Art and Additional Materials

Visual art seems to enjoy pride of first place among the aesthetic fields. One of the primary reasons for its universal appeal is probably its immediacy. Anyone can get the gist of a drawing or painting after even a cursory glimpse, but extracting the meat of a literary piece takes significantly more time and effort. Artists, therefore, seem to achieve recognition more easily than writers.

If you want a practical example, try finding a comic book publisher who's accepting unsolicited script submissions. Even bigger studios periodically have open calls for new artists, but unless a story is accompanied by finished pencils at least, good luck getting it in the door.

An interesting observation I made during my unsuccessful bid to launch a web comic is that, while many authors (myself included) openly admit that they can barely manage artwork equaling grade school notebook sketches, every artist I've ever spoken to judges his writing to be on par with his art.

Having been rebuffed by pencilers who already had stories to go along with their artwork, and thus no need for me, I resolved to abandon comics for the time being in order to focus on novels--an medium dedicated entirely to the written word...or so I thought, until I came upon a common clause included in many standard book contracts imposing upon the author the obligation of providing additional materials, including original art.

Since, as I stated, I can't draw, the obvious answer was to include no artwork in my book, other than the front and back cover, which are the publisher's problem. However, I soon discovered that the standard contract specifies that the inclusion of additional artwork is at the publisher's sole discretion. If I do get a book deal, the publisher can demand interior art. Now, publishers know very well that there's every chance a particular author can't draw or paint as well as he can write (a rare combination despite what many artists seem to think), so they add a clause stipulating that the author will be forced to pay for the services of a third-party artist (or even the publisher's own art department).

Usually the publisher will just go ahead and farm out the production of additional materials for the novel, including permissions and indexes (or even maps made by actual cartographers) in addition to original art. Then they'll charge a debit to the author's account which, like the advance, is recoupable via royalties.

Long story short, if you're an author with a book deal on the horizon, make sure to renegotiate these generally unfavorable provisions of most standard literary contracts.

Novel Film Adaptations: What's Next

Hollywood has always mined popular books for film ideas. The two most recent novel series turned movie franchises to dominate pop culture have been Harry Potter and Twilight. Long before either movie series reached its climax, speculation about their eventual replacements raged, even among those who hadn't seen Potter or Twilight.

Now, with the finales of both media juggernauts fast approaching, the studio acquisitions offices seem poised to answer the perennial question: what comes next?

The Wrap posted an intriguing list of contenders for Rowling and Meyer's thrones. Included are hip upstarts like The Hunger Games and The Mortal Instruments. Meyer herself is returning with The Host.

Most of these titles hail from the recent crop of contemporary trade fiction. We've heard them thrown around before. Personally, one name does stand out from the pack: Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. Though a bit longer in the tooth than its fellow contestants, one need only recall The Lord of the Rings trilogy to know how potent the film version of a classic novel can be. Rumors of an Ender's Game film adaptation have been making the rounds for years. Now that Harry Potter and Twilight are bowing out, Ender is due for his time in the limelight.

Next Stop: Three-Lobed Burning Eye

After meticulous research--okay, I searched Duotrope, I've decided to resubmit my short story to Three-Lobed Burning Eye. To be honest, the Lovecraft reference put them over the top.

In keeping with Nick's experiment, I have stepped down from publications offering pro pay scales to semi-pro. Since my primary goal is to build a portfolio of published short stories, a few cents less per word is no problem.

According to Duotrope, their acceptance rate is about 2 and a half percent (pretty good odds while still having standards). They publish online irregularly over the year and print a trade anthology every other year.

I've got a little editing to do in order to meet their submission guidelines. After that, we wait 90 days and see...

The First of Many

I reached an inevitable, yet no less important, milestone in my literary career yesterday. After electronically submitting a short story to Shock Totem slightly over a month ago, I have finally received my first ever rejection letter.

As far as I'm concerned, this response was welcome news, primarily because the magazine responded at all (sometimes they don't). The swiftness of the reply, which was less than half the maximum, was impressive. Even more impressive is the fact that Shock Totem is currently on summer break. So not only did they reply faster than normal, they did it with a diminished editorial staff. All told, I was extremely satisfied with my first rejection experience.

I'm not marking this one as a loss. It's a bronze medal. The story's going back out as soon as I find another magazine with the right submission guidelines. Just four more rejections and I can submit it to The Rejected Quarterly.

Literary Contracts: Author Compensation

It's time to cover the fun part of a book contract: the royalty clauses.

The standard author/publisher relationship involves a transfer of rights (by grant or possibly other means) from the former to the latter. The publishing house gets the right to exploit the work in a number of ways, and the writer receives some form of compensation in exchange. The most common form of author compensation is the royalty payment.

The frequency and size of royalties can vary, but every royalty is a payment made to the author of a work derived from a percentage of the book's price. A common practice is for the author to receive 10% of the cover price (or more accurately, the publisher's invoice price) for the first 5000 copies sold, 12% on the next 5000, and 15% for every sale over 10,000 copies.

Now we come to the topic of advances. Contrary to a popular misconception, an advance isn't like a signing bonus. It is instead exactly what the name implies: an advance payment against future royalties. Publishers calculate advances based on projections of initial sales. For example, a publisher might offer an advance on the first 1000 copies sold. At the standard royalty rate of 10% and an invoice price of $20.00, the advance comes out to $2000.

The amount of the advance is important because the publisher doesn't have to start making royalty payments until the advance has been recouped in sales. The way it's done is that the publisher keeps the 10% royalty for every copy until royalties on actual sales exceed the advance amount. Therefore, an advance is more like a lump sum court settlement or lottery payout than a bonus (although you can and should get them in installments).

Although royalty payments technically begin after the advance has been paid back, very few books ever manage sufficient sales to do so. Therefore, the advance is likely the only compensation a writer will receive. The good news is that authors aren't obliged to issue refunds on advances to publishers if their books don't sell.

Alternate methods of compensation do exist. For instance, a publisher might offer a writer a percentage of net retail sales. However, as we all know, "...the net is fantasy." (1:18)

First Playtest

Thanks to everyone who helped test the first version of my Soul Saga RPG. I am diligently implementing most of the suggestions I received, including streamlining combat while retaining the damage system's sense of realism.

In addition to revisions, I'll also be adding myriad game elements, including alternate "magic" systems, Worked items, new races, and more character traits. There will also be plenty of flavor text to flesh out the setting.

Thanks again for the excellent feedback.

Sean Bean Involved in Bar Fight

That's not actually true. The fight happened outside a bar.

Despite getting cut with broken glass, the star of A Game of Thrones and The Fellowship of the Ring declined medical attention and had another drink.

What I want to know is, how's the other guy?

Souldancer Progress Report 2

Last week I'd reached page 196 in my revisions, at which point I hit a roadblock. After days of deliberation, I finally decided to cut the entire original scene and rewrite those pages from scratch. These rewrites took me back to the beginning of chapter 11.

Today I worked back up to page 196. I'm pretty satisfied with the changes. A couple of plot holes and deus ex machina scenes have been corrected, and the new material provides a smoother transition to later developments.

A Game of a Game of Thrones

I just tried out the living card game based on A Game of Thrones. Most of you probably know the difference between a CCG like Magic: The Gathering and and LCG like this one, but for the record, it means you don't have to obsessively buy cards to fuel your habit. Four full decks are provided right out of the box, allowing play to begin immediately.

I'd played the Legend of the Five Rings LCG before giving Fantasy Flight's A Game of Thrones a spin, and they're pretty similar in terms of mechanics. However, since I like the IPs associated with the latter more, the Game of Thrones LCG was a bit more fun.

Your Book Is not Your Khakis

As Tyler Durden so eloquently pointed out, few of us will ever achieve movie star, rock god, or millionaire status, despite TV's claims to the contrary. Not only did Fight Club acquaint us with this paradox of contemporary society, it did so for the right reasons. Instead of preaching a defeatist apathy, Durden and the other members of Project Mayhem celebrated the intrinsic value of human talent, though admittedly to an extreme degree.

The point remains that purely utilitarian, materialistic ends shouldn't motivate the pursuit of one's passion. That kind of value system is what's gotten Hollywood mired in the stagnant depths of sequel and reboot obsession.

Not that an artist doesn't deserve just compensation for the years of effort it can take to create a finished work. The simple fact is that it's pretty amazing when anyone produces a sculpture, writes a poem, or scripts a play, whether or not the achievement gets major recognition.

Some of the best advice I've heard on the use of talent was given by Bill Flanagan to Sinead O'Connor when her career was on the rocks. When she lamented that she still had a lot of songs left in her, he told her to write them anyway, even if she just left them unrecorded in a shoebox.

I've often heard professional authors caution amateurs to curb their dreams of the elusive six-figure advance and the highly competitive bestseller list. Art is not a field one enters for the money.

Everyone has a skill in which heredity and environment have predisposed them to excel. Allowing that gift to atrophy is a monumental waste. Plus, I hold to Tolkien's concept of sub-creation: that human beings are privileged above any other animal to be made collaborators in the ongoing beautification and perfection of nature. Engaging our powers as authors; be it as painters, writers, filmmakers, or parents, is the way in which we most closely approach the activity of the Author.

Literary Contracts

I've been reading Kirsch's Guide to the Book Contract in preparation for the hypothetical day when a publisher offers me a book deal. The horror stories of authors who entered into Faustian bargains by signing the publisher's first offer are manifold. The tragic tale of Jerry Siegel and Joel Shuster is the classic example.

The sage advice to always read and negotiate a book contract has been repeated from many quarters, but  I didn't realize how important understanding the terms of any legal agreement is until I actually read a sample contract. Publishers have had a couple of centuries to refine their dealings with authors, whereas every new author is a private individual who's starting from scratch. As a result, most boilerplate literary contracts heavily favor the publisher.

A few deal points I've learned to watch out for are language that makes broad (or even total) transfers of rights from the author to the publisher--even rights that the publishing house can't exploit directly such as film, TV, and merchandising. Other points of contention include clauses that grant the publisher total control over the form, content, and exploitation of the work without author approval (or even involvement). Unfortunately, it seems to require a lot of clout on the author's part before a publisher will relinquish this kind of control. Sometimes arrangements like this can be good, since the publisher likely knows a lot more about marketing than the author does. However, problems can arise if author and publisher have differing ideas about licensing IPs from the book to a flamethrower manufacturer.

The stuff that really requires the author's careful attention are the warranties and indemnities. This section lays out the writer's duties toward the publisher, including guaranteeing that nothing in the book will get the publisher sued. Indemnity clauses often stipulate that if someone does bring a claim, the author has to pay the legal fees. There are other things that a careless author might be forced to pay for under a standard contract, including late revisions, artwork, additional research, proofs, etc. These clauses seem to be included as incentives for the author to do his job on time.

Finally, off-the-rack book contracts feature a whole slew of escape clauses and other conditions under which the publisher can back out of the deal. If these clauses are invoked, the author won't get an advance, or worse--will have to refund advances already paid.

Luckily, publishing is one industry in which negotiating isn't only acceptable, it's expected. There are few better ways to prove that you're an amateur than immediately signing your first contract un-negotiated. Read the document. Don't be afraid to ask questions, and don't hesitate to haggle for what you want. Chances are you won't get every deal point, but life is compromise.

Game Design

I've taken the time to do some design work on the tentative Soul Saga RPG that I've been toying with. Having tried my hand at home-brewed rules and even overhauls of entire game engines, creating an entirely new system is still posing quite a challenge.

My first major decision has been settling on the basic dice engine, which will be percentile-based. Expressing game mechanics as percentages is clean and straightforward and makes adapting real-world statistics easier.

Speaking of real statistics, did you know that shooting accuracy figures for police and military forces are extremely hard to find? The best I could come up with was an often-repeated but unsubstantiated forty percent hit figure for police shootouts within ten to twenty feet. Slightly better sourced were statistics claiming ten percent average accuracy for trained soldiers at three hundred meters with the M16A2 rifle and ninety percent accuracy for snipers with M24s at six hundred meters.

The search for realistic firearms data led me to reexamine another aspect of most RPGs that I've always found woefully inadequate: damage rules. The worst offenders are systems that use "hit points" to track characters' health status. The manifold distortions involved in reducing a person's physical well-being to a number are disconcerting enough, but the idea of someone with one hundred HP being whittled down to fifty or ten or even one and still going about his business normally is against all logic.

Of course, what these game terms are supposed to represent are injuries like ballistic trauma, blast injuries, and blunt trauma. While each of these conditions can vary widely in severity, the bleeding likely entailed by all of them means that traumatic injury isn't a one-off proposition. Training and adrenaline might keep you on your feet after sustaining ten points of "piercing damage" (aka ballistic penetrating trauma), but the external and internal hemorrhaging will pose increasingly serious problems over the next few minutes and hours.

Most RPGs only address the effects of cumulative injuries. The oversight I want to correct is their omission of the progressive aspects of trauma.

Some will object that portraying damage more realistically will cramp the players' style by making everyone conflict-averse. I counter that the lethality of combat is offset by the implementation of more realistic marksmanship and melee rules. The fact is that even trained professionals miss most of the time, and battles tend to be resolved when the enemy retreats, surrenders, or is incapacitated rather than massacred.

Besides, sound logistics and advance planning wins more battles than sheer force. So the upshot is that more realistic combat will discourage hack and slash antics and encourage players to fight smarter.

Throw a Dart

In light of Kaze's response to my post on genre, I've been examining various subtypes of sci-fi and fantasy to identify the best fit for Nethereal. This process has proven more difficult than I'd expected. However, I think I can narrow it down.

Kaze's favored answer was sword and planet. I agree that this science fantasy subgenre is a good fit, or at least a major influence. The only catch is that really only one character in the "mundane" world uses blades as his weapon of choice. Otherwise, firearms are very prevalent. Also, straight-out magic is widely accepted as real. However, one could invoke Arthur C. Clarke's rule about any sufficiently advanced technology being de facto magic since Workings are based on well-established natural laws that essentially make them another fundamental physical force like gravity, electromagnetism, etc.

The Guild is another aspect of the setting that argues both for and against a clear sword and planet definition. While they do possess some antedated trappings, the Brotherhood's outlook is basically skeptical, rationalist, and pragmatic.

I decided to take a step back and consider the classification of my novel from the other end of the spectrum. Exploring fantasy subgenres, I found a few that seem to inform my story. Magic realism seems to dominate, but there are traces of lost world and even imaginary voyage fiction.

Hell, my stated intention for writing the book was as an experiment in philosophical fiction. The strong vein of paranormal horror isn't to be dismissed, either.

It seems that what we've got here is a story that's straddling the line between genres, or in this case several lines--like that geographic point where the corners of four states meet. Or, to put it back in terms of fiction, it's reminiscent of Star Wars--not to compare myself with the series' early genius or later dissolution.

I think that the real difficulty here is the inherently subjective nature of genre labels. All of the definitions above presuppose a rationalist, decidedly Western worldview. A New Yorker's paranormal horror could be realism in Hong Kong. Unfortunately, effective marketing relies on such transitory labels. So I'll have to stick with sword and planet/magical realism used to frame a philosophical discourse.