Who Owns A Book?

Yesterday’s signing – and the conversation that followed in both staffroom and pub – has made me ask myself a question.

Who really owns a book?

It it's written by the Author, represented by the Agent, bought by the Publisher, polished by the Editor - and then Printed (one way or another), promoted by the Publicist, reviewed by the Bloggers, featured in the Press, sold by the Bookstore, bought by the Public and promoted all over again… breathe, dammit... whose is it, really? What if you add digital publishing and certain online retailers to this cycle and it becomes more complex still? (Or less, depending upon which side of the till you’re standing. Charlie Stross put this one better than I ever could).

And that's not forgetting the self-published authors; the cover artists, and blurb-writers, the fan-bases and bloody, bloody Facebook… everything folds in together and the list goes ever on.

Eventually, with fortune and planning, the whole thing comes full circle – and the Author comes in to talk to the Public. As a friend of mine used to say, 'Everybody wins'.

But does that answer the question?

The face of publishing is changing. We’ve glimpsed it in the darkness – where new hopefuls or talented artisan writers are treated like monkeys, given peanuts for selling soul and talent to organ-grinders who want only profit… and the backlash has been substantial. I'm sure we all remember a certain gentleman in Frey Flannel.

I’m always reassured that the moment one faction steps in and demands sole ownership, the fight rises to topple their monopoly.

Watching Joe talking about and reading from ‘The Heroes’ yesterday – watching the responses of and questions from his fans – has made me realise something. Not about fighting (though we talked about that too) but about the real owners of a book.

Who owns a book? The characters. That's where the passion is; if the cycles turns properly, then they live in the hearts of minds of everyone, Author to Public, all the way round. (It's when they don’t that it seems to go tits up). To coin a popular phrase – it's character driven, the whole damn thing.

And that's how it should be.

Witness: -

With thanks to Joe, his Heroes, Gollancz - and the team at FP Bristol.

Joe Mad's DARKSIDERS

Yes, it's finally happened.

The flaming horse, the huge firearm, the gigantic sword, the almighty demon - not to mention comics legend Joe Madureira - are all coming to Forbidden Planet in the new year.



On Thursday evening, 7th January, for the very first time in the UK, you can get your mitts on THQ's epic 'DARKSIDERS' (for PS3 and XBox) at FP London. Joe will be there to sign the game and talk about his work, plus we'll have pods right there so you can get up-close-and-personal with the Four Horseman.

This is a first for us - kicking off a whole new decade with a whole new kind of event.

Go on...

...go Mad!

First Time

I love the snow.

Not the mucky slush that slides grey over the pavements, I mean real snow – tumbling flakes and crunchy underfoot and cold down the back of my neck. I love to be out in it – I’ve walked in snow, camped in it, cycled in it, fought in it and fucked in it. It elates and intrigues me.

I love thunderstorms, crashing and passionate extremes of wild weather. I love wind-thrashed seas pounding on the shingle and the icy douse of the glittering spray.

And I love the sun – I turn my face to it and feel it lift my heart.

This morning, it was snowing – properly snowing, not the desultory sneeze I glimpsed through my hangover on Easter Sunday morning. As I watched, it blanketed the grass, softened the trees and a muffled quiet settled with the flakes.

My son has never seen real snow. While I broke the garden’s perfection with my cherry-red Docs, he stood in my bedroom window, his cub nose pressed against the cold glass. He wanted to go out in it, but was wide-eyed and wary and had to know it was safe.

When he came outside, he wouldn’t put his feet in the white stuff. He tracked in my bootprints to the sounds of the neighbourhood’s kids shrieking with glee. Then he stood, staring, as they pelted each other with snowballs and squalled defiance of the chill.

A couple of snowballs in the face, though, and he got the idea.

We joined in too – four thirty-something Mums giggling like girls as we dodged the incoming bombardment. We built the ubiquitous snowman and were pushing the kids round the garden in Joshua’s mini-Jeep, stopping to kick the caked snow from its tyres.

There were tears and tantrums, wet feet and and cold fingers, and a very excited dog. There was laughter and elation and excitement; there were kids soaked from head to foot and Mums yowling encouragement and offering cuddles.

There’s something about snow that just brings out the child in all of us.

It was a magical first experience for my small son.

And a new one for me as I’ve never taken – or tried to edit – a video before. I wouldn’t have done this one, but for @joec0914.

Amazing, the things that Twitter makes you do.