Second…well. My last post got considerably more attention that I ever anticipated, so that was quite a surprise. And I have some follow-up questions about it, but those I think will wait until another time. At the moment I just want to address one thing quickly, and another in a bit more detail.

First, as always, when you put things out on the internet and people see it, they’re going to react, just like when you write a book and put it out there people are going to react. And really, part of being a writer is learning to accept that and let the negative stuff roll off your back, or learn from it. It really doesn’t bother me anymore, and the comment I want to discuss didn’t bother me personally, I just find it’s indicative of what the whole point of my post the other day was.

I discovered, quite by accident, that apparently there are some people who feel that Moira and myself, and any other writer who shares our opinions, are simply kissing ass. I find this extremely sad, I have to admit. Is this what the world has come to, that when people see a wrong and speak up about it they’re immediately assumed to have some sort of ulterior motive?

Have we really reached a point where “Writers hate readers” has become the default position, so any writer who claims to actually like readers and want to see them treated well is automatically suspected of just being a big old liar, who probably spends their private, secret hours lurking in bookstores and tripping innocent readers as they pass by, just for fun? Or who runs around various reader blogs and sites leaving anonymous comments along the lines of “You’re all just thieves why don’t you go fuck yourselves you selfish bastards?” Seriously. Am I the only one who finds it really sad that we live in a world where a writer who says “I love readers, and want to please them, and want to see them treated like human beings instead of dogs,” must be an ass kisser, because the person making the accusation apparently can honestly not imagine any other reason why a writer might feel that way and express that feeling?

The thing is, I’ve been writing for about eight years now. I’ve been seriously writing–with an eye toward publication–for about five, and I’ve been publishing for almost five. Now, math is not my strong suit at all, but that’s about 6% of my entire life that I’ve spent as a professional writer. I’ve been a reader since I was four, which means I’ve been a reader for about 95% of my life (I think).

Which brings me to the other topic. As I followed links back to my post and other people having discussions about this topic, I found a sizable minority of readers who seem to honestly believe that writers hate libraries. I even found one who said an author she knows (she actually said “a new author,” which I find very telling) informed her that libraries who loan ebooks are thieves who violate the law, and that if she had her way every library would be made illegal because they all steal profits from writers.

Personally? I think if you show me a writer who doesn’t love libraries, I’ll show you a writer who really doesn’t care about literacy or reading or the craft of writing, but is merely interested in writing-as-get-rich-quick-scheme and in playing Author: The RPG.

Because a writer is supposed to care about reading. And about reading being something for all people. You guys already know my feelings on a future where literacy is only accessible to the wealthy. That’s not just a future where everyone has to pay to publish, it’s a world without libraries.

We didn’t have a lot of money when I was a kid, and I was a voracious reader. I read anything and everything I could get my hands on. And where did I manage to get my hands on books? At the library. We went every two weeks to return a stack of books and check out a new one. I read so many books the library gave me a special dispensation to go over the limit, because at that time children weren’t permitted to take out more than, I think, five at a time.

My fifth birthday present was a library card. I’d been getting books from the library already, of course, but my mom had to check them out for me because you had to be five to have your own library card. So bright and early on the morning I turned five, my mom took me to the library so I could get my Very Own Library Card. I’m sure I got other gifts that year, but that library card is the one I remember; it was one of the best presents I ever got.

Every year the library had a summer reading program, where you read books, filled out a little report on them, and handed them in to get stickers and prizes. Every year my little sticker row was full by mid-July.

There is no way in hell my parents could have afforded to buy me enough books to feed my habit. The library was all I had.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that I wouldn’t be a writer today if not for the library, for all libraries (because when we’d exhausted our local we’d visit some of the other libraries in the system). I would never have had access to all the wonderful books I read as a kid and a preteen and a teenager if not for the library.

And I want other kids to have that. I want them to be able to escape into books the way I did. I want them to grow up knowing that just because you don’t like one book doesn’t mean there aren’t thousands of others out there just waiting for you. I want that because I care about people reading. I want people to keep reading. I want kids to grow up reading and to love reading.

Because I love reading. I love words. I love it all. The process of writing is a sensory one, a sensual one, a journey of discovery every time. Finding new ways to play with words, to make them fit together, to use them so that when a sentence is done it says exactly what I mean it to say…that’s exciting. It’s always exciting. It’s always fun. I believe firmly, and I always have, that if you can read, and understand what you read, you can do pretty much anything; reading is the basis of intellect.

So it shocks me to find a writer–or someone who calls him- or herself a writer–who believes that literacy and books should only be accessible to those who can pay for it. There’s no sense there of the beauty and wonder of words and how they can change and touch people’s lives. This is someone who sees words not as tools for expression and the building blocks of our entire society, but as clicks in a cash register. I have a hard time believing that person truly loves writing, which makes it hard for me to believe there’s any real passion in their writing, which makes it hard, frankly, to believe they’re any damn good at it.

Libraries and piracy are totally different things. There is no similarity there. The fact that libraries buy their books–and usually buy them for more than cover price, sometimes considerably more–isn’t the issue. The issue is respect. Pirates hurt me; libraries make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

So there I go, I guess, kissing ass again.

1. “The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance 2″ has been released, containing stories by myself, Jeanne Stein, Jaye Wells, Caitlin Kittredge, Tiffany Trent, and Ann Aguirre. My story, titled “Trust Me,” is–I think–kind of a fun little yarn about Jack the Ripper, and is officially the Last Erotic Romance story I wrote (for now). So while I did tone it down a bit for the antho, expect lots of sexxoring.

Shorts are difficult for me, in general; I have a hard time keeping myself from expanding and expanding and introducing subplots. But this was a story that really didn’t leave a lot of room for a novel, and the idea had appealed to me for some time (as with all mystery buffs and goulish people, I am fascinated by the Ripper), so when I had the opportunity to submit it for the antho I jumped at it. So rush on out and get it; my story is probably the weakest of the bunch, given the other names involved, but I think it’s kind of a sweet little tale nonetheless.

2. Kari Stewart, my agent-mate and author of A DEVIL IN THE DETAILS, coming next summer from Roc, has written a great little series on writing series novels on her blog. You have to scroll down a few entires, but it’s well worth it.

3. Charlaine Harris did an interview at Voice America’s “Mystery Matters” show on Friday, and guess who she mentioned as one of her favorite secondary characters ever, right around the fifty-four minute mark? Terrible, my big bad greaser from UNHOLY GHOSTS. Check it out!

Now. To the point of the post. (Yes, I seem to be on a bit of a self-publishing kick. I promise I have not forgotten the Critique series. I’m just busy as heck these days and going through some other things I won’t bore you with.)

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Here’s the thing. I am not against self-publishing. Absolutely, honestly, 100% not. I think it can be very useful. I think that if you’re a writer who focuses on a specific niche area of nonfiction, for example, self-publishing can be fantastic for you. So this is not a rant against self-publishing per se.

What it *is* a rant against–or rather, a cautionary post about–is the idea so many self-published or vanity-published authors seem to put forth that this is the Wave of the Future, and that said future will be so much brighter without those nasty old philistines at major houses churning out crap week after week.

Um. First of all, yes, as a writer with series at two NY houses and one UK house, I’d rather not be told my work is obviously crap because it’s being published by people who actually have the insensitivity to art to think they can make money from it (and in return have paid me for it.)

But this isn’t about me (except where it really is, which I’ll get to in a minute). This is about lots and lots of other writers, who’ve worked very hard and deserve to earn money for their work. I might add, this is also about book piracy, which a lot of those who engage in seem to feel is their way of Bringing Down the Man and Smashing the State and Standing Up For The Little Guy.

Because, sure. It will be a much, much better word when publishing is only an option to those who can afford it. Don’t you agree? Aren’t you glad these Caretakers of Art are decreeing that things will be better when nobody gets paid for their work, that they will in fact have to pay someone else to publish it, that they will have to handle cover design, marketing, and promotion all by themselves?

Yes, sure, every author is expected to do some promo, even at the big houses. But we’re not alone in it. We’re not making meetings with book buyers at stores trying to convince them to buy our books; our publisher’s sales staffs take care of that. Even when PERSONAL DEMONS was originally released by Juno/Wildside, a small press, they took out ads in Romantic Times and made sure the book got reviews. Yes, I have some promo plans on my own for my books. Yes, I carry out what I can. But I do the suff that’s fun. I blog. I Twitter. I play on Facebook when time allows. I don’t carry copies of my book hoping to sell them to random strangers. I don’t slip cards with my title and cover into my utility bills when I pay them in hopes someone will see it and give the book a chance. I don’t have to invest a dime of my own money if I don’t want to. I have, yes, but the only reason I can afford to do so is because I was paid an advance for my work.

Frankly, if I’d had to pay to be published, I wouldn’t be published. I couldn’t afford it. Nor could most professional writers I know, very few of whom could manage to scrape together $5k to pay a publisher.

So what would we have, in a world where those Evil NY Houses have fallen?

We’d have books written exclusively by those who could afford it. Much like in the 18th century, when so many books were diaries of some peeress’s trip through Europe with titles like, “My Gleanings.” FUN. I know I can’t wait to read books written exclusively by the wealthy, with no viewpoints other than their own. I’m sick of hearing what baby boomers think already; I can assure you I don’t want to read more of their “Gee, the sixties were sooo great!” back-patting. I know I can’t wait for a world where books written by those from other cultures have no chance to be translated into English and released here, when we become even more ignorant of the lives of those in the world outside because there’s no way to get their books in front of English-speaking audiences. Oh, and of course, given that self-published books tend to be much more expensive, thanks to POD technology, I can’t wait for a world when reading and books are even less available to the poor. When they don’t have the same opportunities thanks to their inability to get hold of books.

Oh, what’s that you say? Oh, right. The internet will provide all of that. Of course. Because I know when I want something to read I’d much rather spend hours and hours slogging around online looking for something decent than just go to a bookstore. I know people who can’t afford books totally have the money for laptops and ereaders and the internet. So in seeking to democratize literature, what you are actually doing is STEALING IT from those less fortunate than you.

We’d also have a lot more unreadable books. I’m sorry, but it’s true. For every excellent work of self-published fiction–and they are out there, make no mistake–and for every one that’s not bad, just not terribly polished or professional or interesting, there are dozens of horrible ones. Not horrible the way so many of you like to put down NY books which aren’t to your taste, but awful. Really.

Let’s not forget that the way most people learn proper grammar, punctuation, and spelling isn’t through school. I mean, we do learn those things at school, but we develop those skills by reading. So you tell me, how literate will we be as a society when there are no professionally written books? When there are no people to judge if a work is even readable or not before it gets published? When anything goes? Would you like to go back to the middle ages, when words were just spelled however they sounded? Because I wouldn’t.

But this is it. With no publishing houses, there are no gatekeepers. Without publishing houses, bookstores–not just the big conglomerate ones, but the independents–will fail. There will be no way to check a book out before you buy it. No libraries, which are already in trouble. Writers with talent will be forced to suck up to reach people in hopes of their financing the writer’s latest books. I know I look forward to the day where I have to go out hunting for a sugar daddy so I can keep publishing, and hope he lets me write what I want and not simply odes to himself.

Maybe I’ll be lucky, though. Maybe that sugar daddy will simply love my work, and will publish it. Maybe he’ll grease the right wheels so my book can be sold through some outlet. Maybe he’ll pay someone to help me polish it; not change it, but polish it, catch the things I didn’t catch. Maybe I’ll be really lucky, and he’ll even pay me a share of the book’s earnings.

In short, maybe he’ll set up a publishing company.

Bringing Down The Man or claiming the world will be so much better when the NY houses are no longer around is a fallacy. You’re hurting yourself, you’re hurting all writers, you’re hurting people whose only education comes from the books they find and read themselves, you’re hurting people who depend on those industries to put food on the table, you’re hurting artists in other countries, you’re hurting everyone with a story to tell. You’re making literacy a hobby for the rich.

Wow. That’s something to be proud of.