CONFESSIONS

by Catherine Rudy

In 2007, when I founded Wolf Pirate Publishing, I wanted to focus on category fiction because it was what I enjoyed reading. I had never seen the appeal of “literary fiction” for the simple reason I had my own drama to deal with—and I could admit to some that would make what was in literary fiction pale in comparison. So why should I care to read about someone else’s drama when I had my own deal with. I wanted to read something for an escape from life. Delving into mystery, suspense, thrillers, horror, and yes, fantasy was perfect for that. It gave me a reprieve from life’s obstacles.

Before opening the publishing company, I had already known there was a poor reception for category fiction. Many “reputable” presses frowned on category fiction as beneath them, even stating in their submission guidelines how they would NOT accept it. I began to feel cheap and unintelligent because I had disdained literary fiction; but not only that, because I read category fiction. I felt like the serious literati were looking down their noses at me. I was embarrassed.

For two and a half years, I kept the publishing company open, reading submissions and hearing the laments of category fiction writers. Many of them were passionate writers who faced the daunting task of finding a home for their work because of the narrow market for it. In the meantime, I discovered something. I disliked the commercial and marketing demands of the industry. Because of that, I was a horrible saleswoman. Instead, I turned all my energies to the literary aspect of the company, shifting it away from publishing and moving it toward education. I took that direction because not many submissions we received were of very good quality. It led me to my next epiphany: that I was a demanding judge of literature. I wanted to see literary merit in category fiction.

Over the years, as a fan of category fiction, I became disappointed with what I found on the commercial market. I had always read books all the way through, but then I began forcing myself to finish some. Eventually, it reached a point where I stopped reading a book when I couldn’t take it any longer. Soon, I couldn’t make it halfway through some. Finally, I found myself wandering bookstores with the fear of wasting good money on something I wouldn’t get past the first few chapters. I opened the publishing company with the hopes of changing the market. I was disillusioned.

Changing the literary quality of category fiction wasn’t going to come from publishing excellent writers. Not as a small press. Small category fiction presses rarely get reviewed in Publisher’s Weekly, a staple of success in the industry; or find a distributor to reach bookstores, unless they want to limit themselves to online sales through BN.com or Amazon.com. Small category fiction presses rarely get accepted into “literary” associations that have merit. And as I mentioned already, I was a horrible saleswoman. I was a crack editor, though.

Being a state-certified instructor and involved in training for the past eighteen years, I had been focusing my energies on a completely different aspect than writing. But having worked on the sideline in the literary field for almost twenty years and having written several manuals and class curriculums, I had subconsciously been moving in a particular direction all along. It wasn’t until I had gone through my experience with my publishing company that I realized what that was. I wanted to show writers what they were doing wrong and teach them otherwise.

I won’t go into a long list of deficiencies with today’s emerging writers (published or not), but I will expose my discovery of why there is such a high-brow attitude against category fiction. Readers, publishers, and reviewers assume there is no literary value in category fiction. I say, in part, they might be right. However, I must remind these people that literary fiction is not a separate genre in itself, but a judge of the aesthetic value of the work. Aesthetic value is not found exclusively in literature that can’t be categorized as a distinct genre. It is the quality of the writing, not the category of the work that matters. The literati need to stop judging the book by the genre and view the content between the pages. They may find literary merit in works that fall under the categories of romance, mystery, thrillers, science fiction and even horror if they look.

On the obverse side, writers of category fiction must begin to write aesthetically if they want to enjoy literary appreciation. True, many writers are content only to find commercial success in the mainstream of the general public. Even the majority of writers I have dealt with were interested only in getting published and not working on the quality of their manuscript. I wished them luck and sighed about the sad fate of category fiction if that was the main direction of writers. I did find a few serious writers who wanted to take it to another level, though. My editors and I worked with them in the Writer’s Workshop, spending months with each to help them understand the philosophy of literary merit. We gave them direction and advice, and in return, they worked hard. They were given a lot of latitude in the course of what ultimately went into their book, and two have subsequently found publishers. We didn’t charge anything for the service, but we were immensely rewarded with gratitude, accomplishments, and a sense of doing something beneficial for someone. After a year of running the Workshop, we decided unanimously to make it one of our main goals. With some relief, we closed the publishing aspect of the company and opened a nonprofit organization to focus on education, development, and mentoring writers, as well as drawing readers back into the realm of entertaining fiction.

We welcome category fiction at the Wolf Pirate Project, as well as “literary” fiction. In our effort to get the literati to change its views about categorizing literature, we accept everything. If it falls within the realm of creative writing, we will review it. We want to look at writers as assets to our culture as human beings, not commodities. We do not imagine we will change the marketing views of the industry, but perhaps we can change a few minds in the meantime about literary merit. That means starting with writers and getting them to view their work as something more than just a money-making venture, writing with an emphasis on the artistic value of literature.

SOMETHING HAS TO BE SAID

by Eve Mattel

I have been in this business for umpteen years and have seen the course of how this business has changed. I liken the industry of literature to the housing market. Just like the real estate market has experienced a boom where people thought they could make a killing with short-term investments, flipping properties they would never live in, publishing experienced the same explosion of opportunistic greed. Hundreds of independent presses popped up all over the place and began to court the massive population of writers fighting for a small niche in the dwindling space on store’s bookshelves. The savvy, reputable independent presses exercised strict quality control, recognizing writing as a talent and that not everyone has it. It was, and still is, the significant number of self-publishing and subsidiary publishers out on the market that have destroyed quality control and have flooded the market with inferior works. Dare I go on with this lambasting?

First of all, I must say this, and I can’t say it loud enough. Just because someone writes doesn’t mean he is a writer. Just because someone wants to be a writer doesn’t make him a writer either. And just because someone has been published doesn’t make him an accomplished writer. I used to think a writer wasn’t an author until he was published. Now I believe the opposite. It is so easy to become published these days that being “an author” isn’t an accomplishment. It only means someone had the money to self-publish or sign on to a subsidiary publisher with poor quality control. Most of these people will never see a return on their investment unless they do all the legwork for marketing. They will rarely get picked up by a distributor or reviewed by a reputable source. Even mentioning who their “publisher” is will be met with disdain and a chuckle behind their backs.

The Wolf Pirate Project began as a publisher in 2007, under the name of Wolf Pirate Publishing. We had high ideals about getting great books out on the market, seeing them on bookshelves, changing the image of the small press. We were going to revolutionize the industry. We were going to take the world by storm, putting out only the best of the best. We soon learned that we’d come into existence a little too late. The damage had already been done. No amount of song and dance was going to change that. We were lumped with the rest of small, independent publishers. We weren’t even given the time of day.

It didn't take long for us to understand why.

It was only days after we announced we were a new publisher that we started to receive queries and submissions. About three quarters of the queries were fishing expeditions. It was obvious that these desperate people had grabbed whatever lifeline they could in the hopes of seeing their work get published. I can only image the exorbitant money they spent just sending these queries out. If they had reached Wolf Pirate at the bottom of the alphabet, imagine how many publishers they must have already gone through.

After a year of reading submissions, it became appallingly clear why self-publishing and subsidiary companies have made such huge profits. The work that came across our desks, for the most part, was significantly inferior and flawed. I would like to think it was only because the better writers had found a home with a reputable publishing company before they reached the “W”s in the Writer’s Market. I would hate to think that what we saw was a true reflection of what was circulating to everyone in the business. Sadly, I must assume by the larger houses’ high rejection rate and ability to restrict submissions to agent-only queries that this is the reality of the situation.

Wolf Pirate Publishing soon took a turn in a different direction. Still under the guise of a publisher, we became mentors to writers who showed aptitude and good work ethics. Even if their work was somewhat flawed but they showed talent, we worked with them, even though we couldn’t publish them in good conscience. Not when their hard work would end up circulating only to their friends and family. During that time, the Project began to develop in theory. We lost a few good people from the company who went on to paying opportunities, but a few stayed, believing in the ideals of the organization. We still wanted to revolutionize the literary world, just in a different way. We couldn’t change the way a faceless industry felt about small, independent presses, but we could help writers become better at their craft, giving them a better chance with the iconic publishers who could get their books onto store shelves. Eventually, it was time to make the shift. In 2010, Wolf Pirate Publishing officially closed and the Project became reality. We were all a lot happier for it

The Project is admittedly nonprofit. Our biggest asset we offer is knowledge. There is no charge for what we provide and the rewards we reap are the appreciation of writers who go through our grueling workshop. We work on a shoestring budget, nickel and diming office supplies, postage, operational costs, you name it. Most of us get paid nothing for our time; and those who do get a pittance, donate it back to the company. What we offer is immeasurably valuable, but very few people have taken advantage of it. Again, the sad state of the writing industry is behind this. Writers think they are sending out flawless work, or think publishers will absorbed their glaring mistakes in the editing process. This is a delusion that can’t go on.

Here is my advice to the majority of would-be writers out there: take a step back, deflate your ego, and read your work objectively. Easier said than done, I admit, but it is a necessary step on the road to publishing. It is the one and only step in the publishing process you have any control over. Beyond that, your publishing future is in the hands of people who will judge you by what they read. If it is not top-notch, your work will end up in their trash (I won’t color it with any cute euphemisms). You will only delude yourself into thinking the publisher doesn’t know what good writing is if you can’t see your own faulty work.

Here is your wake-up call: the writer who will succeed is the one who dedicates himself whole-heartedly to literature, not writing. Educate yourself on what that means. Whether you take a peek at any of our free classes or check a book out of the library to educate yourself on what that is, it’s up to you. Maybe you’ll only roll your eyes as you read this and think, “She’s not talking about me. My work is well above the bar.” Maybe you won’t even have read past the first few sentences of this article. I can only tell you that by not always striving to do better, you’re degrading your chances of ever being a real writer. You will be doomed to self-publishing or subsidiary efforts. At the least, review your work before sending it off. Your only chance of affecting the odds of getting published is the quality of your writing.