Archive for the ‘Intellectual property’ Category

My advice to new writers is to write short stories. This teaches building a scene with concentrated conflict and concise action leading to a point. Novels are like undeveloped land in the South–temptations for schemers to sprawl. Of course, said tyros should also be reading such stories, but if I have to tell you that reading is a good idea, you’re probably not meant to be a writer.

Still, we do have to be clear on the purpose of the exercise:

1. You will be writing for practice. You will be writing for enjoyment. You will be writing to keep yourself writing while you’re learning the craft.

2. You will also be writing to put your name and voice out in public. Short story markets are few and far between, and even fewer last more than a handful of issues. If you write westerns, by the way, one that’s shown its intention to remain is Frontiertales.com. Check the authors page for some of my writing, by the way. Understand that when you write short stories, the public purpose is to connect your name to something that people enjoy reading. You’re building a fan base. (All your reader are belong to us–you want this.)

3. But there’s something you need to know before you start. You won’t get paid for short stories. Paying markets are just about dead. There was a time when new writers could get a foothold and make a living by writing science fiction or westerns or even literary stories. No more. No matter what The New Yorker claims, new writers don’t have a chance. Apparently, not even good ones. You don’t write short stories to make money. You write them for the first two reasons.

4. Alas, there’s a fourth lesson. Sometimes, a magazine will dangle the promise of actual money, only to pull a fast one. And thus I must tell my own tale.

In 2008, I submitted a short story to something called Astonishing Adventures Magazine. (I’d give you a link, but I can’t, and you’ll see why soon.) Said outfit claimed to be looking for pulp stories–translation, lots of plot, plenty of action, and none of the high-brow or raised-eyebrow stuff that gets published in the, um, New Yorker. Well, thought I, this is something I can provide. I had written a perfectly atrocious science fiction novel in the mid 90s–yes, sometimes, I have to learn through experience. But some of the chapters were good, so I pulled them out and polished them into a worthy short piece and submitted it. The editor said he liked what I wrote. Big smile. The editor said he wanted to publish it. Happy dance. Life is good, right?

Hold on there, hoss. A short while later, he wrote back to say that the magazine was folding due to lack of funds This happens a lot in the business, as you’ll come to find out if you submit stories. So the years go by, and in the fullness of time, I turned the story into a short e-book for sale on Amazon. Why not? It’s a good story. (You should buy it, he whispers)

Then one day, I was wandering about the aforementioned on-line book seller’s site when to my surprise, I came across this, my story, for sale, in Astonishing Adventures Magazine: Issue 4.

┬┐Como que huh?

There’s my story being sold without anyone having told me about it. After stomping about my home and scaring my cat, I talked to a few friends who told me to keep calm and carry on. This is life.

Indeed it is, regardless of how unfair it may seem. The lesson here that I have had to learn, the lesson that I’m now trying to teach you, Dear Reader, is that having my name attached to a good story in a place where people can see it is a good thing. Clicking on my name in the list of authors takes you to my own page. Truth be told, I’d rather you buy the story from me directly, but I’d also rather you read it, no matter how you do it.

Yup, keep calm, carry on, and some day, publishers will look at your novel. Until then, write.

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This morning’s Performance Today (27 February 2013) featured a choral piece by composer, Eric Whitacre. In describing the process of composition, he said that he had wanted to use Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, but was unable to do so since the copyright to the poem is still held by Frost’s family, and the family refused to grant permission.

This strikes me as curious, since Frost himself has been dead for fifty years now. The relevant law is a thorny thicket, but as I read things, a work remains the property of its creator for seventy years after said person’s departure from the planet.

The reason for this, presumably, is to give the creator’s living relatives time to suck dry the now-dead teat, but I find the idea to be wrong-headed.

There is a clear difference between physical property–land, cars, dust bunnies, etc.–and intellectual property. The latter, at least in terms of music or writing, is infinitely repeatable. It also is of a nature that can be commented upon in critique, included to enhance another work, or altered to reframe the creation. Intellectual property, especially after the death of the person who produced it, ought to be the possession of all of us.

A better system would be to declare that during the creator’s lifetime, anyone wishing to use said person’s work must inform the creator and, if asked, arrange to pay a reasonable and small percentage of the profits on the new work. Once the creator has died, intellectual property then enters the public domain.

This approach balances the needs of the artist (of whatever medium) against the benefit to society of disseminating creative work and responses to it as widely as possible.

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