#tigerbee press

MAINSTREAM PUBLISHERS:

have cache, like pledging with a certain sorority/fraternity. People who pay attention to these things are going to have an informed reaction to your book landing at FSG or Little Brown or Simon & Schuster. They’re going to presume things about the work (and you) without having read the book, possibly before the book even exists, like how literary it is, how sellable it is, etc. They’re going to be impressed, or they’re going to be snide, or they’ll just be happy for you. Likewise, the acquisition might make you feel extra good, or you might feel disappointed. You might feel insecure because it’s not as elite an association as you wanted, or you might feel good and insecure, as in: holy shit I can’t believe this publisher wanted me, now I have to make sure the book is really good and a bestseller and gets no bad reviews, etc. Or so I’ve heard + seen from my friends. I’m pretty much clueless when it comes to the reputation of imprints, like which one is supposed to be for respected esoteric geniuses who never make money, and which is known for pop psychology/science titles, and so on. It’s all a big question mark to me. But to plenty of other people, it’s important, or at least relevant. Of course, to even more people, it’s not. 

have money, some of which they might give to you. At the risk of stating the obvious, even very large and very rich publishers buy books for tiny sums. But I find it nearly inconceivable that an indie press has ever given a six figure advance or even a high five figure one. (Though I could be wrong, and if you know of some exceptions, please tell me who/when/what book!) If you have your heart set on a massive advance, you’ll probably find it hard to get excited about any small publisher. Because $$$$$$$. I get it. 

have excellent distribution. I am in awe of the seamless, colossal endeavor that is book distribution for mainstream publishers. It’s like magic to me, and there’s so much more I could say about it but it would probably bore you so I’m just going to leave it at: if someone wants to order your book from a Barnes & Noble branch and you’re with a large publisher, B&N can probably do that with no problem. Of course, it’s baffling to me that someone would order a book from a big box bookstore instead of requesting it from an indie bookstore or just using Amazon, but I digress. 

(They'll take care of foreign distribution, too, probably.) This is, like, something we cannot even begin to think about right now. Though we do fulfill lots of international orders on our website.

have ~connections~. Big publishing houses are well-positioned to get you press in the form of TV interviews, book reviews, readings, etc, though—and more on this in a minute—it’s not a guarantee they’ll use their resources wisely, or at all. 

I think those are the highlights. Now for the home team:

SMALL/INDIE PRESSES:

give a shit. How can they not? They’re definitely not in it for the money, which does not exist, or the glory (because, ditto.) They’re doing it because they really love poetry/experimental fiction/brilliant nonfiction/etc. and want the world to have more of it. I’m not implying people in mainstream publishing don’t feel the same way, because I know some do. But obviously the “culture” is different, and the intimacy is different, the familiarity and sense of investment is different, because with a small press, you’re dealing with a much smaller group of people and it’s hard to evade responsibility if you’re one of ten, one of five, or one of two people who constitute the whole enterprise. In that vein, an indie publisher....

can (probably) give you more time and attention. A big publishing house takes on a lot of projects and runs them through a lot of people. This is great when it comes to say, copyediting (aka the bane of my entire existence from now until eternity, my god I hate it so much,) but not so good when it comes to, say, promotion, when you’re trying to have a conversation with people about how your book should be sold and those people probably haven’t even read your book. (That’s a link to one of my all-time favorite essays, “Into The Woods” by Emily Gould, and if you have even a little bit of interest in writing as a career, you should read the whole thing more than once, more than twice, even, although you may stop short of reading it the 20 times that I likely have.)  

have less reach but more close connections. Over the past two years, between dropping off copies of Prostitute Laundry and arranging Bad Advice readings, I’ve gotten to know staff members at so many independent bookstores, and—shockingly—that includes bookstores outside of New York. It’s been a great pleasure because not only are these people fun to know in their own rights, but it also fosters a sense of community and keeps me from feeling like I’m sending emails and books into an uncaring void. As a result of those connections, I suspect, not only have the booksellers agreed to stock future TigerBee titles in the first place, but they often give those titles prominent placement, which makes a huge difference for in-store sales. (I say I suspect because who knows, maybe me always showing my face around these places exhausts the folks who work there, but the TigerBee books are just that good that they have to be kept on display tables and end caps.)  

by which I mean: Friends who’ve published with mainstream presses have told me (what I receive as) horror stories about them not being encouraged to do readings or a proper tour, having their book(s) routinely shelved in the wrong sections, billed as something they’re not, and otherwise mismanaged. Everyone makes mistakes, and it’s not as if everyone at an indie press is guaranteed to be spectacular at their job, but I’d guess most of them at least understand the importance of clear and accurate presentation and communication, especially in brick and mortar spaces.

have some cache, too. An indie publisher is still a publisher, and so it sounds better and is more legitimizing to go with a small press than to have no titles to your name, or to be self-published. (Obviously I didn’t really care about the taint of self-publishing, and I don’t think you need to either, or that anyone does, but there’s no denying it, it *is* nice to feel legitimized.) There’s also something impossibly alluring about a limited edition book that feels sort of secret. Who wouldn’t want bragging rights that they’ve got a first edition or the only edition of a chapbook by someone who goes on to be widely recognized as the genius they always were? It’s badass when you (meaning, I,) click on the first book by someone who’s a bigger deal now than they were then, and see that it’s sold out. It’s so maddening! I want that book! But everyone involved seems about 10 points cooler than they did when I thought the book was still available.** 

let you own your masters. I can’t speak for other small publishers, but our contracts are extremely generous to authors while remaining fair to us (i.e., giving us a chance to recoup some of the costs associated with the project.) We have exclusive rights for a period but then it all reverts to you, which means you can put it in an anthology, resell it, make a TV show about it, whatever, and you won’t have to pay or consult us. As a writer, I find this state of affairs really exciting. I love knowing that no one is going to get the rights to turn Prostitute Laundry into a movie unless I trust them with those rights. (And not only do I alone make the decision, I alone get paid. Sweet.)

don’t require that you have an agent. If you’ve got an agent, we are happy to work with them. But we don’t require that manuscripts be sent to us by an agent, so it’s one less thing for you to worry about if you don’t already have one. (Though by all means, please, if it gets to that point: have someone knowledgable look at our contract with you before you sign.)

gives you lots of control. I hear a lot about how writers are supposed to be divas and sometimes I see it, for sure, but I see a lot more writers being really, really nervous to voice their concerns or opinions on their books’ presentation, by which I mean the title, the cover, the marketing, etc. I have friends who’ve sucked up crappy titles assigned by their mainstream publisher in the hope that they’ll feel entitled to more leeway when they’re negotiating cover designs, or vice versa, and friends who feel like they can’t tell the truth about any of it (all of which they hate.) I’ve also seen a lot of hideous covers, like inexcusably hideous, as possibilities and as final decisions—I’m sure you’ve seen them, too. (Our nation’s ugly cover crisis is a topic for another time, like when xanax is on hand.) We have great taste, so all our products will always look beautiful, but we also care very, very much about making sure our creators are happy, so we will solicit your approval again and again at various stages of the process. Perhaps even too much! 

Sooooo, I don't know—was that useful? Clarifying? I really want every creator to end up at the place that fits them the best, whether that’s us or the biggest publisher on the planet, or a tumblr, or twitter, no publisher at all. And if you’re thinking about going with a small press but we seem too small or new for you, Birds LLC and Coffeehouse are two indie publishers I admire and respect very much, and there are tons of other worthy ones. Research, think about it, talk with friends about. I hope you find the fit that’s right for you because if you put care into your work, your work deserves it. 

—Charlotte

*Lest some pedantic person come along and be like, “what about Mein Kampf, isn’t there a responsibility to keep repugnant historical texts in print so we can learn from the past, etc. etc.”: yes, I get it, duh. That’s obviously not what I’m pointing at here. I’m referring to publishing *new* repugnant works without historical significance and furthermore, I don’t see us taking on the task of printing things that are public domain and/or part of deceased fascist author’s estate anyway, so the odds of this specific scenario presenting itself to us seem low.