Bring Editing Back (Please?)

The on-going self-publishing orgy that started twenty or so years ago with the arrival of a viable POD technology has now reached some kind of apex (or nadir, depending on your viewpoint) with the almost onanistic instant gratification of one-handed ebook publication.

Hooray, say the countless hordes of writers who might otherwise have never seen publication, but can now bask in the adoration of the masses who will certainly rush en masse to buy their 99 cent self-published ebooks, available at finer (online) retailers everywhere.

Not so fast, say old nit-picking cranks like me. What's good for self-proclaimed "writers" may not be all that great for those of us who still appreciate good writing. Because surely one of the casualties of the afore-mentioned orgy has been the denigration of such quaint, old-fashioned ideas as editing and criticism.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, in fact, both mattered.

In fact, the quest to "get it right" once drove many a writer to drink. (Or at least that was their excuse).

Now dubiously talented, pudgy schlumps in sweat pants can swig giant sodas, hit "SEND" with a single Dorito-stained digit and give not a single iota of thought as to whether their latest masterpiece, to be available digitally within a matter of hours, could have been a little better. Being "published" has surpassed being "good."

In fact, a quick perusal of writers' blogs, message boards and discussion lists soon reveals a dishearteningly large number of newbies who sneer at the very notion of someone daring to tell them how to write, relying instead on SpellCheck and the blind encouragement of a small body of fellow would-be literary titans, dubious beta readers and other enablers. As though the only possible thing that could go wrong with one's writing might be a misspelling or a wayward comma. And those are invariably shrugged off as "typos."

Likewise, the once respected endeavor of literary criticism has been rendered almost meaningless -- at least online -- by an epidemic of enthusiastic but not particularly skilled online reviewers -- often the very same fellow titans, beta readers and enablers -- whose grasp of literary technique, history or even basic grammar and spelling is at best tentative. And often totally missing in action.

Cliff loves Earl's book. Earl loves Davey's book. Davey loves Cliff's book. And the beat goes on...

"It was an awesome roller coster of a thriller that I could not put down and it kept me turning the pages of this book and it kept me reading and thrilled until the verry, verry last page. Five stars!"

Really? Is that what passes as "criticism"these days?

The fact the self-published brigade will actually gleefully use these dubious recommendations (often, astonishingly, without correction) from Bob in Squamishville or flaming_love_wombat2087@aol.com as blurbs in their own publicity shows how far we've fallen.

Granted, even in the imaginary good old days, there were howling boners of both editing and criticism. But there were (or I'd like to believe there were) standards and a consensus of respect for them. And there are certainly still reviews, both online and in print, and a slowly growing number of self-published books that display great merit and literary style and technique. But the current fandango of ego-driven self-entitlement ("I DESERVE to be published!") that turns a blind eye to the falling standards of good writing is a tragedy to those of us for whom words matter.

More frightening is that this disrespect for quality seems to slowly spreading, like an inoperable tumor, from the self-publishing extremities towards the heart of the mainstream.

Which is why I'm so bummed when I come across something like this in a starred review in Publisher's Weekly of John Huston: Courage and Art by Jeffrey Meyers:

"In his detailed, absorbing portrait of Huston (1906-1987), biographer Meyers (George Orwell, Samuel Johnson, and Somerset Maugham) captures the remarkable parallels between these two men as he narrates the life and compelling work of one of the world's greatest filmmakers."

Huh?

Granted, PW is not the epitome of criticism -- their reviews are more like retailer-friendly quickie book reports -- but for the most part they've always been cogent and useful, regardless of their ultimate verdict on the cited work. So a train wreck of a sentence like that is not a pretty or encouraging thing to see.

In this case, I can understand why PW's reviews are anonymous. I wouldn't put my name to a sentence like that either.

Nor does the later bold and annoying statement that Huston's 1941 classic, The Maltese Falcon, is where "all of his talents as a writer, actor and director finally came together" fill me with much respect for a) the reviewer who didn't read the book, or possibly b) the author, who has his head up his ass.

I'm assuming, though, that Meyers got it right in his book (it was Huston's father, Walter, who had a brief, uncredited cameo in the film, not John) and that it was the anonymous reviewer who got it wrong. But where on earth was the editor?

Even if the editor wasn't up to snuff on movie trivia, did he or she really think that first sentence was fine? Or was there even an editor? Was the reviewer -- like so many self-published authors these days -- simply given carte blanche; trusted by his or her publisher to deliver the goods without any need for any sort of time and money-wasting filter or overview?

Lord knows, my own writing is prone to embarrassing gaffes, arguable declarations and dubious sentence structure -- which is why I myself rely so heavily on the kindness of editors. And you should too.

You think your writing doesn't need editing?

You think "typos" don't matter?

You think a gushing, barely-literate review is really something worth boasting about?

Think again.

Ah, Bookstores... The Sequel

People always seem to complain about bookstores. But consider the alternative.

Think what's it's like to work in one. I've been working, in one capacity or another, in the local big bad chain bookstore in Poodledale for several years now. Yeah, one of those faceless, heartless, evil large corporate entities that don't give a damn about anything or anyone, and have put all those poor little indies run by Albert Schweitzer and Mother Teresa out of business.

What a crock. And a tired one at that. Book selling is a very tough, competitive business and unfortunately, simply loving books is no guarantee even the nicest, coolest, friendliest person in the world -- and I've met some pretty good folks in those small little bookstores -- can manage to run a successful bookstore.

But I can assure you that there are plenty of people working in even those big bad bookstores who love books and reading every bit as much as their customers. I know I do. It's why I love my job. And most of my customers are great.

And yet there's hardly a week goes by that I don't open up a discussion group digest or have to deal with some irate "customer" who's dumping all over us once again.

Like, for instance:

"I wanted to go to the bookstore for my birthday. I wanted to get a cup of coffee and a muffen then use WiFi to look at (some author's) webpages and see what books I could find. I am not picky what kind of book I read I will read anything! I have even been known to read a cookbook when I had nothing else. Off to the bookstore with my PDA I go. What do I find? Coffee and a muffen would set me back 10 dollars. WiFi was not a free service and I could not find any of the books that I wanted. I am not just talking about (some author's) books, I am talking about there was not one Hard back Dean Koontz book in the whole place. I miss the local used book store at the end of the block where you could just drop in and find the book you wanted chat up the latest gossip with the lady reading a romance novel behind the counter, then go home curl up in a blanket read the book all night. "SIGH" I have not tried the libary yet that is where I am heading next.

Me? All I wanted was someone who wasn't hoping to read magazines and books for free, or poach our WiFi for free (which isn't free to those who provide it) and not get their undies in a knot simply because we don't carry every edition of every book in the world (no bookstore can afford to). But if we don't have it, we'll try our best to get it for you.

All I wanted was someone who wouldn't complain about how used or online bookstores offer so much better prices (except for shipping and handling, of course). And the next time you can't find that book whose title you don't know by that "arthur" whose name you forget but it has -- maybe -- yellow on the cover, feel free to call Amazon. I'm sure they have a team of operators standing by just to help you. Or ask one of the staff (if you can find one) at Wal*Mart for help with your literary questions.

All I wanted was someone who wouldn't exaggerate to make a point. Ten dollars for a simple coffee and muffin? Yeah, right... I'd like to see the receipt for that.

All I wanted was a customer who could spell "muffin" or "library."

All I wanted was a customer who was a "customer" (IE: one who actually spends money), not a freeloader or a mooch or a squatter...

It's not a library. We don't mind if people glance through a book or a magazine sometimes, but for God's sake buy something sometimes, damn it. Don't sit there, snapping pictures of our books with your cellphone. And don't complain to us at customer service because we don't have photocopy machines, you thieving mooch.

Please treat our merchandise with respect. Put it back where you got it, if you've got the mental capacity to do so. Or at least don't dump them on the floor. And please don't use a sweating, dripping gargantuan ice-blended coffee drink as a bookmark in an $80.00 coffee table book on Andy Warhol whose protective plastic wrap you just ripped off when you thought nobody was looking.

It's not a picnic area. Don't bring your own food, you deadbeat. You want a four-pounder SuperBurger with the works, jumbo fries and a five-gallon Diet Coke to plug that annoying clean spot in your last working artery, by all means, go for it. But eat it there. Please. You keel over, I'm not sure we have enough staff on hand to be able to move your carcass.

It's not a day care centre. Don't leave your runny-nosed screaming ill-begotten brats here to raise hell while you go to Target.

And it's not an ashram. Get your fat butt off the floor. Don't sit on that convenient stack of bargain books either. We do have chairs. You wanna sit on the floor, go to the supermarket. I'm sure they'd love your business.

We're not an auditorium. So don't give me that bullshit about there not being "enough" chairs. We're under no local or state obligation to provide seating. And sometimes we have to take away chairs to -- GASP!!! -- make room for books. Deal with it, lard-arse.

If there are no chairs available, STAND (if you remember how). Or go home and wait for the casting call for the theatrical touring version of WALL-E. I hear they're looking for "humans." You'd be a natural.

Don't give me this crap about a bad back, either. If your body is in such horrible shape you have to lie on the floor, have whoever delivered you here (because of course in your delicate condition you couldn't possibly have driven yourself, right?) take you home.

Because, believe me, some of our "heavier" patrons steps on your head, you'll have head problems too.

By the way, all you blushing young brides-to-be with the foot-high stack of expensive, glossy wedding magazines you're folding, bending and mutilating: we've hired an old gypsy to put a curse on you. "May your future groom respect your wedding vows as much as you respect our merchandise."

If this curse works out, we're having her back to lay one on nursing students as well. And people interested in tattoos.

No Dean Koontz hardcovers? Does he have a new hardcover out? Or are you looking for an older title? Here's a clue: the books on the shelves? We're hoping to sell them. A book unlikely to sell is not going to be on our shelves for very long. (Which is why we carry so few self-published novels -- nobody wants them).

Unfortunately, retail space is too expensive to stock books on a whim. And a five or six-year old hardcover edition of a book readily available in paperback definitely falls into the whim category. If a book's not selling, it goes back to the warehouse. But if you want it, we can get it for you, usually within a week.

Which reminds me: the next time we don't have some TV "journalist"'s latest hate-filled screed on who is destroying America this week, please let me assure you it's not because we're part of some vast left-wing liberal/socialist/Commie/terrorist plot -- maybe we're just sold out. Or the publisher seriously miscalculated demand.

It's a bookstore. We sell books. Hell, we sell Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler and friggin' cat mysteries. So why wouldn't we sell books by Rush Limbaugh or Bill O'Riley or Al Franken or whomever?

And while I understand a small but angry minority didn't like the way the last election went, defacing or turning around any book featuring Obama on the cover won't change the election results.

And referring to him as "the nigger president" tells me more about you than it does about him.

As for this mythical little used bookstore where you can gossip away with the lady behind the counter reading the romance novel, well, how nice for you. I imagine that impresses the person behind you in line. Assuming there was a line. Or is the lady reading behind the counter because she hasn't had any paying customers for two hours?

Sorry but, as I said, we're booksellers. We sell books. We're far too busy helping real, hopefully paying customers to read behind a counter. Any bookstore where the staff has time to read a book during business hours is likely going to be gone in a year. Or less, if people continue to abuse their hospitality.

So go to Costco or Walmart or wherever and sprawl on their floor, read their magazines and books and eat your "muffen." And gosh darn it, you can't beat their selection. Plus their staff is so helpful and knowledgeable about books. Why, you can get any book in the world you want as long as it was on Oprah last week.

Unless, of course, they're also sold out.

They Don't Write 'em Like That Anymore (Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh)

A poster on a mailing list recently complained that, essentially, they don't make 'em like they used to. He was referring to private eye TV shows in this case, complaining about "a few episodes of BURNT" and wondered aloud "how it ever got produced." It's an old refrain, and a tired one.

Me, I wondered how someone could watch a few episodes of a TV show -- at least a couple of hours of viewing -- and never catch the title, but I digress... He concluded by lamenting "When will TV executives return to shows that tell plotted stories? Perhaps I am old fashioned, but I love a good hardboiled dick drama."

My response was simply to note that it's too bad there have been so few. THE ROCKFORD FILES and HARRY O were generally well done and quite consistent, but a lot of what I used to think of as "classic" private eye shows were-- thanks to the magic of DVDs and once the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia are removed-- revealed to be often uncomfortably shallow and predictable; moments of brilliance surrounded by entire episodes of cud-chewing acting and formulaic writing.

I'm not sure what show he was referring to, but if it's BURN NOTICE, I suggested he give it another shot. It''s certainly no worse than MANNIX or CANNON or PETER GUNN, all above average if not always brilliant shows, and has a far better batting average (and writing, acting and sense of true style) than SIMON & SIMON, MAGNUM P.I. or 77 SUNSET STRIP.

Of course, there was the expected response, like-minded souls lamenting how they just don't make 'em (or any sort of art and entertainment) like that anymore.

Sorry, I just don't get it. Sure, entertainment may be in a transitional mode, at least as far as delivery systems go, but the nature of entertainment and art really hasn't changed all that much. We all still want a good story, a catchy ditty, a pretty picture to rock our world.

And for those of you with open minds and ears and eyes, there doesn't seem to be any dearth of well-written and intelligent art -- the problem is that, thanks to technology and a sense of entitlement, everyone thinks they have something to say that we should all hear. I don't think there's less good stuff, but there is -- admittedly -- a ton more bad stuff out there to weed through. It used to be an artist often suffered for his art -- now, with all these new paradigms of content delivery, there's no need for actual craft or art, but the public is certainly expected to suffer through the results.

It isn't the loss of good art we should be mourning (it IS out there), but the loss of a shared community to enjoy it, and the lack of respect for any sort of critical filter or display of intelligence. We used to be able to gather around a sit-com, a hit movie, a bestseller, a tragedy. The money men and the ideological thugs have destroyed that, and we've been complacent in it. Polarization (the more dumbed down the better) is the new entertainment. The bullshit cultural wars are good for business -- send them your brain NOW!

The retreat into a slack-jawed cultural comfort zone (niche marketing, speciality radio and TV, narrow-casting and reaction quotes instead of actual news) where we seldom know what lies beyond our own little, conceited worldview is the problem. And now we're far enough into it that we have "artists" raised in that sort of closeted milieu who only serve (and can only serve) the narrow little cultural pigeon hole in which they were grew up.

"I only listen to classic rock" is just another word for "Nothing left to lose." Or possibly "I have become my parents."

The baby boomers and the "Greatest Generation" are amazingly similar -- self-mythologized but too often culturally-blind dinosaurs who closed their minds and eyes and ears years ago and have been moping for the "good old days" ever since, idealizing and romanticizing the stupidities and fads and knee-jerk group-think of their respective eras while sneering at everything since.

And, of course, ignoring the fact that the "good old days" were always a dirty lie.

Sure, it's sad that some nineteen year old (or some 73-year old) can't name all the Beatles or Rolling Stones, but it's equally sad that some 48-year old can't name one song by Coldplay or Jay Z.

The pundits have been saying that the world is going to hell. But they've been saying that for 10,000 years.

Rant, rant, rant. Someone stick a fork in me. I'm done.

P.S. If you've never seen BURN NOTICE, you can catch up on it's entire run for free [and legally] at

www.hulu.com

.)

Merry This and That, and Happy Everything...

That's gotta be the best non-denominational, all-inclusive greeting I've heard this year, even better than my usual "Have a Holly Jolly and a Happy Ho-Ho."

Of course, such a non-offensive salutation will still probably tick off the Yahoo Right's Spiritual Advisor, Bill O'Riley, and his disciples, but he's such an opportunistic windbag of narrow-minded, thin-skinned hate and divisiveness that getting his goat seems like not just the American but even the Christian thing to do.

So have a good one, Bill. Read the Bible sometime, instead of just thumping it. And imagine a world where people of all races and creeds aren't torn apart by petty-minded rabble rousers shilling "the truth" on television. You may think that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one...

I mean, come on. If there's a "war" on Christmas, Christmas won long ago, at least on this continent.

So, Merry Christmas everybody, or whatever shakes your tree.I don't care if you're Muslim or Buddhist or Jewish or Christian or left-handed or whatever -- have a good time and a great new year (whenever your new year decides to kick in) and embrace the best wishes of those who offer it to you in the spirit it's intended. That's what the true spirit of the season is.

And Happy Boxing Day. I hope you don't have to work today and can just relax and spend some (relatively) quiet time with you and yours.

Me? I'm going to try to finally wrap up the latest issue of THRILLING DETECTIVE, eat some leftovers, listen to some music and maybe have a beer or two. Then the Girl Detective and I will probably have a nice supper, watch an old movie or two (hopefully something with murder in it) and groan that we ate too much.