BREAKING: The Publishing Industry, specifically.

What the hell are we supposed to do now?

Hello, my darling Readers,

It’s suddenly April which I find deeply suspect. (Wasn’t it just Christmas? Didn’t I just have my baby on Thanksgiving???) No, because we are definitely a family with a thieving toddler now- the Daylight Savings Weekend was rough on us, I won’t lie. Anyone need a baby with a weird name who doesn’t sleep? He’s super cute, I promise. (So was Lucifer, let’s not forget that mmmkay?)

March brought us Ostara which is the super scary spring sabbat. Just kidding! Witches aren’t scary. This equinox means it’s plantin’ time. Spring is here. The Persephones among us have to start living by the Sun instead of the moon, beautiful as she was last night. For some this is a hard transition of seasons but as a Texan I am always drawn to sunlight. The days gettin’ warmer mean it’s time to get up when the sun does… and tryin’ not to get into too much trouble after it goes down.

Now, I’ve never been good at staying out of trouble and it’s only recently that I’ve learned how to hone my specific power to cause the good kinds of trouble. Still, it’s hard to know where to begin. I’ve been working in publishing and journalism for about 8 months now— it’s rough in here, folks. Publishing as whole is crumbling from the inside. All the people exactly like me, juniors in their chosen fields, are being used as administrative canon fodder for the senior level workers who gatekeep us while begging us to teach them about .docX vs .doc, .psd vs .pdf.

This is a necessary, and so far ugly, shift.

Grassroots movements such as these feel delightful to a born-again rascal but as a rookie… yikes! I want so badly to belong to an industry that is going through a transformation of its own— will it even want an Author like me on the other side? The infrastructure of racism, sexism, nepotism that protects abusers in power is not strong enough to hold. I’m watching the fallout with glee— nothing is done in literature until the queer and the BIPOC writers have had their say. We are coming. I see this happening and I see the power of my generation and the one that follows me refusing to work for pennies during a seismic social shift. I should really keep my head down, not make any trouble, and continue to work my ass off for my new career. I’m learning from the messy greats, witches and heroes with tales of caution and care. Soaking in the knowledge of the writers I collide with is my deepest pleasure. I definitely shouldn’t rock the boat, right?

I’ve been studying this industry since I read the first Harry Potter book. I knew the story of the single mom who wrote her story on a napkin by heart. I knew how many queries she sent out, which agents and which editors missed out on the global dirty-napkin phenomenon. I fondly remember the days after she mishandled the Wizard series by selling the movie rights before the books were done. She was quieter back then, something in that deal kept her mouth blessedly shut when she first sold the rights to the Potter canon. I passionately wrote pages and pages of gender studies in the industry to my unsuspecting teachers and professors— if a broke bitch from England could grasp the world by writing about a boy, why couldn’t I? I was also born a broke bitch!! Later, I tried to write chapters of Chambers from Ginny’s perspective but I truly couldn’t stomach it— so much happens to Ginny off-page and all of it is cruel and misogynistic.

I have been waiting my entire life for a book idea worth scribbling frantically on any surface available to come to me. Now that it has, my beloved kingdom is a forlorn and racist political battleground, full of sadness and minefields that look like eggshells. One of the biggest names in the SFF genre has chosen to leave the battleground altogether— his next set of books was funded entirely by Kickstarter, a cool 30 million raised in days, outside of any publishing red tape. Scholastic is still in the middle of a family feud for power but admits Harry Potter was its greatest mistake as a company. Romancelandia, aka the Money of Publishing, is still run by Nice White Ladies who are still buying racist books at auction about Nazis who deserve love stories. (They don’t. Always punch the Nazi!!) A beloved Fantasy Romance author fully disappeared for two years due to toxic fandom issues, another can’t get her books printed because of phallic imagery in her books. An editor I previously admired was outed as a queer sexual predator who grooms young writers such as myself.

Even sturdiest of authors with rock solid careers are fleeing the industry. I want a tidy little career full of joy and edification and the greats who came before me are running away as fast as they can. Agents are getting dropped from their agencies and therefore, are contractually forbidden from fulfilling any promises to their authors. Emotionally and sexually abused staff who are tired of carrying the weight of the senior level staff’s poor etiquette and technological unintelligence are bringing Gossip Girl to life, airing out more dirty laundry via screenshot than I thought one could keep in a closet.

Like I said, y’all… It’s bleak in here and none of it fosters any future talent or hope, which is a must for my heart and my businesses and career choices. I started this project with the hope that I could make it easier for queer writers who suffer from suicidal ideation to follow in my footsteps, whatever those footsteps turned out to be. I know just how shaky those footsteps occasionally are, and it’s simply won’t do to have the writers who stand on my shoulders scared to be there. I’m making y’all a map, I promise, but whewwww. I really needed to take a minute and grieve how desolate my heart feels while watching its home crumble in the most necessary of ways. I know there are other queer writers with me, wanting the exact same peace and well-being for whomever follows us. It is my privilege to work with them, to brace my shoulders for the burden. However, pain demands to be felt and shared. There is simply no way around that. I’ve put up quite a fuss; the pain doesn’t give a shit. Here is my pain— I’m afraid the landscape of publishing is changing too quickly and I’ve missed my chance to publish anything of note. Missed chances are a theme of my life and a real sore spot for my fragile heart. Some days, I don’t know if I can do this and most days, I’ve forgotten why I want to. I’m sitting here, alone in a battlefield, protecting a single flame of hope in the dark for other people who cannot breathe without books and music and I wish I had some company. My kids are super fun but I miss talking to adults. I tried to be on a podcast full of like-minded writers last week but the 107 minute phone call didn’t record due to technical difficulties. Did I miss that chance, too? It was such a healing conversation between three exvangelicals and I was so excited to edit it for maximum healing for the listeners. Three seconds of audio is all that remains of those magic minutes of true collaboration. Did it happen? Am I still alone?

I don’t think so, dearest Reader. I’ve been here before and I will be here again. Seasons change, everything is in motion, and the thirteenth card in the deck comes for us all. I know someone sees my candle, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Pain might demand to be felt, but it can also learn show me some damn respect along the way. I’ve been in valleys worse than this one.

Eyes on the horizon, loves. The sun always rises.

-Sav, aka your hopeless romantic author

Coming Soon: a podcast and an art shop and an international heist!!

.