by Jen Weaver-Neist

I’ve always wondered how our founding fathers and mothers could perpetuate our population without ever acknowledging how it was done. Our survival shows clearly that there was more than praying going on in those humble bedrooms! And yet these pesky, puritanical roots still plague us today, heaving out judgments when our primary goal remains the same: survival.

What’s this got to do with publishing?

I’m doing my best to make a go of this publishing dream of mine, and I’ve found many kindred spirits in my journey to do so. In fact, I love Portland because of its constant sharing of resources, and its diverse and passionate work force, particularly in publishing. There’s always some connection being made, contact information being shared, ideas being exchanged-that is, UNTIL the dreaded subject of custom publishing (aka book packaging) comes up. (My palms are sweating even as I type this….) Bring up those dreaded words, and friendly eyes are suddenly narrowing and brows are furrowing at you as your character is shackled and thrown before a shocked congregation. It’s as if you’ve just revealed a demon tit on your elbow! God forbid that you even entertain the idea of sinking so low as to make a buck in order to perpetuate your dreams! And let’s not even touch the subject of print on demand, for my everlasting soul is in enough peril as it is.

So, what’s the deal? Why does the lovey-dovey support wane when you actually put forth the idea of making a solid living in this business? Is the struggle so important that your worth only comes with the battle scars? Does being the publisher of a small press automatically put me in the ranks of Depression-era workers like my maternal, self-taught grandfather, who made engineers’ ideas work at Honeywell but never got the credit-or proper pay-for it? Sure, Grandpa kept his family fed and he was an intelligent mentor in my life, but suffering was supposedly part of what built his character. (He was also Lutheran, by the way.) I’m not sure that he had it in mind that he’d be working nearly up until the time of his death (a few months shy of his 90th birthday) because he couldn’t afford not to.

Back to the business of books, we all know that there’s no way around the high front-end costs of book publishing and the painfully slow return from book sales, assuming you make it through the returnables, moody consumer trends, and other sidebar influences. (Remember, we’re only dealing with one awkward topic at a time, so we have to keep that increasingly viable option of print on demand invisible in this discussion.) And we all look forward to that day when book sales actually fund the creation of future books versus paying for a ramen noodle diet and those candles you use to heat your office in the winter. It all comes down to how a publisher survives in the meantime, and there are plenty of us who never even make it to “the meantime.”

Why is it, then, that we refuse to acknowledge that almost nobody-including the big dogs-is making it these days without alternate income streams? And why don’t we stick together as a community when the going gets tough? Even our New York brethren are creating “speakers bureaus” and other such to-dos to stay afloat (though few are likely to admit to the true reasons behind it). And despite the fact that they’re “absorbing” many of us little tikes, and creating more and more nonreturnable products like cards, calendars, character figurines, and other gift lines to go along with the movie that made the book that made the movie, we still hold ourselves to this unrealistic expectation of making it book by book.

Then there’s Chronicle-and God bless and kiss Chronicle-who flat-out advertises…on its website…with easy-to-read language and everything…that it does custom books. And the people at Chronicle are damn good at everything they do, sticking to a memorable, in-your-face mission and product lines that have served them-and their consumers-time and again across the globe. “We see things differently,” they tout, and I ask, “Shouldn’t we all?” I don’t hear anyone questioning their methods or denying their obvious success, and I think it’s because they most assuredly have both feet planted in the Promised Land, my people! It’s just that their omnipotent presence casts such a high glow that we can’t immediately see the road that they traveled to get to-and to stay-where they are today.

With the strength of this knowledge behind me, I am now prepared to make the following statement:

Friends and colleagues, I am Jen Weaver-Neist, publisher of Dame Rocket Press, an imprint of Ink & Paper Group in Portland, Oregon, and, in addition to being a traditional book publisher, I am a custom book publisher / book packager. If somebody comes through the doors at Ink & Paper Group with a dream in their heads, the money to foot the bill, and a reasonable disposition, you can bet your sweet chastity belt that I will provide the tools, expertise, and staff to help them do it! I take pride in the fact that I’m sharing my abilities to uphold a win-win arrangement for all, and I never went into this business with the idea that I would be keeping my talents to myself. There’s a big difference between making someone’s dreams come true in a quality fashion and exploiting someone’s dreams in pursuit of personal gain.

In the nine years that I’ve been in publishing, I’ve finally grasped that this gig is as much a dream as it is a business, and refusing to recognize that relationship is to refuse your future success. People will say, “It’s so great that you’re doing what you’ve always dreamed of doing,” but there are costs that come from investing so much of yourself. And isn’t it a disservice to these people-and to potential authors and investors-to put forth a happy façade when the day-to-day business of publishing is far from dreamy? Perhaps an honest approach would warrant a more balanced relationship. After all, there’s only so much room on that best-seller list! But there’s a whole lotta greatness keeping the foundation secure, with a collage of chewing gum filling the corners, duct tape smoothing the edges, and big, warm hearts melting together any remaining gaps.

I suggest that we take the best from our puritanical founders (i.e., their black and white fashion statement and the way it really jives with clean text on a crisp page) and be more forgiving. Go back to the 1960s, and think about how “doing it” can actually be a pretty groovy, win-win thing. Then shower the people of Portland publishing and beyond with a love of this profession and a willingness to welcome resourcefulness in the pursuit of survival. As they say, “sex sells,” and our dusty ol’ industry wouldn’t still be kickin’ if it weren’t for the timeless creativity of a good romp between the sheets (sheets of paper, of course!).