Today is the official publication date for
Earthly Use: New and Selected Poems, written, compiled, art directed, and published, by
moi for Umbrella Editions. I chose Ingram Spark, a division of Lightning Source, for printing and distribution. They really are like greased lightning. I approved the proofs on Friday and received my box of books on Tuesday. The book is up on Amazon U.S. at
http://tinyurl.com/qaoegh3 and should appear in the overseas markets soon too. The $22 price tag reflects the book’s heft at over 200 pages. As I've already posted on Facebook: please send me a message if you’d like a review copy for your blog or journal. I’ll bring it to events in NYC for sale too, and if anyone reading this would like a copy but can’t allocate the funds, let me know. We’ll work something out!
Now I understand the joy Alex must be taking in masterminding Able Muse Press. It's a satisfying thing, taking a manuscript and transforming it into a polished, professional book.
As for me, I also feel like an
auteur, you know? A poetic Truffault, writing, directing, editing. Except maybe he didn't edit?
As some of you know, in the past I took little joy in being published by someone else. Now I have a book that I can display proudly in my home and present to any interested reader with pride. The following, on the topic of self-publishing, is from my Author's Preface. I thought it might be of interest to Eratosphereans:
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“Let me extol the uses of denial/imperiled in this age of trite sincerity!” This wry exclamation begins one of the poems in this collection. Now let me extol something else: a formerly acceptable but now imperiled custom: self-publishing in an age of credentials and careerism. Many poets—indeed, many fine poets—follow the rule book: get an advanced degree, often an MFA; network one’s way into journals; win a book contest or two; muster up some grants. And the number one rule in the rule book: never publish your own book. There’s no prestige in it.
I confess I wouldn’t mind a little prestige wafting in my direction, but it seems I possess a contrarian ’tude that makes the scenario unlikely. Academia is not my thing. Currying favor? Not so much. For many years, I did enter book contests, writing out checks and mailing off manuscripts, but it was a fool’s quest. Eventually, I found a publisher for two collections but decided to buy back my rights. Retaining one’s rights is a significant advantage of self-publishing. How I wince, remembering that I relinquished all rights, everywhere, for the life of the contract, and received in return nothing more than a print-on-demand book and an obligation to buy it in quantity. I even had to supply a printer-ready .pdf file, blurbs, and a cover image. That was the deal.
That was the deal and it was not a vanity press. Unless a poet is snapped up by a major publishing house or university press, she or he is likely to encounter the same situation, or something similar. Friends of mine—masterful, spirited poets—accept the indignities more cheerfully than I do. The arrival of that fragrant box of books makes up for a lot.
If you are reading these words, then I too have in my possession a fragrant box of books, and they cost far less than those purchased with my old, contractual 40% author’s discount. A fatter wallet is another perk enjoyed by those who are “doing it for ourselves.” But control is the biggest advantage of self-publishing, at least for me. Control over content, control over length, the satisfaction of not only writing the book but designing it, inside and out. Having worked as a book editor for major publishers, and having published a trifecta of online poetry journals, I felt I was up to the task. Still, it was a steep and dizzying “learning curve”—I’d had no experience in book design or specifications—but how invigorating to finally prevail! The satisfaction is prestige enough, but then again, I am one to praise the uses of denial.
I'm a Bookmaker
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