By Porter Anderson | @Porter_Anderson
From December 1, 2011
Part of my series of columns on publishing, Writing on the Ether, appearing each Thursday at JaneFriedman.com
Deck the halls, not your colleagues
So now it’s December. Backing up the bus and truck for its annual sit-down engagement. Here on the literary road show. Beep-beep-beeping into place.
Heavy production numbers. December comes with all that holiday gear. Snow machines for Mayor Bloomberg. Marley’s chains. The @Rockettes (oh yes, they have their own Twitter handle). One of them is always kicking with the left, not the right. No, she’s kicking with both legs. Oh, sorry, that nutcracker was somebody from Penguin, my mistake. I was blinded by a thousand points of light. Connected to each other by Grinched-up green wires, what ebook-pricing sadist packages those things? It’s showtime, Mr. Tchaikovsky.
Problem is, our loading dock is so freaking full already. Every other tweet screams BUY MY BOOK. How are we going to squeeze in Tiny Tim between Konrath and Manus? Lose the crutch, there’s no room in the inn. He’ll just have to do extra limping. Like this industry.
See, I’m nobody’s Wise Man, but it doesn’t take Three Kings who “from Orient are” to tell you that there’s too much punch in your bowl, Mrs. Fezziwig. Weepy bids for “inspiration” among the blog carolers. Too many nogs, not enough eggs. Lo, such a big pile of Kindling on the hearth, that our Nate Hoffelder at The Digital Reader has taken to waxing elegiac on the e-book edition of Fahrenheit 451:
First they came for Rowling, and I smiled;
Then they came for Bradbury, and I cheered …
When what to my wondering eyes does appear but A Big, Sane Article on Self-Publishing. Free of malice, rancor, and candy-assed sugarplum fairies.
Hark, the herald angel is named Edan Lepucki. Jack Frost wouldn’t dream of nipping at her nose. What kind of a perv do you think he is, anyway? And if the Multitude of the Heavenly Host doesn’t sing backup as Lepucki opens this week’s Ether, it’s because they got into the bourbon backstage before those copywriters could get the new edits done.
Is that an audiobook in your Christmas stocking, or are you just glad to hear me?