Lili St. Crow's Blog, page 202

Sit And Stare, Productively

I'm a winter writer. Endless gray, rainy days suit me very well. I like to sit and stare out the window, watching the sky weep, my brain tuned to that expectant humming that the next sentence will bring itself out of.

Maybe this is why I have, whenever I could in my adult life, built time into each day for dreaming, and insisted that the Prince and Princess have unstructured time each day. I'm of the opinion that it's those moments of blankness that helps young (and older) brains catch up with themselves, and is also a necessary component of the creative process–the "creative pause."

When you're rushing to a solution, your mind will jump to the easiest and most familiar path. But when you allow yourself to just look out the window for 10 minutes – and ponder – your brain will start working in a more creative way. It will grasp ideas from unexpected places. It's this very sort of unconscious creativity that leads to great thinking. When you're driving or showering, you're letting your mind wander because you don't have to focus on anything in particular. If you do carve out some time for unobstructed thinking, be sure to free yourself from any specific intent. (Scott Belsky)

Part of why I prize that humming in my head so highly is because I've lived with people who have an absolute instinct for knowing when one's brain is approaching that cycle, and for some reason they want to disrupt it in any way possible. (WHY they do this is a whole 'nother ball of blog post wax. Let's carry on.) Of course, it could be that I am picky and hard to live with. (Who isn't?) But I've since become grateful for that harsh everyday annoyance. It was invaluable training in getting the creative pause in anyhow, triggering the blank expectant humming at a moment's notice, slipping myself into that interstitial space within an eyeblink. It takes practice, but it can be done–and often, I surface knowing What Comes Next in a story.

My point (you knew I had one, right?) is that your faculties might do their best work with a little bit of white noise. Not too much–then you just drool all over your keyboard, and this, while not incredibly expensive if one buys cheap keyboards, is still annoying and embarrassing. But finding a way to fit even five minutes of just sitting and thinking, or sitting and staring (not at the television, Christ, throw that thing out the window or at least only use it for films) into your day can reap you rewards all out of proportion, especially when it comes to any creative endeavor. And getting into the habit of protecting that time will help you develop the skills necessary to protect your writing time, tooth and nail, against all comers. Which is exponentially more important…

…but that's another blog post.

Over and out.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

Subconscious Gas Bubbles

So, I'm developing a girlcrush on Sarah Rees Brennan, for her Gothic Tuesdays. This week's winner was Collie Wilkins's Woman in White. (Project Gutenburg can hook you up too.)

LAURA: I'm going to tell Sir Percy Cruelpants that I will marry him, but I love another, so he won't want to marry me.

MARIAN: Well, he will if he doesn't give a crap about your feelings, though?

LAURA: Nonsense, I'm sure this will work out awesome. Sir Percy Blackheart, I love someone else and I don't wanna marry you. Still want to marry me?

SIR PERCY RIDICULOUSLY EVIL: Still rich?

LAURA: Yes.

SIR PERCY THE PERFIDIOUS: Then yes.

LAURA: … That did not go the way it did in my head. (Sarah Rees Brennan)

The whole thing is pure gold. You should also look at her Jane Eyre one.

Also, here's a free documentary on Haruki Murakami. I enjoy Murakami's work–frex, I read his latest, 1Q84, in a few long gulps. (No, LONG gulps. Nearly a thousand pages, OMG.) Seriously, you don't read Murakami for linear coherence just like you don't watch a David Lynch film for it. They're both harvesters of subconscious gas-bubbles. (Also, really fricking weird, and not too good with the portrayal of teenage girls, meh.)

And the Heart Attack Grill .

In other news, the first book of the new YA series is back with the editor for another revision pass. And the second Bannon & Clare book, The Red Plague Affair, is heating up inside my skull. Rest is overrated, don't you think? Plus there's martial arts for the kids, a four-year-old I'm watching for a few days, and a dog who thinks the Roomba is a demonspawn predator I need protecting from.

So…off I go. Be careful out there, Gothic Lady Sleuths!

Related posts:
While I'm Away…
David Eddings Is Gone
As Anna Beguine

Subconscious Gas Bubbles

So, I'm developing a girlcrush on Sarah Rees Brennan, for her Gothic Tuesdays. This week's winner was Collie Wilkins's Woman in White. (Project Gutenburg can hook you up too.)

LAURA: I'm going to tell Sir Percy Cruelpants that I will marry him, but I love another, so he won't want to marry me.

MARIAN: Well, he will if he doesn't give a crap about your feelings, though?

LAURA: Nonsense, I'm sure this will work out awesome. Sir Percy Blackheart, I love someone else and I don't wanna marry you. Still want to marry me?

SIR PERCY RIDICULOUSLY EVIL: Still rich?

LAURA: Yes.

SIR PERCY THE PERFIDIOUS: Then yes.

LAURA: … That did not go the way it did in my head. (Sarah Rees Brennan)

The whole thing is pure gold. You should also look at her Jane Eyre one.

Also, here's a free documentary on Haruki Murakami. I enjoy Murakami's work–frex, I read his latest, 1Q84, in a few long gulps. (No, LONG gulps. Nearly a thousand pages, OMG.) Seriously, you don't read Murakami for linear coherence just like you don't watch a David Lynch film for it. They're both harvesters of subconscious gas-bubbles. (Also, really fricking weird, and not too good with the portrayal of teenage girls, meh.)

And the Heart Attack Grill .

In other news, the first book of the new YA series is back with the editor for another revision pass. And the second Bannon & Clare book, The Red Plague Affair, is heating up inside my skull. Rest is overrated, don't you think? Plus there's martial arts for the kids, a four-year-old I'm watching for a few days, and a dog who thinks the Roomba is a demonspawn predator I need protecting from.

So…off I go. Be careful out there, Gothic Lady Sleuths!

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

One, Two, A Million

So…yeah.

We were so mad when the Komen Foundation pulled its funding for breast cancer screenings at Planned Parenthood. "This is not fair," we shouted. "This is not fair to women, and this is not fair to the women who don't have a voice, and we will not allow it." We shouted it so loudly that Komen reversed its decision in three days. We forced the resignation of one of their top executives.

Planned Parenthood, no doubt, has a well-funded and fine-tuned PR machine, adept at galvanizing a population against a perceived injustice. They outmaneuvered Komen easily.

Does domestic violence have a less sophisticated PR machine than Chris Brown does? (Hello Giggles)

Why am I still on this? Maybe because I read the police report detailing what he did.

Oh, and speaking of Komen?

"I had just, just, signed up to walk again, and I thought, 'I'm never going to get support,' " she says. Fagerquist is focusing on donors who know about her personal battle with the disease. She says her feelings for Komen haven't changed.

"This isn't about politics for me. It's about finding a cure for something that's affecting 1 in 8 women, including myself," Fagerquist says. "And I have three daughters to worry about." (NPR)

It's not about politics? Fine. Tell Komen to not make it about politics. Until then, my money and goodwill is going to charities that actually spend their money on research, instead of pinkwash and stroking woman-hating conservatives' egos.

Some days, the fact that having ovaries puts you at risk to have the shit beaten out of you not only physically but also with self-righteous woman-hating right-wing money can get one down.

Related posts:
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Mrph. Glrrg. Blrgh.

Crazy Monkeybrain Crack Dust, AKA, Writer's Ideas

Crossposted to the Deadline Dames, where there are new releases, contests, and all sorts of other fun and no-bullshit writing advice. Check us out!

Well, hello. It's Wednesday again. First, two announcements!

Yes, this is espresso and Bailey's in a mug that says "I am going to hex your face off." After I Tweeted that picture, I was snowed-under with queries about where to buy said mug. I got mine in 2006 from a CafePress shop (the shop's owner was "lalejandra2″) that has now gone under. At least, I can't find it. Which led to me putting a version of the mug up in my own shop, with no markup. (Because I feel incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of a profit, however tiny, from it.) It goes without saying that if I find the original seller, I'll change the links and direct everyone there. But I've dug and dug, and can't find her.

Announcement #2 is kind of vague. Remember that zombie-hunting cowboy trunk novel I was working on? The one I was just delighted with, and was sure would never sell? Well…paint me lilac and call me Conrad, it sold. I can't give any details, but I can say that I'm sort of…bowled over.

Now that's taken care of, let's talk about ideas. (WARNING: I am foulmouthed today. Read at your own risk.)

Chuck Wendig, in one of his absolutely hilarious and spot-on writing advice posts (if you're not reading Terrible Minds and Practical Meerkat, you're doing yourself a disservice) made a very interesting observation:

Ask a writer: "Where do you get your ideas from?" And the writer will reply: "How do you make yours stop?" Then he'll bat at his hair as if it's on fire. I can't walk ten feet without thinking of a new novel or script idea.(Chuck Wendig)

I am going to take a slight detour here. (It happens at least once a blog post, doesn't it.) It is ironic that I am starting out recommending collections of writing advice, since I tend to want to throw "writing advice" books across the room hard enough to dent the wall. (Kind of like how I feel about groups and workshops.) I read quite a few, back in my tender youth, and what stopped me was a cresting nausea. I won't point fingers, but I can clearly remember reading a Certain Book On Writing and getting to the umpteenth time the Precious Author bemoaned how haaaard it is to write, and I just…snapped. I put the book down, gingerly, as if it was full of something noisome I didn't want slopping out over the sides, and stared at it for a few moments. I was on lunch, and the food court around me was a blur of bright colors, customers (who were, since I was wearing my Retail Face, all Potential Enemies) and a flood of fried and processed pseudo-food smells. I stared at the book on the table next to the wilted salad I'd been forcing down.

And I thought, fuck that shit. I'd been mistaking the ersatz "work" of reading the damn books for effort spent refining my craft, but all I was getting was a big handful of "you must DIG and DIG to find inspiration" and "you must be PRESHUS! Like a DIAMOND SNOFLAKE!" and "if you need silence to create, then find a quiet spot," along with other "advice" that was, in the immortal parlance of my grandfather, useless as tits on a boar hog.

Now that I am older, I can pinpoint the source of my discomfort and anger. Those books saw writing as the problem; it was something that had to be unlocked and solved in order to massage the author's frail ego. To me, writing is the goddamn solution, and the few books I recommend for starting-out writers are firmly in the "this is the solution, and this is how it can work for you" camp.

ANYWAY. Detour (mostly) over.

Plenty of those PSRBs (Preshus Snoflake Riting Buks, I'm a little bitter, okay?) treat ideas as if they are Magical Fairy Dust sprinkled only over the Deserving and Self-Sacrificing once they have Performed the Magic Ritual and Danced the Magic Dance and Shook the Magic Handshake. Which is, to put it plainly, bullshit.

Ideas are a dime a dozen. The brain is built to come up with millions of them, jumping around like a monkey on crack. (Handy meditation tip: don't try to stop the monkey mind. Give it a coliseum of cheering voices while it does its acrobatics, and move the rest of yourself out to the parking lot, where it's a little quieter. You're welcome.) Not only that, but a writer should be in the habit of looking and wondering.

Often, when a new or young writer says, "I don't have any ideas," my reply is, "No, ideas aren't your problem. Your problem is twofold: first, you need to observe, and second, you have got to start taking your own imagination seriously."

Taking your imagination seriously partly means giving yourself permission to ask ridiculous questions. (It also means taking your writing time seriously enough to protect it, but let's not get distracted.) I know perfectly well that while riding along in a car and looking out the passenger window, thinking what if that guy was a secret agent coming home from work, where he's just killed someone with a frozen string bean through the eye-hole? is ridiculous. Totally, completely, insanely ridiculous.

But it's an idea. And when you start entertaining those Ridiculous Ideas, your speed in sorting and judging them increases fractionally each time. Observing is a skill, and sifting through your what-ifs and wherefores and I-wonder-whys (in other words, your ideas) is a skill too. After a while, the sorting becomes automatic, and when a Really Good What-If comes along (what if the Devil wanted to hire someone? what if there was this alternate Slovakia where Communism happened alongside a type of magic? what if there was this girl and the Goblin King took her baby brother? what if Billy the Kid had been a vampire? what if a prince suspected his uncle killed his father? what if fairies were real and their king and queen had a nasty fight? what if, what if, what if…) you can pounce on it like a bulldog on a piece of bacon.

You don't have to wait for the Idea Fairy to shower you with crazycrackdust. The empty space between atoms is jam-packed with frickin' ideas. What a writer must polish is observing and entertaining, so those ideas aren't just muttering to themselves in a back alley, covered in vomit and coffee grounds. You bring them in, clean them up a bit, and see if there's anything worth salvaging in them. The loonies and psychos and bores you throw out–unless they're really Juicy Good Material. How do you know if an idea is Good Enough? Simple: you don't, but with practice you get better at weeding out the only moderately juicy ones, not to mention the dry chafing ones. (I hate chafing.)

Ideas are not the problem, just as writing is not the problem. Writing is the solution, and ideas are merely a matter of opening your eyes and sharpening a few reasonable skills, harnessing your monkeybrain's innate jumping-around to a wagon and making that crazy asshole pull for all s/he's worth. It's a lot easier to ride the cart if s/he's providing some of the momentum.

Then comes the uphill part–actually writing the damn story. But that's (say it with me) another blog post.

Over and out.

Related posts:
Genre Reading While Genre Writing
The Synchronous Mailbag
Just A Few Things

Crazy Monkeybrain Crack Dust, AKA, Writer's Ideas

Crossposted to the Deadline Dames, where there are new releases, contests, and all sorts of other fun and no-bullshit writing advice. Check us out!

Well, hello. It's Wednesday again. First, two announcements!

Yes, this is espresso and Bailey's in a mug that says "I am going to hex your face off." After I Tweeted that picture, I was snowed-under with queries about where to buy said mug. I got mine in 2006 from a CafePress shop (the shop's owner was "lalejandra2″) that has now gone under. At least, I can't find it. Which led to me putting a version of the mug up in my own shop, with no markup. (Because I feel incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of a profit, however tiny, from it.) It goes without saying that if I find the original seller, I'll change the links and direct everyone there. But I've dug and dug, and can't find her.

Announcement #2 is kind of vague. Remember that zombie-hunting cowboy trunk novel I was working on? The one I was just delighted with, and was sure would never sell? Well…paint me lilac and call me Conrad, it sold. I can't give any details, but I can say that I'm sort of…bowled over.

Now that's taken care of, let's talk about ideas. (WARNING: I am foulmouthed today. Read at your own risk.)

Read the rest of this entry »

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

The Chili-Loving Mummy Of The Met

You guys. Let me tell you what my brain is like.

I dreamed I was an intern in a museum. In my dream it was called "the Metropolitan" but I am very sure, having visited the Met once, that it was nothing like this shambling pile of secret passages and crammed-together dusty antiques. (Well, at least, not the parts I visited.) Anyway, that wasn't the important thing. The important thing was the chili.

You see, there was a mummy-zombie thing roaming the back halls. The top front third of his head was gone and his teeth were stumps; there was just a hole and the hindbrain left, plus the ruined caverns of his sinuses. Which probably explained why he was shambling around with his hand-things in front of him, spindly fingers waving. He could smell the chili, but he couldn't find it.

You see, it was the interns' (I was one of a crew of six) job to find the mummy and feed him the chili so he would stop roaming, so he would settle down and wouldn't upset the patrons with his fleshless self. The trouble was, we were new interns, and nobody had bothered to tell us. So we had to figure it out, which we did, but somehow the security guys were new too and hadn't gotten the memo. So we had to save the poor mummy from the rent-a-cops in order to feed him his chili so he would quiet down. The problem was, we had to catch him first.

So I woke up, with a cat snoring in my ear and a dog snoring near my feet, and I thought it was the mummy. There was this moist breathing on my ear, and all I could think was, where's the damn chili? Followed by, dammit, I can't make this a book, there's not enough tension structurally to build it. Maybe a short?

So, yeah. Here. Go read Chuck Wendig on why writers are bugfuck nuts. I'll, um, just be locked up in my house. Alone.

Looking for the chili to feed to the museum mummy.

Yeah.

Related posts:
Discipline, Serenity, And Chili
Three Things You Didn't Know About Me
Home, Again

The Chili-Loving Mummy Of The Met

You guys. Let me tell you what my brain is like.

I dreamed I was an intern in a museum. In my dream it was called "the Metropolitan" but I am very sure, having visited the Met once, that it was nothing like this shambling pile of secret passages and crammed-together dusty antiques. (Well, at least, not the parts I visited.) Anyway, that wasn't the important thing. The important thing was the chili.

You see, there was a mummy-zombie thing roaming the back halls. The top front third of his head was gone and his teeth were stumps; there was just a hole and the hindbrain left, plus the ruined caverns of his sinuses. Which probably explained why he was shambling around with his hand-things in front of him, spindly fingers waving. He could smell the chili, but he couldn't find it.

You see, it was the interns' (I was one of a crew of six) job to find the mummy and feed him the chili so he would stop roaming, so he would settle down and wouldn't upset the patrons with his fleshless self. The trouble was, we were new interns, and nobody had bothered to tell us. So we had to figure it out, which we did, but somehow the security guys were new too and hadn't gotten the memo. So we had to save the poor mummy from the rent-a-cops in order to feed him his chili so he would quiet down. The problem was, we had to catch him first.

So I woke up, with a cat snoring in my ear and a dog snoring near my feet, and I thought it was the mummy. There was this moist breathing on my ear, and all I could think was, where's the damn chili? Followed by, dammit, I can't make this a book, there's not enough tension structurally to build it. Maybe a short?

So, yeah. Here. Go read Chuck Wendig on why writers are bugfuck nuts. I'll, um, just be locked up in my house. Alone.

Looking for the chili to feed to the museum mummy.

Yeah.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

Hidden Costs, Not Haterade

So of course someone had to ask Jonathan Franzen what he thinks about ebooks, since he's the critical darling of the moment. And of course the Internet exploded when he said ebooks are damaging society. Ink, both actual and virtual, was spilled. Haterade was prepared in copious amounts. It was like the hate that started swilling when Sherman Alexie called the Kindle "elitist." Of course, I am much more likely to think deeply about anything Alexie says than Franzen, for a variety of reasons.

When Alexie "clarified" his stance, this caught my eye:

Having grown up poor, I'm also highly aware that there's always a massive technology gap between rich and poor kids. I haven't yet heard what Amazon plans to do about this potential technology gap. And that's a vital question considering that Bezos wants to change the way we read books. How does he plan to change the way that poor kids read books? How does he plan to make sure that poor kids have access to the technology? Poor kids all over the country don't have access to current textbooks, so will they have access to Kindle? (Sherman Alexie)

Right there, in a nutshell, is a point that gets lost when people on the Internet talk about ebooks. The hidden costs of buying that cheap digital edition–why aren't more people talking about this rather than hating on Franzen for having an opinion? (Admittedly he comes off as somewhat of a pretentious knob in that Telegraph piece, but still.)

It sent me off on a (quelle ironic) Twitter rampage.

Why doesn't anyone factor in platform and obsolescence costs for ebooks? I.e., the ebook reader and its updates.

Frex, the laptop or ereader you're using, and the cost to charge it and replace it for wear and tear, not to mention updates.

Until we get wetware that can jack the book right into our brains, there are still going to be platform costs.

A paperback's cover price takes into account production and platform costs; an ebook's price does not.

These are the discussions we should be having, not hating on writers who have Opinions About Publishing.

And certainly not stroking the turgid egos of highly-paid anomalies on the Internet, either. (My Twitter feed)

After having a great deal of fun with the phrase "turgid egos" I really warmed to my theme.

Ebooks are not "cheap" or "free". They are *convenient* for certain socioeconomic strata.

There is not nearly enough attention paid to the hidden costs, like hardware, platform, obsolescence (planned or otherwise) of hardware–

–replacement costs, access to electricity, etc., etc.

This is the kind of conversation I wish we were having about ebooks, not "So and So is elitist because they have Opinions about Self-Pub."

Or "So and So gives their books away so piracy is always OK." (Hint: this one REALLY irks me.)

Or, "Big Name Author has enough money/brand recognition not to worry about lost sales, so they say piracy isn't a problem." (My Twitter feed)

At that point I started getting a lot of "But I LIKE my Kindle/Nook!" And I'm happy that they do, but that was not the point I was making OR the conversation I was inviting.

There is a narrative out there saying "digital=free." I'd like to see discussion that doesn't use that equation, because it's untrue.

Most of the human species can't afford a desktop/laptop/Kindle/Nook/monthly smartphone bill/startup smartphone investment.

Those that can tend to think their experience is ubiquitous, because it FEELS ubiquitous. The curse of the Internet, you could say.

An examination of the underpinnings and the hidden costs is more productive than hating on ebooks or Authors With Opinions. (My Twitter feed)

At that point Stephen Blackmoore made the great observation: "Not to mention there are still places in the world that don't even have electricity."

Discussing the real costs could help us bend our considerable energies to raising literacy, not getting all hatey on the Internet.

Why is this not a blog post? Because I don't think I can refrain myself from ranting without Twitter's character limit. *sigh* (My Twitter feed)

I'm glad I waited, but so many people asked me to collect those tweets I decided to put them all here.

There were a number of responses that I should probably answer right now:

* "But I LIKE my Kindle/Nook/ebook reader!" Well, see above. That's GREAT. It's WONDERFUL that you like it. I'm not arguing that you shouldn't. I'm saying that when we talk about publishing and ebooks, we should be talking as well about the hidden costs of the platform used to decode/store/show the digital "book." Because those costs are more than you think–not just electricity, and the initial investment in the platform (desktop computer, laptop, ereader, smartphone, tablet) but also things like the monthly cost of an Internet connection or the cell phone bill, the cost of upgrading the hardware every few years (because of the pace of technology and obsolescence both planned and unplanned) not to mention the social costs of slave labor to make it, pollution from the making of it, pollution from the electricity used to power it—the list goes on and on.

* "I'm disabled and the ebook reader makes it easier for me to read!" Often accompanied by "Alexie is ableist!" (I shit you not.) It's great that this technology is helping you, I am very happy for you. But I am mystified at how this was even a response. I don't think it's "ableist" of Alexie to point out that poor kids and their families can't invest in this kind of technology as easily as others can, or of me to say that talking about the hidden costs might help us find a solution.

* "But I have a computer/laptop anyway, adding the ebook-reading function is free." It's not "free." Adding that functionality presupposes the investment in the platform; it is convenient, certainly, but you pay the hidden costs for that convenience whether or not you engage it. It is the fact of the hidden cost we're talking about, not whether or not you feel like added functionality is something you want to use.

* "Paper books have hidden costs too!" Well, those are rather elegantly included in the cover price, so they're not so "hidden." The cover price of a paper book takes into account the price of the paper and distribution, and has for a long time because of the built-up infrastructure. You could argue that bookstores are the purview of a higher socioeconomic stratum too, and that there's invisible privilege there, but I don't think it's quite as germane. For one thing, there's the used books factor; for another, there's few upgrade costs with paper books–if you read them to pieces and get another one, that's an upgrade cost, but it's not nearly as huge as upgrading an ereader every couple years or a laptop every four-five years. There's also the marvelousness of libraries, which even the field a bit for some poorer strata of society.

Of course, it's incredibly hard not to snark observations such as:

Franzen said he took comfort from knowing he will not be here in 50 years' time to find out if books have become obsolete.

"I'm amused by how intent people are on making human beings immortal or at least extremely long-lived," he joked.

"One of the consolations of dying is that [you think], 'Well, that won't have to be my problem'. Seriously, the world is changing so quickly that if you had any more than 80 years of change I don't see how you could stand it psychologically." (Telegraph)

Somehow I think the world will carry on, Jonathan dear.

But I would really like to see more discussion of hidden costs, platform costs, access differences between socioeconomic strata, etc., instead of hating on an author for having a goddamn opinion about developments in the industry they're working in. Doctors have opinions about developments in their field; bricklayers and pizza delivery people, retail workers and scientists have opinions about their chosen (or just career) field. People have goddamn opinions about everything, as evidenced by the jackasses who know nothing about publishing but try to school me about the industry.

But that's another rant, and this is already long enough. Let's talk about the hidden costs of ebooks and eplatforms instead.

Over and out.

Related posts:
Food, Politics, And Hidden Costs
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Hidden Costs, Not Haterade

So of course someone had to ask Jonathan Franzen what he thinks about ebooks, since he's the critical darling of the moment. And of course the Internet exploded when he said ebooks are damaging society. Ink, both actual and virtual, was spilled. Haterade was prepared in copious amounts. It was like the hate that started swilling when Sherman Alexie called the Kindle "elitist." Of course, I am much more likely to think deeply about anything Alexie says than Franzen, for a variety of reasons.

When Alexie "clarified" his stance, this caught my eye:

Having grown up poor, I'm also highly aware that there's always a massive technology gap between rich and poor kids. I haven't yet heard what Amazon plans to do about this potential technology gap. And that's a vital question considering that Bezos wants to change the way we read books. How does he plan to change the way that poor kids read books? How does he plan to make sure that poor kids have access to the technology? Poor kids all over the country don't have access to current textbooks, so will they have access to Kindle? (Sherman Alexie)

Right there, in a nutshell, is a point that gets lost when people on the Internet talk about ebooks. The hidden costs of buying that cheap digital edition–why aren't more people talking about this rather than hating on Franzen for having an opinion? (Admittedly he comes off as somewhat of a pretentious knob in that Telegraph piece, but still.)

It sent me off on a (quelle ironic) Twitter rampage.

Why doesn't anyone factor in platform and obsolescence costs for ebooks? I.e., the ebook reader and its updates.

Frex, the laptop or ereader you're using, and the cost to charge it and replace it for wear and tear, not to mention updates.

Until we get wetware that can jack the book right into our brains, there are still going to be platform costs.

A paperback's cover price takes into account production and platform costs; an ebook's price does not.

These are the discussions we should be having, not hating on writers who have Opinions About Publishing.

And certainly not stroking the turgid egos of highly-paid anomalies on the Internet, either. (My Twitter feed)

After having a great deal of fun with the phrase "turgid egos" I really warmed to my theme.

Ebooks are not "cheap" or "free". They are *convenient* for certain socioeconomic strata.

There is not nearly enough attention paid to the hidden costs, like hardware, platform, obsolescence (planned or otherwise) of hardware–

–replacement costs, access to electricity, etc., etc.

This is the kind of conversation I wish we were having about ebooks, not "So and So is elitist because they have Opinions about Self-Pub."

Or "So and So gives their books away so piracy is always OK." (Hint: this one REALLY irks me.)

Or, "Big Name Author has enough money/brand recognition not to worry about lost sales, so they say piracy isn't a problem." (My Twitter feed)

At that point I started getting a lot of "But I LIKE my Kindle/Nook!" And I'm happy that they do, but that was not the point I was making OR the conversation I was inviting.

There is a narrative out there saying "digital=free." I'd like to see discussion that doesn't use that equation, because it's untrue.

Most of the human species can't afford a desktop/laptop/Kindle/Nook/monthly smartphone bill/startup smartphone investment.

Those that can tend to think their experience is ubiquitous, because it FEELS ubiquitous. The curse of the Internet, you could say.

An examination of the underpinnings and the hidden costs is more productive than hating on ebooks or Authors With Opinions. (My Twitter feed)

At that point Stephen Blackmoore made the great observation: "Not to mention there are still places in the world that don't even have electricity."

Discussing the real costs could help us bend our considerable energies to raising literacy, not getting all hatey on the Internet.

Why is this not a blog post? Because I don't think I can refrain myself from ranting without Twitter's character limit. *sigh* (My Twitter feed)

I'm glad I waited, but so many people asked me to collect those tweets I decided to put them all here.

There were a number of responses that I should probably answer right now:

* "But I LIKE my Kindle/Nook/ebook reader!" Well, see above. That's GREAT. It's WONDERFUL that you like it. I'm not arguing that you shouldn't. I'm saying that when we talk about publishing and ebooks, we should be talking as well about the hidden costs of the platform used to decode/store/show the digital "book." Because those costs are more than you think–not just electricity, and the initial investment in the platform (desktop computer, laptop, ereader, smartphone, tablet) but also things like the monthly cost of an Internet connection or the cell phone bill, the cost of upgrading the hardware every few years (because of the pace of technology and obsolescence both planned and unplanned) not to mention the social costs of slave labor to make it, pollution from the making of it, pollution from the electricity used to power it—the list goes on and on.

* "I'm disabled and the ebook reader makes it easier for me to read!" Often accompanied by "Alexie is ableist!" (I shit you not.) It's great that this technology is helping you, I am very happy for you. But I am mystified at how this was even a response. I don't think it's "ableist" of Alexie to point out that poor kids and their families can't invest in this kind of technology as easily as others can, or of me to say that talking about the hidden costs might help us find a solution.

* "But I have a computer/laptop anyway, adding the ebook-reading function is free." It's not "free." Adding that functionality presupposes the investment in the platform; it is convenient, certainly, but you pay the hidden costs for that convenience whether or not you engage it. It is the fact of the hidden cost we're talking about, not whether or not you feel like added functionality is something you want to use.

* "Paper books have hidden costs too!" Well, those are rather elegantly included in the cover price, so they're not so "hidden." The cover price of a paper book takes into account the price of the paper and distribution, and has for a long time because of the built-up infrastructure. You could argue that bookstores are the purview of a higher socioeconomic stratum too, and that there's invisible privilege there, but I don't think it's quite as germane. For one thing, there's the used books factor; for another, there's few upgrade costs with paper books–if you read them to pieces and get another one, that's an upgrade cost, but it's not nearly as huge as upgrading an ereader every couple years or a laptop every four-five years. There's also the marvelousness of libraries, which even the field a bit for some poorer strata of society.

Of course, it's incredibly hard not to snark observations such as:

Franzen said he took comfort from knowing he will not be here in 50 years' time to find out if books have become obsolete.

"I'm amused by how intent people are on making human beings immortal or at least extremely long-lived," he joked.

"One of the consolations of dying is that [you think], 'Well, that won't have to be my problem'. Seriously, the world is changing so quickly that if you had any more than 80 years of change I don't see how you could stand it psychologically." (Telegraph)

Somehow I think the world will carry on, Jonathan dear.

But I would really like to see more discussion of hidden costs, platform costs, access differences between socioeconomic strata, etc., instead of hating on an author for having a goddamn opinion about developments in the industry they're working in. Doctors have opinions about developments in their field; bricklayers and pizza delivery people, retail workers and scientists have opinions about their chosen (or just career) field. People have goddamn opinions about everything, as evidenced by the jackasses who know nothing about publishing but try to school me about the industry.

But that's another rant, and this is already long enough. Let's talk about the hidden costs of ebooks and eplatforms instead.

Over and out.

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