The Writing Commitment: The Difference Between Self- and Traditionally-Published

Imagine you and a group of friends are are in a strange city on a holiday. Every restaurant is closed for the holiday, and you can't find anywhere to eat. It's almost noon. You remember seeing signs earlier for some sort of event in a park, so you go there... only to discover there are two events. Due to annoyances of timing, there are two cooking competitions scheduled for the same park at the same time, and you pause between them, taking them in. They don't open for another hour, so you have plenty of time-- as your stomach starts to growl-- to choose.

On the right are twenty tables in a neat square, each with two people standing behind them, tending to their hugely over-sized pots and adding last-minute ingredients. The cooks are all wearing aprons, have their hair tied back or otherwise out of the way, and are very nicely dressed. A quick read of the sign posted by the entrance tells you that these are the recent graduates from Hungry Harry's Cooking School. For $20, you can sample a cup from each of their chili's, then fill out a form on your favorite. The person with the most popular chili will get $5,000 towards opening their own restaurant.

On the left are at least a hundred tables, arranged in haphazard squiggles. Some tables have one person standing behind them; others have five or six. The cooks range from teens to grandmothers, some with hair tied back, others in hats, some with it loose; they range from wearing three-piece-suits to bathrobes. Each table has one or two pots on it, some very professional, others chipped and cracked but still holding. A quick read of the sign tells you that every entrant paid $1. You'll be given a mug for $5, and then you can wander the rows, sampling chili at will. Some people are giving away their chili, others are charging a nickel or even a quarter a ladle. When you leave, write down the name of your favorite chili, and the most popular person will get half the profits towards opening their own restaurant.

Which cook-off will you go to?

For those who haven't guessed right now, yes, the cook-off is a metaphor for the publishing industry. Right now, there are two main forms of publishing.

Traditional Publishing is when an author gets a publisher to publish their book. This is a long process, involving many negotiations. In the end, the publisher pays the author for the privilege of publishing that book, puts it in stores everywhere, and-- in return-- gets a large cut of the profits.

Self Publishing is when an author goes it alone. This is a much faster process. The author either pays someone to help or does every step themselves, advertising, creating cover art, getting it into bookstores, and covering the costs of doing so on their own. However, the author gets 100% of the profits, and can be published in a matter of days or weeks, not years.

Which of these is better?

A lot of people are saying the publishing industry is dead; I am not one of them. Yes, self-publishing is alive and well; however, the problem is the lack of gatekeepers.

If you went to the cook-off on the right, you were guaranteed to get a chef who had been to cooking school. Of those 40 chefs, one or two is probably lazy-- used canned ingredients, found a recipe online, didn't practice-- but the vast majority are good. To get there, they went through several classes, pleased several people, and spent a lot of time cooking.

To get traditionally published, you must do much the same. None of the major American publishers will accept unsolicited manuscripts, so most authors have an agent; an agent is a person that publishers trust to have good taste. Without an agent, when you submit your manuscript to any publisher, it will have to go through roughly six rounds of editors to get approved, and if any one rejects you, you get no further. With an agent, you still have to please one or two editors, but getting an agent is a challenge. A professional will edit it again for you (or suggest improvements to your recipe), a professional will do the cover art (or make sure you have an apron and your hair is out of the food), and a professional will advertise for you (or make sure they know you went to cooking school).

If you went to the cook-off on the left, you have no idea what you're getting. Everyone who couldn't get into cooking school is there. Sure, some people were just too young, too poor, or just didn't want to go to cooking school... but most are the cook-school rejects. Still, there might be some good chili in there.

If you self-publish, there is no way to let anyone know your manuscript is better than anyone else's. Everything, and everyone, is out there... and there's no way to know who's who. Some people have good presentation, good cover art, good grammar and spelling (they didn't need to be taught about aprons and hair). Some people are really good cooks, but only cook traditional Chinese food (you might have a great story, but if the publishers don't think they can sell it and make money, they won't buy it). And there might be some wonderful stories, but the author doesn't understand grammar or spelling very well (chili with hair in it, anyone?).

In amidst all this stuff, there are a few handfuls of people who could get published traditionally, a few chefs who went to cooking school years ago but couldn't afford their own restaurants. But, on average, 1/1000 self-published books are good quality. On average, 950/1000 traditionally published books are good quality. There may be accounting for taste, or genre, or anything else... but if you go traditional publishing, you are more likely to get somewhere.

And both places have the same eventual goal, don't they?

I'm trying for traditional publishing. If you're not, that's okay, but I'm going to talk about it now.

Future posts will cover query letters, synopsizes, and other minutiae.

Are you trying to get published yet, either the traditional way or self-publishing? Why? If you're not, are you planning to in the future?

Happy Writing,

-Alaina

Video Games, Movies, and Novels: Why a Game's Sense of Choice Creates Unique Plots

999 is a game for the Nintendo DS. It was released in 2010; it's past the point where spoilers should be applicable. Its full name, which it's rarely called, is 'Nine hours, Nine persons, Nine doors.' It has a sequel, released in October 2012, that I haven't played. In the interest of full disclosure, I haven't 'fully' played 999 either. I have only gotten four of the six possible endings.

Despite the game's age, I will try to explain it using as few spoilers as possible. Any specific examples I use will come from the first half of the game, and any excess information I include will be the sort of thing I would personally like to know before playing.

A Description of 999

999 is, in essence, a combination of two genres: Escape-The-Room game and Visual Novel. The premise is that nine people were kidnapped, drugged, and locked in a ship. The ship will sink in 9 hours. Each person has a numbered bracelet welded on their left wrist. In order to escape, they have to go into numbered doors and find things that will be useful to exploring more of the ship. They will escape if they can find, and go through, door 9.

This game relies heavily on math; not hard math, but addition and memory. A main example is how you open the doors. Every character has a bracelet with a number from 1-9 on it, and the doors are numbered 1-9. Doors can be unlocked using 3-5 bracelets... if the digital root matches the number on the door. Example: 3 + 5 + 6 + 8 = 22. 2+2 = 4 That combination of people can go through door 4. To prevent cheating, each bracelet is a detonator for a bomb. If the people who enter a door don't verify their numbers fast enough, they explode.

999 is rated 'M' for 'Mature'. There is swearing, but not excessive amounts; however, there is blood, violence, and I skipped quite a bit of the text because it made me feel queasy. M games are, by definition, not for children.

Now that that's over with...

What's an Escape-The-Room game?

Escape-The-Room games are simple, in concept, but usually require a lot of thought and effort to complete. While the 9-hour timer isn't enforced on the gamer, the characters are constantly mentioning how time is running out. This made me, the player, anxious about the amount of time everything took: when I struggled with a puzzle, I felt as though they were judging me, and often screamed at them to try it if they thought they could do better. I also demanded to know why they were standing around talking while time was ticking away.

Escape games require players to look at limited resources and normal objects and figure out what their specific purpose is. The very first puzzle of the game involves the player, trapped in a single room, to find specific objects. There are two slips of paper, with colored shapes (outlines and filled in) and arrows beneath them going from right to left. There's also a picture, screwed into its frame, and a screwdriver. If you use the screwdriver to take the back off a frame, you find a list of things such as 'triangle outline = 1' on it.... and the room happens to feature two combination locks.

This game has great replay value because of the different rooms you can go through. Every time, your character can only go through one of two or three different doors. Each door has its own puzzle. Player Note: Choosing Door 3 will force you to go through Door 2 next, no choice involved. Sadly, the puzzles are identical each time, down to the specific numbers needed to open locks, which means that doing certain puzzles-- such as the very first one-- can eventually prove rote. My first time through the game, puzzle 1 took 30 minutes. My last time, I doubt it took 5.

What's a Visual Novel?

A visual novel is, essentially, a game where the player makes choices for a character. Depending on what the player chooses, subsequent sections, and even the ending, may change. The results can alter the information a player receives, the choices available to them in the future, and so forth.

A basic example, though not one featured in the game: in a game about being stranded on a desert island with four people, two of them, Max and Lucy, are fighting. You are asked to take sides. Your options are to sit it out, take Max's side, or take Lucy's side.

If you take Max's side, then about three weeks later, in-game time, Lucy will find a new, reliable food source. She won't share it with anyone. If you took Lucy's side, she'll share it with you, and only you... leading to more decisions. If you didn't take a side, the game will have the last character find the food source, and no decision will be involved at all.

Why does 999 work as a game?

That's actually a very simple answer: every section of the game involves the person playing it to put conscious thought into what's going on.

Over the course of the game, choices arise with alarming frequency. There's the obvious, in terms of which door you enter and why... but there are smaller choices, and each of them can also change the ending you get. Smaller choices are things like which of two, or three, questions you ask another character; whether you encourage a character to talk about their past, or tell them to stuff it because of the time limit; even if you decide to humor another character's fears or laugh at them. Because these things change how the other characters react to you, and what information they're willing to give you in the future, you weigh these choices carefully.

Also of note: door 9 has to be opened by 3-5 people with a digital root of 9. What happens if seven people reach it? What happens if the only people left alive can't make 9?

Why would 999 fail as a book or movie?

That's simple: The element of choice, and the multiple endings, are vital in understanding what's going on.

Over the course of the game, there will be regular choices between which doors you go through. Each door will reveal something different about the plot.

First Choice: Door 4 or 5

Second Choice: Door 3, 7, or 8.

Third Choice: Door 1, 2, or 6.

Every choice will lead to your character getting different information and different character interactions, and all are essential to understanding the plot as a whole.

If you go through door 4, you'll learn about old scientific experiments and about psychic communications. Door 5, you'll learn about some mysterious circumstances and another character's approach to life. These things will affect what ending you get, and what information you can use later on.

If you go through door 3, for various plot-related reasons, you will only be allowed to go through door 2 after. This makes perfect sense in context-- if you need something specific to advance, why keep searching after you find it?-- but prevents other choices later, and gives you the very least amount of information.

IF your final choice is Door 2, you will always get ending F.

IF your final choice is Door 6, you could get ending B or E, depending on what other choices you made.

IF your final choice is Door 1, you could get ending A, C, or D, depending on what other choices you made AND WHETHER OR NOT YOU'VE GOTTEN A SPECIFIC OTHER ENDING AT LEAST ONCE BEFORE.

You see, ending A-- the game's 'real' ending, canonical, and the one that ends with the most people alive-- requires you to have information from Door 4 and Door 5 to make sense of it. It requires you to use information you only got in one of the other endings. And the explanation for how you, as the character, are capable of knowing this-- despite having never gained this information through this playthrough-- is explained in the in-game text, the conversations you had with other characters, in other playthroughs.

In a movie, in a book, that would be impossible. It requires the same person to make two opposite sets of choices, and gather information that's impossible to have, in order to proceed; movies and books, at present, have no way to 'lock' a person out of an ending, and people would feel cheated if it was attempted. In the context of a game, where starting over is seen as commonplace and being able to play a game again for a different experience is considered a way to raise its value, this is vital and valuable. In a movie or book, it would require either alternate realities-- which would strain reasoning and not make sense, given the final conclusion to the plot-- or to force the reader/viewer to re-watch or re-read the first quarter of the book/film each time.

If requested, I'll go into further detail about the plot of the game 999 in a future post, but that should give you a decent idea of why the very ability to choose, and alter, the plot of a story can be instrumental in gaming plots. Forcing a person to do the wrong things, and make the wrong choices, is a story device that can't be offered in books or movies as-yet.

Any questions? Opinions? Thoughts?

Next week, I'll focus on writing-- specifically, publication.

Happy Writing,

-Alaina

Video Games, Movies, and Novels: Stories and Mediums

Last week, last post, I took the same information, the same characters, and put out three possible openings. One movie, one book, one video game.

The question is, how different are they, really? Couldn't one work as another?

Well, let's examine that. Because, doubtless, there are stories out there-- simple ones-- where you could easily have things almost exactly identical as you go from book to movie, from movie to game. But not all.

The book's opening was very focused on senses. A boy hiding in the bushes; a girl talking to her father. Sight. Sound. Holes in shoes and facial expressions. A movie could probably do everything in there, except, possibly, for going into Mike's head and seeing how nervous he is. It wouldn't be as effective, though, because with the differing camera angles it would be hard to know which of these three characters is supposed to be the main one. A game could do everything the book did, except in a game, there's not enough action. The gamer would be watching all this occur, likely squirming in their seat, bored and waiting for something to happen. Gamers don't want to be spoon-fed this stuff. They want to discover it on their own.

In short, a book is able to show the reader exactly what they should notice, even going into characters' heads, in order to advance the plot. However, it is incapable of painting broad brushstrokes of interaction, and offers limited-- if any-- sense of choice.

The movie's opening deliberately painted a picture of town and life. Here's the boy's family; here's the garage, with a microwave and robot, and parents talking unconcerned. Here's a boy and a girl playing. Here's a shot of a spooky house. This would be ludicrous as a book. Can you imagine opening a book that's supposed to be about a kidnapping and reading all about a blue sky and a peaceful town, then reading about someones parents, and then reading about the actual character you want? I'd close the book on the first page. As a game, starting with an overview of the town might work, but the parents are minor characters at best. In a movie, showing that serves to establish character, but in a game, the first thing I want-- the first thing most people want-- is to know who the main character is and to control that character, in whatever form. This opening, going through a scripted game of catch only after featuring the town, the parents, and the scenery, doesn't do it.

A movie can use a single image in a single brushstroke to give major impressions of every aspect of the plot, but is limited in that it can only use images and sound to portray these things. It is incapable of taking a viewer into a character's thought process, and offers no sense of choice.

The game's opening features a strong emphasis on character interaction. At every stage, Lucy is asking Mike a question, and every point of the scene involves their interactions. More to the point, each and every choice you-the-player make is because of Lucy, and that alters both the outcome of each event and, likely, the information gained about Lucy. A novel could take a similar tact, but would be forced to go into the character's head, rather than let the interactions stand on its own. A movie could also do a similar scene, but would leave the viewer with an inaccurate picture of the town. Both other mediums would have to either decide which of the different events they'd show at each choice, or do a brief, detached summary of what else could/would happen.

A game gives the player a sense of importance, in that their actions and decisions will alter the plot, and by doing this greatly increases their attachment to characters and places, but is limited in that it cannot simply jump around. A game is greatly tied to its main characters, and cannot simply show the scenery, as a movie does, or go into detail about things unrelated to the characters that may be important, like a book.

Each of these mediums could tell this story, and this story would have the same characters, the same overall plot, and even the same ending, but they would have drastically different approaches through necessity. If any of these tried to tie itself to another, as many book and movie adaptations must do, it would strangle itself. A book's natural introspection falls flat in a movie or game. A movie's broad sweeps of setting are dull in books and games. And a game's sense of choice cannot be replicated in a movie or book.

There are stories that work well in two or three mediums, when done correctly. However, there are also-- by design-- stories that cannot be effectively replicated in other mediums. This is readily apparent by the number of books we love with movies we hate.

But it also applies to games, which isn't really thought about. Games are still seen largely as either 'educational', 'childish', or 'violent' with little in-between. However, that very element of choice is key in the best stories it tells... because it makes the player's interaction key in telling that story.

Next week, I'll go into detail about one game with a plot that I believe can't be changed into a book or a movie.

What's one movie-to-book you've hated? What's one book-to-movie? Are there any books or movies you think wouldn't work in the other medium? How about games? Why?

Happy Writing,

-Alaina

Video Games, Movies, and Novels: Same Opening. Three Mediums.

What are your reactions to each of these scenarios?

BOOK:

Mike hid in the bushes while his dad stopped the car and rolled down the window. Lucy, as ordered, stood right in front of the bushes. “Lucy, have you seen your brother anywhere?”

“I saw him at lunch!” Lucy threw the ball up in the air and caught it again. “Why?”

“Then why are you out here alone?”

“I'm not alone,” Lucy said, throwing the ball and catching it again. Mike held his breath and thought several swears. If she told... “Lyndsey and Audra just went to get some water.”

Mike didn't think Lucy knew anyone named Audra, and from his dad's expression, neither did he. “Well, when you see your brother, tell him we're not getting another microwave. If that one isn't put back together by this time tomorrow, he'll--”

“Be grounded for a month?” Lucy missed her catch this time.

“Exactly!”

Lucy waved as their father drove away. Mike came out when the coast was clear. “Good work, Luce.”

“I thought you said they wouldn't mind if we took apart the microwave?”

“I said they wouldn't mind the toaster. He didn't even mention that.” He tweaked the bow at the end of her braid, and she giggled, squirming away and tossing the ball. “I've gotta go to Brad's now. We've got a killer test tomorrow.”

“Aww, but I wanna play!” Lucy dug her toe in the dirt; she'd already worn a hole in her new sneakers.

“I'll buy you ice-cream when I ace it,” Mike promised, throwing the ball back. “Just stay out of trouble, be home by five, and stay out of the woods. That old house has started to fall apart.”

MOVIE:

Clear, blue sky over a small town. It pans down to one house, where a man sipping coffee opens the garage door to find half a microwave and a small robot doing a silly dance. The man stares, shakes his head, and calls over his shoulder, “Honey, Lucy helped Mike destroy the microwave.”

A woman is heard calling back, “Again?”

The scene continues to shift, through backyards and children playing, to the woods by the edge of town. There, a teenage boy and a young girl play catch. “Next comes a high one, Luce. You ready?” asks the boy.

The girl nods and plants herself. She dives, but catches the ball, and the boy claps her on the shoulder. “Good job.”

“Do you have to go study now?” The girl tosses the ball and catches it. “I'll have no one to play with.”

“Hey, I promised you ice-cream if I aced the test,” says the boy. He tugs on the end of her braid in a friendly manner. “Be home by supper, okay?”

“Okay,” says the girl, and waves as the boy runs off. She tosses the ball a few times, misses a catch, and it rolls to the edge of the woods. She stands there, looking in for a few moments, then walks in. The scene pans forward to an old, three-story mansion with a tall, chain-link fence around it, barbed wire on the top, the sky darkening around it, then fades away.

GAME

A short scene shows a boy crouched over a large amount of wires in what was clearly once a microwave, a young girl standing by. “Do you need the wire cutters, Mike?” asks Lucy.

Press A to pick up an item.

Mike picks up the wire-cutters, and instructions appear for how to use them, along with a puzzle to cut certain wires. After cutting four wires, Lucy asks, “Can I turn it on now?”

Yes/No

If you select No, you redo the puzzle. 

Yes, but failed the puzzle: Smoke fills the garage. Coughing, the two open the door and run outside.

 Yes, success: A small robot starts to dance. Mike turns to his sister, and they high-five, then run outside.

“Do you want to play catch by the woods?” asks Lucy, holding up a ball and two mitts.

Yes/No.

You select no, so Lucy says, “Please? We haven't played all weekend, and you promised!”

You're given the yes/no option again, but Lucy whines with each 'no', so eventually you select 'Yes' and she says, “Race you!” And takes off.

Instructions for movement appear, and you follow her-- or not-- through town. Depending on the detours you take, she'll appear, laughing and calling you slow, or out of breath and struggling, at different points. It's possible to win the race, if you know the route/have played this before. If you win, Lucy just flops on the ground, panting, while Mike says, “I won!” If Lucy wins, she teases you about being slow. If, though, you keep the race close-- Lucy is out of breath, and it would have been possible for you to win, but you didn't-- Lucy will do a full-out victory dance.

The game of catch is used to teach you how to throw items (it seems Mike is terrible at catching, as you must retrieve the ball from the ground each time) and, after three throws, are given the option to finish-- you can continue as long as you like. After, Lucy says, “Can we explore the haunted house later?”

“I have to study,” says Mike. “Brad and I are supposed to meet in an hour.”

“Please?

That place is dangerous/I don't think we can get in/ I'm scared.

(Choice A): “Aww, don't be so scared, Mikey. You'll protect me, right? No matter what happens?”

“Of course,” says Mike, tweaking her braid, and then you're told the route to Brad's house.

(Choice B): “I guess not. That gate's awful high, and it's locked. But what if we found the key?”

“If anyone could find the key, it'd be you, Luce,” says Mike, tweaking her braid. “But don't go exploring without me, okay?”

“Okay,” says Lucy, and you're told the route to Brad's house.

(Choice C): "You're lying, Mike. You're not scared of anything."

"Everyone's scared of something, Luce." Mike tweaks the end of her braid, and you're told the route to Brad's house.