment is worthwhile.

I should point out that, beyond the initial investment of time and creative energy, the self-published writer often — usually, in fact — invests financially in their books, in the form of hiring editing and proofing services, cover art, book design, audio production, advertising, etc. This should not be overlooked when considering the “average” self-published writer, who is very much a professional.

But in any case, it’s really the sales that matter. Whether or not readers want to spend money on the words. Asking self-published writers to prove sales comparable to the existing figures is reasonable as well as a simple and intuitive algorithm: the amount of money a traditional sale must make in order to qualify should equal the amount a self-published piece must make.

How we get people to prove sales is an important question. That and the actual criteria are the two most important decisions SFWA will be making.

Answering Objections:

In answer to some of the various objections I’ve seen.

SFWA shouldn’t do this because it will result in public feuds between traditionalists and the self-published.

Well, yes and no. A few diehards and zealots on either side will lock horns. As happens, and has happened on a regular basis since SFWA’s earliest days, there will come Heated Discussions. I believe this is par for this particular course, which is a lumpy, untended one full of straw men trying to play through.

But that group will be fairly small although loudly vocal. Most of us (and I say us because this is the camp I fall into) realize a number of things:

• As professional writers who want to make a living at writing, we need to know what options we have with self-publishing.
• There is a growing interest in self-publishing among us, as well as a rising number already trying it.
• It is an economically viable way of generating income.

I have a stake in this race — right now I’ve been finding my experiment in what is a essentially a form of self-publishing, a Patreon campaign, a reasonable way to self-publish short stories.

SFWA knows it can’t — and shouldn’t try to — please everyone. This step will be controversial no matter what. The best thing SFWA can do is make sure that reasoning behind the decision is sound, that the membership feels it’s gotten enough chance to weigh in, and that the Board is willing to listen to and acknowledge feedback on an ongoing basis.

A mass of unworthy bozos and hobbyist writers will descend on SFWA, tainting its ranks.

SFWA has plenty already. A few more aren’t going to destroy us. Beyond which, this is why there are qualification criteria.

Bozos and hobbyists both seem boogeymen for the most part to me. No matter what the group, there will always be the brash, the socially-inept, the deficient in empathy or manners, the chip-shouldered, the self-appointed prophets and others lacking in basic social graces. They are an unfortunate fact of life in any population, no matter how refined or well-educated. I have no reason to believe the self-published have them in any greater (or lesser) degree than the current membership, or even the general populace of professional speculative fiction writers.

To worry about the somehow unworthy and unprofessional is to ignore the fact that there’s already a few people in the ranks who are there on scant sales or the kindness of a friend who happens to be an editor. Again, I have no reason to believe that for some reason the ranks of self-published have a disproportionate amount of these. There are some very talented and hardworking writers out there depending on self-publishing.

In Conclusion:

I’ve been re-reading Dale Spender’s excellent nonfiction work, Mothers of the Novel, and working on a lengthy essay drawing parallels between it and some of the recent treatment of women in F&SF: BS like “pink” versus “blue” SF (poor women don’t even get a primary color!), reviews scoffing at Ancillary Justice’s gender “gimmick”, and the Truesdale review of Women Destroying Science Fiction (so many of his essays, really) all come readily to mind.

And there’s some overlap there with self-publishing as well, and the way it dismantles one of the structures that’s often worked to reinforce the status quo, which is traditional publishing. Arguments against the horde of unwashed yahoos that will descend upon SFWA often seem to say as much about the speaker’s attitudes towards class as anything else.

So yes. SFWA already has plenty of members working with self-publishing. Allowing professional writers to qualify via self-published sales is a step that’s both overdue and not dangerous to SFWA. The only real danger would lie in a decision to ignore the importance of self-publishing and its impact on professional writers of today.

Addendum on 9/17/2014 – Because I seem to have created some confusion, let me clarify something. I talked about self-publishing because that’s the thing on my mind the most at the moment, and did not mean to imply that small press stuff is unimportant or not under consideration. The effort to revamp the overall criteria includes looking at how qualifying through small press publications “” including crowdfundingstuff like Kickstarter, which is another can of worms “” should work as well as whether existing criteria should be revised.

One of the things I’ve been trying to do in recent years is look more at the history of the field. In the thrift store, I love finding F&SF anthologies from the 60s and 70s, in part because it’s interesting to see which names kept on going, which faded away. Often the most riveting story in a collection is from a writer whose name I’ll only see that once. In reading anthologies, I find that often one of the most revelatory parts is the introduction, less for anything said about the stories than for clues to the publishing climate at the time.

Recently in the thrift shop, I picked up a couple of paperbacks: two volumes worth of early Hugo winners, edited by Isaac Asimov. Of course I bought them. How could I not, in light of recent controversies? They’ve been an interesting read – particularly when I’m reading the first Nebula volume at the same time — and sometimes illuminating. If you’d like to read the book I pulled these from, it is More Stories From the Hugo Winners Vol II, published in 1971.

I certainly have realized that despite my admiration for Asimov’s work, the good doctor and I would probably have not gotten along particularly well — at least from my point of view. Every intro to a story seems much more about Asimov than either story or writer, in an egocentric way that seems a little charming but I’m betting was pretty grating to be around at times. (I by no means claim that Asimov is the only SF writer to exhibit this trait.) But Mr. Asimov is not here to defend himself and was very much a product of his time, so I’ll leave it at that.

Because I found it striking, this is taken from his introduction to Anne McCaffrey’s “Weyr Search”. It’s a glimpse into the social mores of that time (the early 70s) that’s interesting. I have refrained from adding any inline commentary. As you read, you may admire my restraint in that.

Anne McCaffrey is a woman. (Yes, she is; you notice it instantly.) What makes this remarkable is that she’s a woman in a man’s world and it doesn’t bother her a bit.

Science fiction is far less a man’s world than it used to be as far as the readers are concerned. Walk into any convention these days and the number of shrill young girls fluttering before you (if you are Harlan Ellison) or backing cautiously away (if you are me) is either fascinating or frightening, depending on your point of view. (I am the fascinated type.)

The writers, however, are still masculine by a heavy majority. What’s more, they are a particularly sticky type of male, used to dealing with males, and a little perturbed at having to accept a woman on an equal basis.

It’s not so surprising. Science is a heavily masculine activity (in our society, anyway); so science fiction writing is, or should be. Isn’t that the way it goes?

And then in comes Anne McCaffrey, with snow-white hair and a young face (the hair-color is premature) and Junoesque measurements and utter self-confidence, talking down mere males whenever necessary.

I get along simply marvelously well with Annie. Not only am I a “Women’s Lib” from long before there was one, but I have the most disarming way of goggling at Junoesque measurements which convinces any woman possessing them that I have good taste.

Coupled with all the accounts of Isaac Asimov groping women, the part about the girls backing cautiously away while lusting after Ellison, who was a hottie (IMO) or at least a lot better looking than Asimov, makes perfect sense. Of course, it’s impossible not to mention a much later incident that underscores some of the irony so rife in all of this, although my understanding is that he regrets that episode and is unlikely to repeat it.

Here I typed out and then deleted a protracted rant about the hypnotic powers of breasts. I’ll save that for some other time.

Okay, so back to that intro. It’s interesting because Asimov positions himself very much as one of the good guys, “a ‘Women’s Lib’ from long before there was one” because it is immediately followed up with “plus women really like it when I compliment them on their breasts.” OMG there are the hypnotic powers again.

Well, maybe by the end of the piece, he’s moved away from breasts. Let’s see:

In August 1970 Annie and I were co-guests of honor at a science fiction conference in Toronto. That meant one certain thing. We had another of our perennial songfest competitions. We sing at each other very loudly, and finally we work ourselves up to a climax*, which is always “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.”

We each have our pride, of course, not so much in any skill at singing, but in loudness and range. And while everyone in the audience gets far out to non-wincing distance, we get louder and higher. (I happen to have a resonant baritone, but Annie perversely refuses to consider me anything but a tenor. “Never trust a tenor,” she says darkly.)

It always ends the same way. At the final note, she takes a deep breath and holds. I do, too, but before the minute is up, I fade, choke, and halt, while that final note of Annie’s keeps right on going — loud, shrill, and piercing, for an additional fifteen seconds at least.

And then everyone applauds and when I say, “It’s not fair. She has spare lungs,” and point at her aforementioned Junoesque proportions, no one seems to care.

There’s another line about how she’s in Ireland and he misses her, but I’m gonna leave it at that and let’s look at two things.

A. not so much in any skill at singing.

Okay, that’s just so far off the mark that it’s weird. This is from Anne McCaffrey’s biography:

She studied voice for nine years and, during that time, became intensely interested in the stage direction of opera and operetta, ending that phase of her experience with the direction of the American premiere of Carl Orff’s LUDUS DE NATO INFANTE MIRIFICUS in which she also played a witch.

Given that, when I see words like “shrill” and “piercing” applied to that final note, I’ve got some doubts about whether people are scrambling out to “non-wincing distance” on her account. And I find it interesting how all of that experience doesn’t get mentioned, because I’m pretty sure he would have been aware of it.

Was this perhaps an in-joke (always a possibility in this field), Asimov fondly tweaking “Annie”? Even allowing for that, from my vantage position, it seems like not just slightly hostile humor, but humor aimed at diminishing her achievements, and that sets off certain alarm bells for me.

B. And then everyone applauds and when I say, “It’s not fair. She has spare lungs,” and point at her aforementioned Junoesque proportions, no one seems to care.

I must admit, I am sure that this moment happened in real life at least once. Probably more. And I read that “no one seems to care” as an appalled silence in which the rest of the room, including McCaffrey, thought “FFS, Isaac,” exchanged glances, and wordlessly established that they would all ignore the gaucherie of a professional author being such a bad loser that he’s blaming her win on the fact she has “Junoesque proportions” aka a hefty set of mammary glands. Remember, it’s the early 70s, and “women’s Lib” is enough of a catch-phrase for it to fall pretty easily off Asimov’s tongue.

And you know, we can argue that the women of the time didn’t mind it, or didn’t object at the time, but a few things are clear. One, the boob-grabbing, whether verbal or literal, has been going on a while and two, here we’re not getting much talk about the story or the lady’s actual accomplishments, other than being well-endowed. And that, I think, is at the heart of some of this — that women writers often have this “hey, hey, my eyes are up HERE” thing that goes on and while it’s annoying, when it gets to the point of obscuring one’s writing, it’s downright alarming.

This may be why some of us, when reading pieces about the history of the field, object to descriptions of the female writers and editors that focus on their physical appearance and really don’t tell us what we want to know: what were they like? What writers did they like and mentor? How did they help shape the field? What were the friendships and rivalries like? I’d rather know that than cup size; I am aware mileage on such matters varies.

I’ve hit longer than usual length here, so I will leave the introductions to Samuel R. Delany, Robert Silverberg, and Harlan Ellison (who has two stories in the work) for another time. There’s a really peculiar distancing thing that happens when Asimov references Delany** that doesn’t happen with any other writer, as least in the intros I’ve read so far (about half). But in looking at those, I’m also going to argue that Asimov’s emphasis on the personal in the introductions isn’t restrained to McCaffrey. There’s a lot about the physical appearance of the male writers as well. It’s just some interesting differences in stress.

Want to know more about McCaffrey? You can hear her talking for herself here:

*See earlier note about admiring my restraint.
**I’m aware of what he said to Delany; what he says in the intro simultaneously reflects and belies it in a way that may provide some insight.