Publishers on Life Support: An Industry in Decline

There is no lack of opinion regarding the state of the publishing industry.  While I am not a professional insider, my status as a writer-publisher of two novels, as well as my previous experience as an author/editor of a traditionally (Big Six) published nonfiction work, gives me some credibility, I believe, in this discussion.  As much as many writing on the topic, at any rate.  It is my opinion that traditional publishing is exhibiting evidence of an industry that is deeply moribund.IMG_1115

As a surgeon practicing for over 27 years, I have had the deeply unpleasant experience of witnessing institutional decline and failure.  This past decade has been particularly challenging for hospitals.  On several occasions, I have witnessed the process of a hospital failing around me.  The signs are always the same.  The first evidence of a problem is the day that I’m told that some suture or medication that I’ve routinely used during an operation is “not in stock.”  While variously ascribed to “vendor problems” or “delayed shipment,” the real reason is that the hospital has stopped paying its bills in a timely fashion and the suppliers are waiting for a check before they send any more stuff.  Obviously, this is a problem.  It affects the care of my patient, but one finds a way to make do.  Next, the clerks start disappearing from the wards and nursing stations.  These individuals, while not licensed professionals, are the equivalent of the staff sergeants in the military–the people who know how to get things done.  They make everybody’s job easier.  But since they have no direct patient contact and are not regulated by the various accreditation agencies that the hospital must answer to, they are first to go as the hospital seeks to pare down its salary expenses (salaries are always the hospital’s highest expenditure).  The absence of the clerks doesn’t directly endanger the care of patients, but it makes the lives of the nurses, PA’s, and doctors much more difficult.  Suddenly, the care givers must spend time doing clerical duties to get things done for their patients, making everyone less efficient.  And it’s not like we have a lot of extra time to take on these tasks, so everybody feels the strain.  Hospitals depend on the fact that health care professionals, however, will pick up the slack for the good of the patient.  After all, everybody who works in the hospital has sworn an oath to that effect; everyone, that is, except the hospital administrators.  But this can only be stretched so far, and eventually, the best staff members leave to take positions at other, more solvent hospitals.  The remaining staff, too old or marginally competent to relocate, are left behind in a situation of downward spiraling care.  The final phase before the doors are ultimately locked is a deeply distressing period, though patients are often oblivious to the situation.

I see the same thing happening today in the publishing industry.  Obviously, traditional publishers are in a financially challenging environment.  Their current reaction, it seems to me, exactly mirrors what I describe above.  Experienced and talented professionals in the field, some of them my friends and associates, are being let go.  Divisions are being downsized or consolidated.  Jobs once done by these experienced pros are now done by interns, or not at all.  In-house expertise is sacrificed to subcontractors, always the lowest bidder.  My recent reading experience has given sad evidence to this trend.  Ebooks put out by major publishing houses on Kindle and Nook (I use both) exhibit extensive formatting issues, nonfunctional Tables of Contents, and copy editing errors pointing to a “scan but don’t proofread” approach to converting their manuscripts from print to the electronic format.  Even recent print editions, both hardcover and trade paperback books, show the kind of mistakes that shouldn’t be allowed by a professional publishing house that holds itself to a standard above the independent author-publisher.  Supposedly.

This is the crux of the matter at hand.  The traditional, professional publishing houses are in competition with independently published writers, as well as multiple small presses.  The response to this competition must be to turn out an even better product, to provide their contracted authors with a level of support and professional cache that will make for continued loyalty.  This has not been in evidence.  It seems, instead, that the response is to cut corners as they cut expenses.  It’s not going to work.  This short sighted approach, like the hospital trying to keep its doors open as it provides decreasing quality of care, leads to failure.

The response of a challenged industry giant must be to use their assets to explore new markets and areas of opportunity.  For example, many independents and small publishing houses are exploring the use of “bundles” to provide readers with greater value.  This is a natural technique for traditional publishing houses to employ, as they own the rights to huge libraries of previously published material, much of it desirable to readers.  It costs almost nothing for publishers to exploit this asset, but there is little or no effort being displayed in this regard.  It seems to me that every time I purchase a book written by an author published by RandomPenguinWhatever, I should receive the recommendation to buy a bundle of that author’s previous work, or some part thereof.  Not happening.

If traditional publishing houses continue to play defense rather than innovate, to pare down rather than promote those aspects of their industry in which they excel, the downward spiral to institutional failure is inevitable.  The best and brightest in the industry–authors, editors, marketing and legal professionals–will leave for the new opportunities which will  arise in their stead.  These folks haven’t sworn an oath to support their publishers.  And readers are not oblivious.

“Discoverability”: An Indie Author’s Publishing Parable

~first posted 23 Feb 13

[In the manner of those times when you showed up to the lecture that everyone else had cut, and the prof spent the whole class complaining to you about the poor attendance and then was so ticked off he refused to give the lecture…]

You’re not reading this, because you don’t know who I am. You’ve never heard of me, or this blog. Yet here I stand, knee-deep in snow in the Amazonian wildlands, the wind howling about me, as I toil at chopping down this huge tree, a mighty oak of a tree; a damn fine tree, if I do say so myself. And then, finally, suddenly, the tree falls…

…without a sound.IMG_1110

The tree lies there, silent and still, as I stand above it, victorious and proud, sweating, with heavy axe shouldered, my boot atop its fallen trunk. Breathing heavily–falling trees alone in the woods is hard, under appreciated work–I take stock of the magnificence of the work I’ve just accomplished, somewhat chagrined that there isn’t a crowd of appreciative well-wishers gathering about to clap and congratulate me on having accomplished the dropping of such a big and important tree. Why is that, I wonder.

So I wait for a bit; but no, it seems that no one is coming. Or noticed. In the distance, I can see quite a few people milling about other, lesser fallen trees. I really don’t get it, those are like saplings compared to this sucker here. Those folks don’t even seem to know what they’re missing, as if they really don’t know much about trees at all…

“Excuse me,” I hear a small, plaintive voice say. I reluctantly tear my gaze from the other, more appreciated trees, and look down to see a very cute little bunny caught by a branch of my fallen tree. “Excuse me,” he repeats politely, “but I seem to be caught here by your fallen tree. I’m sorry to be a bother, but I never even heard the thing falling, otherwise I certainly would have avoided your tree altogether. Might I trouble you for a little help?’

He is so cute and well spoken! “What is your name, little bunny?” I ask, kneeling next to him. I scratch his head between his pink bunny ears, but he doesn’t seem to appreciate this much.

“Is that important?” he asks, a bit annoyed after the head scratching episode. “I mean, just to move the tree a couple of inches and let me on my way? Are we to exchange insurance information as well? Can I expect a card on Easter?”

“Well, I was just trying to be nice, is all.” He is so fluffy, I’m sorry my tree has trapped his paw. I feel bad.

“Nice? Nice would be watching out not to drop a tree on any innocent soul that happens to be passing by. Or at least calling out something before doing so; saying, oh, I don’t know, something like ‘Tim-ber’ or ‘yet another self-important freelancer tediously dropping a tree randomly in your vicinity.’ Something like that would be nice.” I look wounded. “Reed. The name’s Reed.”

“Reed? Reed Rabbit? Is your middle initial ‘R’?”

“No. And my last name isn’t Rabbit, either, it will shock you to learn, I’m sure. As I myself would be, if your last name isn’t ‘Pathetic Dumbshit.’ ”

“Oh. Sorry. Listen, since you’re here anyway, would you like to discuss the critical importance of my tree? Or why this is the most significant tree felled in our lifetime?”

“No.” I see the fluffy bunny struggling to free himself.

“Well, if I free you, can I at least ask you to nibble a bit of the bark here? You know, just take a little bit to get the taste of how marvelous this tree is? Since you’re here already? Just a taste?”

“I think not.” Reed struggles mightily at the entrapped paw, somewhat panicked now. He looks up at me, obviously concerned that I’ve made no move to release him. “Listen,” he says with a slight twang of desperation, “how about you release me and I’ll mention to everyone I meet here in Amazonia just how decent a chap you are? How about that?”

“Oh, so you will try my tree then?”

“No.”

“But then how–”

“Does that really matter? I’ll be on my way, you’ll be happy here with your twisted little bramble bush. I mean, look at this. It looks like a prop from ‘The Charlie Brown Christmas Special.’ Just lift the thing for a second. It’s the decent thing to do.”

I realize that the fluffy little fellow is right, though he seems a rather heartless little bunny. I stoop to lift the tree. “Maybe you could stop by my house here in the woods sometime, try my blog soup.”

“To be honest, I’d rather gnaw off my own paw.”