Her argument might have been a little more persuasive had she considered the fact that Caro actually went broke writing the first of his biographies, The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York. Caro had to sell his house, and take a job teaching, to support himself and his family in the seven years it took him to finish the book. Plus: his wife worked. When I saw Caro speak at an event in Tribeca, recently, he was asked what kind of advice he’d give to aspiring biographers. “Become independently wealthy,” he said.  And that’s from one of the biggest names in the “serious” business, who grew up as a writer in publishing’s alleged golden years.

It’ll always cost a writer more to do serious work of any kind than it will to just dash off some crap-on-delivery thing. And that goes for fiction, too. And it is, much of the time, thankless, as far as the rest of the world is concerned. That’s just how writing like a motherfucker goes.

That said, I don’t think there is anyone out there who has recently looked at the state of book publishing, I mean really looked, and not tightened her grip on her wineglass. Unlike Weinman, I don’t work inside or report on publishing, but what limited exposure I do have suggests that there is indeed a crisis on the horizon. Anyone who’s ever wanted to see their name in print on the cover of a book — biography or novel, chapbook or memoir — ought to be thinking about that, about how to sustain the world of books. But the focus on the internet as the death of culture, which drones on in tired refrain on certain book sites, strikes me as bizarre, and overstated, not to mention creatively paralyzing.

I am not the kind of wide-eyed “digital evangelist” in eternal search of the next conference speaker’s fee Weinman blames — and that we mutually abhor, I should add — but I am not particularly afraid of the internet inhibiting my “serious work.” I mean, look at where I’m writing from.

Just as there are sites like The Rumpus that take a non-traditional approach to publishing fiction and essays and memoir (and heart-stoppingly beautiful advice columns), there are places that are take non-traditional approaches to publishing non-fiction, and produce beautiful work. One of them, for example, is The Atavist. They sell reported e-books that integrate multimedia into the text, so that as you read you can check footnotes and look at pictures and marvel at all the smaller details of the story. Which, I’d like to note, I do anyway when reading non-fiction; I’m always flipping back and forth between the pictures section and the rest of a book. I want to see the real thing. Moreover, the Atavist has an editor work with each writer on the book, and they pay an advance, and while it’s true that they publish things that are slightly shorter than your average book, they are not less “serious” because of it.

I am not sure where we got this idea that the only thing that really matters about a story, what makes it “real,” is that it must be printed on paper and edited by a person with a business card issued by a major corporation that says “editor” on it. But I think we’d best quick discard that. Like a lot of people, I prefer reading on paper, particularly if I’m trying to drift off to sleep at night, but I don’t know that it makes the book better. Like anyone who’s ever worked with any kind of editor, I know that a mutually-respectful, carefully-considered, back-and-forth tennis match will make even very good writing a lot better. But neither of those things require, necessarily, the publishing machine as it is currently wired and soldered together.

If it’s true, as Weinman says, that the machine is overly focussed on the underlying financials of a book, if it’s also true that the big houses have a taste for cheap best-seller non-fiction that is largely crap, then the problem is not the internet. The problem is that the big houses are following ludicrous business schemes, overall, and ones that will hasten, rather than forestall, their demise.

There’s only so much crap corporate overlords can force editors to acquire before all the good editors will start looking for other lines of work, and there’s only so many feeble advances they can hand out before everyone decides it’s quicker to start up a Kickstarter account and hire one of these newly-freelancing editors to work with them. And the people who want to be “serious” start finding other ways to do the work their souls demand that they must do.

I will not tell you that that alternate situation is the ideal, but I will say that the only people who have it within their power to stop it from happening are the publishers themselves, who have a choice to make. Either they’re in a business where the quick buck is the almighty, or they’re in this for the long haul and want to be known as a stable, quality company that consistently churns out quality work, if not always the best profit and loss statement. And that is not a decision the internet can make for them.

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“She comes back to me at odd moments.  When there are small triumphs, I sometimes find myself thinking that I wish she could have seen this; when there are small disappointments I sometimes think of her too, of how dry and reassuring she was when things weren’t going quite as one had hoped.”

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“At a time when independent publishing is struggling to survive, in part due to the influence of Amazon, recipients say that these grants offer crucial — if ironic — life support.”

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After an onslaught of rejection from editors unable to greenlight a literary memoir about spanking people, my book finally sold to an imprint of St. Martin’s Press. I couldn’t afford a bigger apartment, but the book enjoyed critical success, sold a respectable number of copies, and, most excitingly, I got to tell Terri Gross what it felt like to tie someone up. My childhood dream became real, and like most, felt nothing like I had imagined. But I knew I was lucky. Both mine and Susie’s work offered similar fare: accessible and thoughtful content that didn’t fit a commercial mold. Mine just happened to be in genre that publishers are more willing to take a risk on.

Susie kept editing her manuscript, and kept submitting to contests, but no dice. Eventually, she started investigating the option of self-publishing. We had many conversations about the grunt work it’d entail, the potential stigma associated with “vanity” publications, and why no one had yet offered to print her manuscript. Slowly, she started the process of editing and designing her own book, and about a year later I purchased Dogs of Brooklyn online. It just arrived.

 ***

The Rumpus: So, how does it feel to have the book out, finally?

Susie Deford: Equal parts excitement and horror. Everyone keeps saying congratulations and it does feel good to have something tangible out there to show for all my work. However, I have this brain that just skips to the next thing I have to worry about, which is promoting and selling the book and all the work that entails. I’m sure you remember that and the anticlimactic moment of “I published my book and it didn’t fix everything!”

Rumpus: Oh, yeah. As much as we intellectually know otherwise, I think a lot of writers privately suspect that everything will be just great as soon as they publish a book. All humans, maybe. “If I just ______, then I can take it easy for a while. Stop feeling so insecure.” We pick some point up ahead and decide that when we get there, we will have arrived. We think this about getting into the MFA program, about getting our first lit mag publication, about getting an agent, getting a book contract. Getting a nice apartment, an iPhone, a boyfriend. It never ends. There’s always more work, more people to compare yourself to, more ways to feel you haven’t quite gotten there yet. I wish I knew how to help people avoid learning the hard way that the writing part (the living part) really is the best part. I wish I could help myself remember it, on bad days.  Also, that there is more than one way to skin a cat. Speaking of which, can you talk about your decision to self-publish the book?  What were your hesitations? Was there a deciding moment?

Deford: I was sick of hearing myself whine about rejection and not feeling like I fit in to the literary community. I realized that I was going about this whole thing wrong. I grew up a punk rock zine-making riot girl championing Kathleen Hanna and crew so I don’t know why suddenly in my adulthood it seemed like I needed to be accepted by a major publisher? I guess I thought I’d be seen as a more legitimate writer if an established publisher published me. It’s easy to compare and despair in New York. There are so many famous writers and artists who live in your own neighborhood. I realized, though, that when I started writing poetry in middle school and playing in bands in college I wanted to reach the outsider kids in Jacksonville, Florida or Peoria, Illinois—not just the literary scene. Poetry and music helped me survive growing up in a place with very little culture by letting me know there were others out there who were sensitive outsiders and artists. Also I had a good friend, Kate Travers, who has worked in publishing for years and encouraged me to self-publish. In some ways having a few people who believed in what I was doing, particularly in the industry, gave me permission to self-publish.

Rumpus:  I know! I was such an anti-establishment kid, and somehow, ironically, being a professional artist can really easily funnel you into needing the approval of somewhat arbitrary authorities. I am so bothered by the overall mentality of scarcity among artists, this anxiety that there’s not enough to go around. I have to remind myself a lot that I write because writing saved my life, because books are the love of my life. Not because I crave the approval of any one person or industry.

So, once you decided to go for it, where did you begin?

Deford: Well at that point it was 2011. I had edited the manuscript to death and sent it out to so many first book contests in the back of Poets & Writers over the years that I couldn’t bear to continue to pay them to reject me. It just seemed insane. I had been researching self-publishing options and Create Space on Amazon seemed the best deal royalty and distribution-wise.

Rumpus: It does seem insane, doesn’t it? We all know early on that being a writer means girding oneself against an infinite onslaught of rejection, but not when is a good time to say enough. I think, never, though I guess everyone must have a limit. When we were sitting at that coffee shop, how did you imagine the publishing process eventually happening?

Deford: I thought at some point, from doing readings and sending out submissions, that someone would understand what I was doing and want to publish it. But the literary world was a little afraid of the whole “book about dogs” thing and the dog world was a little afraid of poetry (even narrative poetry which tells a story in addition to being linguistically fun). I was in this weird crevice. I knew, though, that this book had an audience, particularly when Dog Fancy magazine actually paid us [Susie & photographer Dennis Riley] for a poem and photo. The editor Susan Chaney actually said in her email to me “Typically, I don’t get past the first line or two before marking an “x” for the assistant who sends out our reject letters. Couldn’t put yours down.” I also had a lot of clients and dog owners who loved my work. I really started to like the idea of appealing to people who normally hated poetry.

Rumpus: I love that. I mean, isn’t that part of our job, to reach the unconverted? If not ours than whose? I hear a lot of writers despair about how people don’t read anymore, or don’t care about poetry, but sometimes there’s a tinge of preciousness to it. Writers are incessantly talking about how the publishing industry is fucked up and dying, all while trying to work the system at the same time. It’s like a bad parent whose love we still crave. What’s your perspective on this?

Deford: I think it’s more important for me to write, not to think about publishing. Obsessing about publishing never does anything good for my brain; it only takes me to some very dark places. Publishing continues to change, yet very few writers actually make a living off publishing their books. Writers usually make money off teaching or some other profession. I think the best thing a writer can do is get a job that affords them time to write. That’s why I’m so grateful for dog walking and training. Dog training particularly is amazing because I get to help dogs and their people have better lives together. Hopefully, if one continues to write, publishing—self or otherwise—will follow.

Rumpus: It seems like, with the decline of corporate publishing, and the rise of bloggers, self-publishing, and one-person presses, that the field is getting more even, and a lot bigger. I see it happening in all the arts. Well-known performers (like Louis CK) are streaming video from their personal websites, and making movies on their flip-cams. It seems both exciting and overwhelming to me. Do you see this as a good thing? Is self-publishing the future?

Deford: The internet and technology has done this really cool thing and made everyone all D.I.Y! Shit, even the actor James Franco who could probably get any major publisher to take his first novel just sold his book to Amazon publishing. I totally think it’s a good thing and that self-publishing is the future. I think readers should be able to decide what they want to read, not just a few people at publishing houses telling people what they can read. Blogs, self-publishing, etc. makes this possible.

Rumpus: I agree, in that I don’t want my choices strained by people whose concerns aren’t congruent with mine, though I do have to admit that it helps to have someone straining all the dross. It just needs to be someone I trust. I guess that’s what social media is for, and the advantage of have a lot of friends who are committed readers. There’s just so much out there now; a part of me fears that some of the truly excellent work will get lost in the multitudes. I sort of have faith that what needs to find its way to the surface of our cultural consciousness ultimately will, but I also suspect that to some extent, that’s just wishful thinking.

The book looks beautiful—actually a lot more impressive than many of the books put out by small (and big) presses. Like a lot of authors, I often wished I had more control over the design of my book. How did the design process work for you?

Deford: I wanted the book to look as professional as possible so Kate Travers hooked me up with a great freelance book designer named Claudean Wheeler. I hired her and we started going back and forth with design ideas and edits. I had a few friends look over the manuscript and design elements to quadruple check everything. One of the things I went back and forth on a lot was whether to have photos in the book or not. Dennis Riley had collaborated with me taking copious amounts of photos of the dogs and Brooklyn. I wanted to make sure if we included them that it didn’t drive the cost up, but also that they looked good and like they belonged in the book. We wound up including only a few, the rest will be posted online on the Dogs of Brooklyn Facebook page and other places while promoting the book.

Rumpus: I think the photos are a really great complement to the poems. That’s a great example of something a major publisher would most likely laugh at a writer suggesting. I was allowed a lot of input in the cover design for Whip Smart, and I think that that was more the exception than the rule. A major pro of having a traditional publisher, for me, was getting a kick-ass editor who helped me make the book better. For some people, however, it’s a disaster.  Do you feel like you got to choose your own editors, in peers?  Do you wish you had a single editor?

Deford: I liked having an array of friends and family members, writers and non-writers look over everything and give feedback. My mentor, the poet Barbara Hamby, helped a lot with the layout of the book and gave it one of its first major edits. Towards the end of the process, Nathan Strobel, a brilliant young writer who works for me at my dog walking company helped a lot with editing. He laboriously went over every page. I cannot emphasize enough how important having a few people around you who support and encourage your work is.

Rumpus: Agreed. I’ve had a lot of students who are fixated on getting an agent, and while an agent (sometimes) can be instrumental in getting your work ready for editors, as an editor can be in readying the manuscript for publication, your work will rarely reach the hands of those people unless it’s first been scoured by lots of other studied eyes. The most important thing any writer can cultivate, aside from diligent writing habits and a thick skin, is a stable of peers with whom to trade work.  I trust these people implicitly. And I trusted my editor, too, though it occurred to me early on in the process that it’d have been catastrophic otherwise. Being able to choose your own editors is definitely lower risk, because you also know what aesthetic taste you are choosing.

So, what are the main pros and cons of the experience so far?

Deford: The huge advantage of self-publishing is complete control of the process, but with that comes a lot of responsibility. I had to pay for the design and initial copies of the book and postage to send to various reviewers etc. Thankfully, the book is print-on-demand so I don’t have tons of boxes of books in my apartment. The major disadvantage is that I don’t have a publicist or publishing house pushing the book for me. Distribution in bookstores may or may not be an issue. In addition to Amazon.com, Create Space has an extended distribution channel, which distributes through Ingram and Baker and Taylor after the title had been out for a few months. We’ll have to see how that plays out.

Rumpus: It definitely sound like more out-of-pocket expenses, and fewer resources for publicity, although I know of so many writers whose major-publisher publicists couldn’t even remember their name. I had a pretty great publicist, but I also totally dogged him, and worked my own ass off to get the book out there. A lot of people hire private publicists in addition to their assigned publicists. I think that in most cases, the writer is going to have to bust ass to get any attention, publicist or no publicist. This might be one of the disadvantages to having such a crowded market. We are selling ourselves so much more these days than was required in the past. I’m not sure Hemingway’s agent was talking to the guy about making himself a brand.

Overall, what’s the best advice you would give someone considering self-publishing?

Deford: There is no deadline, so just make the book as well written, designed, and edited as possible before you put it out there.

Rumpus: Good advice all around; everyone is always in such a damn hurry to get their shit out there (myself included). What are you working on now?

Deford: I’m working on a Young Adult book about a punk rock alcoholic teenager who gets sober and has to deal with all of the changes that come along with that, good and bad. I felt like there were a lot of books out there glorifying teenagers drinking and drugging, but not really delving into the experience of being a sober teenager and how awkward, yet awesome that can be. So that and walking and training dogs—business as usual.

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“The thing that really sad about this is they’ve asked one of our most respected publishers to do this.”

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“You have to be prepared to hustle. You have to be willing to promote your book, and do readings, and plan your own events because there’s no support staff at the micropress to do it for you.”

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“BC offers three publishing “packages” at three prices: $549 for the professionally formatted print/e-book package; $299 for the user-formatted print/e-book package; and $99 for the e-book only package. Each package provides the user with ISBN, distribution options, pricing and earning information, and marketing help.”

(Via The Book Bench)

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