Errors, Editing, and The Bottom Line in Publishing

This past weekend I experienced a bit of an oops moment in one of my latest publications. The TTRPG supplement 100 Gangsters, Gun Molls, and Goons came out from Azukail Games for the Call of Cthulhu RPG, and it details a list of characters to add to the town of Arkham for players who want to explore the use and effect of organized crime in the city during the Roaring 20s when campaigns in the core continuity are set. I wrote it partially because I've always liked the idea of the mob going to war with the mythos, but also because there seemed to be an uptick of players who were trying out this particular game.

However, someone pointed out a rather glaring flaw in my original. You see, a gun moll is a slang term used to describe a woman who was a gangster, typically as the partner of a mob boss or gang leader. But for some reason I was certain that it was spelled "mal" and not "moll"... as such, an edit was necessary to the document.

I expected better of you.

Rather than just try to bury that (admittedly embarrassing) mistake, though, I wanted to try to use it as a teachable moment. Because there are a lot of misconceptions about editing in the publishing industry as a whole, and I think this makes a good jumping off point to talk about them.

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Perfect is The Enemy of Done

There's a meme I've come across several times that explains the best way for an author to find spelling mistakes and editing errors is to go through their manuscript a dozen times, publish it, and then to open to a random page once they have a hard copy in their hands. If you've ever published a book (or even a short story) then you know just how true this is. Sometimes, very rarely, the layers of editing will catch all the mistakes, weed them out, and leave a perfect, pristine product... but that's far from the norm.

And as with a lot of stuff in the publishing industry, it has far more to do with time and money than it does with talent and skill.

As is often the case, sadly.

As a for-instance, when I write a TTRPG supplement, there's typically a 3-step process. First, I write it by hand. Then I type up what I've written, proofreading and editing as I go. Then, once it's been typed, I review it for edits and further changes. Once I've finished that, I send it in to my publisher, who handles layout, art, etc., and puts it up for sale.

Now, Azukail Games is a relatively small publisher, and there isn't an on-staff editor. Nor, for that matter, is an editor contracted to go over every supplement that gets turned in. The reason for that is first, that would add a lot of time to the process (probably a week or more, at least). Secondly, editors aren't free. An average supplement should sell about 50 copies at the low end of things, to 100 copies in the initial release (which won't rack up to much more than $100 or so in initial profits for the publisher), with occasional copies being sold down the line as the catalog grows.

Adding extra time to every release, and spending far more than a given supplement is likely to make in sales to give it a pass by an independent editor doesn't make for a good business strategy. As such, it's a step that usually gets left out of things... however, even companies who can afford editors still have issues with their books and releases.

Gonna name a name here...

Not to call out anyone specifically, or to throw shade on folks who worked hard on their books, but White Wolf had quite a reputation for this during the hey day of the World of Darkness. While the games were very popular, a lot of players often criticized them for errors in the glossary, spelling mistakes, or rules that didn't quite seem to match up in examples in different sections. And the constant refrain was always, "Would it have killed them to give it one more editorial pass?"

And the answer is, actually, yes. It probably would have.

We tend to think that bigger publishing companies (Wizards of The Coast, Paizo, White Wolf/Onyx Path, etc.) have gads of spare funds just lying around, but that really isn't the case. They're already paying for artists, designers, layout, printing, shipping, and initial editing, along with many more costs on tight deadlines, so they probably can't afford an extra round of edits just to be sure that products are perfect. Because that extra round of edits might eat deeply enough into the spare time and profit margin for the release that it won't make enough money to justify the next release, and sustain the company.

Or, at the very least, it will increase the amount of books that the project needs to sell in order to break even, and justify the release of future content.

Would the extra edits catch some spelling mistakes, and align the numbers in the guide? Sure, it could, but when you look at the raw numbers (both the extra costs of additional editing passes, and how many typos and errors slip through the process on average even with those extra passes) it just isn't worth it to your bottom line.

Digital Tools Help (But Sometimes It Still Isn't Worth It)

Let's back up a moment and look at the mistake I made in my latest TTRPG supplement. If it had been released back in the 90s as a hard copy, and that spelling error had survived through editing to be released as a product sold in game stores, the publisher would not have recalled the supplements and released a corrected version. If it was released with a mistake, it would be left in the wild to sink or swim on its own... if it did well enough to justify a second print run, then the mistake would be fixed, but more likely it would just go down as a flawed product, a victim of a single (albeit major) error. Or perhaps a collector's edition, if it did well enough to justify more being printed.

But in the digital age, and the age of print-on-demand, we have the ability to fix errors as we see them, or as they get reported to us. In fact it was less than a day between the mistake in that title being reported, and the text and cover being fixed by the publisher. If someone points out a mistake in a blog or article like this, I can just go in and fix it with minimal sweat. Even if someone finds errors in a book of mine like my short story collection The Rejects, I can update the text of the manuscript, re-submit it to Amazon for approval, and the new version will appear in 24 hours or so, no muss, no fuss.

Even with all these options and tools on-hand, though, there is still a single, deciding factor when it comes to fixing errors in your work... how much that effort is likely to improve your bottom line.

Consider the video for my short audio drama Whispered Words Sharpen Knives, which is taken from my supplement 100 Rumors to Hear at The Freehold for Changeling: The Lost. While the title appears to the right of the display image in this video, it's extremely dark due to something going wrong with the applied filter. The text was supposed was be white on a black background... but by the time I caught that mistake, it was already published on the Azukail Games YouTube channel (which, if you haven't subscribed yet, please consider doing so).

So while it is certainly within my power to fix the video, resubmit it to the publisher, and then have them reupload it to fix one error, it doesn't really feel worth the effort to to do... especially because the title of the video appears directly below it any time it's displayed on YouTube or linked on social media, so folks can still see what it is, and determine if they want to click it.

If there was an outcry from regular viewers to fix the video, it could certainly be done. However, with only 79 views at time of writing, it isn't exactly something being seen by a huge number of fresh eyes. There aren't a string of comments requesting the edit to be made, nor is it something that a lot of folks are being turned off by. Even though the channel isn't monetized (though we're hoping to change that in the near future), that kind of outcry from the viewers would warrant the edit being made... but if no one is noticing, the effort it would take to fix the mistake could better be spent making new content.

And those are really the three lessons I want people to take away from this. First, that no matter how hard you try, or how many times you look, it's always possible for mistakes to slip through your editing net. Secondly, that there is always some form of editorial, but even putting your manuscript in the hands of a professional is no guarantee that they're going to catch everything. And, thirdly, mistakes are not the end of the world in the digital age of publishing... you can usually fix them quickly, and efficiently, if the mistake is serious enough to warrant doing so.

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That's all for this week's Business of Writing!

If you'd like to see more of my work, take a look at my Vocal archive, or at My Amazon Author Page where you can find books like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife as well as my recent collection The Rejects! You can also check out my Rumble channel The Literary Mercenary for free audio dramas!

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What I Learned Writing Short Stories For Two Years

Like most folks in my profession I grew up as an avid (rabid) reader. I wouldn't read any old thing (dramas and young adult books didn't much appeal to me then or now), but chances were good I had one book in hand, and a holdout in an ankle holster just in case. While I loved a good novel just as much as the next kid, one thing I was always up for was a good short story collection. Scary Stories, Bruce Coville's Monsters (and other versions), along with the infamously trashy Fright Time books that would put three horror novellas in a single book were my bread and butter in boring classes and on family road trips. As I got older my love of short stories didn't waver, but I moved on to collections by Stephen King, Clive Barker, and others. I also read a lot of anthologies with different authors in them, but it never occurred to me to ask how those writers got their stories into those books.

Or at least it hadn't, until the summer of 2012 when I stumbled across a call from Jupiter Gardens Press for their Boys of Summer anthology. I stared at my screen, read the page a few times, and a light bulb went off in my head.

"Oh," I thought. "So that's how you get into a short story anthology."

The Experiment

In May 2012 I'd been a freelance writer for four years. I had worked for magazines and newspapers, and I'd completed two novel manuscripts, but I hadn't actually published a piece of fiction in several years. So I wrote the short stories Summer People, Heart of the Myrmidon, and Skin Deep. All three of them were accepted, and I was told they'd become part of anthologies for Jupiter Gardens Press. I realized that I was now officially a published author, and that for every anthology I was part of I would get a small cut of the royalties.

I had a plan: Get into 10 more anthologies, then start work on a novel.

What could possibly go wrong?

What I Expected

The expectations I had going in were pretty low. I wanted to get back into the fiction groove I'd fallen out of, I wanted to shape up my publishing credits, and I wanted to develop a relationship with a variety of publishers. I also had some idea about making money. The younger, less-experienced me figured that if I could get into a dozen or so different anthologies that he could make a decent, regular royalty check that would let him relax and work on a novel.

I know right? I was fucking adorable back then.

The logic went something like this; the publisher wants to sell books, so it will put in a lot of effort to make sales and market the collection. There are between 10 and 20 of us who contributed to this anthology, some of us with bigger followings than others; if we combine our efforts then we can sell a lot more books between us. If I can get into 10 or more collections then average revenues should give me what a middling successful novel should, allowing me to pad my bank account. Additionally I figured I could dip my toe into certain markets and see what was more popular. Would I be better off writing a dystopian sci-fi novel? Is horror making a comeback? Is steampunk still a thing? These were questions I needed answered.

Lastly, and I stress this one, if a publisher turned out to be a lemon all I lost was a few weeks of work on a short story. If I sent a novel to the company then I'd lose months to a year of hard work. I was not anxious to deal with that worst-case-scenario, so I figured I'd put out some shorts as feelers for who was trustworthy, and who just wanted to reap the sweat off my back.

What I Got

I won't regale you with everything I did between the start of this experiment and today (the tab on the right hand side that lists the books my work has appeared in will give you the details if you're curious), but I've gotten around a little bit. I've worked with a dozen publishers, some of which were excellent and some of whose names I cannot speak without spitting and forking the sign of the evil eye. I'm not famous, and the idea of a regular, sizable royalty check is still something I only see in my dreams.

That said though, I don't feel these two years were wasted.

Oh Yeah? How's That?

No, please, regale us.

Well let's begin at the beginning. After two years of constant cranking I've sanded off the rough bits from my voice and style. I've managed to strengthen the muscles that let me work even when I've got a headache, when I'm stressed about rent money, or when there's no caffeine in the house and I haven't slept in a day and a half. I've never missed a deadline, even when I was asked to provide work at the last minute, and I've developed the ability to match the size of my story to the word count it needs to be told in.

In brief, these two years put a fine edge on my professional blade.

There's more beyond the whetstone. I've found fans and friends alike who, when I tell them I have a new piece coming out, will be eager to get their hands on it. I've been recognized as a professional by conventions, and given all of the benefits that comes with that status. I've also figured out which companies are solid, dependable operations, and which ones just want the writers to do all the work while they reap the profits.

It's not a million dollar pay day, but it is a rung or two up the ladder. It's the experience to know a raw deal when I see it, and it's the currency of goodwill that lets me step right over the slush pile to talk to an editor directly. It's the ability to sample some of my ideas to see which ones are big enough for a book of their own, and which ones aren't done growing yet. Lastly, and this shouldn't be written off, it's the confidence to walk into a room and comport myself like someone whose words are worth hard currency.

I'm not rich. I'm not famous. What I am is a professional, and this experiment is what made me that way.


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In Thunder Forged: A Bad Books Review

Up until this point I've been holding very steadily to the "one update per week" rule I set out with. However, sometimes a thing happens and I have the option to either write a post about it (and warn all you fine, writerly and readerly sorts out there), or sit at my desk chewing pig iron into nails. I'm opting for the former, as I don't have dental insurance. So, with that said, this is the first example of what might be a recurring theme; a series called Good Books, Bad Books

What's it All About?

Anyone can tell you if a book is good or bad, but that isn't my job. My job is to tell you why the book is good or bad, and to point out why writers reading this should go forth and either do or not do, depending on what's being thrown onto the chopping block. And while I was originally planning to start this off on a sunnier note by examining something that blew me away, sadly I picked up a book that sent me into a barking fit by page 180 or so. So, without further ado, I present the first of our Bad Books...

In Thunder Forged: Book One of the Fall of Llael

For those of you reading this who don't know me personally, I am a huge fan of tabletop role playing games. I find them a great exercise in creativity, and a fun way to strop my own character-creation and storytelling skills. When I came across a book at my local library that was set in the Iron Kingdoms (the strange, half-breed child of vicious high-fantasy and brutal steam-driven sci-fi), I was intrigued.

Yes that's a steampunk mech. Why do you think I read it?

At first everything looked fine. In the middle of a war between Cygnar and Khador, an alchemical formula is discovered that could end the war overnight for one side or the other. When someone gets greedy and puts the formula up to the highest bidder though, it becomes a race to see which of the two countries can snatch the prize first, and possibly win the war in one, fell swoop. The story follows a small irregular unit, a trio of storm knights, and an undercover operative as they all try to play their part in the drama on the international stage of the steampunk fantasy world made famous by the Warmachine game produced by Privateer Press.

And Then it Started Going Wrong

"In Thunder Forged" is set in a pre-created world. That's great for the author, because it means there's a lot less heavy lifting when it comes to world building. In fact, if the author is a fan of the game world, it's entirely possible to crack open the rule books and create characters that not only fit thematically, but which could be played in the world. Everything from the types of weapons available, to the rules of magic, to which county is ruled by whom have all be set up. That's great; it's still your job to engage us with it. Ari Marmell doesn't do this; not for characters, not for countries, and not for the cities in which the story is supposed to be happening.

What Does That Mean?

I mean that there's no soul in these characters. Benwynne Bracewall, the tough-as-nails sergeant, comes across as a blank wall of stereotype. Ditto goes for Corporal Gaust, the gunmage. He's just another life-on-the-edge gunslinger with a bit of sorcery thrown in; nothing ever edges him out of this archetype, or defines him within it in any meaningful way. The cities don't fare any better; readers are treated to visual descriptions, but no smells, feels, etc. The people of one city are described as colorful, and a little overblown, but that's so vague as to be useless. The emotions felt by the characters vary between muted melodrama and barely even mentioned, as if they really are pawns whose players forgot to role play them for a scene or two and just described their actions. It's even frighteningly easy to completely forget this story takes place during the winter.

Self-Interruption

This can be forgiven in small doses, but by the triple digits it was making me wince. Self-interruption was popularized in the "Twilight" series, and it's pretty obvious when it happens in this book. Bracewall is particularly prone to it, with trains of thought like, "they weren't doing that- not yet at least, thank Morrow- but it was only a matter of time."

What's the Big Deal?

Once or twice, this can be forgiven. However, when it happens on a near constant basis it makes characters seem scatter-brained and stupid. It interrupts the story to throw in completely unnecessary comments that we don't need to know, and which are distracting. It's kind of like the plot train is running over cows, and after a while the spectacle of dead cows becomes more interesting than whatever destination the train is rushing toward. Also, exclamation points belong in dialog. Nowhere else. Ever.

Adequate Action Isn't Enough

This book is, when you get down to the core of it, military fantasy. That's a fun genre, and it's a sandbox I've personally played in (check out my Paizo story The Irregulars, still available for free if you're curious). With fantasies of steam-driven war machines and ensorcelled bullets flying, I pushed nearly to page 200. What I found was plenty of action, and plenty of intrigue, but it was adequate at best, and boring at worst.

Huh?

The action scenes fell victim to the same oversight as the descriptions. While it's possible to follow what's happening, and you can very easily tell who did what, there's no soul to the combat. I pushed right past entire squads being reduced to red stains while fighting yawns, and didn't even feel a stir in my hair when the lightning lances were deployed. The scenes were adequate, but they failed to rouse my blood even a ripple. That failure, combined with the use of colloquial modern words, the constant dashes of self-interruption, and the flat out telling of a story rather than showing us the events that transpired, made me quit at the bicentennial mark.

I wanted to like this book. I wanted it to be worth the high star ratings I've seen, and I wanted to be able to compare it to some of the books put out by Paizo's "Pathfinder Tales". As it stands though, "In Thunder Forged" is a bland, tasteless bowl of oatmeal. It will distract you on a plane, and fill your imagination with enough calories, but there are some seriously crunchy bits in the bottom, and the whole thing tastes pretty badly burned overall. All in all, as much as I love the Iron Kingdoms, I cannot in good conscience recommend anyone read this book.


As always, thanks for stopping in and staying a spell. Do you want to see more Good Books, Bad Books? If so, leave me a comment or two below and I'll be happy to dig back through my lists and find those who either did it right, or who did it quite wrong. For those who want to keep up with myself as an author, feel free to poke me over on Facebook, or to get a mainline feed follow me on Tumblr. If you're really curious about my own contributions to fiction (and you're wondering what gives me the right to criticize other authors) head over to my Goodreads author page. To support The Literary Mercenary, just spread the word, buy a book, or remember that this blog runs on Google AdSense. We do love our ads 'round these parts.