The Myth of the “Publishing House”
What follows is an excerpt from Self Publishing Is For Losers, a guide I wrote last year to the world of indie. I’ve participated in a number of discussions, lately, with people who were signing their rights over to “publishers” in exchange for a feeling of legitimacy. And that saddens me because, the fact is, unless you’re signing with the Big Five–and we all know, by now, that I chose not to–you’re getting a raw deal. And even then, there’s an argument to be made that you’re getting a raw deal. You don’t need a publisher, of any kind, to have the exact same online visibility as your traditionally published counterpart and unless you’re under the Random House (or Hachette, etc) umbrella you’re not doing yourself any favors on the print distribution side either. All you’re doing is giving away your rights, and hard-earned cash, in the name of vanity.
When You Self Publish, Who Is Your Publisher—Really?
There’s some confusion about this issue.
In general, there are a lot of misconceptions about what self publishing is and isn’t. For example, many aspiring authors erroneously believe that self publishing means no actual, print book. Others believe, mainly because they’ve been told so by unscrupulous so-called “publishers,” that they still need to sign with a publisher of some kind in order to see their books in outlets like Scribd, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. Still others believe that professional cover art, or professional marketing and publicity services, also require a publisher.
None of this is true.
In this section, we’re going to look at the nuts and bolts of the publishing process. What it is, and what it isn’t. What you definitely need to pay for, what you never need to pay for, and what you should probably consider paying for anyway. From finished manuscript to paperback, there are a lot of steps—and a shroud of mystery surrounding those steps, both encouraging and reinforcing the idea that the publishing process is somehow magical.
It isn’t.
The first issue we’re going to tackle is a seemingly simple one, but one that’s nonetheless caused a lot of heartache for a lot of writers because it’s so misunderstood. When you self publish, who is your publisher—really? You might publish under your own name, or you might publish under an imprint that you’ve designed, but you’re not the one actually writing the code that allows your book to appear on Amazon, or packaging and shipping that book (or delivering it electronically) all over the world.
The short answer is that if your e-book appears on Amazon, then your publisher is Amazon.
And if your e-book appears on Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Scribd, Oyster, or in Apple’s iBooks store, then your publisher is Smashwords. Because once you upload your e-book to Smashwords and it’s approved for their premium catalogue, you can choose to have your book made available through all these venues. And if your actual, hold it in your hand paperback is for sale through Amazon, or Barnes & Noble (either online or in stores), then you’ve published that edition through a print on demand service like CreateSpace.
All of these platforms are free to join, with no upfront costs. Rather, they get paid when you do. Out of every book sale, they take a specified cut that you agree to upfront, with each individual platform, when you choose to publish with that platform. Your agreeing to that cut is your signing a contract with that platform; the platform is your publisher.
For example, I sell all of my books on Amazon for between 2.99 and 4.99. Unless of course they’re free; sometimes, for various reasons, I run promotions wherein they’re free. When I’ve written a new book and it’s ready for publication, I upload it to Amazon and enter in my price point. I then choose that I want the 70% royalty option. What this means is that for every book sold in every market where the 70% royalty option is available, I’ll earn 70% of the 2.99 I’m charging. Which means that Amazon, in exchange for doing the hard work of exposing my book to a wider audience, gets a cut of 30%. That’s their cut of the profits. I’ll talk more about royalties, profits, and how the pie slices later on, but for right now the main take-away should be that the deal you’re brokering with Amazon mimics the deal you’d be brokering with one of the Big Five.
Only on much more advantageous terms to you.
The term “contract” confuses some people, especially if their only familiarity with the term comes from John Grisham thrillers. They picture contracts as being sheets of paper, or even reams of paper, with the word contract printed in bold letters at the top, and the signing of a contract only something you do in lawyers’ offices or perhaps the occasional car dealership. But the truth is, we enter into contracts every day. When you make a pit stop at McDonald’s, you’re agreeing to pay a set fee and in return receive the food of your choice. That’s a contract. When you agree to the terms of service on a new software bundle, you’re entering into a contract.
This isn’t legal advice and if you need legal advice, then you should consult with an attorney. Each situation is different and laws vary by jurisdiction. But at the same time, it’s important to know what a contract is. In philosophical terms, if nothing else. A contract, in its simplest form, is a meeting of the minds. An agreement, wherein the parties involved understand what’s happening and are agreeing to the same thing. There doesn’t need to be fancy paper or, depending on the situation, even your signature; your consent, even sometimes your implied consent, is enough.
Knowing this, you can better understand your relationship with Amazon. And better evaluate whether, in addition to Amazon, you also need a so-called “publisher.” Although the more honest term for such outfits, and the term I prefer, is “publishing facilitator.” If you’re publishing on Amazon, then you don’t need a separate publisher; anyone with a book and a dream can upload their book this morning and be selling copies by this afternoon.
You might need the help of a professional to format your book, or to design you a cover, but these are services that you can purchase a la carte from all over the internet. You don’t need a separate publisher to help you with that; all you need is a valid credit card and the ability to clearly and effectively communicate your desires. The same is true with everything from editing to advertising to publicity—you can pay for it, or not, as you choose.
And yes, I’ll talk more about that later. But for right now it’s important to understand that while all of these services are valuable, or can be valuable, depending on your personal goals and, of course, your budget, none of them are publishing. When Random House purchases the services of an illustrator, for example, they’re sending an individual person, an employee of Random House, to do business with that illustrator. You can do the exact same thing. You do not need a separate publisher, or someone calling themselves a publisher, to access any of the services that are provided to their authors by the Big Five.
Unfortunately, people don’t know this, and that’s where unscrupulous outfits come in.
I can’t tell you how many writers I’ve talked to, who told me that they’d signed with “publishers” to get their books on Amazon; or that they needed a “publisher,” in order to sell at Barnes & Noble or Kobo. Some of these authors were paying hefty fees, too: 50% or more of their royalties. And they defended that to me, explaining that royalties were simply part of the game. They were right, of course, on one point: that royalties are a fact of life for all authors. But they were wrong about the most important point of all, which was that they were getting something for their money—something above and beyond what Amazon, or Smashwords, was giving them in return for their cut.
Traditionally published authors receive royalties from their publishers, yes; which doesn’t mean that, therefore, self-published authors should also be paying a cut of their profits to their “publishers.” What is, in essence, paying twice for the same service. A traditionally published author through, say, Hachette is going to let Hachette keep a cut of every book sold; because he isn’t also paying Amazon. Hachette is his publisher; not Amazon. But if you’re uploading a book to Amazon, and it’s being made available for sale through Amazon, then Amazon is your publisher. There’s no reason to pay someone else half of your earnings for the privilege of having them use a web page on your behalf.
So what’s the appeal of these outfits, then?
I think it lies in the fact that, in many minds, there’s still a stigma surrounding the idea of self publishing. The publishing world is changing rapidly and it’s going to take everyone awhile to catch up. So while self publishing is objectively the best route for most writers, with reams of ever-improving statistics to show as much, there’s still this lingering belief that self publishing equals failure. That no one can, or should, take you seriously as an author if you self publish because self publishing is the last resort of the truly talentless—and desperate.
So-called “indie” and “niche” seem to represent the best of both worlds: an accessibility not found with the Big Five, but the legitimacy of having someone else’s name on your spine. You’re not just Joe Q. Public, entering the market all on your own. You have a team behind you, which makes you a real author.
At least, that’s the theory.
And there are smaller publishing houses that legitimately do their job. More common are outfits like Evil Toad Press, which provide a la carte services for self-published authors and thus allow them to compete with the “big boys” in terms of cover design and so forth. But legitimate outfits are few and far between and, for the most part, they’re charging you to do something that you could easily do for yourself. And the fact that they’re not telling you that you could do it yourself should be the biggest red flag of all.
But specifically, when it comes to evaluating the host of publishing facilitators out there, watch for the following.
First, someone who tells you that you need a publisher, separate from Amazon, to have an imprint. This is not true. When you publish with Amazon, you have the choice to include your own imprint. Which can be anything you decide, so long as it’s not misleading (i.e. no calling your one man indie outfit Random House). We came up with Evil Toad Press and the corresponding toad logo during a group pizza eating session.
When I upload a new file to Amazon, I tell them (truthfully) that the publisher is Evil Toad Press. How? By typing “Evil Toad Press” in the box on the form that asks for my publisher.
If you want fancy graphics, then you can design them (we designed our own). Or pay someone else to design them for you. But you don’t need fancy graphics, or to spend a single nickel, to create your own imprint. All you need is your imagination.
Second, someone who promises to “distribute” your work to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and so forth. When you publish with Amazon, Amazon is also your distributor. That’s just part of the package. Amazon does the hard work of “shelving” your book within its online store according to your specifications, of making it available for sale, and of either making your e-book downloadable when purchased or shipping your actual physical book to its new owner’s address. Likewise, when you publish with Smashwords, Smashwords is your distributor: to Barnes & Noble, and all the other outlets with which Smashwords has preexisting agreements.
My printed books are for sale via Barnes & Noble, on their website and in a few stores. My e-books aren’t, because my e-books are all enrolled in Amazon’s Kindle Select program. This is because I publish my printed books through the print on demand service, CreateSpace. CreateSpace, which is an Amazon company, acts as my distributor by creating this link with Barnes & Noble. Barnes & Noble, and special magic powers, have nothing to do with it. CreateSpace has a preexisting agreement with Barnes & Noble to distribute its premium catalogue through Barnes & Noble’s website.
As far as actual brick and mortar stores, unless you’re Stephen King the determination of whether to carry your book is made for the most part on an individual store-by-store basis.
Moreover, it’s important to remember that readers can special order any book with an ISBN through any bookstore.
Third, someone who charges you more than a 15% cut. Unless your publisher is absolutely, provably doing something for you that you could not do on your own, your publisher is essentially acting as an agent. Agents take a 15% cut. Anything more than 15% is usury. And, to be honest, I’m not a fan of royalties in this situation at all. I feel that purchasing a la carte services, up front and for an established fee, is the far more fair and honest method of doing business. I’d always rather know exactly what I’m getting, in exchange for cold hard cash, than possibly sign away too much in exchange for vague promises. Promises that may or may not be kept.
Fourth, someone who claims to offer “direct” as opposed to “third party” distribution through outlets like Amazon. Or Barnes & Noble, or any of the other outlets accessible through the Smashwords platform. Such language is disingenuous at best. The so-called “publisher,” in this case, is the middleman. “Direct” would be if you, the author, were interacting with Amazon without his services. He’s insinuating himself into a situation that doesn’t need him, by telling you that you need him, in the hopes of skimming your profits.
Fifth, someone who tells you that you need a publisher in order to create a print book. You don’t. There are a couple of popular print on demand platforms; in this guide, I focus on CreateSpace, which is an Amazon-owned company and probably the most popular. Their work is top notch, too. And they offer their own design services, if you’re not interested in purchasing those design services elsewhere but instead want one stop shopping.
Sixth, someone who charges a percentage of your royalties, but who also expects you to pay out of pocket for other expenses—for example, for cover art or marketing. The entire point of charging a cut in the first place is that you’re not charging other fees. When you’re traditionally published, your publisher’s cut is what’s supposed to cover the expenses that the publishing house incurs on your behalf: for example, editing. Cover design. Whatever. Anyone who keeps asking you for money, without very clearly explaining—and being able to prove—where that money is going is scamming you.
So, in closing, there’s only one thing to do if you encounter anyone like this: run.
They might need you, but you most certainly do not need them.
Now, what might seem like a tedious explanation of who’s who is actually extremely important, because the more you know about your role in the publishing process—and what the publishing process actually is—the better equipped you are to act in your own best interests.
It’s a daunting prospect, to be sure, but you have to. Particularly as an artist. Because the sad fact is that nobody else will. You have to learn to be your own best advocate, which first and foremost means getting informed. And not by the same people who have a financial interest in convincing you that you need them. Other people, personally and professionally, are only ever going to treat you as well as you treat yourself. Which means that you can’t evaluate how other people are treating you, at least not meaningfully, unless and until you get a handle on what treatment you actually deserve.
