Another View: The Responsibility of Self-Publishing

Jordan Rosenfeld, a writer and the author of Make a Scene, a remarkable guide to novel writing, is a teacher of writing both in live workshops and online. She speaks with authority on matters of authorship and publishing on her website at http://jordanrosenfeld.wordpress.com/

Recently Jordan posted her thoughts on self-publishing, ruing the fact that so often self-published books are raw, unedited, and might never have seen the light of day had they not been published privately by the author. Hers was a thoughtful perspective and set me to thinking.

I have edited a number of books privately, before a publisher is involved, for people who have treated editing as though it were proofreading, accepting the changes that fixed commas or spelling and rejecting any further editorial guidance. They pay me, thank me profusely, and ignore what I've done. I wonder why in the world they pay an editor to do a proofreader's job! It would be a lot less expensive to hire a proofreader and let the editor use her time for the real work of editing. Perhaps I do not make clear what I see my role as an editor to be.

Many of these books have been published and are deservedly well received. In some cases, matters of consistency, structure, overall style--simple style, not the writer's "voice," which a good editor will recognize and enhance--are not considered. My name is attached to some of those books, and it's embarrassing. Other writers don't do that much--don't hire an editor at all, or maybe have two friends read the manuscript, people who love their friend's book and pay no attention to (or don't recognize) the problems it presents. Those books don't sell, even through self-promotion, and nobody picks them up for wider publication.

In most discussions of self-publishing, matters like these are seldom part of the conversation. I think that's why Jordan wrote the article. I jumped on it from the editor's point of view as worthy of thought. I wasn't making a case against self-publishing. Nor, I think, was she. I believe a writer has a responsibility toward a manuscript. Not editing it at all, sharing it with a friend or seven and considering it "edited," or hiring an editor and not thinking through the editorial work with some dispassion are, in my view, not meeting that responsibility.

We all know how difficult it is to edit one's own work--to see beyond what has already been done in a way that allows for constructive change. The wonder of the way a writers’ group can work together in critiquing a piece is what makes for growth in the power of the writing of all its members. As trust grows and the ability to critique deepens, creative revision becomes more possible, flexible, and effective. We as writers become more astute at "letting go" and remaining open to accepting fresh ways of seeing what we've written--and also more adept at recognizing what doesn't work for us without any need for defense.

The same might be said of the exchange between writer and editor. Personally, as an editor and as a critic, my first rule is to remain true to the voice of the writer, which means that I first must recognize it, identify its qualities, defer to it, and, ultimately, enhance it. Second, I make sure that any client of mine is made clearly aware that any editorial change is a suggestion, not a compunction, and that often my change may not be the one the writer will adopt. Almost always, though, an editorial suggestion may point out that something is amiss, and it's up to the writer to solve that issue in his or her own way. To my mind, observing those two rules is what gives value to the editor's work. Not all editors are able (or more likely willing) to do that.

I toss Jordan's piece into the ring of consideration not because I'm not a whole-hearted supporter of responsible self-publishing but because I think it represents a missing piece of the debate.

There's a lot of crap out there, and a lot of it is self-published. When I first became involved in small-press publishing in the mid 60s, that wave was just beginning to swell, and it was exciting in every aspect. I was (in a support capacity as editor at Glide Publications) one of the organizers of San Francisco's first small-press book fair, where the broad range of what was being published became visible to the public—and surprised the publishers themselves with both content and quality.

Small-press publishers took the responsibility for editorial quality. Work that might never have been seen was being revealed, and the craft of it was considered part of the revelation. The distinction was that small presses could and would consider work that a large publisher (and those were, at the time, primarily in New York) would not see as "commercial." Presenting that work in its best form, editorially and design-wise, was considered part of the integrity of publishing.

Writer and press worked together more closely in the small-press world than was possible with any large press--the writer had a say in design and production as well as in matters editorial. In particular, the sensitivity of writers outside the New York perspective was defining itself. Writers visiting from the East Coast began to understand and appreciate the work of West Coast peers and were able to more clearly define their own perspective. In many ways, that was the best of my editorial life.

The small-press movement in the 60s created an arena for writers and readers who wanted to read to create and read books not watered down by a mainstream publisher with profit in mind. Its offerings broadened the market. Right now, I believe, there's a resurgence of thoughtful, caring, chance-taking small presses. They present, in publishing for the love of the book, a middle road between "commercial" publishing and self-publishing. They offer reasonable distribution and publicity while maintaining a level of quality worthy of a professional work.

Certainly, many fine books have been self-published, the best of which have set their own standards for presentation and met them. Virginia and Leonard Woolf and their Bloomsbury group represent, for me, the high-water mark. The Woolfs published, at their Hogarth Press, their own work and that of their friends and their friends, including Vita Sackville-West, Katherine Mansfield, T. S. Eliot, E. M. Forster, Robert Graves, Stephen Spender, C. Day Lewis, Christopher Isherwood, Laura Riding, and John Crowe Ransom, and many others, often for the first time. In the broadest sense, their work could be seen as "self-publishing." They were publishing their own work and that of those in their circle. But what standards!