Revisiting Paywalls Revisited

(Note: this is an unfinished piece from April of 2012 that’s been sitting as a draft in my WordPress que of posts since then. I never did get around to answering the question I asked at the end, but it increasingly looks like there’s no real reason to. The answer seems even more clear now than it did then, so much so, that the question itself even seems rhetorical now…)

Earlier this week, I received a message from a friend of mine asking if I’d heard about the latest round of layoffs at our local newspaper.  Since I moved from Cecil County to Chestertown nearly two years ago now (wow, time flies) I’ve found that I’ve lost interest in the comings and goings in that particular neck of the woods.

The state of printed media in my hometown was a popular topic of discussion on this site for the first couple of years, primarily because it was close at hand, their struggles echoed the newspaper industry at large in a lot of ways, and I still had connections with many folks in and out of the company. As I mentioned in the past, I worked there myself on two separate occasions in various capacities.  Before I received that message the other day, however, I hadn’t experienced a stray thought in their direction for months. 

Professionally speaking, I’ve moved on from any hope of getting back into the newsprint business.  It’s not just the derth of jobs (layoffs, buyouts, downsizing still abounds industry-wide as the revenue sinkhole just keeps getting deeper year after year) it’s that I simply don’t see a future in that area as it presently exists and I have yet to find a digital alternative that looks truly sustainable. Better to look in other directions, I figured.

Ebooks have been my focus for the past year, and, to this point, I see all the possibilities for revenue generation and sustainability within that area that are lacking in the digital-alternative newspaper segment. I’ve been writing, publishing, experimenting, expanding my skills and, most encouraging of all, actually selling my work at a level I’m not scoffing at (nor are the folks whose bills I’m paying with that money)*.  The gist of it is that, to my way of thinking, the struggles of newspapers are yesterday’s problems, ones that I’ve left, rather properly, in the past.  They had ample opportunity to innovate and adapt but didn’t, and the slow crawl to oblivion may be irreversible at this point. 

(* Note: Since then, I’ve since rethought my approach to ebooks and digital publishing. I did bring in a decent chunk of change at the time but I grew dissatisfied with my own efforts, so I’ve been cranking out new material, reworking old material and developing a different, much more expansive approach to this that I’ll be kicking off likely early next year, if not sooner. Try doing that when you’re locked into a publishing contract.)

So, when I read this message about further layoffs, it was a bit like hearing that an old girlfriend you were serious about a decade ago just got married. You hadn’t thought about her in years, she played no part in your day to day life for as long as you could remember, and news that would have seemed enormously important not that long ago ends up met with a shrug. It’s not that it doesn’t sadden me a bit to see the continued decline of my hometown newspaper, it does. But at this point, there’s really nothing that can be done about it. The point of no return for many newspapers passed by a while ago.

In today’s atmosphere, resources have eroded to such a level that genuine full-scale innovation really isn’t possible any longer. If it had been undertaken 3 or 4 years ago, it might have made a difference. Even scrapping the enterprise and starting over isn’t really feasible at this point simply because so many skilled people have been let go, particularly on the content side. You can’t really launch a new direction in an increasingly content-driven market when saddled with a money losing print albatross and a sparse skelton crew of leftovers. It saddens me to see it but, again, all of this at least could have been avoided with a bit of vision and foresight a few years ago when it mattered. But you can’t cry over spilt milk now that the carton’s down to the last few dregs of backwash.

All of which got me thinking about the last stand of newspapers, the paywall. Much like those famed 300 Spartans fending off the Persians, paywalls may hold off the onslaught for a short time, but in the end, the Spartans all ended up dead. For the Greeks, however, that stand provided the necessary time to execute a larger strategy that ultimately stopped a Persian takeover. Do newspapers even have a larger strategy to survive beyond simply fending off immediate annihilation? Or are paywalls their final stand?

Update

So, here we are two and a half years later, and I think this question answers itself. There was obviously no deeper plan going on at most papers, and the renewed push for paywalls then did little if anything to stem the hemmoraging of revenue. Here’s a piece by Clay Shirky essentially penning the obituary on the print newspaper business. As you can see, not only did this strategy not work to stifle print declines, it may well have instigated digital ad declines for them as well. They killed their future trying to protect a past that, at best, was on life support.

As for the company I mentioned, there have been more layoffs since these and the company was eventually sold to a venture capitalist known for slice and dice acquisitions. Doomed isn’t a strong enough word for their prospects at this point. Book publishers and their writers should take note of this. Following a print protectionist strategy did great harm to their emerging digital business. Ask questions, loudly and in no uncertain terms, anytime someone from the industry tries to tell you that restricting digital to protect print is a sound idea and in your best interest. It didn’t work here and I don’t hesitate to say it won’t work there, either.

Dan Meadows is a writer living on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay. Follow him on Twitter @watershedchron

Breaking the Scale: Bigger is not always better

A couple weeks or so ago, I left a comment on The Passive Voice under an article about Hachette’s CEO and his response to Amazon’s late night call to give him hell…er, politely inform him of your desire that they think critically about their pricing decisions, and seriously consider dropping the push for higher prices. Anyway, I got into a little bit of my experiences in dealing with large consolidated corporate accounting departments and the thinking I’ve run into about higher prices in days gone by. It got me thinking about a couple things and how this might relate to further understanding Hachette’s position and what the possible consequences could be, even if they get what they want.

Here’s the first comment I left:

“It may even be simpler than that. It reminds me of something I called the bean counter effect at a couple of magazines I worked for. They just couldn’t conceive of the notion that a higher price didn’t automatically mean more money. They wouldn’t recognize any kind of multiplier effect of more for less, no matter how many times we showed it to them on paper. It was a risk, unquantifiable (at the time) and all they knew was the difference between what we were selling at and the increase they wanted. We were selling print ads but it’s the same principle.

“Amazon could have said each sale at $9.99 generates a thousand extra sales and they wouldn’t have recognized it. They simply can’t see past “If I sell this for $13, I make $3 more than if I sell it for $10.” What I could never get across is that it’s not the difference between $13 and $10 that’s at issue, it’s the difference between $10 and the $0 that a not-insignificant number of people will choose instead $13. In this case, it’s the difference between $17.50 and $0 with Amazon’s multiplier data, which makes it an even dumber choice, I think. You’re not gaining anything at $13, you’re losing all the people who would have bought at $10. Essentially what you’re doing is making your customer base smaller and milking your best customers for extra money.”

Later on in the thread, I related a second instance of what I considered overly simplistic thinking involving money we paid out in this case. Here’s that second comment:

“At the same time though, you can’t always trust what they’re telling you about marginal cost. I was the managing editor of a free distribution magazine several years ago for a publisher who’s name would be instantly recognizable (not any of these folks). We were strictly ad supported and we operated on a 60/40 ad to editorial ratio, meaning we basically added up paid ad space and that number would represent 60% of our page count.

“Now I was a huge proponent of trading out ad space for various kinds of work we needed whenever possible. These trades were not counted as paid space so that added no cost outside the simple real price of what we paid to produce that space. Say I needed a delivery route run, something that would take a couple hours. I might pay someone $100 to handle it. Or I would offer them an 1/8 page ad for their business or whatever that’s listed at $150. They always took the ad, every time. Our real-world cost for that space across the entire print run was something like $20. And coming from non paid space, that $20 was a total sunk cost. So I traded $20 worth of sunk cost in exchange for not laying out $100 in real cash, effectively adding $80 to our bottom line. (You could argue it was adding the full $100 to the bottom line considering that $20 was being paid no matter what.) I was saving us somewhere between $2,000-$3,000 an issue with this stuff, if not more.

“Well our accounting department threw a fit. They insisted that we were actually losing $50 on this transaction. (Actually, they started out saying we were losing the full $150 price of the ad but I did manage to convince them the $100 was going to be outlayed in any case.) No matter how many times or how simply I laid it out for them, they would not move off the position that we were losing $50. It turns out their accounting systems had no mechanism for quantifying this because there was no revenue coming in but when they audited the paper, they recorded these ads as paid space, so we showed a deficit between the revenue they said we should have and what we actually produced.

“Eventually, they forbid me from making any more trades rather than adjust their accounting systems to record these gains. To make matters worse, our bottom line actually looked better on paper after they banned trades despite the fact that we were now spending a few thousand more per issue than we had been. That’s when the light bulb went fully on for me. If their standard accounting practices can make a real world $80 gain look like a $50 loss, and do it in such a way that it’s actually defensible and looks like it makes sense, can any of the figures they produce be trusted? How many other gains are showing up on the budgets looking like losses?

“Now this is a little simplified. There are tax issues and time a designer spends getting the ad together and such. But generally, we would get about 4 times the value back on a trade than we would paying out for it, and they banned me from doing so.”

I’ve found myself recently re-asking the two part question I wondered about back then, why in the world would you throw away essentially free money (in the instance of trades) and how do they not see that a much broader customer base at lower prices makes a far more stable longer-term revenue stream than a smaller base with higher prices? I also spent a not-inconsiderable amount of time worrying about the fact that I knew absolutely that the budget sheets we were getting from them were showing an artificially better bottom line than what actually existed. The disconnect between reality on the ground and the faux reality of their accounting systems was an insoluble issue simply because they wouldn’t even admit there was a problem.

I’m watching book publishers and their supporters today making arguments that are just as inexplicable to me as those were then. Do they not understand what’s really going on out here? Can they really be deluded enough to believe that readers will be supportive, even in the short term, of a strategy that gives them less choice, more restrictions and a higher price? Were they being taken in by comments from some readers supporting such a position? What I knew, from lots of experience, is that there’s often a hell of a difference between people speaking in high minded pronouncements about paying a premium to support their “culture” or what have you, and the choices they actually make when it comes time to break out the wallet.

I’m starting to believe the problem here is scale. Larger and larger companies require higher and higher outlays of resources just to keep the lights on, meaning the proportion of price needed for simple infrastructure that has nothing to do with actual production expenses grows near exponentially with the size of the entity. We’ve had it drummed into our heads that scale is beneficial because it provides greater negotiating leverage and greater purchasing power at lower prices from larger levels of bulk buying. This may have made sense at some pre-internet point, but does it still make sense in the current atmosphere? Does it even apply to something like ebooks that requires no physical materials to produce or distribute, making the notion of bulk buying power completely irrelevant? Certainly, Amazon is a large and growing company, their scale does have decided advantages, but is there a similar advantage from scale for publishers in dealing with them? It certainly doesn’t appear that Hachette’s size is any kind of advantage. If it were, there’d be no dispute going on.

Penguin Random House is often pointed to as the direction of things to come, but should it be? Consolidation in the periodical sector, looking back now, clearly did considerable harm to those publications siphoned up in it. It looks like efficiency on the surface but in practice turned out to be just the opposite. The question I have now is does the counter effect of increased infrastructure costs of consolidation counteract any bulk savings? I say yes, and then some.

Hachette’s not arguing for profit so much as arguing for maintaining revenue to cover sizable infrastructure costs. The obvious counter of why aren’t you decreasing your infrastructure costs to support those margins doesn’t seem to be a very popular one. It is, however, a needed question to ask and answer. There’s a line of thought going around that the lower production costs for ebooks and POD should have no bearing on the end retail price. I find that as inexplicable as not understanding a multiplier effect from lower prices or the savings from trades based on actual out of pocket expenses. Of course those lower production costs are a factor in price. Not only that, they must be.

Smaller entities are currently taking full advantage of these lessened costs. The problem for large publishers is their sheer size changes the equation. For an independent, the lower costs are directly tied to both lower prices to readers and a higher margins to themselves. For the larger entities, the lower price is threatening because of the sizable portion of the cut must go to the infrastructure costs associated with such scale. They can’t risk the multiplier effect not taking place because they need the raw revenue stream to be somewhat constant to keep meeting payroll and keep the lights on. The conventional wisdom that bigger is better is increasingly looking to be just flat wrong in this atmosphere. And if you’re doing it as a publisher to “compete” with Amazon, you’re making an even bigger mistake, as well as displaying a fundamental misunderstanding of the word compete.

There are numerous reasons to believe that, in the current environment, it’s better to be a smaller entity. One is that your accounting doesn’t have to be so complex and standardized as to be inflexible. Really, the problem I had with trades was that what I was doing didn’t fit into the parameters of their accounting software, so instead of adapting the software they just stopped me from doing it. Admittedly, changing that software is a pain in the ass on a much smaller scale. On a giant corporate one, I can understand why it wouldn’t be your first choice. But that’s stupid! I was one magazine adding an extra $50 grand a year or so to our bottom line doing what I was doing. This company had dozens and dozens of publications. They chose to throw that away because of inertia. It was a big enough amount to be a pain but not a big enough amount to force any accomodations. And they somehow managed to make the budget sheets look better than they had when they were in reality, worse.

Another is that the costs of the bundle of services publishers offer are inflated well beyond what those same (or better) services cost in an open market. That’s why you see some trad writers, when discussing the costs of publishing on their own, will cite numbers anywhere from $15k to as high as $40k for those services. It’s what they’ve been told these things cost. The knowledge of the reality that this work actually can cost at least 10 times less outside the gated publisher world isn’t even available to them. My lower prices/higher margin sales can relatively quickly cover those costs where your lower royalties require many, many times the number of sales just to cover the overly-inflated expense figures. Publishers costs in this regard are inflated for the same reason they want to maintain higher prices on the books themselves, their huge infrastructure costs have to be paid from somewhere.

In the present environment, scale isn’t some kind of competitive panacea for suppliers to retailers. It’s an albatross of expense and inefficiency hanging about their necks that necessarily limit their ability to fully exploit emerging markets and bring costs down in flattening if not outright declining markets. Scale, which may have been useful in the past, is increasingly suffocating now.

It’s really a matter of intetests. Is it in a writer’s interest to sign on with one of these increasingly consolidating publishers? How much does their sheer size, and the need to pay for that, change the dynamic between their interests and yours? How much longer will it be before a critical mass of writers realize that they’re bearing much of the weight of paying for many of elements of the publisher that have nothing whatsoever to do with producing, marketing and selling their books? They’re paying their expenses using you for pennies on the dollar, while pocketing the gains from the diminished to near nonexistent ebook production costs. Just on a simple dollar for dollar examination, the publisher’s interests run almost completely counter to my own and that’s moving more into the publishers favor as each day passes.

When the print ad revenue collapse hit newspapers, the companies with the largest scale responded the only way they could, tens of thousands of people losing jobs in round after round of layoffs. This not only hurt their ability to handle the size they had become, it further handcuffed their digital growth, which is now evident in the fact that their digital revenues are also declining and managing little to no separation in the rate of loss as the decimated print sector. Their scale forced the cutbacks which in turn left them understaffed to handle the essential tasks and woefully short on money for experimentation and growth in digital or keeping forward-thinking folks in their employ. Their scale became a self-defeating necessity to maintain itself rather than the advantage it had initially appeared to be.

What happens if we have a bad holiday season in print books sales this year? Can Barnes & Noble even sustain through another massive hit? Publishers are already squeezing writers both with deep discount clauses on print books and low ebook royalties (not to mention shrinking advances). If a round of layoffs or two end up a reality, the value of their bundle of services declines even more than the over-inflated costs we’re already experiencing. In turn, these companies become even less efficient, and less productive as they become understaffed to handle their sheer size. And raising prices to recoup print declines simply is not going to possible.

In the future, bigger is better may no longer be true, even for Amazon. People seem to be under some impression that it takes a giant to slay a giant. But that’s not altogether accurate. As Amazon continues to grow and expand, it’s own scale is adding massive infrastructure costs by the day. It’s not going to be one big company that gets them (certainly not one big consolidated publisher). They’ll suffer the death of a thousand cuts as many small, nimble entities target various bits and pieces of what they do, undermining the whole by eroding key components of it wherever possible. And Amazon is in a position where it simply cannot raise prices to compensate. Trying to do so will drive customers away in droves which will, in turn, further exacerbate the infrastructure cost problem. It can try to further squeeze suppliers but there are limits to how far that kind of strategy can take you, too. If they get complacent and anything is going to get them, it will be their scale that’s they’re undoing.

Smaller Is Better appears to me to be the approaching mantra of the 21st century. As huge consolidated corporations fall by the wayside under the weight of their own infrastructure, the only question I have left is how long it will take for Wall Street and business schools to catch on. Consolidation and ever larger entities may seem like something beneficial to those businesses today but, ultimately, they might only be serving to break the scale.

Dan Meadows is a writer living on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay. Follow him on Twitter @watershedchron

This Week In Plagiarism: thieving across social media platforms

I spend a decent amount of time on Twitter.  It’s where I get most of my news and cultivate people to follow on the various subjects that interest me.  Well, the other day, I watched this next scenario play out and it’s one that I, frankly, never even considered.  Plagiarism is a significant problem online, particularly with people and sites swiping content from blogs pretty much wholesale, many times with no citation or links.  What hadn’t occurred to me was the possibility that some unscrupulous people would be swiping tweets from Twitter then passing off those words as their own in another social media platform like Facebook. Now I use Facebook as well, but I’ve never really considered it as a platform so much as a great way to avoid talking to people on the phone. But as you’ll see, some others don’t quite have that approach.

It all started when a twitter user handled Black Girl Dangerous (BGD) caught wind of the fact that someone had swiped one of her tweets and passed it off as their own on their Facebook page.

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The “writer” in question, Mindy Fischer, also going by the Twitter handle @Buczchic, claims to be a freelance writer and a self professed bleeding heart liberal.  She also suggests we should proceed with caution.  You’ll soon find out why.  Meanwhile, BGD wasn’t taking this slight laying down, so she called out Fischer…

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Notice how the time stamps show Fischer’s Facebook post came in over an hour after BGD’s original. Fishy, certainly. But maybe Fischer would have some excuse like, “I’m sorry, I accidentally deleted the credit for your work.” But then three hours go by without a peep of an explanation…

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Finally, after close to another hour, Fischer responded on her Twitter feed. But rather than clear things up, she made things worse…

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Well, that is a textbook example of how not to respond when someone catches you basically red-handed stealing their stuff. Needless to say, BDG didn’t respond well to her characterization of this “mishap.” As you’ll see, Fischer not only took the tweet word for word, she took the punctuation choices right along with it…

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That was met with dead silence from Fischer. (That’s still the case two days later, per the check I just made on Fischer’s Twitter account).  Well, that and she took down the Facebook post in question. BGD was not satisfied, however, and did a little digging into some of Fischer’s other posts, starting with a joke about Ghandi…

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Notice from the comments that it appears the citation to “unknown” was added only after someone started to question if it was her own work. But it goes on…

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Well, at least she added an extra line at the beginning before clicking paste…

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Here, she plainly shows a willingness to add some extra punctuation. But Jesus wasn’t high enough up the ladder for her. Fischer had a more divine source of inspiration in mind, too…

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Getting a little closer here, more rearranging words than direct cut and paste, and she added a hashtag. I would also suggest she could possibly follow the advice in her hashtag. It certainly is time for someone to have a reality check. Here’s one more BGD dug up for good measure…

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I suppose there could be explanations for any of these. The time stamps don’t seem to support Fischer, where they are available.  But she could actually be one of those unnamed twitter parody accounts, I guess, though I doubt she’s God or Republican Jesus given her self description. She’s a writer, so maybe she penned these tweets for them, or she got permission to use them somehow, although I’m not sure who would give her permission to pass them off as her own work or use them herself if she sold them to someone else.  What we know for sure is that she most definitely swiped BGD’s tweeet precisely as it appeared in the laziest way possible then gave a totally implausible and insulting explanation before signing off completely.  So whatever explanation she may have isn’t ringing particularly true.

As for BGD, this one last tweet sums things up nicely and, in my opinion, gives a great path forward for how real writers can deal with this kind of stuff…

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Dan Meadows is a writer living on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay. Follow him on Twitter @watershedchron

A Poem in Honor of My Dog’s Memory (and various other things that piss me off)

So my dog died today and I wrote a poem in her memory. But first, a brief word of warning: the following contains copious amounts of foul language. If you’re someone who’s offended by such things, I wouldn’t recommend reading on. If not, fuck it, enjoy!

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Published in: on July 26, 2014 at 12:55 am  Comments (1)  
Tags: , , , , , ,

Pissing Contests Can Be Fun, Just Not Into The Wind

Here’s something I’ve been wondering lately. Amazon’s a monopoly, right, so we’re told? They had a 90% market share in ebooks 5 years ago. Today, estimates of their market share in ebooks range from 55-65% or so. Do monopolies typically lose 25-35% of their market share over 5 year periods? Yet we talk about Amazon today as if they’re more dominant than ever. Maybe they are, but something about that doesn’t seem quite right. It looks to me like that 90% was, as the sports analytics guys like to say, the result of a small sample size (very young market and they were the only player going all out after it). But that would mean they’re not actually a monopoly but a highly competitive company who grabbed a commanding lead in the market. And a commanding lead is a far cry from a dominant monopoly. Just ask Barnes & Noble.

What I find interesting is this assumption that Amazon will become abhorrent, they’ll destroy publishing, tear the fabric of time and space, and we’ll all suffer with no recourse forever. Anybody actually watching the lifespans of these tech companies? The pace of everything has sped up. We’re in a world where an unknown startup can become a beast in a few short years. But it’s also one where the beasts can fall on their faces just as fast. Nobody is afraid of Microsoft’s market power anymore. I hear Yahoo is getting into TV shows these days. In fact, that’s the first thing I’ve heard about Yahoo in months. AOL still exists, apparently. At least they pop up now and then to piss away money on some new acquisition they’ll proceed to run into the ground. When was the last time Google did something truly innovative that didn’t turn out to be all hype? Even Apple just dropped billions on a questionably-profitable headphone maker to get their hands on a flailing music store and seems more interested in protecting what they have rather than continuing the innovation they earned it with in the first place.

I think this reflects a bit of the problematic thinking that’s infecting the industry. Self published writers aren’t real writers or they’re disgruntled trad rejects or they’re a substandard slush pile gumming things up with bargain basement prices. They don’t truly believe any sizable numbers of indies can produce work as professionally or more so than they can. It’s unthinkable to them. They have the same problem with Amazon. They don’t understand where Amazon came from and they have no idea how to deal with them. I feel extremely safe in saying that when real competition comes to Amazon, and it inevitably will, it’ll be another publishing outsider that brings it, someone who can and will find weaknesses in Amazon to exploit when they appear. I’m also certain that publishers won’t like them any more than Amazon, either. Publishers would clearly rather force all retailers into the party line that’s escorting B&N on a slow walk to the bankruptcy judge. They don’t really want genuine competition with Amazon to emerge because what that requires isn’t going to bring back the good old days for them, either.

I watched (most) of that Amazon hate panel at the New York Public Library the other day. The most telling comment of all, I think, was when one of the panelists said that tech companies needed to learn manners. By that, I took it to mean why aren’t they acting like everyone else? Don’t they know they’re supposed to be making as much as they can squeeze out of readers, not us? And it’s just rude of them to undermine our leverage with writers by giving them real options and a sizable cut. Where are your manners? Get with the program, already!

Which brings me to the dueling petitions circulating, one from traditionally published writers “not taking sides” by bashing the hell outta Amazon and a response to that by independent writers. The former was ridiculous and embarassing, I thought, and it showcases either the ignorance of these authors to actual business dealings above their station or is simply a disingenuous attack designed to protect their personal paychecks. Either way, I thought it was unseemly. How can you claim to not be involved in the dispute in a document specifically designed to inject yourself into the matter and pressure one side over the other? It’s dishonest.

The latter petition, while I agree with much of what it said, did come off a bit preachy to me. I totally understand the desire to counter what you (and I) see as the slanted misinformation and fear-mongering going on out there. It’s hard to understate the freedom writers have now. We can literally do anything we can think up, produce it and distribute it to a wider audience than ever before and not have to sell our souls, rights and most of the proceeds to a middleman. It’s so obviously beneficial that I often wonder how there are writers who don’t see this or worse yet, seem to actually be afraid of it. We now live in a world where it’s possible to make money directly on our copyrights without being forced to give them up in perpetuity. That’s a huge development, and something that was very nearly impossible to consider a decade ago.

It probably shouldn’t be surprising that some writers haven’t grasped the full implications of this yet. It’s a major change in conditions that had been static for decades, if not longer. How much longer they can continue to ignore it is the question. I suspect many of these writers have the unfaithful girlfriend or boyfriend problem, with their publisher playing the roll of significant other. They suspect he or she is cheating on them, have bits and pieces of circumstantial evidence that something isn’t right but they don’t want to admit it to themselves because admitting it means a necessary major upheaval in their lives. So they rationalize away the concerns staring them right in the face. Given the sometimes irrational and conflicting nature of that petition, and other similar sentiments I’ve seen recently, I suspect many are at the point where they’re going to come home from work early one day soon to find him/her in bed with someone else and not be able to avoid that particular elephant in the room any longer.

As far as the indie petition goes, while I like and appreciate the sentiment behind it, I just don’t think it needed to be done. I’m all for calling out bullshit, but to do it in a similar format with a bit of a rah rah attitude, even if it’s totally justified, gives the people who ought to be paying attention a ready excuse to dismiss it. To rationalize away finding a pair of panties that don’t belong to you under the passenger seat of your boyfriend’s car, as it were. “They must be his sister’s.” Uh huh. The original letter was a back patting exercise, preaching to a choir that’s not currently going to be convinced of anything other than what they already believe. Unfortunately, I think the indie petition is the same sort of thing. My opinion is who gives a damn what those other authors think? Let ‘em look foolish, let ‘em slap their names on something that’s fairly easily refuted and, frankly, not particularly well written. When the entity you’re yelling at is more responsible for making you money than the one you’re giving most of the proceeds, you’re in for a sizable wake up call in short order. I’m not convinced slapping them in the face with their own format will do anything but make them more entrenched in their beliefs, no matter how well intentioned or how clearly we see they’re setting themselves up to be burned.

You can’t stop people from making their own mistakes. Our copyrights have direct benefits to us now, something they essentially never had before, and that alone makes them more valuable than ever. Yet royalty rates are anywhere from “meh” to outright terrible. All reports also indicate advances are shrinking as well. At what point does it become obvious that what you’re giving up far exceeds what you’re getting in return? The man who hired me at my very first job in publishing used to talk about the law of diminishing returns all the time. He was usually talking about circulation, the point where the costs of increasing it would outweigh the return you got from it. That’s where we’re heading with publishers, I think. The cost of doing business with them is outweighing the return. A much larger cut of the proceeds should be the very least we should expect from publishers but we’re getting the opposite with threats of even harsher cuts in the future. And by much larger, I’m talking double or triple what they pay now, at least. And none of this lifetime copyright, or non compete, or discount clause nonsense anymore. It’s not my or any writers’ job to leave money and control of my career on the table to lifeline your business infrastructure because you can’t afford to pay the freight. Writers’ offer more value than ever, Amazon’s retail platform offers more value than ever. Publishers’ problem is that they’re one of the few in the loop who’s bringing less value today than a decade ago. Basic rules of business would dictate that when you become less valuable, you can no longer command as big a paycheck. What’s at issue here is that publishers and some of the writers still being paid by them as they always have, don’t truly understand their value has fallen off and continues to do so. Look no further than the fact that ebook profits (built on low standard royalties to authors, btw) are the only thing keeping many of these publishers out of the red. If the traditional business model is so valuable, then why are your profits basically gone without the contributions of the non-traditional?

Writers on the whole were never really compensated for giving up our rights anyway. For most, they had no value at all without a publisher, and you giving them up was a required condition. Writers were paid based on sales. The rights were a necessary toll basically sacrificed for access to the market. The value of those rights to us have increased while the rewards of signing them over have gotten smaller. Yelling at Amazon isn’t going to change that. Do you think if Hatchette gets higher prices, you’ll see any more of that money? Will they up standard royalties? Chances are you’re on a contract where the more successful your book is, the more money you’ve left on the table. Go back and do the math. If Hatchette gets what it wants and mitigates the competitive impact of Amazon, do you think that makes them more or less likely to improve writer compensation? And given the nature of these publishers, generally working in lockstep, what one settles into, they all likely will shortly thereafter.

The question in my mind isn’t why aren’t indies rooting for Hatchette, it’s why aren’t trad writers rooting for Amazon? (Well, the question after “why should we be rooting for either?” anyway. What we should be doing is advocating for the best possible treatment from all sides.) I’ll tell you why, because Hatchette owns your rights. If they run themselves into the ground, you’re contractually obligated to eat a face full of dirt with them. If Amazon (or any other retailer) destroys themselves, I just move on to another one. Amazon doesn’t own me. Hatchette (and other publishers) do own you. If you can’t see the inherent long-term danger in that, and you obviously can or else you wouldn’t be bitching at Amazon rather than your own publisher, then no petition, no logic, no facts, no amount of fisking is going to help you.

By the way, your letter basically demands Amazon cut a deal immediately and go back to discounting your books. Do you realize it’s highly likely Hatchette wants the ability to restrict Amazon’s discounting as part of any kind of agreement? How’s do you expect that’ll work out for you? “You should settle so you can go back to doing what a settlement with my own publisher will prevent you from doing.” Good luck with that.

One part of the indie petition I liked very much was the thank you to readers. We should all do that far more loudly and often than we do. But readers don’t care about this conflict. Most don’t know Hatchette from Heineken. They do know Amazon and seem to like them in overwhelming numbers. No petition from a handful of best selling and/or famous authors is going to change that, especially when the argument behind it is higher prices for them. Supporting culture and literature against cold corporate business sounds great until you say, “Oh, and all our ebooks are going to be $12.99 from now on.” Good luck with that, too.

I believe very much in the “look where your bread is buttered” school of thought. Amazon offers a fair retail platform at a fair rate. Publishers may offer you the butter but you have to lease the bread from them. And the knife you need to spread it, well, that’ll cost extra, too. Maybe Amazon ends up like them someday, but that day is not today. And it also discounts the idea that, hey, maybe they won’t because, as a tech company, they know better than most the second they do, someone else is going to pounce. “We want competition by preventing the circumstances where competition can actually develop” is not a viable plan.

Everyone is ultimately going to make the choices they’re going to make, and they’re going to face the consequences of those choices; good, bad or some of both. I’m not sure dragging readers into the middle of a pissing contest between two groups who really should be in agreement on most things furthers anyone’s ends, regardless of who started it. And that’s what I think about that.

Dan Meadows is a writer living on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay. Follow him on Twitter @watershedchron

Predictions

Prognosticating the future is always a tricky business. Easy to do, far less easy to actually be right. Fortunately, we don’t often call out folks for being horribly wrong in their Nostradamus impersonations after the fact. You can argue maybe we should but relatively few who make public predictions are going to jump all over someone else’s bad ones because they know only too well how many of their own are way off base. What goes around, comes around so don’t go around in the first place.

But predicting things is fun! Hell, I spent 40 or 50 tweets predicting the NBA season back in the fall, then used another 20 to predict the playoffs last month even though my regular season picks were so hit or miss as to be nearly random. The only pick I’ve got left is Indiana winning the title. I also may be the last person not named Larry Bird who’s riding that particular bandwagon, and I’m not too sure Larry didn’t tuck-and-roll his way outta there a while back, too. But if they win, you bet your ass I’ll be doing some gloating. Albeit without mentioning the other dozen predictions I made that didn’t come through, of course.

My point here is take any and all prognostications you see with the biggest grain of salt you can find. Not usually something you see a writer say in a piece about to make a prediction, I know. But I find the value in prognosticating doesn’t so much come from whether the final prediction is right or wrong, it comes from the process of evaluating circumstances and evidence and extrapolating that out to a conclusion. When I read predictive pieces, the reasoning why the writer is making the guess they’re making is more important to me than what that guess is. You could be completely correct with your prediction but the reasoning leading to it could be so flawed as to be useless, or you can be completely wrong in your prediction but dead on in the circumstances leading you there. You have to evaluate those circumstances and how they relate to your individual situation. It’s impossible to know for certain how things will turn out in a complex environment like the publishing industry, but it’s very possible to understand the conditions and act accordingly for your personal ends.

That being said, here’s my extrapolated prediction: book publishers, even huge conglomerate ones like Random Penguin, will be non-existent or so altered as to be unrecognizable as present-day publishers in less than 10 years time. Easy to say, no way to prove. In fact, you can’t even prove I’m wrong at the moment, only after the fact. You can try, and state evidence opposing my viewpoint all day long, if you like, but guess what? All you’re doing is making predictions to try and counter my prediction. The same flaw that makes my prognostication far less than a certainty is also making your counter-prognostication far less than a certainty. So my final word, as it were, isn’t really the point, only a guess as to where things are heading, exactly like your theoretical counter is really only a guess.

What matters is why I’ve extrapolated that publishers are screwed (or why you’ve extrapolated that they aren’t.) Here’s the basis for my reasoning, in five handy points: Hatchette is reportedly trying to reinstitute some flavor of Agency pricing in its deal with Amazon now that it’s prohibition against such is almost up. The other major publishers will likely take similar action as their DOJ-imposed limits expire. What does Agency pricing do? It limits discounting by retailers and raises the price of books. Point one.

One of the major arguments in favor of Agency pricing (and against, to be honest) is that it works to protect hardcover sales and sales in brick and mortar bookstores from ebooks that are “too cheap.” That’s great and all, but ebooks aren’t what’s hurting brick and mortar retailers, online commerce is. Doesn’t matter if someone’s buying a print book or an ebook, if they’re buying it online, that’s a sale a physical store didn’t make. Certainly, ebooks are native to online but trends show print sales are increasingly migrating there, too, for a number of reasons. Online commerce is exposing the inefficiencies of brick and mortar retail in virtually every business that doesn’t ask if you want fries with that. (I also predict it’ll be exposing their inefficiencies sooner than later, too, but that’s a different article.) Does Agency pricing affect that deeper societal trend in any way? No, not really. Point two.

The book publishing industry hasn’t had the classic disruption drop off in sales that all disrupted industries have suffered. Napster and it’s ilk exposed the holes in the music industry’s model and set off the demand for digital music that caused massive, rapid declines in cd sales. (Not that downloading killed cd sales, mind you, consumer demand for digital music did that.) Craigslist (and later, eBay) virtually wiped out newspaper classified advertising almost overnight. For those that don’t know, classifieds were the most profitable advertising per column inch in the newspaper business. The sudden loss of great chunks of it was catastrophic.

It’s tempting to say ebooks were that force and the industry avoided the huge losses. But think about it for a second. Ebooks have been a decided gain for publishers, the extra profits they reap from ebooks have made their bottom lines look better than they should. Ebooks didn’t work against publishers’ interests, they were extra money dropped into their laps. They were the best positioned of anyone to take advantage of this when a market was firmly established. And they did, albeit while bitching all the way to the bank. Ebooks themselves have never been a threat to publishers, so unless they were braindead stupid, they were bound to benefit from them like everybody else. The fact that they haven’t benefitted more from them is something they’ll soon come to regret, I believe. Point three.

Barnes and Noble is circling the drain. We all know it. It’s just a matter of when. I would argue that if not for the college bookstores (a different, less disrupted to-this-point market) they might already by a ghost. They just reported a 10% drop in sales the third quarter of 2013 over the year before. Immediately after, they suffered about a 10% drop in their stock value. This corresponds rather neatly with a recent U.S. Census report that shows bookstore sales in general have dropped by 10% from last year, illustrating that this isn’t a B&N-centric problem but an industry-wide issue. Their online commerce effort is an epic trainwreck. And, they’re a brick and mortar retail store at their core no different from Borders or Best Buy or Circuit City (remember them?) or Blockbuster or any number of other chains that used to be mainstays in strip malls everywhere. Those pressures aren’t going to go away and they really have nothing to do with ebooks or even the publishing industry itself. Higher education is in many people’s crosshairs as a ripe market to be disrupted. When someone finally breaks through, and they will, those college stores aren’t going to be life lining anything. Barnes and Noble is doomed. Point four.

Ebook sales are slowing down. The market is maturing, establishing a ground floor somewhere around 20% of the industry and is growing at a slower rate as its marketshare rises. Now you could argue if that’s even true, given the nature of the data available and the invisibility of many self published works in that data. But what’s not really disputable is that the data we have is unquestionably reflecting traditional publishers. So, while you can argue whether ebooks on the whole are slowing down, you can’t really dispute that they’re slowing down for traditional publishers. On top of that, inexplicably, many of those same publishers seem to be under some impression that this is a good thing. Point five.

So that’s the five elements I see as the present conditions I’ve made my prediction from: the biggest publishers are likely going to try to reinstitute Agency in some form; the results of that will handicap retailers and raise prices in a market struggling with online commerce already undermining brick and mortar retail; we’re still waiting for the classic steep decline in legacy product sales caused by disruption; Barnes and Noble is a dead man walking; and the growth rate of ebook sales for traditional publishers is slowing. Now that I’ve identified what I believe are the current applicable conditions publishers face, I’ve concluded that their long-term prospects aren’t particularly good.

Here’s how I think this goes: Say you’re a big pub CEO and you sit down at your desk one morning to headlines reading “Barnes and Noble files for bankruptcy. Remaining stores to be shuttered.” As you drop your head into your hands considering the 65 different ways this screws you, there’s a knock at your door. It’s Walmart, Target, Sam’s Club and the other warehouse stores.

“We’re so sorry to hear about Barnes and Noble. It’s a terrible tragedy. We’d like to offer our condolences. Here’s a cookie bouquet.” You nod solemnly and they turn to leave, but Walmart stops short, looks to you and says, “By the way, being that we now represent the last mass-market retail space you have, we’d like to have a discussion about the discounts you give us, when you feel better, of course.” He then leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your mind races. “Well, we can probably absorb a bit of an increase in discounting. Maybe we can hire more interns or move to more freelancers.” As you snatch up one of the cookies from the bouquet and start munching, feeling somewhat ok, your office door suddenly flies open and in storms Amazon. “Hey bozo, guess who’s responsible for 70% of your business now? I’d suggest you get ready to open that checkbook of yours or we might happen to have some technical difficulties with your buy buttons. See ya, loser!” Amazon storms back out, slamming the door so hard the picture of you and a smiling James Patterson falls off your office wall.

“Ok,” you think to yourself, “maybe if we cut advances by 30%, we can get through this. We’ll be alright.” Just then, there’s another soft knock at your door and a finely dressed, lawyerly gentleman strolls in. “Hi, I’m from the Independent Bookstore Alliance. We represent 1500 independent bookstores in the U.S. Given as we are now the last bookstore shelf space in the country, we’d like to discuss the types of discounts you can give to our members at your soonest possible convenience.” He softly lays his business card on your desk, next to the half-eaten cookie from the bouquet, and leaves.

You lean all the way back in your fine $10,000 Italian leather desk chair and mutter to yourself, “Oh fuck…”

Or something like that. B&N’s gone, brick and mortar bookstore sales start dropping 10-20% year-over-year, quarter after quarter for years until what was 50% of your business is now 15%. What’s worse is that the sales you’re still making, both online and physical, print and digital, are less profitable than they were before due to being squeezed by retailers of all stripes. Ebook sales growth, while inexorable, isn’t keeping pace with the losses that are mounting. It’s the book industry version of the print dollars to digital dimes problem. On top of that, you’re losing writers from two camps: the upper echelon superstars who you’re not producing results for like you were before, and the entry level writers who scoff at the increasingly miser-like contracts you’re foisting on them. Midlist writers would likely join them in the exodus, too, if they hadn’t already fled in large numbers by this point. Both groups of writers are moving on to either do it themselves, to better adapted publishers or to some new concoction of collaborative publishing or author collectives that cut you out altogether.

At that point, there’s two choices: change to become a different kind of company, one that can handle these new market realities where you and your ilk are no longer at the head of the food chain (a process you may already be too late for) or fade to obscurity in the corporate sell-off/bankruptcy/vanity buyer process that has chewed up most newspapers. Either way, what publishers are today, and especially what they were 10 years ago, will be largely no more.

So that’s my theoretical timeline. Am I right? I don’t know, ask me in 10 years. What I do know is that there are likely more protectionist actions coming from publishers that don’t actually protect anything. I do know that Barnes and Noble is struggling mightily from the same reasons in the same ways other similar businesses didn’t survive. I do know publishers have lost a great deal of their control of the distribution system, and with it, their principle means of discovery and a chunk of their leverage with retailers over discounts. I do know, for whatever reason, ebook sales growth is slowing for traditional players and maybe everybody. I do know that writers have more options to make it to market than ever before, many of them outright replacing the essential positions publishers were anchored in. Whether all this means what I think it means is open for debate. Whether you agree with all of my five points, a few of them, just one or even none at all, there’s elements within each that can have profound impacts on the choices we have to make as writers.

Maybe you don’t think publishers are in serious trouble but you agree B&N is, so you set up a short-sell deal on their stock. Maybe you agree publishers are heading for a period of great upheaval and don’t want to sign an open-ended contract with one, or go with a publisher willing to work with contracts with a 5 or 10 year expiration date. Maybe you’ve been considering striking out on your own and the struggles of publishers are the last push you need. Maybe you think reinstituting Agency will protect the print side of the industry and put your efforts there. Maybe you agree B&N is toast but you think it’ll lead to a resurgence of independent stores rather than the start of a deep brick and mortar downfall and seek out a publisher better integrated with that community. Interpretation is in the eye of the beholder and should always be based on achieving your own individual ends. Making my prediction led me through a long cycle of circumstances, patterns and considerations to reach what I think may happen. Reading this likely led you to consider the same things, even (maybe especially) if you were breathlessly hollering at your screen how full of shit you think I am as you read. Whether I’m right about the end result or not doesn’t really matter. There are several factors in play here that will impact what I ultimately choose to do, and that’s the real value in predictions. It’s not a right or wrong thing, but a process of understanding and examining smaller elements in order to extrapolate out to a conclusion. Progress doesn’t just happen in big, sweeping pronouncements. It occurs from within the smallest details. And nothing you choose to do will be very effective if you don’t have a better understanding of those diverse yet interconnected details. I predict that’s the case, anyway.

Dan Meadows is a writer living on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay. Follow him on Twitter @watershedchron

Do Editors Have Copyright Interests in Books They Edit?

“Our job is to partner with you on a journey to reconcile your vision of your book with the way your prospective readers will see it.”

–From Writer’s Digest

The relationship between an editor and a writer should be collaborative, we’ve all been told time and time again. It seems to make sense on the surface, almost to the point of common sense. The problem, though, is that it’s dead wrong. Even more than that, as a writer, it’s a potentially dangerous and expensive mistake to make. Let me explain…

“A developmental editor will take your manuscript and work with the content itself. If needed, they might reshape your work and rearrange sentences to make the book flow together better. This type of editor helps an author find their voice and help refine their vision.”

– from PBS Mediashift

So an editor of this type, or one that engages in this type of action, precipitates significant changes to the finished product. Do you think it’s fair to say the end result of such a relationship is a collaborative work? That the editor’s contributions are an essential component in the finished creative work for sale? So would I.

“Do editors have a copyright interest in the edited version of the manuscript? Maybe, maybe not, but it is a weapon in the editor’s collection arsenal that should not be ignored.”

–From An American Editor

This is from a blog for editors openly discussing whether editors have a copyright interest in the finished edit of a work. It’s not a theoretical construct, it’s an actual thing being openly advocated for amongst some editors. Albeit, editors in this case who have been stiffed by their clients, but I don’t think they’d be wrong in doing so under any circumstance. Although, I find the author’s stance that as little as inserting one comma would give an editor a copyright interest is maybe a little bit of an overreach. Appropriate stress due to “maybe” there. It well could. What I have no personal doubt of is that, if you’re making substantive content changes at the behest or recommendation of an editor, you most certainly are giving them a copyright interest.

So why aren’t we seeing courtrooms filled with editors making copyright claims? Because it’s something that was largely irrelevant in the past, and people’s perceptions haven’t quite caught up with reality yet. When most books went through publishers and most editors were employed by those publishers, the copyright interest of the work product of the editor belonged to the publisher. There was little reason for anyone to enforce it. Even after publishers started relying more and more on freelance editors, you can be sure their agreements with those editors contained work-for-hire language, meaning their work product, and any subsequent copyright interest, still belonged to the publishers.

The rights were there but everyone’s interests, as they were aware of them, generally flowed in the same direction so they were rarely, if ever, expressed. That’s why we think of editors as collaborative but not to the extent of a copyright claim, even though, particularly with deep substantive editing, it’s difficult for me to find a rational reason why they wouldn’t that isn’t based on the assumption that they’ve never had one. It’s not that it didn’t exist, but that the nature of the industry itself repressed their claim, likely without most of them even realizing it.

So what’s changed? Everything. Now we have independent writers hiring freelance editors and designers for all manner of tasks. We have writers selling print only rights to publishers and retaining ebook rights to publish themselves. We have the 35 year rights termination procedure passed into law in the ’70s only now coming into use. Everyone’s interests are no longer flowing in the same direction. Little things that were insignificant in the past because the system inherently suppressed them, like any potential copyright claim for editors, can now bubble up through the cracks these changes have opened in the industry’s very foundations. Just because we haven’t seen it doesn’t mean we won’t.

Self Publishers and Independent Contractors

Let me just say this, if you’re doing any freelance work yourself or hiring independent contractors for things with any copyright implications at all, you had better know the law relating to work-for-hire and the IRS and Agency definitions of “employee” inside and out. I see a ton of articles about how to pick an editor or how to pick a designer directed at self publishers. What I don’t see is nearly enough articles explaining how not to screw yourself on the contractual relationships with those contractors.

“(1) a work prepared by an employee within the scope of his or her employment; or (2) a work specially ordered or commissioned for use as a contribution to a collective work, as a part of a motion picture or other audiovisual work, as a translation, as a supplementary work, as a compilation, as an instructional text, as a test, as answer material for a test, or as an atlas, if the parties expressly agree in a written instrument signed by them that the work shall be considered a work made for hire. (17 U.S.C. § 101)”

–From U.S. Copyright Act of 1976

Work-for-hire is a fairly simple concept on the surface. If you are an employee, any work product of doing your job, and any resulting copyright interests, belong to your employer. “Employee” is a little more complicated than just if you’re on the payroll and they’re paying payroll taxes on you, although those are considerations. Whether you are legally regarded as an employee depends on the nature of the relationship. The more the employer controls the terms of your work; the times you work, the equipment you use, where you work, etc; the more likely you are to be deemed an employee regardless of how they’re paying you.

The second part of work-for-hire, and the one you really need to pay attention to, is that the work must fit into one of those categories listed in the quote and be expressed in writing. The and is the crucial part there. If you are an independent contractor and there’s no written work-for-hire agreement, it doesn’t exist. This means whoever contracted you has limited use of the work per the terms of the contract and all copyright interests remain with you. The written agreement is not optional. No contract, no work-for-hire. And believe me, as someone who’s done my share of independent contractor work, it’s extremely useful to be aware of its absence in your agreements. Here’s a link to a pdf of the U.S. Copyright Office circular that explains work-for-hire, and the criteria for employee determination. If you don’t already know it forwards and backwards, read it now.

The point of this is, simply, don’t be stupid. Know the law and protect yourself. Understand that everything is different about the nature of your relationship to an editor you contract versus one you work with who was also contracted by the same third party publisher. And I mean everything, right down to the legal implications of the structure of your business arrangements.

Do editors have a copyright interest? I think they do but I don’t know absolutely. That’s for a judge to decide at some point. But do you want to be the one standing in court across from that judge when he tells you they do? I sure as hell don’t. Simple work-for-hire language in your agreements with any independent contractors who are contributing anything creative to your final work for sale will make it a moot point. Even if a clear ruling is made that they do, you, through the work-for-hire language, would own that copyright interest in the work they did for you.

If you go around leaving holes in your agreements with people, you’re going to fall into one. Know the law, use it, protect yourself and your interests. You can be damn sure others will.

The 35 Year Termination Rule

We’re just now entering an era where authors can have their rights reverted 35 years from publication just by filing some paperwork. This applies to any work after January 1, 1978, so we aren’t very far down the road on what this will mean. I expect we’ll see publishers inundated with these things in the coming years and, eventually, we’ll see some long-term lucrative works they really don’t want to give up in the firing line.

In the past, rights reversions were generally one of two things; done through an out of print clause for a book the publisher’s been getting nothing from, or a buy back where the author pays the publisher for the reversion. This new termination rule is different in that it clearly forces publishers to give up rights against their will with no recourse. If you don’t think they’ve got lawyers pouring all over their contracts and the various intricacies of copyright law to find a workaround, you’re kidding yourself.

Here’s another place where a copyright interest for editors might turn up in the future. Publishers never had any reason to acknowledge such an interest, particularly since they owned all those interests anyway through work-for-hire. But now, faced with losing money-making properties for nothing, they very suddenly find themselves with such an interest. But it shouldn’t matter because the rights are reverting at 35 years, anyway, right? Well, no, not really.

Where a typical copyright term is life of the author +70 years, work-for-hire is different; 95 years from publication or 120 years from creation. More than that, work-for-hire is not eligible for the 35 year termination. Yes, you may get your rights reverted but the publisher, through the work-for-hire work product of editors, may still retain a copyright interest in the final product you’ve been selling for over three decades. With that, they could potentially stop you from publishing that version, or licensing the rights to that version to another publisher. More likely, I’d expect they’ll use it as a nuclear option to negotiate a new deal with them at better terms.

Termination may not be what we think it is, all because folks weren’t paying enough attention to small little contract provisions like work-for-hire. You know who was paying attention? Publishers. Or do you think it’s just a coincidence they happen to own all the rights to any possible editor copyright interest for damn near every single significant book of the past 40 years? Harper Collins just won a lawsuit claiming to have bought ebook rights in 1971, for God’s sake! Their contracts may be onerous but they’re not a leaky ship full of loopholes by any means.

This may be something to keep in mind for future negotiations; provisions that keep any work-for-hire copyright interests created in producing the work attached to the rights for the purposes of any reversions. It’s something to consider.

Print Only Publishing Deals

When I first heard about Hugh Howey’s print-only deal a couple years ago, the first thing that popped into my head was, “how is that going to work?” I have questions and maybe Howey, who’s been very forthcoming in a lot of ways, or someone else out there who’s cut one of these deals can answer at some point at their leisure. Enquiring minds want to know…

What’s the deal with editing? Did the print publisher do an edit of their own? Did they just use your final edit you’ve used in your ebooks? If they did do an edit, did you use that in your ebooks, and if so, is there language in your contract that allows that? Or are there two separate edits out there, their’s for print and your’s for ebook? What happens when the rights revert at 10 years or whatever the time limit is? Does the final edit revert too or just the rights to the original before the edit? Does the contract address this at all? I could probably think of a few more but that about sums it up.

The print-only deal where you publish the same material in a different format simultaneously on your own didn’t exist even five years ago. It’s added a layer of complications to what was a fairly simple process. Who knows what kind of holes may open up? There’s no possible way we can foresee all the potential risks such arrangements may bring about. Unintended consequences are a bitch.

If we presume for a moment that editors, especially of the deep, substantive variety, have a copyright interest, then someone owns that. It’s either the editor themselves, the publisher or the author through work-for-hire. It might be a good idea to know who, and a better one to make sure, iron-clad in writing, that it’s you.

One of the great selling points of self publishing is that you keep control, you retain your rights. That’s true, so don’t encumber them unnecessarily through lax independent contractor agreements or because you don’t fully understand work-for-hire or copyright law. It may be that all of this, even the very concept of editors having a copyright interest, is speculative and will never come to pass as a significant issue. But as I look at what role editors are increasingly asked to play, and as I read the particulars of the law, I’m fairly convinced that they do, at least in some circumstances.

This could ultimately have implications reaching much farther than self publishing. We, as independents, can solve this problem by inserting clear work-for-hire provisions in our contractor agreements. But what about the matter of that copyright interest being owned by the publisher through their agreements independent of us? That’s a different kettle of fish, and much harder to protect from. Especially if most of us don’t even realize it’s a danger.

Intellectual property is the 21st Century gold rush. What they found back then was the rush very quickly was followed by claim jumping. Some of it was criminalized, but not all. I’m in favor of protecting myself at every possible angle. You just never can tell where those claim jumpers might look next.

Dan Meadows is a writer living on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay. Follow him on Twitter @watershedchron

Happy Endings Suck

The other day, I read this piece in The Guardian about literary fiction writers feeling somewhat pressed to avoid unambiguously happy endings to their stories. There’s a lot of hand-wringing included in the piece at the bleak endings which are often pervasive, and references to the happied-up ending to Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations as proof that happy endings can be good.

I find the Dickens reference particularly telling because I’ve always felt the changed ending of his classic of unrequited love is totally out of character with the rest of the book. All things being equal, in reality, Pip would have zero chance of getting what he wanted from Estella. In fact, anyone who would throw himself back into that emotional thresher years later has to be one of the dumbest men walking. Even implying the possibility of a happily ever after ending there simply doesn’t mesh with anything else in the entire damn story. I could buy that Pip may convince himself what he wants is within reach, but anyone out here who’ve experienced a real live Estella knows without doubt that he’s lying to himself and, when he goes through that gate, his hand in her’s, he’s taking his first steps toward future rack and ruin.

That is the main reason why I have a general contempt for happy endings in fiction; they’re usually contrived to the point you can practically see the writer straining to ignore the psychology of the characters established throughout the work to make an ending where everyone goes home happy fit on the page. Certainly, depending on what you’re seeking as a reader or what level of escapism you’re willing to accept, I can see how someone might find an ending like that hopeful or fitting to the tale. I, myself, found that ending far too unrealistic to the characters as I knew them to maintain my suspension of disbelief.

I’m not the only person with a predisposition to disliking happy endings. Not by a long shot or there wouldn’t be articles like the one linked to above decrying their dearth. I think, for me, I expect more than a happily ever after in my fiction choices because, in near 40 years, I’ve found endings in real life to very rarely be happy and, quite often, miserable and scarring. I, and many others apparently, are attracted to tragic endings in stories because it’s an aspect of life familiar to most. We have trouble relating to happy endings because so few of us experience them on any kind of regular basis.

Then there’s the issue of whether the happy ending actually makes us feel happy. Personally, I tend to have a visceral negative emotional response to a happy ending, particularly one that doesn’t ring true to life. Dark or tragic endings can reinforce that your woes aren’t as bad as you think. Happy endings, however, can often feel like you’ve been slapped in the face with your failures. I do it with films, too. I see a sad movie and I walk away feeling my problems aren’t so bad. Happy movies, though, just serve to amplify my troubles. That doesn’t mean I think all endings need to be soul-crushingly horrific. I’m more apt to buy into an ending that’s dark but hopeful than an overtly rosy fairytale. Emotional lottery winners are far more rare than the monetary kind. Besides, I’ve always found tragedy and loss far more fertile ground to explore creatively. Happiness can be boring, and more than a little annoying, to those lacking or not directly involved in it.

Romances are the worst offenders at this, too. Despite what Ryan Reynolds might say, the friend-zoned dude doesn’t ever win the girl. All he gets is to cry himself to sleep, alone and drunk, after her wedding to someone else. I’ve always liked the ending of St. Elmo’s Fire because of that. Andrew McCarthy pined for Ally Sheedy for years and years before he finally got to have her but she only hooked up with him because she was distraught over the guy she really wanted. McCarthy was totally getting ditched shortly thereafter. On the surface, if you don’t look too deeply, it appears true love and perseverance won out but the clear implication of the movie’s ending was that his heart was going to end up broken far worse than if he’d just walked away.

If that ending had been of the fairytale variety, it would’ve, one, rubbed salt in the wounds or, two, provided false hope to untold numbers of folks who have found themselves in that exact situation. I think that ending is just about perfect, a subtle reminder that, sometimes, getting what we want most in the world can be the worst thing that can happen.

Happy endings can work, if they grow organically from the characters and don’t press. I’m of the opinion that truly good fiction passes on some wisdom in the process and shouldn’t fall too far into the realm of wish fulfillment. Overly contrived happy endings are nothing if not pure wish fulfillment, both for ourselves and the characters we’ve grown to care for.

All this being said, it still comes down to your particular tastes as a reader. To me, the unhappy ending and how characters deal with that is what attracts me. Do they respond with nobility and integrity or do they drop into rage and frustration-created depression? There’s value in those endings, of the kind we can use when we inevitably face the plethora of unhappy endings in our own lives. The Disney-esque, everything works out and they all lived happily ever after endings bring nothing to the table in that regard. There are no lessons to be learned when everything ties up into a neat little bow of unrealistic happiness.

It’s a popcorn ending, one that doesn’t call for too much considerstion, that invites us not to think too hard about it. I, and many others, enjoy seeking lessons I can adapt to my own life from what I choose to read or watch. Happy endings, especially contrived ones, steal those moments of contemplation and learning from us. Stay true to the story and the characters you’ve created and your endings will ring true even if they end up seemingly bleak. Slap a giant smiley face on them, and your happy ending will end up having the exact opposite effect on a wide swath of your readership.

Happiness isn’t as simple at getting everything you think you want. Fictional endings that perpetuate that meme do us all; writers, readers and the characters they’ve created and/or loved; a great disservice.

Dan Meadows is a writer living on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay. Follow him on Twitter @watershedchron

Data Overload: Reader behavior data lacking in crucial context

I just read this piece on NPR about whether the data collected on reader behavior from ereaders is useful to writers. My gut reaction is, “nope,” but upon further reflection, I can see some circumstances under which some data along those lines could be of use. It’s not a simple, black or white question, however. It all depends on who has the data, and who’s using it and how they overcome the problem of lacking proper context.

I can easily envision a circumstance where a publisher says to a writer, “Our ereader data suggests 63% of your readers were more engaged in the portions of your last book where the hero fought werewolves. We’d like your next book to include more werewolves.” That’s not appreciably different than it is now, only with more data that appears to reinforce their beliefs. Publishing has always been an industry that, when success strikes, beats every ounce of that success into the ground. Fifty shades of erotic romance, anyone? If werewolves are showing signs of being the hot new thing, bring on the werewolves!

But is that interpretation of the data correct? Were those readers more engaged because of the werewolves or because it was a high-tension, exciting sequence that just happened to involve werewolves? That’s a pretty important distinction. The problem is, we can’t say without more data to properly explain this data.

Here’s a point made by author Scott Turow that raises a similar concern in mind:

“I would love to know if 35 percent of my readers were quitting after the first two chapters because that frankly strikes me as, sometimes, a problem I could fix.”

Possibly. But what if that 35% is industry-standard for readers dropping books after the first few chapters? How do we know? I know my reading habits often have me starting books, putting them down for other books, sometimes coming back later, sometimes not. There’s no rhyme or reason related to quality for it, either. Some of my favorite books were started three or four times before I finally followed through. And I’ve read some total tripe cover to cover.

We need a whole lot more information before making any creative decisions based on this. What if we come to discover that 35% is actually better than average? What if 40-45% turns out to be the figure? Would Turow no longer have a problem to fix? He’d still have a third of his readers not getting past chapter two, but he’d also be outperforming the industry. What if we discover this having similarities to baseball, where failing 7 times out of 10 makes you an All Star? We are lacking the frame of reference to make useful decisions based on this data. Finding answers from data lacking adequate context is like reading tea leaves or interpeting ancient religious texts; anybody can do it and find a justification to point to as evidence, even if another person can credibly interpret the proofs you site the exact opposite way.

Turow also said this:

“Would I love to hitch the equivalent of a polygraph to my readers and know how they are responding word by word? That would be quite interesting.”

Frightening might be another word for it. Hell, I sense a dystopian novel where corporations have hitched everyone to a giant monitoring device to record their every impulse and give them back only products that serve their immediate desires, sort of a permanent cultural feedback loop. I don’t see how that much data is even useful. Writers, generally speaking, have varying degrees of OCD. I can easily see the hypochondriac impulse taking over, and some writers getting obsessively lost trying to make sense of this mass of often conflicting information.

He does make a cogent point here, from a publisher’s point of view:

“Why should we publish this book if 11 readers out of 12 can’t make it past page 36?”

It’s hard to argue that. Publishers need to make money to survive. So do writers but on a different scale. If data suggests a book isn’t attracting an audience sizable enough to support publisher overhead, then why should they publish? From the other side, if a book is not showing scale that befits a relationship with a publisher, maybe that’s a way for writers to help determine if a work is better served as an independent release. After all, the term “hybrid authors” is all the rage these days. You have to choose your publishing approach somehow.

But again, this only works if the data means what we think it means. Besides, there’s also the paradox of the fact that the book has to be released in order to collect reader data on it. So, at best, unless we’re talking about turning books into software and releasing beta versions we fix after getting customer feedback, this ereader data is only really useful in a predictive sense for future work. Which means that all we’ve done is pile a lot more data into a decision we’re already making based on an already-existing pile of considerations today. Will it improve end results? Maybe, maybe not. But what it will do is provide justifications to make the initial decision more defensible, regardless of outcome. I’m not certain that’s a good thing because it has the distinct potential to provide pseudo-evidentiary cover for making bad calls on whether or not to publish.

Books will still succeed despite data that suggested beforehand that they wouldn’t. And books will still fail despite having all the indicators of a sure thing. This data is nice, but there are numerous factors at work in a successful novel, reader behavior while reading is a small part of that I can’t definitively say holds much significance. I can’t say it doesn’t, either. We just don’t have enough data. In the future, we’ll fix that, I’m sure, and be awash in all the facts, figures and statistics we can stand on reader behavior. But we’ll still be lacking the context. Without that, I’m not convinced we’ll ever be able to interpret this information properly. Short of Turow’s all-encompassing polygraph or some piece of future tech that reads minds, that context isn’t readily accessible and likely never will be.

More and accurate data is always a good thing, but who wields it and how is crucial. I have a feeling that this will turn out to be little more than echo chamber material. Anyone making an argument will be able to find the numbers somewhere in the increasingly vast data pool to support it, no matter how outlandish.

Will I use this data for something, if available? Absolutely. I can totally see its value from a marketing standpoint. Will I change a character, story or rewrite portions of work based on this information? Absolutely not. I have little confidence that any of this data means what I think it means. I have even less confidence it means what other people think it means. If it only serves to reinforce already existing opinions, then it brings little of value to the table. Maybe I can glean a way to sell more books with this data, and that’s worth a shot, but changing the actual work in response to it is a bridge too far.

Editors Redux

A while back, I wrote this. Needless to say, I pissed off a few editors, some so severely that I began to wonder if they missed my point. Hey, maybe I needed an editor to help me make it more clear to editors why I think they’re overrated and, far too often, a detriment to the writer rather than a help. That would be kind of ironic, maybe, if anyone actually understood what irony means.

Anyway, I let it drop after that as, essentially, my point was that editors aren’t higher on the literary food chain than writers and, given the new realities taking hold, are little more than a supplemental contractor, as it were, serving at the writer’s discretion. Yet still, nearly every day, I see the same old arguments made. Writers can’t produce publishable work without editors. You need an editor. Editors are essential. Yada, yada, yada.

Editors are a tool at the writer’s disposal, one of many. Depending on the type and skill level of the editor in question, the trick is figuring out if they’re a tool that can help finish the job well, or an extraneous tool that seems shiny but ultimately is little more than one of those cheaply made pieces of junk you find in the “As Seen On TV” aisle that doesn’t quite live up to the game-changing hype on the infomercial.

Anyway, for clarity’s sake, I decided to revisit my point.

1. Most editors suck at their jobs

Most editors didn’t really appreciate my observations on this. There are so many different kinds of editors, and different jobs within publishing that carry the word “editor” in their title. It’s become a catch-all, pseudo-management title used more often to give an employee an air of higher standing without actually having any of said standing. In book publishing, there’s acquistion editors, copy editors, line editors, content editors, etc, etc. The magazine/newspaper world’s even worse, with offices in many cases employing more people with editor after their names than writers. One of the things I said in my original piece was that most editors are simply people who are wannabe writers who are either failures at it or lack the courage to be the creator. It’s always easier to manipulate the work of others than create it in the first place. This doesn’t mean that a good editor can’t add value, they can. It means there are a lot more mediocre-to-bad editors out there than good ones. I stand by this point completely.

Writers almost always exist in the grey area of uncertainty called self employment. Editors, on the other hand, usually collect a regular paycheck (modern publisher downsizing is changing this but it still holds as a generalization). Do you really want someone who chose the illusion of job security that comes with a regular paycheck over the risk of chasing their dreams dicking around with your attempt to chase your dreams? Again, this isn’t all editors, but it’s more of them than not. Keep in mind, as well, if your editor is one of these people, their motivation lies necessarily on the side of making your work fit the standards of the publisher who’s paying them rather than making your work the best it can be in a vacuum. Sometimes, those goals dovetail nicely. More often than not, however, they don’t.

This isn’t a blanket indictment against editors, it’s their job. They work for the publisher. They’re first order of business is necessarily serving the needs of the entity paying their bills. This is really a question for writers to answer. Do you want your work to conform to a publisher’s standards or to your own? The notion that these two ends always coincide is a fairy tale. In the old traditional market, all the sacrifice was on the writer’s shoulders simply because we had no leverage otherwise. It really and truly was my way or the highway at its root.

I’ve done my share of commercial painting over the years. It’s a nice skill to have and I’ve paid my bills through some lean years with it. The biggest trouble I had was contractors who’s motivations differed from mine. Contractors want to be max profitable above all else. I wanted to produce the best quality job for the person buying the house. Occasionally, this led to conflict when the contractor advocated something half-assed to support their profitability. Publishers are like contractors, editors either conform to their standards and demands or they’ll be looking for work elsewhere. I believe it’s crucial for writers to understand these dynamics. It’s pretty important to know if the editor who’s tinkering with your work is serving two masters. In those cases, when push comes to shove, the master with the fatter wallet wins almost every time.

Now, however, independent publishing has changed things a bit. Writers are the ones cutting the check now. Yet I still see editors with a “I know best” attitude, behaving as if the dynamic hasn’t shifted. The most important thing I said in my previous piece is that the editor works for you now. Listen to them, certainly, otherwise you’re wasting your money, but the ultimate decisions rest solely with you. You are in charge. I wonder if this isn’t why some editors were unhappy with my opinions. In the old traditional mechanism, editors were higher on the ladder than writers. Nobody likes to feel their skills are being maginalized, or declining in influence or authority. I feel bad but editors never should have gotten higher than writers in the first place. Editing is a supplemental activity to (theoretically) benefit the writer. The only reason that structure happened was so publishers could marginalize the importance of writers (and their ultimate compensation, let’s not forget that). Editors became what they did because publishers willfully used them to add a layer between creator and market that only they could successfully navigate, and to infantalize writers so they’d be less likely to rebel against a system that earns all its revenue on your back but only pays out a relative pittance in return. That strategy of infantilization has worked so spectacularly well that writers, en mass, have essentially self-imposed that structure. I still see good, talented, independent writers touting the value of these obstacles willingly put in their way by publishers, like agents and editors. Stockholm syndrome at its finest.

2. All editors aren’t awful

My rhetoric against editors in the original piece was over the top. I admitted as much in the article. Every editor doesn’t suck at their job. Most of them do, though. It’s crucial to find one who doesn’t, and that largely depends on what specific skills they possess and how they choose to wield them. A good copy editor is worth every penny. By the way, I define copyeditor as line by line, typo and grammar editor. This is painstaking, tedious work. I suspect a big part of the reason writers have willfully gone along with the editor fallacy is precisely because copy editing sucks and we just don’t want to be responsible for it. Where do you suppose the notion of “I just wanna write” comes from? Writers who only want to do the fun, easy parts and dump the difficult actual work on someone else, that’s where. Now I’m going to do what I neglected to do but should have in the original piece, I’m going to lay the wood to writers.

If you’re a writer who subscribes to the above-mentioned theory, you are lazy. I just wanna collect royalty checks as a super best selling author. Someone else can handle the actual writing, I just want to cash those fat checks. That’s the same as saying “I just wanna write” while engaged in a business atmosphere. If you truly just want to write, there’s nothing wrong with that. It makes you a hobbyist, but that’s fine. But far too many writers saying this are actively seeking publishers, or actively self publishing. You can’t behave in a businesslike way but pick and choose to do only the parts you think are fun. To begin with, that attitude puts you at a severe disadvantage in dealing with people committed to the actual business and they will screw you every time on the contractual end given the opportunity. I’m pretty sure their mouths get to watering whenever a writer walks in saying “I don’t want to worry my pretty little head with actual complex professional business issues, I just wanna write!” If you don’t want to deal with the actual business end, then do everybody a favor and get the hell out of the business. You’re poisoning the waters for everybody else. By willfully signing over all rights, agreeing to onerous non-competes, accepting pittance royalties with little or no accountability to back those up and basically abdicating any and all responsibility for the business side of publishing, you’re helping establish standards that those of us who do actually care about the business side have to fight through every day just to try and get a remotely equitable contract out of a publisher. Everything worth doing in life comes with a heaping helping of things you don’t want to do. Suck it up, it’s part of the program. By not doing so, you’ve opened the door to publisher exploitation of writers wide open. The “I just wanna write” attitude has done more to infantalize writers than all the actions of all the publishers in the world combined. It’s like with most things, it can only screw us over so long as we allow it to.

Let’s say publishers are vampires. When you, sitting on your cushy little couch, utter the phrase, “I just wanna write,” you’re inviting the blood sucking parasite inside. More often than not, by the end of the evening, the vampire strolls away satiated and you’re left a pale-white, dessicated husk drained to the bone. Too strong a metaphor? Depends on who you ask.

3. But unedited work is awful

Yes it is. But here’s the thing, editing is a task. You don’t need a person with a title for it. Like the “I just wanna write” notion, “writers can’t edit their own work” is another dangerous and inherently lazy attitude to hold. Of course you can edit your own work, you wrote it for Christ sake! It’s like saying a master carpenter can build a chest of drawers but he shouldn’t sand or finish it. “Carpenters can’t paint their own work.” Doesn’t that sound absurd?

Woodworking and painting are simply learned skills that are a means to an end, in this case, a sweet new dresser. Writing and editing are learned skills that are a means to an end, a great novel for instance. No different. Are you going to tell the chef that he’s great at preparing the meal, but the table presentation should be left to someone else? I didn’t think so.

The key here, however, is that the carpenter knows going in that the finish for his chest is a crucial part of the job. The chef understands that successfully plating the meal is a crucial part of the job. Therefore, they learn how to do those things and do them well. Writers, on the other hand, by being told “I just wanna write” is okay, and “writers can’t edit their own work” drummed into us like Moses carried it down from the mountain, don’t even try. There is actually truth in saying writers can’t edit their own work today because we’ve bred generations of writers who never bothered to learn how. It’s a crucial skill that’s part of the job and we, on the whole, ignore it. Writers became unable to edit our own work because the industry actively minimalizing our skills so they could make more money told us so. They also, not coincidentally, had a ready solution of people who could take care of that for us so we could stop worrying our pretty little heads and just write. They’re called editors.

I am not, repeat not advocating that writers just throw unedited stuff out there. Someone has to do it. I’ve already mentioned that a good copy editor is well worth the expense, with all the emphasis on good. What I’m saying is writers not only can but should learn to edit their own work. It’s not rocket science. It’s a relatively easily learned skill. By comparison, it’s a helluva lot easier to learn good editing skills than to learn good writing. It’s not often fun, it can be tedious if done right, but it’s an essential part of the job. Learn it. Now.

Self-edited work is not unedited work. This pisses me off more than almost anything when I see these terms used interchangeably. As a writer, I find it personally offensive. Why is my edit somehow less valuable than someone else’s? Where is the mystical line where the person with the skills to create something in the first place magically loses all capability to refine it?

My opinion is that it’s always better for multiple sets of eyes to look something over. It’s always preferable to see points of view other than your own. But the traditional editor/writer dynamic gives too much voice to the editor. Again, what I’m advocating here isn’t that writers should just say, “Fuck you, I’m going to do whatever the hell I want!” Well, sometimes, maybe. But for the most part, I’m saying we need to look at conditions and re-evaluate the role and importance of editors. That can’t be done if writers don’t also pick up the slack and re-learn the tasks we willfully abdicated long ago.

In the traditional setup, writers were essentially selling books to editors. We weren’t selling them to readers. Editors, in turn, were selling those books to the publishers who employed them. Again, not readers. Hell, even publishers were selling those books to distributors or chain stores, not readers. The only people actually selling books to readers were at the retail level. Should it surprise anyone that it was a retail company (Amazon) that rose up and finally kicked publishing in the balls? Today, it’s more important than ever to sell to readers. Nobody in the old chain knows how to do that, including writers and editors. Is it preferable, when selling to readers, to seek content feedback from actual readers or editors, who, like writers, have been kept several degrees of separation from readers for the publisher’s advantage? That’s rhetorical. The answer’s pretty obvious.

So there it is in a nutshell: editors suck, writers are lazy, we’ve both been made that way by publishers parasitically exploiting us for profit and we’re all screwed anyway because none of us knows the first thing about selling to readers. Wait, was that my point? Aw shit, maybe I do need an editor.

Editors Note: No I don’t.

Published in: on February 1, 2013 at 8:10 am  Leave a Comment  
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