This weekend I had my second masters degree conferred - well after it should have been, thanks to some clerical errors and Melbourne University replacing their student administration system after I'd completed. I donned the cap and gown, sat in a hall, listened to speeches and clapped as about two hundred students walked across the stage before me, and another hundred walked after.

I've never been one for ceremonies. Perhaps my private school's love of formal ceremonies (with mandatory attendance, of course) for absolutely everything trained me out of their significance, but I usually find them more of a chore to be sat through than something to be stirred by.  I confess, however, as I listened to the occasional address this weekend, that I did feel a small glimmer of pride at what I'd completed.

According to the WSJ, Dorchester, one of the largest mass-paperback publishers, will be going all-digital, apparently effective 'Monday', in response to hard times / falling paperback sales / the end of publishing as we know it. All their titles will be released digitally or using print-on-demand, shipping books to bookstores 'as demand rises'.

Kristin, over at Pub Rants, has some reservations about the move, since apparently Dorchester has been "having difficulty reporting monies owed to the author for electronic book sales", difficulties that apparently still haven't been fully resolved for said authors. Eeek.

Keeping with the digi-book theme, Steve Saus over at IdeaTrash has had a pirate week - not talking like them, but discussing how they really affect authors, and what authors (not publishers) can do to help mitigate any harm done. Essentially - DRM doesn't work and is annoying, make a personal connection with your work - people will happily pirate from a faceless corporation, but baulk at taking money from a person, and if you keep producing, the pirate-appreciate-buy cycle actually works for you, getting you more sales than you lose to piracy.

And finally, Jared Axelrod gives authors a so-simple-it's-foolproof guide for which questions you should be hammering yourself with, depending on what stage your story's at.

So, Amazon's just struck a potentially killer blow for Apple in the ebook market - revamping the Kindle to a slimmer, cheaper model. They now claim seventy to eighty percent of the e-book market (though how they're measuring that - seeing as Bookscan doesn't handle ebooks, and no one is tracing books sold from author websites, etc - I'm not sure) - see the link for an interesting discussion with Ian Freed, vice president in charge of the Kindle.

Where Apple seeks to make things that work on Apple products only (wherever possible), Amazon is seeking to conquer every system and piece of technology that could possibly display an ebook. It's a difference in business strategy - Apple is leveraging the ebook market to sell more devices; Amazon is leveraging devices to sell its content. More at the link - there's some interesting discussion on the potential of the strategies, there. As purveyors of content-based products (books), I think I'd rather side with the monster who's interested in selling my content, rather than the monster who wants to use my content to sell his product.

Then again, if the net result is that my books are sold, does it really matter who by?

On a completely different note - Tim Ferris writes about the lure of the Superstar, and how to utilise it for yourself. The article's long, but well worth the read.  For those in a hurry, though, the cliff notes:

1. People who are THE BEST in their profession receive accolades and rewards disproportionate to their level of achievement relative to the second-best. 2. This effect holds no matter how small, insignificant or unknown the niche in which you are THE BEST in. 3. Therefore, to be seen as above the pack, find a specific niche in which you can be THE BEST with a modest amount of effort. 4. Accolades, appreciation and rewards shall be yours.

It seems inevitable that the more popular something is, the more insistent people are that it's really terrible, if you actually look, see, right there, that bit's just awful, and the rest of it isn't all that, really, you're just being a sheep if you can't see the truth. Most of the time, the people who're loudest about how terrible something is are the people who haven't actually bothered to read it / see it / listen to it / taste it, etc.

Nowhere have I seen this more than with Twilight. Hell, I'll admit I was one of them - I'd never read Meyer's books, but I was sure they were garbage. Why? Because she was making money, and millions of people were devouring the books like potatoes.

Surely lots of people liking your book means there're absolutely no redeeming qualities about it whatsoever.

I looked at one of these mythical iPads in the city yesterday. It was chained to a bench and surrounded by teenagers, and by the time I got my grubby mits on it it was plain that a thousand mits of equal or greater levels of grubbiness had been there before. The screen had been near-obliterated under a a hundred thousand fingerprints, and I had to resist the urge to wipe it down before I had a play.

I had to say, I didn't experience any of the "magic" I was promised by Lord Jobs. I put it back with a 'shrug' and a 'meh', still convinced it's just a big brother to my iPhone.

J. A. Konrath, he who makes us want to open a Kindle store and watch the moolah roll in, has a great post about ebook piracy. In short - it's going to happen, 1000 pirates does not mean 1000 lost sales, and it often even helps rather than hinders your book sales. The actual article has some great answers to the standard knee-jerk questions and demands - go read it. I'll wait.

I'm far more familiar with the piracy/DRM debate in the video game industry - at a rough guess, I'd say they're about a decade ahead of publishing, and possibly even close to emerging from the other side of the DRM-tunnel. I'm really hoping the publishing industry can learn a little from the music, movie and game industries as a whole - that, in short, DRM and lawsuits are useless. Just make a great product and focus on getting the sales you can get, not the ones you think you've lost.

There seems to be a growing conviction in both comments on the blogosphere and in the real world that one needs a degree in Being A Writer - specifically, an MFA or other degree in creative writing. That agents, editors and even readers will roundly dismiss any upstart daring enough to query, write or publish without such an esteemed qualification.

Bollocks. I should know: I have one. Hell, technically I have two.

Honestly, I blame this misconception largely on the glut of creative writing degrees and courses that began not too long ago, and the marketing that accompanied them. With so many universities claiming their degree teaches you how to hone your fiction and characters and learn what it takes to create a good piece of writing, it's somewhat inevitable that would-be writers form the impression this is the only way to learn to hone your fiction and characters. But a degree isn't always helpful to a budding writer. Sometimes they can do more harm than good.

I seem to be on a roll with life-organisational things, here. This one isn't quite as dull as the last two concepts, but equally important.

Not everyone creates the same way. Some of us are spaghetti-flingers, some of us are meticulous outliners. Bottom-up, Top-down, sideways or painstaking-research worldbuilders. Morning-writers, evening-writers, hours-that-no-sane-person-should-be-awake-writers. Napkin-writers, notebook writers, netbook writers (and, probably, iPad writers).

There's really no way, short of trial and error, of discovering how you work, especially when it comes to creative processes. What worked when you had to write an essay in school might be a mind-killer when it comes to a novel. But what works for a novel might be totally different to what works for a series. What works for science fiction might be completely different to what works for horror, for you.

Having spent three hours searching for the files of something I was working on, I feel compelled to write:

In addition to a regular, reliable backup system, you need organisation. You need to be able to find exactly what you're looking for within a few moments. Not just stories, but publication details and dates, contracts, receipts (conventions and equipment can be tax deductable) and your entire writing business. They all need to be in the same place, stored according to the same system.

This is not negotiable - doing anything less is not taking yourself or your work seriously, and if you're not going to, why should anyone else?

But there are two kinds of filing systems - the kind designed for easy filing, and the kind designed for easy retrieval.

The whole Amazon/Macmillian/Apple kerfuffle, and the less-than-savoury antics of many publishers regarding author royalties for ebooks has given me some pause for thought in my general business plan. I'd always assumed - like most writers out there, I suspect - that traditional publishing was really the only bar in town, and that self-publishing was for people whose writing / book was so bad, they couldn't get the 'real' kind, or books that you didn't really expect anyone to actually buy.

Which is really a load of prejudicial bullsmatter.  I've discovered through various blogs that a number of authors are quite happily publishing their own stories via kindle and various self-publishing avenues and making a tidy profit. Not megabucks, but certainly more than you'd expect. I recently discovered Smashwords, an online business that allows you to publish to all manner of e-book formats, and list yourself in Amazon, B&N, and other major online book stores, giving you a generous 85% of the royalty.  Hopefully when Apple gets iBooks up and running, they'll integrate there, as well.

So, if it's now not only possible, but almost easy to publish your own works, what does a traditional publisher give you for that 90% of the list price you're handing over?

Even if your internet addiction is slightly more under control than mine, you've probably heard of Apple's forthcoming iWannaBeAKindleKiller. It's typical Apple - a sexy, sophisticated, super-hyped and scandalously-priced version of something we already have.  It's got Amazon backing nervously into a corner, offering authors a whopping 70% royalty on kindle books (with enough caveats to sink a canoe); rumours running wild about deals with HarperCollins to set the prices and add-ons of the ebooks; and Sports Illustrated's infomercial about the revolutionary format the tablet offers magazines.

I admit, the Sports Illustrated video had me earmarking part of my creditcard balance for one. I'm a sucker for gadgets, and much as I dislike Apple's business philosphies, the thought of that sleek little gizmo sitting in my bag was jumping gleefully on the I WANT button. The hype is that Apple's about to revolutionise the publishing industry, just as they did the portable-music and smart-phone ones. And yet...

At the start of the year, I posted about creating goals that were realistic and within your control. Now it's nearly two weeks into the year - have you given up on any yet? How will you keep yourself working towards them in February, or August? What are you doing to make your goals something you do, rather than something you think about?

"Oh, you're writing a novel? I've always been meaning to write one about blah, but I've never found the time." 

Above is the sentence most despised by novelists, second only to perhaps "So, what's your novel about?" Not only is it ludicrously condescending (try replacing 'novel' with 'symphony', or 'design document for a satellite probe' and you'll see what I mean. Good writing requires skill, talent, and a million words of practice. Three million is better. No, I'm not kidding. But that's a whole 'nother post, there) it completely ignores one of the most crucial aspects of writing:

Time for the yearly tradition of making promises to ourselves with the best intentions, and the sticky-note on the side saying "unless it's really really hard"... as the years go by, I've seen fewer and fewer 'really's attached there, so I'm taking a new tack with my goals: they're things that I intend to do anyway, rather than additional things I'd like to dream I'll do. And they're entirely within my control. 

Success is a nebulous master and, if not treated with an appropriate level of suspicion, one liable to rip even your most celebrated achievement to pieces. You sold a novel? But only for a $5000 advance. You won a Hugo? But only for a short story. Your book sold through its print run? But it's only 35 on the bestseller list. Onlies can ruin an author's self-esteem. It's the neighbour with the perpetually bigger jacuzzi, greener lawn and fancier cocktail parties. And no matter what you achieve, there are always more Onlies. How do you survive?