Better than Sliced Bread or a Gift Horse with False Teeth?

Posted on April 8, 2012 by Keith Houghton

A Look at Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing Select for Independent Authors

When Amazon launched KDP Select in the last quarter of 2011 they did so mostly on the quiet. They issued a generic email to everyone registered with their successful Kindle Direct Publishing program – outlining the basic essence of the initiative – and the announcement  made one or two headlines in the digital press, but for the most part they snuck it into the Indie Author’s psyche like a waiter slipping the bill on the table before the desserts are served, gratuity included.

Since then, KDP Select has turned into something of the Atlantis of the self-pubbing world. You either believe in it and embrace its wondrous possibilities or you dismiss it as an overstated waste of time and never give it another thought.

Ask any group of Indie Authors about KDP Select and the response tends to be evenly split between exalting its name and baying for its blood. In a few short months, Amazon’s latest marketing initiative has become the Marmite of the publishing industry. You either love it or you hate it.

But why is that?

Largely, the answer lies in the fact that we Indie Authors are instinctively protective of our work. Our books are like our children. Naturally, we want to keep an eye on them, nurture them, ensure they go out into the big wide world fully prepared to handle failure and success with equal grace. The last thing we want is a multinational giant controlling their every move. And yet, once we enrol our book into the KDP Select program, this is precisely what we allow: we agree to retail it solely through Amazon and not via any other online distribution channel, including Smashwords, Barnes & Nobel and Apple’s iBooks, for the duration of the 90 day term. In other words, in exchange for KDP Select’s pearly whites, Amazon wants exclusivity.

And this is the main reason why Indie Authors are reluctant to try it.

Handing over exclusivity, even for a limited period, is a scary thought. It means putting all our eggs in one basket and maybe losing potential sales elsewhere. It means closing down other distribution channels and separating ourselves from readers using other formats. It means letting the giant babysit.

To some, the trade-off is a kick in the teeth. They fear the worst and will never try KDP Select because of it. But an increasing number of Indie Authors are biting the bullet and opting in. Why?

It is down to two unique reasons: firstly, enrolment gives your book a listing in the Kindle Owners Lending Library which opens it up to the potential of earning commission on borrows, and secondly it provides a platform to promote your book as free of charge to a worldwide audience for 5 days out of each 90 day contract term. This free listing facility alone is touted by some as the best marketing tool available from Amazon for Indie Authors – simply because it allows you to bypass their strict pricing policy and list your book without a price attached, something only previously available to publishers.

So what are the benefits and the downsides of free listings?

The Pros:

  • Giving your book away for free will increase your exposure.
  • It will increase your readership.
  • It will increase word-of-mouth recommendations.
  • It will attract more Reviews and Ratings
  • It will increase paid sales in the short term

And the Cons:

  • It will expose your book to readers not of your target audience.
  • A small percentage of these non-target audience readers will leave poor rated Reviews.
  • You may give away thousands of copies to readers who may have otherwise bought it.
  • You may give away so many that you saturate your potential market with freebies.
  • You will lose links on the ‘Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought’ lists.
  • You will not be able to sell your book via other online channels.

This is why Indie Authors are evenly split. On one hand, KDP Select’s free listing facility offers the chance to increase Kindle exposure and hence Kindle downloads, but on the other it prevents sales elsewhere and binds you into a 90 day contract.

The question is: are you ready to sit on the shoulder of a giant and see where it takes you?

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An Englishman in Cebu

Posted on March 26, 2012 by Keith Houghton

On returning from a typhoon trip to the Philippines to visit family I am struck with the deafening realisation that England has become deathly quiet in my absence. The streets are empty, the pavements spacious and the verges clutter-free. A warm sun shines happily from a perfect Spring sky. There could be a zombie uprising round the corner, but I’m too jetlagged to go take a look. This is not the England I left behind just a few weeks ago. That England was hectic, with traffic-crammed roads and a pace of life so fast it made Usain Bolt look pedestrian.

Where are all the jostling jeepneys, the manic motorbikes and the hoots of horns? Where are the mango trees, the crispy dogs and all the smiling people?

Blink twice and take a deep breath. This is not the Philippines. Jetlag plays havoc with the senses. My consciousness is stretched around half the planet while my circadian system is wondering why I’m eating an evening meal at two in the morning. The only thing worse about travelling 7000 miles one-way, crossing 19 countries and passing through 8 time zones is the wearying flights. I am not one of those people who can cheerfully sleep on board a plane, curled like a baby around the armrest, with those fashionable eye masks and matching flight socks making me look like a Halloween reject. 48 hours without sleep is still a bad movie.

Blink. Blink again. And breathe.

Two weeks back, heading for Cebu at the heart of the Philippines, I didn’t know what to expect. In fact, I make a point of not expecting – that way I am rarely disappointed. Until my daughter had moved out there a year ago with my twin granddaughters, the Philippines had never really factored in my everyday life. I knew where it was – out in Asia on the Ring of Fire, teetering on the Pacific rim. Knew there were over 100 million Filipinos and Filipinas in a country whose dominant religion was Catholic. Knew that English was widely spoken and that I had to grin and bear umpteen vaccinations before being given the green light to go.

What I didn’t know was how much I didn’t know.

The cultural diversity smacked me in the face like a custard pie. From the moment we touched down at Mactan airport to the second we took off on a bustling ride through the busy Mandaue streets and on into heaving Cebu City. No hiding it. No trying to. Five-star hotels sitting shoulder to shoulder with shanty dwellings. Americanised shopping malls with more eateries than you could shake a French stick at, while homeless children begged for food outside. Flash sports cars being overtaken by rusty pedal cabs.

But after a few hours, the eye-battering, brain-numbing culture shock begins to ebb. You start getting used to the jumble of clashing styles. The westernised veil is drawn back. You start to see a societal structure supporting the shambolic surface. One that seems utterly alien, but somehow works.

For many, life here is without frills and even tough compared to my English homeland. But people seem happier here than back home. There is a stronger sense of community; something we have lost in the West in favour of wealth and status. This is how we used to live, before technology and Thatcherism blinkered us. Filipino families support each other. They invest their energies into their neighbourhoods. Strangers are generous with their smiles. They are genuinely happy to help. Suddenly, these pleasant people make my fellow Englishmen seem barbaric, shallow. People cook on the roadside, but it’s okay. Punters push Ray Ban fakes at the traffic lights, but it’s okay. There are block after block of street vendors feeding workers and commuters from corrugated iron facades, all across this crowded city, but it’s okay. Overflowing and garish tricabs transport locals, while air-conditioned taxis ferry tourists in fragranced cocoons, but it’s okay. It’s a mishmash of a place where the West crashes headlong into the East, and it’s all okay – from the toothless guys comparing cockerels outside McDonalds to the swanky Ford dealership rising amidst tin-roofed shacks, the Philippines is a reminder of how we used to be before everything went wrong, and what price we are still paying for our precious progress.

All at once, little Britain seems spacious, tidy. A big country on a small island, with structure and organisation. Where freedom is a liberty financially gifted by the State and poverty means having last year’s flat screen TV. But something is missing. Something we may never have again. It’s all very quiet. Too quiet. I think I can sense that zombie uprising just around the corner …

 

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How The Fonz and my Granddaughters Saved the Planet

Posted on December 21, 2011 by Keith Houghton

“By the time I realised my father was right, I had a son telling me I was wrong.”
Henry Winkler

Every generation thinks it knows better than the last.
We thought it ourselves.
And live to hear it echoed by our kids.

It’s an enduring perception; thinking we know better than those who raised us.
Hardwired into the brain from birth and a thousand ancestors who never got to make it to a ripe old age.

It’s not their fault.

Just like our parents before us, we can blame the decline in society, bad parenting and even the TV. But when every negative influence is stripped away, all that is left is their primeval programming.

Inherited from us.

When I was young, I knew The Fonz as the happy-go-lucky rebel in the TV show Happy Days. Week in week out, the leather-jacketed Fonzie found every cool way he could to buck the system and show those old fuddy-duddy grown-ups that youth was king. In many ways, The Fonz was the voice of a generation. A social hero. The epitome of the youth-knows-best attitude – characterised throughout the ages by one incarnation of The Fonz or another.

Every generation has its own Fonzie voice. But essentially they all speak the same words. They all know best and they all want to reach the winning line first, knowing that those who have already passed it are indeed past it.

Despite their recklessness, they believe in the future. Their future. Very likely not the future we had in mind. But they know best. The future is theirs, remember. Not ours.

It’s frightening, letting go.

But there is hope.

I have seen it sparkling in the inquisitive eyes of my granddaughters.

Today, The Fonz – otherwise known as Henry Winkler – is a founding member of The Children’s Action Network and a voice for children with learning disabilities, especially those with dyslexia. Henry is dyslexic. So, too, was The Fonz. But it stopped neither from believing they could make a difference. Henry works with kids because he knows they are our future. To paraphrase Linda Creed’s timeless words, he believes that if we teach them well they will lead the way.

I can’t help admiring the man. The Fonz has come of age.

Now that my own children have reached the point where they know best, it’s tempting to think that the arrogance of youth will bring about the end of the world. That all those indomitable Fonzies will scupper society and plunge us back into the Dark Ages.

But then I have to remember that I am victim of the age-old dichotomy between adult mind and child brain. That my parents thought exactly the same way at my age. And that the only thing lost is our own youth.

The Fonz and my granddaughters have shown me the way.

Of course our kids will make mistakes. We did. Of course they’ll damage the planet. We did. But hopefully they’ll learn from their lessons and become better Human Beings, who will pass on their own words of wisdom to their kids and so on and so forth, generation after generation, just like we did.

Ironically, they too will go unheard.

In my book ‘Killing Hope’ the future seems lost with the death of a child. And indeed it is. For children are our future. In every sense. They are the candles lighting the way into tomorrow. Just like Mr Winkler, we should protect those flames and nurture them into blazing fires.

So next time I draw a big sigh when my son or daughter corrects me, or points out ‘that’s not how it is these days’ I’ll make a point of picturing a grown-up Fonzie, surrounded by happy children, with his big thumbs turned skywards and that crazy confident ‘trust me, I know what I’m doing’ grin creasing his joyful face.

I trust the Fonzies and my granddaughters to do a good job.
To become responsible custodians of the planet.
Their future is ours.

You never know, they may do a better job of it than us!

“Let the children’s laughter remind us how we used to be.”
Linda Creed

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