Nuclear Power or Bust

*ring, ring* “Unknown Number”

Oh, what the hell. “Hello?”

“Hello, sir. First, I must tell you that this is not a sales call.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you mind answering some questions?”

“Depends. Do you mind hearing the answers?”

“All right, sir. Do you agree that solar power is necessary for green energy independence in Texas? Yes, or no response, please.”

“No. Solar is stupid. If you want green energy, start pushing for more nuke reactors.”

“Yes, sir. How liable are you to install solar panels on your residence?”

“I’m not. Solar is stupid. Nuclear power or bust.”

“Yes, sir. If I were to tell you that there are government programs that will off-set the cost of solar panel installation, would that change your mind?”

“Buddy, I realize that you’re working from a script, but if you don’t engage your brain, folks are going to think that you’re retarded.”

“…”

“…”

“I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“I can tell. Any other questions that I can answer by telling you that solar is stupid?”

“No, sir. You have a good day.”

“You, too. Go get some coffee.”fox having his coffee while contemplating a nuclear power plant with approval

Yog’s Law

I have stated multiple times that authors are some of the most parasitised organisms on this little green dirtball. Once you start writing you quickly discover that there are freeloaders and sponges lined up around the corner waiting for the opportunity to milk you dry of every last bit of money and work that you have created.

This happens at every level — someone needs to explain to me just exactly why traditional publishing hasn’t been the subject of multiple rounds of RICO investigations — but of particular interest to me are independent authors and vanity presses.

A “vanity press” for the purposes of this conversation is a company where you — the author — pay them to publish your work. If you send your publisher a cheque along with your manuscript: They’re a vanity press. And they’re a parasite.

Author James D. Macdonald has long had a case of the hips at vanity presses, and coined what is referred to as “Yog’s Law”, which is simply: “Money flows toward the writer.”

Clear, concise, simple, and true. Any publisher should make their money as a share of the profits from selling your book. Your brain-sweat goes into writing the book, their brain-sweat goes into editing and marketing your book; and y’all split the proceeds.

In response to the growing backlash against vanity presses, a lot of the little barnacles have restyled themselves as “hybrid presses”; and they say  that the authors aren’t paying for publishing, they’re paying for “a la carte” services.

In other words, you’re not “paying for publishing”, you’re paying for editing. You’re paying for a cover.

Some folks feel this is fair. 

As far as I’m concerned, as a small publisher: It’s still bushwa. They’re still parasitic little vanity presses. They want to milk each and every author of as much money as possible, without taking the risk of actually having to work to sell the books.

If you have sent your publisher money, then they’ve made their money. They don’t give two hoots in hell about your book — they’ve already made a profit. And it really, really annoys me.

Other folks in the industry feel that the “hybrid press” “a la carte” model is actually a fair and viable system.

It isn’t, but that’s just my feeling on the matter.

As such, and to give some guidance as to distinguishing between a vanity press and a genuine “hybrid press” author Dan Thompson offered the “Self Publishing Corollary to Yog’s Law”: “Money and rights are controlled by the author.”

If you’ve decided that a “hybrid press” is right for you, and you’re okay with giving them money along with your manuscript, I ask only that you check one more thing: do they want the rights to your work?

In other words, are you paying them to take your rights? Are you paying them to take your intellectual property?

If so, they’re a vanity press; they’re a parasite, and you have a duty to starve the little bastards out of existence.

That is all.

LawDog

The Tao of Lawdog #765

Dear Manbun Neckbeard,

Normally I don’t offer advice to those who are neither kith nor kin, but in this case I should like to offer some words of wisdom from one who has been around this little green dirtball a few more decades than you:
The Law of Physics is not like other Laws — such as the Law of Traffic or the Law of Pedestrians — it is pitiless, merciless, does not brook stupidity, and usually extracts a stiffer penalty than a mere fine or jail time.

With this in mind, in the future, consider taking your pretentious, hipster douche-baggery down to the crosswalk before crossing the bloody frontage road — especially at zero-bloody-dark thirty and you in (no doubt hand-dyed, Free Trade) black cotton everything.

Now, do not mistake me: I don’t particularly give a warm bucket of rat expectorant if a Ford F250 — like the one that just had to swerve out of your way — punts you thirty feet down the road, but I don’t want to spend my next few trips down this road driving through the miasmatic cloud of halitosis and patchouli that would probably linger after having been knocked from your pores by the impact.

Much like the olfactory reminder of the demise of a skunk, only with fewer skid marks evident, come to think.

So. Move your non-GMO arse, you jackass.

Nothing but love,

LawDog