Indie vs. Traditional Publishing, and Technology

I put a lot of thought into whether I wanted to be Indie published or traditionally published. Indie publishing gives you complete control, but traditional publishing adds a layer of respectability. Here’s how I made my decision, and the resulting issue I now have.

First, I received a letter from a well-known traditional publisher, wanting to publish a manuscript I’d submitted (for a story I have yet to publish). This publisher, while gushing in a very flattering way about my writing, wanted me to make changes. They wanted one character completely deleted from the story because ‘gay people don’t live in tiny towns’. (I know, I still laugh over that foolishness, too.) They also wanted me to remove all swear words from one character. I refused publication because I couldn’t do that to the characters.

Second, I spied on my friend, author Susan Schreyer. I saw how she had complete control over every aspect of her books through indie publishing. There are good and bad sides to that but it’s not the focus of this post. I liked the idea of control. I liked the idea of my characters allowed to be who they wanted to be.

Obviously I chose the indie route.

But here’s the aspect I didn’t consider – technology in this day and age.

To be successful as a published author you have to be ‘out there’. Platforms through blogs, Facebook, Twitter, your own website, etc. You have to be visible and accessible. That’s very difficult for me personally as I choose to live in that very little town with gay people because I like privacy. I try to balance my desire for privacy personally, with the need to be very public, professionally.

However, my real beef with the social media and technology aspect is the assumption by most that everyone has access. The assumption that every person out there can afford high-speed internet, smart phones, computers, iPads, and on and on.

How does that make one feel, who can’t afford those toys? And when did those toys become so immersed in our society that they are taken for granted and no longer ‘toys’ but ‘essentials’?

Yes, I am entertained by Facebook, although I dislike the amount of writing time it steals from me (I blame Facebook).

Social platforms would be required no matter which method of publishing chosen because traditional publishers don’t do the marketing like they used to for new authors. I’m not sure if the level of being ‘out there’ is the same. And we as a society would miss out on some amazing books, music, art, etc. if there was no indie route along the internet road.

But there are times when I wish I could shut the door.

And even more times when I wish people didn’t assume that everyone was on the same level of connectivity. I actually find that assumption to be, in a small way, prejudice. How difficult life must be now for those who cannot afford, or who don’t understand, all the toys.

And now I’m going to post this publicly, across all social platforms. What a conundrum.

When Characters Come to Life

I had a procedure done yesterday. I left the doctor’s office sore, a bit blue, and with bandages on my nose. From there I ran errands including a stop at a local butcher shop. There, a young man at the counter greeted me with ‘Cool! Did you get a tat?’

Immediately cheered up, I said no, that I’d had a biopsy. His response was ‘Dude! I’ll pray for you!’

When I got home and told my husband, his response was ‘Cell.’

My god. He’s right. Cell lives.

I can’t even say that I met this young man at the butcher’s before, and modeled the character based on him.

One of my characters, one that a lot of readers like, is living and breathing and working at a butcher shop. Pretty amazing.

Below is my favorite ‘Cell’ dialog. Florence is an elderly woman in the beginning stages of dementia. Rachel is her granddaughter, struggling with how to care for Florence. In this scene, Florence wandered away from home, which is a mountainous region of narrow winding roads and forest. Cody is the protagonist. This bit is from The Memory Keeper.

‘Cell leaned on the counter while Florence sat on it, swinging her slippered feet, drinking SoBe from the bottle and watching as Cell worked his faithful companion, the phone.

“But I don’t understand where the cord is, dear.”

“See, that’s the way cool thing,” Cell said, and jumped upright as he saw Rachel. “Hey! I was just calling you.”

“Granny, what are you doing?”

“She was hitchin’, dude,” Cell said.

“You promised you wouldn’t tell,” Florence said.

“Sorry, man. Forgot how much Rachel, like, scares me.” Cell moved back as Rachel reached the counter. “I just asked her if she needed a ride. Being neighborly, you know? I mean, she’s an old lady. Old ladies shouldn’t have to walk.”

“You were hitchhiking?” Rachel’s voice dropped, becoming quiet and almost calm.

“Well dear, technically, no. I wasn’t standing exposing an ankle or anything. I heard a car coming and I flagged it down. I was a tad scared to be honest. I don’t recall leaving the house. I’m afraid I wandered away in one of my less lucid moments. Did I frighten you badly?”

“Not at all,” Rachel said. “I’m used to having people I love just disappear.”

“Rachel,” Cody said, wanting to somehow thaw the ice in Rachel’s voice. But Rachel overrode her words, turning to Cell.

“And you didn’t think it was strange to find Granny in her nightgown? You didn’t consider taking her back home?”

“Is that what she’s wearing? I thought it was, like, some kind of old lady dress.” Cell pushed tendrils of black hair behind his heavily pierced ears.

“Oh my god!” Rachel pulled at her hair as if to keep her hands from reaching across the counter. “Where’s your brain?”

“Hey, chill! What’d you expect me to do? I mean, she’s an elder you know? You’re supposed to respect your elders!”’

And now I know what Cell’s next job is going to be. Though he’s vegetarian. This could be fun. He’ll lecture all the customers.

Do You Know This Girl?

When I was young Gloria Steinem took up the banner of feminism. My older sisters, especially my hippy-chick sister, led the way and I stumbled behind.

The older sisters.

The older sisters.

And now I know a girl. And she epitomizes for me how the times have changed since I was her age, shy, hiding in a corner, most often found buried in a book, or in daydreams.

When she was little she was our local wild child. Bare-butt naked, free soul, half fish in the river, half elf in the woods, bare feet in the mud, in the snow, in the grass.

She eventually had to put clothes on and go to school. I worried her spirit would be quenched by the bullies. And girls are so cruel when they bully. Grade school was hard for her. She grew taller than all the other girls. I saw her sitting alone, face buried in a book and was afraid.

Don’t turn into me. Stay free, stay wild.

Her mother made sure that happened.

One winter when the river edges froze and snow fell, she walked past my window dressed in black tights and tee shirt, her bare feet crimson red with cold, her long hair drenched. Coming back from her daily dip in the river.

Snow-melt water.

Snow-melt water.

Still free, still wild. Child on the threshold of girl.

Now, in high school, she’s taller than most students. She wild-forages for licorice root. She hikes. She defines gender by what it means to her, not by what society labels her. She stands firm against social media trolls, those who would tell her to change. She writes poetry that opens your eyes, that makes you pause as you glimpse her soul. This past weekend she walked, barefoot, through a festival, with her poetry.

Still free, still wild. Girl on the threshold of woman.

But one who is not bound by labels.

I can’t wait to see the next blooming of this flower. I worry that sometimes she is too hard on herself (like we all can be). So I want her to read this, to recognize herself, to see that being…just being, without labels of girl, feminist, lesbian, trans, woman, is beautiful. Just as beautiful as taking all those labels, fixing them to your chest, standing proud and saying, ‘this is who I am’.

Our little wild forest child.

She's not in this photo, but she was there when it was taken.

She’s not in this photo, but she was there when it was taken.

Those of you reading this, who recognize her, please do not name her in comments. It should be her choice to be named in such a public way.