Going Brandless

Sacchi Green

I’m no good at this branding/platforming stuff, and at this point I’m not sure I care. Sure, I wish I were wildly successful, but there’s something to be said (in a sour-grapes sort of way, but sincerely just the same) for not appealing to vast numbers of readers, not being hemmed in by expectations, being free to go wherever my inconsistent imagination leads me—and then hope to find somewhere to publish my stories.

That, of course, is the tricky part. I have, in fact, been hemmed in by expectations, casting my lot with a publisher who had a pretty well established brand so that my work could ride on those coat-tails, coat-tails that could take my work into actual, wide-spread book stores (which are now almost non-existent). Now that new ownership has changed that publisher—I’m still not sure how much, and I haven’t yet been entirely cut loose—there’s a certain sense of freedom, even though I haven’t taken a lot of advantage of it. Well, maybe I have, with two different anthologies just out or about to come out from other, much smaller publishers. I may not make a cent from these, but I get to indulge interests I hadn’t been able to “sell” before, chiefly historical themes, bringing me some new as well as more familiar writers. That feels good.

What little brand value my name may have accrued over time, like scant wisps of moss, is in lesbian erotica, by its nature a small niche within a niche. I’m not abandoning that, but hoping to expand into other areas. Any recognition that name has is almost entirely due to being an anthology editor rather than a writer. Those who recognize it are mostly writers who want to have their work in anthologies, which is fine because having good writers contribute to my books is essential. In a way I hope my anthologies are branded, if at all, by variety as well as quality. I look for a wide range of work, no matter how limiting a publisher-decreed theme may seem to be. Mostly I get away with it. But readership might well be better if I were better at figuring out what more people wanted and then letting them have it. Apparently I haven’t outgrown my adolescent resistance to going with the flow, even though I don’t always stay true to it.

I’m at a stage in my life where I don’t have to depend on my writing for basic support, just for extras like travel for conventions and readings and donations to charitable and political causes. That’s just as well, because I’ve come to realize that committed book-buyers want novels, not short stories, and generally not erotica. I’m never going to be able to overcome the perception that erotica is nothing but plotless sex, no matter how many stories I write or choose for anthologies with as much to offer in characterization, setting, originality, plot, and voice as anything to be found in any genre, so I’ll just continue to do what I enjoy.

But I still wish that I were better at this branding business. I keep on discovering, or being discovered by, so many fine writers who are just starting out and deserve more readership than I can provide. The best I can do is provide encouragement, and at least some exposure, and that’s something. The publishing world is changing so fast that I don’t know how long I’ll be able to do even that, but I’ll try.

Writers who have already established enough of a “platform” to make it in self-publishing are inspirational, but I’ve already discovered that my name is not a “brand” that could make that work. Publishing a collection of my own work with a good but smallish publisher got neither of us anywhere, even though the book was a Lambda Award finalist. A new anthology with that same publisher, with some of the finest writing I’ve ever encountered, isn’t doing much either, although it’s a bit soon to tell.

Anthologies in general have been on the fringes for as long as I can remember, and they’re getting even fringier. I’m seeing reports from some other editor/writers that bear this out. A few new publishers have sprung up lately and seemed to gather a following—some of them have even indicated that they’d like to work with me—but a report today, from a friend who is as close to having a “brand” of quality in both writing and editing as anyone I can think of in our niche, tells me that things are even worse than I thought. I suspect that one reason anthologies are hurting is the proliferation of short stories and novellas offered online at low prices. People would rather pay $.99-$1.99--even $2.99--for a single short story than $15 for an anthology with twenty stories. That may make sense, since they can choose a story that nails their pre-established preferences and not have to wade through the kind of variety that I like to assemble. Fair enough. But do those writers get “branded” enough to be noticed just because of their subject matter? Probably. If there are other ways, I wish I knew about them.

I may yet try to move with the times and self-publish individual stories, although my tech chops are almost non-existent and I’d have to invest in covers, formatting, and so on, which hardly seems worth it. Some of my older anthologies have recently been offered on Amazon in Kindle form at $1.99 for limited periods, and those have zoomed right up to the top of their category, so there does seems to be market for anthologies (already “branded” by the reputation of the publisher) at those prices, but writers have to be paid, so doing new anthologies that way doesn’t seem like a possibility.

Well, I’ll keep on for a while anyway, and maybe adapt bit by bit. I won’t be a “brand,” but I’ll be enjoying the freedom of going brandless.                

Change by Giselle Renarde

One quarter, three nickels, three dimes

See all that money? I found it on the street last week. Okay, that's a lie. Two of those nickels were on the floor of the bus. I am not above picking up bus floor change. I will pick up any change. It's free money.

Two years ago I set up the Street Change Challenge. Sounds like a charitable initiative, but it's not (except inasmuch as I am a charity case).

Can't make this shit up.

Here's what happened: in November 2012 I received a royalty cheque in the amount of $1.90.  Yes, one dollar and ninety cents. That covered three months' earnings from one of the publishers I was working with at the time. They recently returned my rights on the three short stories they had under contract.

I wonder why.

Haha, no I don't. They told me why and they weren't douchey about it: I hadn't sent them a new manuscript in years and old stuff stops selling after a while. Returning my rights made good business sense for me and for them. No hard feelings on my side, and I hope none on theirs.

A royalty cheque for $1.90 was nothing unusual for me, unfortunately, but that particular cheque got the cogs cogitating. You can't get a coffee at Starbucks for $1.90.

Writing isn't a hobby, over here. This is my career.  Pretty dismal.

But it inspired my tongue-in-cheek Street Change Challenge.

In 2012, I proclaimed that if I found more than $1.90 on the sidewalk in three months, I would quit writing and turn to picking up coins as a profession.

In 2012, we still had pennies in Canada.

I never did report my findings, so I'll do it now. Actually, it was a close call that came down to the question of whether or not Canadian Tire Money should count toward my total. It's not true currency, but that red loyalty program bill was the tie-breaker. Without the 10 cents in Canadian Tire Money, my total came in just under $1.90.

The Street Change Challenge was kind of an exercise in ridiculousness. It doesn't take any special skill to pick up change off the sidewalk. Does it not take skill to write a book?  Shouldn't a person who writes books for a living earn more than someone casually picking up nickels off the floor of a bus?

I love a good deal. I love getting something for nothing. I'm happy to go out of my way to buy stuff on sale. I regularly walk when a subway ride would be faster because the $3 fare is too high. Hey, if it's more than $1.90 I can't afford it!

My girlfriend often asks me, "Why don't you pay the subway fare and spend that saved hour working? Isn't one hour of your time worth more than $3?"

My initial reaction is NO, but I don't tell her that because she'll say I'm devaluing my time and thus denigrating myself... which is probably true. Sometimes when I'm chasing the lowest price on milk (keeping my eyes peeled for loose change on the sidewalk), I ask myself, "Would my time be better spent writing?"

I've decided there is no measurable answer to that question. When you're a writer, you can't calculate what your time is worth the way people with hourly earnings can.

Writing is a crapshoot. You can quote me on that, and I hope you do. Writing is not a job--it's a gamble.

It happens that I'm not a gambler (I don't even buy lottery tickets), so it's kind of weird that I do this for a living. There's no way to predict whether a book will hit it big or sell ONE copy (the one you bought yourself). I like certainties. I like math. I want to be able to calculate the value of my time, but it's constantly in flux because this industry changes so damn fast.

When I started writing erotica in 2006, I was a short story writer answering calls for submissions for print anthologies. If you're an erotic fiction writer, you know what that world looks like these days.

*crickets*

You probably signed contracts two years ago for anthologies that are stuck in the queue of a halted production schedule. Generally speaking, contributors don't get paid until after the book is published. That's a long time to wait for $50.

Math is my friend. I can't help calculating what I might earn self-publishing a short story in the time it takes a print book (that my work may or may not be selected for) to make it to market.

But, like I said, it's a crapshoot.  In order to do the math, you need to be able to count on something, anything... and you just can't, in this industry.

Two years ago, my goal was to find $1.90 in change on the sidewalk. Nowadays I'm concerned with paying the rent and putting food on the table. I'm working with fewer publishers. I only send work to houses that make me money, otherwise I self-publish--something I thought I'd never do back in 2012.

I realize now I spent too many years sending manuscripts to publishers that earned me next to nothing. I didn't listen to the math. I felt a sense of loyalty because they'd taken a chance on me early in my career, or because they were nice people.

I don't do that anymore. I know I sound like a total dirtbag, and maybe I am a total dirtbag, but who benefits if a book doesn't sell?

Sometimes Scary is Good!

Series are scary – lot’s of commitment, time and memory required.

Stand alones are also scary – if all the stories are stand alones, how do you tell which one you should work on next.

My solution is a bit of a middle ground – collections of stories around a theme.

You’ll find these with a lot of publishers – but you’ll usually find that they are multi-author collections – like Total-e-bounds Anthologies and Seasonal releases. (The Gift on the left was the first one of those I tried my hand at.)

In my wisdom I’ve taken this idea and written a series of collections around different themes. Since I have a grand total of one story released in each series, the jury is still out on if these are a good idea or not.

Here’s a bit about them anyway.

The Collared Collection is the first one. I case you haven’t heard me mention the fact before – I love collars. Really, really love collars. I love writing about how collars change and represent different relationships in different ways.

Collars turn up in a lot of my other books as well. But this is a collection of those stories in which the collars themselves really get to take the centre stage a bit more. Since it’s a collection and not a series, each one stands alone – which also makes it easier to put in M/m and M/f stories without worrying that people who only like to read one or the other will be put off.

Here's the blurb for the series, which explains what it's all about a little bit more logically, lol.

Leather. Latex. Silver. Gold. Ink. Velvet.

There are as many different shapes and styles of collar as there are people who wear them. Protection.

Possession. Dominance. Submission. Loyalty. Love.

Some collars mean it's time to play, others signify a life time commitment. A fun bit of bondage to one person can easily look like the kinky equivalent of a wedding ring to another. A gold necklace might look vanilla enough until you know what it means to the person wearing it.

But no matter what they are made of, or what they represent, collars are important. A collar can make or break the submissive wearing it - and the dominant who put it around their neck.

It doesn't matter if you are dominant or submissive. Everything changes once one person is Collared.

The Perfect Timing Collection runs the same way. It’s a set of twelve stories that stand entirely alone. They just all happen to revolve around the theme of time. Again there’s a mixture of M/m and M/f stories in there, and again they’re all BDSM.

Deadlines. Relationships that are intended to end when the proverbial clock strikes midnight. Existing relationships that change with the click of the equally proverbial fingers.

I had a huge flurry of stories where the relationship thrives or fails based on the Perfection of the Timing. So I went with it. I don’t even know if anyone reading them will see the way they are related to each other. I just know that they felt connected when I wrote them.

Or, to put it a little more logically:

Sometimes you meet the right person at the wrong time. Sometimes it takes an exceptional circumstance to make you realise the time has come. And sometimes you just have to wait to get for what you want.

But when the timing is perfect, anything could happen…

The third collection I’m working on at the moment actually came about because someone mentioned the fact that those guys in my books who like other guys tend to be quite comfortable with the fact they are gay (or in some cases bi).

They tend to be out, and happy about that. For want of a better term I didn’t write about “gay issues”. And so the G-A-Y series was born. I’m not going to say they represent a deep and angst ridden troll through the difficulties of being gay in a sometimes still very homophobic world. But they all revolve around different things that are probably more an issue for a gay man than they would be for a straight one.

Here's the thinking behind the series:

Being gay isn’t always easy. Between families and closets and psychotic ex-boyfriends, finding a happy ending can be difficult to say the least.

At the same time, other guys seem to fly a rainbow flag and breeze through homosexuality as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe it’s about time the guys who’ve got it all worked out shared some of the fun with those having a rougher time of it.

Maybe that could lead to happy endings all around.

When I started thinking about my response to this topic, I was going to say that I’m going to write a proper series, but I haven’t done it yet. I actually said that on another blog I contribute to several months ago - I also made a commitment that I would get my act together and try to work on a series as well as the collections I enjoy writing so much.

Well, as of a few days ago, that information is out of date. I now have a contract for a series – one in which the characters, location, theme and what-not all follow through from book to book!

Pack Discipline is a M/m werewolf, BDSM series. It will run for four books. And I’m completely in love with it. The first book isn't going to be released until next year, but I’m excited already, lol.

I think I’m going to become very quickly addicted to writing series. Sometime scary is fun!

Kim Dare.
Kink, love and a happy ending. Do you Dare?