When it comes to music, my collection of indie and underground albums equals or surpasses that of my major label collection. I own literally thousands of creator-owned, independently published comics. Some of my favorite movies are low-budget independent releases. But I have completed exactly one self-published novel. And it wasn’t easy to see it through to the end. And I listened to it as an audiobook.
Am I a snob?
I don’t feel like a snob. Genre fans are, for the most part, a supportive and clannish bunch. We want to support the up-and-comer, the underdog, the Cinderella story. And, more importantly, we generally want to be the first to discover the next great book, so we can recommend it to our friends, both in real life and online. I’m no different. And yet I simply can’t force myself to move indies to the front of the pile. I think I have an indie bias in reverse.
While any worthwhile work of fiction lives or dies by the author’s ability to create an enticing world or engrossing characters, fantasy—more than most other genres—is utterly dependent on the bounds of an author’s imagination. Or lack thereof. And since we fantasy fans are, by and large, an imaginative bunch, it isn’t a huge leap to assume that self-published authors are drunk with great ideas. I’ve yet to meet a fantasy fan that didn’t have an idea of their own gestating in the dark recesses of their psyche. We in the fantasy faction like to create as much as we like to consume. But the Internet has provided a platform for the unfiltered and un-curated exchange of ideas, meaning you have to take the good with the bad. For every stellar indie album, there are a hundred that are pure garbage. And I’m sure that the same goes for self-published fantasy. But for some reason, I haven’t been able to stick with the indies long enough to find the gem.
The problem, I think, lies with the nature of the novel. Deciding to read a novel is a commitment. You don’t press play and then skip through tracks to see if there is anything that piques your interest. You can’t flip through the pages to see if the art is decent. If you’re going to read a book, you make a conscious decision to embark upon a journey, and you either reach the end or turn back around after only a few steps. Or I do, anyway. Because I selfishly don’t want to waste my precious reading time on something that feels second rate.
Poor musicianship can be shrouded by volume, emotion or a lyrical deftness. A great writer can redeem poor comic art. A visually repulsive film can be rewarding if the story is captivating. But a novel? A fantasy novel? The deck is stacked against it.
Great idea but poorly written? Not readable. Flowing, beautiful prose that is devoid of emotion, plot or characterization? Not readable. Typos, inconsistent grammar, lack of editing—they all stick out like sore thumbs, and they rip the reader out of the fantastical world the author has worked so hard to create. And while these problems are not exclusive to self-published works (and they are certainly not exclusive to the fantasy genre) I’ve found them to be all-too-common in the self-published works I’ve tried.
Am I doing these works a disservice by discarding them within a chapter or two? It is entirely possible. Is it also possible that indie authors are doing themselves—and their wonderful, fantastical ideas—a disservice by releasing them into the wild without the requisite amount of polish? It is a chicken/egg question, and one that I can’t answer.
I love fantasy of all types. Epic, historical, high, low, and everything in between—I’ll read it all. I desperately want to explore new worlds, new magic systems, new dungeons and monsters and seas filled with creatures terrible and ancient. I want to support self-published authors because I want to be an author, and I admire their bravery. But I’m failing. I’m open-minded, but impatient. I’m understanding, but unforgiving. I support the cause, but I refuse to march. Am I the only one?
