There is a thoughtful and circumspect comparison of Traditional vs. Ebook/POD publishing at : http://kriswrites.com/2011/10/19/the-business-rusch-respect/
I commented on Kristine's post immediately (as soon as I saw it) and honestly.
Ms. Rusch is a gifted writer and editor and her post is much more interesting and informative than my comment (which may or may not be posted because I used the F-Word) but my response really sums up how I feel about the meltdown of the traditional publishing bastions and the rise of Indies:
I am the proud owner of several rejection letters from you and I’m a fan (I love your short story “Spinning”) and I enjoyed the SF mag you edited for years and I couldn’t agree with you more.
Your ire was directed and focused and righteous so I’ll say it for you.
These editors and publishing houses have had this enormous subservient talent pool that they have fed from for a century. They feed us shit and we are happy to eat it.
The publishing industry is “American Idol”: A bloated, self-satisfied, myopic endeavor dedicated to finding someone who writes just like last year’s bestseller.
The next great musicians are playing in dive bars and clubs: honing their voices and their craft and their art.
This POD/ebook revolution is our club scene. There is and will be a lot of shit and pretense and posing (which actually benefits those of us who outline and rewrite and proofread) but this publishing revolution is undeniably the future.
I had two short stories published on “Thuglit.com” and was contacted by a big NY agent who wanted to read something longer that I’d written. So I sent him my latest novel “Tantric Zoo”. I received a terse: “Unpublishable in its present form” rejection: then promptly turned around and sold it to Bubba Caxton Books who brought it out in POD and ebook formats.
The Publishing Giants need to realize that they are not too big to fail. They have failed: they have pissed in their talent pool and we are tired of the taste.
So, thanks for your politely reined-in tirade. But I have to repeat for every Indie author like me who–for the first time in years–have hope: Fuck ‘em Fuck ‘em Fuck ‘em.
JOKE OF THE DAY:
How do you get a literary agent off your front porch?
Pay for the fuckin' pizza.