The Great (YA Gender) Divide

***AN ABRIDGED HISTORY***

Once, boys and girls both read, and read often.

So, I’m a guy. A dude. I play sports, grill meat, and sometimes, under the influence of beer-flavored beer, I’ve even been known to chest bump.

But I also write fiction.  And not just fiction – young adult fiction. 

On the way to becoming a YA author, I noticed something strange about my masculine circumstance.  When I first started out – learning to query, learning to write and edit – I stumbled into these e-relationships online with others who were endeavoring to take the same path.  We found common ground, usually in genre, and supported each other in the journey toward publication.

***AN OBSERVATION***

Ninety percent of my YA author e-relationships are with women.

I know, that really isn’t evidence of anything, but it got me thinking.  What about the male-oriented stories?  A quick browsing of the YA section of any bookstore will show you just how feminine the genre has become.

This isn’t a bad thing, but for me it is slightly alarming on a business level.  Publishers publish to make money, but if the balance of YA books being published is overwhelmingly for teenage girls, does that mean teenage boys aren’t reading?

***A CONFESSION***

I didn’t read much as a teenager.

Sure, I took in the occasional Crichton book and tried to understand Clancy military thrillers, but I was more drawn to Spielberg movies and comic books.  Today, there are even more distractions with video games and the internet.

As I've aged, my reading habits have changed, grown.  Right now, I’m reading Alexa Martin’s GIRL WONDER.  Alexa is a good friend and has written an amazing account of what it must be like to be the new girl at a new high school.

***A REASURING ANNOUNCEMENT***

I like girl-oriented YA.

Though Alexa would definitely welcome me, and even though a guy like me can enjoy and see the literary merit of GIRL WONDER, I am probably not among Alexa’s target audience, though it begs the question - do I need to relate to the subject matter of a book to enjoy it, and if not, why not target me as a potential reader?

Looking at the many amazing books in the YA section makes me wonder if teenage boys would read more if they were targeted more.

Certainly, these thoughts are void of the complications and economics of marketing, but still...

***HERE IS A SMALL FACT***

Teenage boys like to read.

Some authors know this.  And some of them are men.  Look at the works of John Green or Andrew Smith.  Heck, even J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series was aimed at boys.  So then, what about YA is so standoffish to teenage boys?  Is it marketing?  Is it this new feminine cultural definition of YA?  Is it the more boyish distractions of video games and sports?  

I’m not certain, honestly.  But I think this is an issue that needs to be addressed.  There is a bigger market out there that would support more teenage boy readers.  We just need new ideas on how to approach them.

(Paragraph headings are totally "borrowed" from Markus Zusak’s THE BOOK THIEF.  I'll give them back.  I promise.  Premise was inspired by Andrew Smith's recent observations of gender in YA.)

The Backup Plan

So, today there were some minor ripples in the world of publishing.  My agency, Dystel & Goderich Literary Management, has made an announcement that they will be offering a new service to their clients: a sort of e-publishing advocacy. 

Strictly speaking, this is a service for their clients who wish to see a second life for their out-of-print work and hold reverted rights.  This service is also useful for that doomsday scenario where an author’s manuscript falls into submission hell and no house is buying.  Here, e-publishing might be the only option left for such a manuscript, unless the author should prefer to trunk it for several years in hopes that one day new editors are working at the houses.

So why should you care?  Well, the times, they are a-changin’.  E-publishing has gained an extraordinary momentum due to technological advances.  You probably have an e-reader in your pocket.  Most smartphones these days are capable of becoming digital books with the touch of an app.  That is a huge potential market of book buyers.

However, this doesn’t mean publishing houses are going away.  And it doesn’t mean agencies are going to become publishers.  DGLM will remain a literary agency and only advocate and advise for e-publishing, keeping in tact the 15% agency fee and quashing any possibility of a conflict of interest.

But with all change, there is resistance.  Some are uncomfortable with the blurring of duties and borders.  Though, for me, such feelings are behind the times.  Agents are now taking roles that used to be traditionally for editors – you need only look at the track changes John made on my last draft to see just how much editing they do. 

Personally, I like having this option – and that’s all it is.  An author can elect to do this, or not – it’s a choice. 

Any thoughts on this new trend?  Share away!

EDIT: Here's an excellent in depth breakdown of where DGLM fits into the agency becoming publisher trend: David Gaughran's site.

ALOHAMORA: Pottermore Revealed!

I have to admit, I came to Harry Potter a bit late.  Book Five or Six.  The reason, I think, was that all along I thought the series was a sort of kid-exclusive fairytale.  Seeing Chris Columbus’ take on the first movie only reinforced that opinion.  And the covers looked liked cartoons.  They were beautiful, but not something that I was very comfortable with reading in public.

Had I lived in Britain, however, the covers at least wouldn’t have been a problem.  Check these adult versions out:

A stark and very cool contrast to the American versions.

This, though, isn’t a post about my experience in, or my love for, the world of Harry Potter.  This is about J. K. Rowling’s BREAKING NEWS revealed today!

The door has been unlocked (presumably by an alohamora spell), letting us sneak a peek into what’s coming.  Here is Pottermore.com in Rowling’s own words:

I’m not sure how deep or ambitious this community will be, but if anything, this is a brilliant way to announce the release of the ebooks.  Though, this may leave Apple users out, because as of now the only way to purchase ebooks for the iPhone and iPad is through the Apple Store, and Pottermore is the exclusive destination to purchase eHarry Potter.  It debuts in October.

Anyway, check out the site!

Go the F*** Away

This is getting old. 

First, the rapper Common gets skewered by Fox News for a poetry read at the White House and labeled a proponent of killing cops because of lines taken out of context from a poem he wrote – the same poem which ironically takes a stand against such violence.  The truth, unfortunately for those making the preposterous accusation, was only a stanza or two deeper into the piece.

Then there was The Wall Street Journal’s now infamous attack on young adult fiction which suggests that reading dark material may inspire one to dark action.  You’ll forgive me if I abstain from rehashing that fiasco. 

Now, in an opinion piece at Fox News dot com, there is another tear shed for the supposed erosion of our wholesome culture, all because of the new bestseller “Go the F*** to Sleep.”  You should also know that the opinion is written by an author who claims (several times) that F*** is an obvious parody of his own work and sites some fairly universal themes as reasons why.  Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but because the piece is such an obvious grab at some of F***’s success, evidenced by the numerous links back to his personal author web page, I’m opting not to link the story here. 

Because really, f*** that guy.

What is so ludicrous is the suggestion that Go the F*** to Sleep is even a children’s book.  Sure, it may have that sugary style, hand-drawn art, and bright colors found in the genre, but F*** is a children’s book like an Apple Martini is a kid’s drink.

And of course there is the (now seemingly mandatory to these opinion pieces) desperate cry for society to examine its culture.  As if America has one culture.  Still, seeking homogenization of our culture into the author’s vanilla version doesn’t really offend me.  I disagree, but whatever.  Such an idea is simply selective blindness to the layers of American culture which are obviously different from his own, but really, at the end of the day, it’s just ignorance.  So be it and to each their own.  At least I can turn a deaf ear to that sort of talk.

But like the claims that young urban kids listening to Common might be inspired to kill a cop and that somehow young adults reading dark YA might be inspired to cut themselves, this ending point, made as the opinion writer’s last ditch effort to sell his argument, f***ing pisses me off:

“Also, can't we admit that ‘Shut the F*** Up!’  could slightly encourage spousal abuse? Don't we think ‘Go the F*** to Sleep’ might conceivably encourage child abuse?”

Enough with the fear tactic, already.  It’s desperate and lazy.  But, sadly, it is also effective and dangerous, and very irresponsible.  These opinion pieces are known to gain momentum in certain circles and only build intolerance.  Is it too much to ask for one side to simply disagree with the other without suggesting the pillars of our communities may crumble? 

So, if you please, Mr. Opinion Writer…for the sake of the many cultures of America, which are doing just fine, thank you very much…go the f*** away.

Buy a Book, Save the World!

It's a Double Post Friday here at INK ROCK!  Don't miss the first: Last Day of Premiere Week for The Story Behind the Story!

Back in 2008, at the height of the economic crunch, and during one of the lowest points in recent years for the publishing business, I launched a Facebook Group called Buy a Book, Save the World! in order to prompt people to get out to a bookstore and buy a book.

Well, you all responded.  The group grew to over three thousand strong and around that group, a small community developed where members discussed books, authors, and their favorite bookstores.

Facebook is now planning to archive that group (removing all our 3000+ members), so I've decided that now is the perfect time to reinvent the site and refocus on the author and the bookstore.  Buy a Book, Save the World! will be relaunching in the coming months and hopefully become an atlas for author hotspots and unique bookstores that are worth a visit.  I hope to see you there soon!

Stay tuned!

The Story Behind the Story: Premiere Week Ends!

Thanks for tuning in for INK ROCK'S debut of The Story Behind the Story!  We'll get back to regular programming next week with future chapters of SBS peppered in once a week, every Wednesday, until the series ends. 

***

The Story Behind the Story is a regularly-run segment in memoir form telling the story of the places and experiences that inspired The Revelation Saga.  It is taken, in part, from an email journal made during the adventure.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
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Chapter 3

The Flight that Shagged Me

            Like anyone who has ever sat in a seat on an airplane, there comes a moment, whether it’s before take off, during flight, or just before landing, when this dark little thought creeps into your head and makes you wonder if tonight, you make the news.

            As the aircraft turns north toward the top of the world, this thought passes through my mind and yet I am confident that if the plane went down this very moment, I would die happy.  Having borrowed miles from my traveling salesman father, I’ve upgraded to Upper Class on Virgin Airlines’ flagship, the Triple Seven.  I love the name, by the way.  And like its name, I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot on a slot machine.

            All the bullshit is behind me.  The tinker toy airplanes, the horrid weather, stinky seats, bimbo co-pilots, and the herd of Joeys from Friends that tried to intentionally get me lost at JFK Airport.  All just a fading memory.

            Instead, I’m focused on the glass of champagne I’m drinking, handed to me upon boarding, which I did on time as the weather in New York had, thankfully, delayed takeoff.  1960’s décor and the cutest flight attendants wearing smiles and pink miniskirt uniforms, looking like extras from an Austin Powers movie, fill the cabin.

            Look, I’m sort of out of my element here, being a broke-ass law student and all.  I know that, but so what?  I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this while I’ve got the chance. Right?  I mean, it's obvious I'm meant to  - there’s even a bar on the plane!  A bar…on a plane. 

Across the aisle and one row up is actor Fisher Stevens.  As I’m drinking up the courage to speak to him about Angelina Jolie’s boob slip in the movie Hackers, my thoughts are interrupted by a pixie flight attendant holding a clip board.  “Pardon me, sir,” she says in a bubbly British accent. “What time would you like to schedule your MAH-sage?”

           

            “My…what?”

            “Massage, sir.  With our on-board masseuse?”

            She points with her pen to a corner of the plane that’s hiding one of those sit down, lean over things you see at the mall.  It's difficult to restrain the inner me that wants to jump up and scream, No freaking way! “After dinner service,” I say instead, like I've done it all before.

            “Very good, sir,” she says and gives me a time.

            A short while later, I’m three scotches deep and done with dinner.  I had Steak Diane, just because I was curious about what exactly made it Diane.  Still don't know.  The menu is written like something out of a Michelin Star restaurant and I can order anything, anytime.  And get this – the food is good.  I mean, it’s not going to win any James Beard Awards, but come on – we’re like thirty thousand feet over an ocean.

            The massage proves to be the last straw.  Besides, it’s late.  The experience is euphoric, but I’ve had too much to drink.  It’s possible I proposed marriage to the masseuse while her magical fingers worked out every ounce of stress from the muscles in my back.

            Afterwards, I stumble back to my chair where I discover that it reclines into a bed.  I flip through the stations of my personal video screen, but exhaustion soon takes me.  I vaguely remember having a blanket laid over me by a smiling stewardess and just before the world fades away I have a twinge of regret that I’d missed the plane’s bar.

            Not that I needed it. 

Premiere Week Continues!

The Story Behind the Story is a regularly-run segment in memoir form telling the story of the places and experiences that inspired The Revelation Saga.  It is taken, in part, from an email journal made during the adventure.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
_______________________

Chapter 2

How Not to Fly

            The Atlanta Airport is a kinetic mosh of chaos and disorder, a kicked anthill.  On top of that, it’s huge.  How something so big can be so packed with so many people is beyond me.  Luckily, I’m at my gate, worrying about the next part of the journey – getting to New York in the narrow window of time I have left to make the flight to London. I’m to be on the last flight out, the redeye, and missing it would cause a domino effect that I don’t want to think about.  There is a three hour layover in New York, but my plane in Atlanta is now three hours late.  Do the math.

            The good news?  My plane has arrived.  The bad news?  Where do I start?  First, the reason the plane is three hours late, I’m told, is because of a maintenance issue. Issue sounds so clinical, so clean.  Something to be solved with consideration and perhaps a philosophical conversation.  Not like a maintenance problem, which is what happens when the flux capacitor, or whatever the hell it's called, falls out of the freaking engine - something a little more serious than a busted beverage cart and requires hammers and screaming to fix.

            Please fasten your seatbelts.  The captain has informed us your confidence may experience some slight rough air. 

            Secondly, if my first plane was overkill, this one is its Danny DeVito-in-Twins brother.  I can see it parked on the tarmac, not even connected to a gate, waiting on me to board.  The damn thing actually looks sad. The wings seem to droop, and the nose graphics and cockpit windows somehow together look like a crying clown.  Perfect.  An emotionally compromised airplane.  And here I forgot my tissues. 

Walking up the pull-away steps in the Georgian summer heat, the piercing squeal of the engine’s turbine promises to have my ears ringing for hours.  I’m empty handed, as I’ve had to check my carry-on backpack, and I can see why.   

            Your mobile phones and other electronic devices that might be useful in an emergency situation should be turned off during takeoff.

            I’m so worried I’ve made an error in boarding the wrong plane that I check with the elderly flight attendant, but she confirms the plane does indeed fly to New York City.  When I ask if we’ll be dusting crops on our way, her patronizing smile suggests she intends to spit in my drink later.

            If you are seated at an emergency exit, please review the responsibilities on the back of the safety information card found in the seat pocket.  It is highly likely these instructions will become useful during flight.

            My seat is at the front of the plane, in clear view of the open cockpit.  The old stewardess makes three unsuccessful attempts to close the outside door as the steps are pulled away from the plane.  The look on her face makes me wonder if she got it on her last try.  She then takes a moment to run through her safety speech.  The words ‘sudden’ and ‘decompression’ stick in my mind. 

            There’s activity in the cockpit as the plane taxis out to the runway.  Our captain looks like he moonlights as a lounge singer and the co-pilot is a daffy-looking, blond-haired woman, her face thick with bright make-up.  From my vantage point I can see her scratch her head constantly as she looks at the instrument panel.  I pray she has lice.

            Should your confidence experience an unlikely water landing, your seat may be used as a defecation device. 

            Eventually the plane rattles its way into the sky.  I look to my watch, doing the math in my head.  This is going to be close.