The End of an Era
We had a good run. It was inevitable. We’ve been circling the drain for years.
We lucky few who managed to build a career around the niche world of officially-licensed video game strategy guides knew it couldn’t last forever. Our days were numbered. Yet, there was still no preparing for the gut-punch inflicted on November 8th, when I learned via email that my publisher was closing.
A small sample of the hundred-plus strategy guides I’d written over the years.
I posted the following to Facebook, then laid down.
Eighteen years ago, I had the chance to help co-author the strategy guide for the PlayStation game Tenchu 2. Over a hundred books later — and nearly my entire professional life — it comes to an end. We had a great run and though I can’t say we didn’t know this day was coming eventually, it still hurts. A lot. I didn’t just lose my day job, but the bulk of an industry has fallen to the passage of time. So many people worked so hard to stave off this inevitability, with countless attempts to keep the product viable in a culture dominated by the one-two punch of instant and free offered by YouTube, not to mention an evolution of game design geared toward simplistic gratification. Like film cameras and fax machines, our time had come, likely expedited by the administration’s tariffs on printed products from China.
My final strategy guide went to print two weeks ago, without me bothering to include any acknowledgments. So let me take this time to thank everyone I worked with over the years: co-authors, editors, designers, managers, and production staff. It was a hell of a ride. And best of luck to each and every one of you who tied yourselves to the mast and refused to do anything but go down with the ship.
There were so many thoughts to process. From the immediate loss of reliable income (though only a third of what it used to be), to concern for the nine-to-fivers who found themselves summarily unemployed, to a general sadness concerning the death of an industry, an entire product-class that, as both a reader and writer, has been a part of my life since I was twelve-years-old.
What Now?
My wife says not to worry. My sister points to the January release of Tailwinds Past Florence and the early praise (more about that another time) and insists this is the universe telling me, “you got this.”
Secretly, I wonder if this is a good time to learn how to make a latte. After all, there are three Starbucks within walking distance of my suburban home.
But I joke. I hope.
Two days before learning that Prima Games (formerly BradyGames, my long-time publisher) was closing, I received word that I had won an audition to ghost-write a book I’m not yet at liberty to discuss. It’s with a different imprint within the Penguin Random House family. There are some final details to sort out, and the subject’s team has to sign-off on me as the author, but the project should be a nice bridge to my life-after — and help make up for the strategy guide I was expecting to start in December.
Days Gone, indeed.
Of course, I’m not lacking for things to do. There’s the Hawaii-based novel I started earlier this year and another project I recently begun that you’ll be hearing more about this winter. I’m also spending a few hours each day making the most of the three-month run-up to the launch of my novel, digging deep into the world of book marketing, testing ads, scheduling giveaways, and booking speaking engagements and signings.
No Safety Net
When we returned home from our bike tour three years ago, the plan was for me to take a stab at writing fiction. Kristin and I created a four-year schedule that was every bit as aggressive as it was arbitrary. I’d focus my efforts on the novel that would become Tailwinds Past Florence while taking on two or three strategy guides a year. And that’s what I did.
The novel took longer to write, in part because the strategy guide projects took more of a toll on me than I expected. And also because knowing that those projects would be there gave me a sense of comfort. I lacked urgency. There was no need to burn the midnight oil, to bleed for my craft to borrow one of the many self-congratulatory phrases writers are fond of using.
That safety net is gone. It’s time to get hungry.
Shit just got real.
Update: In the interest of kicking a man when he’s down, I learned within minutes after posting this that I will NOT be authoring the ghost-written book I referred to above. The “celebrity” subject of the book decided that, though he loved my audition and thought it very creative, he wants to use an author he’s already worked with. Would have been nice to know before I auditioned.
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