Publishing History

The title of “nicest person on the planet” is now open. The longtime incumbent, Ruth Cavin — also a veteran book editor who was known to many as the doyenne of mysteries — died early Sunday morning at the age of 92. She was still holding down a full time position as an editor with the Thomas Dunne Books imprint at St. Martin’s at her death.

What is unique about Ruth’s career is that she didn’t become an editor until she was past her 60th birthday and didn’t start her more than two decades at St. Martin’s until she was 70. She was sort of the Grandma Moses of mystery editors.

I had the very good fortune to have known Ruth all my life.

Ruth Brodie grew up in Pittsburgh where she first met my mother, Eleanor Oshry, when they went to kindergarten together. They were active together as schoolchildren in the YPSLs (Young People’s Socialist League, the youth arm of the political party that was led by Norman Thomas) and they both attended college locally at Carnegie Tech (now Carnegie-Mellon).

The story in the family is that when my father, Leonard Shatzkin, went out to Tech in 1938 to get his degree in printing, he had the phone number of two girls in his pocket: my Mom and Ruth. He called Mom first. She said she knew he had both numbers, so she kept him too busy from that point on to have time to call Ruth.

But they all became friends and worked together on the Carnegic Tartan, the school paper, on which Ruth was a columnist, Dad eventually the editor, and Mom the managing editor.

I realize as I write this that I never asked Ruth exactly how she ended up in New York after college. What I do know is that between when the war ended, during which my Dad had been exempted from service because he was working on the Manhattan Project, and when my arrival could be anticipated (which would have been late in 1946), they thought he would be drafted. My parents organized a going-away party for him for which the guests were all married couples except for two single friends: Ruth and a young Business Week writer named Bram Cavin.

The families remained close, personally and professionally. When Dad started the Dolphin Books imprint at Doubleday, he was able to hire Bram as an editor. In the early 1960s, the Cavins with their young children, son Tony and twin daughters Emily and Nora, moved to Pleasantville near where we lived in Croton and we saw them increasingly often. They moved to Cleveland in about 1964 when Bram took a job as an editor with World Publishing and Ruth’s home was my stop the first night I was driving across the country to go to UCLA in 1965.

Ruth was not working full time then but was active in anti-war politics. She was also interested in whatever you were interested in. I remember in the late 60s when bands starting putting out “concept” albums sitting with her for an hour with the Moody Blues’ “Days of Future Passed”, talking about what was “different” about all this, or whether anything really was.

In the early 1970s, my father started The Two Continents Publishing Group, setting up a trade book distributor on what is now the PGW-NBN model before there really any prototypes. Dad hired Ruth as his first employee to do the publicity. She also sold the subsidiary rights. I got the entirely-too-inflated title of Director of Marketing which meant that I got credit for a lot of what Ruth did.

Her output was prodigious. She wrote all the catalog copy, edited or wrote press releases, flap copy, and rep information for what grew into many dozens of books a year. She called on all the book clubs and all the senior book reviewers. Meanwhile, she had written a couple of books. One was called “Dinners for Beginners”. Another was on inter-urban rail transportation, mostly in the midwest, called “Trolleys.”

And, I must stress, it would be an understatement to say she had a smile on her face every day. Ruth had a smile on her face every minute. Nothing flustered or annoyed her. When you knew her well, you knew she had smiled her way through some pretty significant annoyances. She had a mastectomy in 1941. (She told me about two years ago that she now thinks she didn’t have cancer; that the diagnosis was a mistake.) She had a pacemaker installed in the late 1960s. I’ll bet that very few people who knew her had any idea about either of these things.

When the Shatzkins sold out of Two Continents in 1979, Ruth was 61 but definitely not done working. She was looking for new worlds to conquer. She managed to get a job at Walker and Company, a family-owned independent publisher that did a lot of mysteries. And thus did Ruth become a mystery editor.

Among the people she worked with at Walker were Philip Turner, who went on to work at Random House, Kodansha, and Sterling, and David Sobel, later at Wiley and Holt. I had an exchange with David yesterday in which he said, tongue only partly in cheek, that Ruth taught him everything he knows.

Ruth would teach you without it feeling like teaching. Every conversation was with an equal; every relationship was collegial. Her respect for other people was universal and deep and entirely genuine.

Tom Dunne was the man who “discovered” Ruth (when she was 70) for his imprint but he had support for the idea from then-CEO Tom McCormack. McCormack (another Doubleday alumnus originally recruited by my father) told me that he had a previous good experience with Joan Kahn, a mystery editor who had been retired by Harper at age 65 and then gave St. Martin’s ten great years.

Ruth started five years older and gave them more than 20!

The enormous productivity that my family and I saw in Ruth at Two Continents continued to be her reputation at St. Martin’s. I heard over the years that she routinely acquired, edited, and put into production more books than anybody. Since I pitched a few and sold her a couple over that time, I can tell you that she did all that without stinting on any part of the job from first contact through contract and editing and launch. Working with her was a positive experience for every author I know who did it.

With greater diligence since my Mom died in 2007, I’d see Ruth every few months outside the holiday season. We’d have lunch. She’d come along to see my nephew A.J. Shively in a play. I took her downtown a couple of times to get new hearing aids. I could see her decline. The scoliosis in her spine had her bent over so her back was nearly parallel to the ground. That meant she couldn’t breathe. We’d have to stop 3 times on the one block walk from her office to the restaurant she frequented.

Her memory, which, for names, had been sliding for years, started showing other lapses. I’d always ask her about her job. She always had a determination to keep it; the time she spent in the office with her colleagues was precious to her. A couple of years ago, she told me a bit abashedly that her company had insisted she stop taking the bus down from Grand Central to the office and provided her with a cab and then a car to take her back at the end of the day. (This was at the time that Bram was in a home near the White Plains train station, and Ruth stopped and saw him every evening on the way home.) A year or so ago, she said there was a plan afoot to have her work at home sometimes because the travel to the office was exhausting her. But she loved being with her colleagues. And she revered her boss, Tom Dunne, who really was the one who gave her this magnificent post-retirement-age career.

I had a conversation with St. Martin’s Publisher Sally Richardson (Dunne’s boss) about Ruth at a party for Al Silverman’s book three years ago. Sally was saying that she was working on making sure Ruth got a decent winter coat; she was so frugal and unconcerned with her own comfort that Sally had to, more or less, do it for her.

I told a few people at Macmillan that I wanted to acknowledge them publicly on Ruth’s behalf for the extraordinary sensitivity and generosity they showed her over the last months, perhaps even years, of her life. Although Tom McCormack made the point that they had learned that a “no age limit” policy made sense through their experience decades ago with Joan Kahn, that policy would not have obliged them to give her the extra support and reduced expectations that she must have required in the recent past.

They did that because they loved her, which was an inevitable consequence of knowing her well, so that isn’t extraordinary. But the fact that the company, particularly a company of the size of Macmillan, treated her better than many families would, is both rare and worthy of commendation. From this lifelong friend of Ruth’s, thanks very much.

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My generation of publishers is distinguished by a few that really understand the opportunities and value to the enterprise of selling backlist and creating evergreens. Peter Workman is the master of this. Quite aside from the intrinsic quality and appeal of much of what he publishes — which is considerable — he has always pushed books based on their markets and the opportunities, not based on the date they were first issued. Charlie Nurnberg was the same way at Sterling. He has often reminded me that “every book is new to the person who hasn’t heard of it yet.”

Peter and Charlie, and other publishers and sales executives who also stressed the backlist, learned that in the physical world it became a game of managing inertia. The first challenge, with chains or independents, is to get a quantity in the store that will sell. The second challenge is to get it reordered when it sells. That requires fighting inertia because most books don’t get ordered for most stores and most books that are stocked only get an initial order and no re-order.

But after a while, you can get inertia on your side. If the book is seen to have “backlisted” (think Workman’s “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” or a perennial Charlie built called “Gemstones of the World”), it becomes one of the books that is put on auto-pilot with computers, and then it will get re-ordered as long as its performance passes a periodic review which is usually not frequent.

Most publishers “learn” (institutionally) that it isn’t worth promoting backlist. To begin with, most publishers aren’t staffed to do it: the head counts and working processes of publicity and marketing departments are built around the requirements of “launching” books, not “piloting” them. And there’s logic to this. Marketing should always be dedicated to books which are available for purchase. Up until 15 years ago, a book not in stores was not nearly as available as the ones which were. And up until very recently, the non-store sales for most titles was growing to significance, but actually growing pretty slowly.

The fact that the availability differential between new titles and backlist is sharply reduced and shrinking fast is a very significant change. When I came into the business, it was a sign of knowledge and savvy that you didn’t spend money promoting a book that wasn’t in the stores. That meant “don’t promote too soon before publication.”

And it also meant that any promotional opportunity for a backlist book was only seen to have value if you had the lead time to push books out before the promotional event occurred. This fundamental of publishing has been painstakingly explained to authors for years, usually triggered when they call their publisher to tell them they have a major newsbreak occurring the day after tomorrow.

This piece of wisdom becomes less important every day. Soon it will be anachronistic sophistication for those of us who are saddled with it.

Publishers, agents, and authors are all seeing bumps in backlist sales because of newly created ebook availability. It would be my hunch that, sure as there is such a thing as word-of-mouth, the ebook backlist sales will spark a pop in print sales for the very same titles. Alert publishers and the retailers that have stores and also have insight into ebook sales (you know who you are) will probably find ebook sales and online print sales good leading indicators of what should be brought back into stock in the stores as well.

Remember those ebook catalogs I suggested might be a good idea? Why not start by putting one with an entry for every title by an author into every ebook by that author? That’s a pretty obvious opportunity. I’ll make my last publishing prediction of 2010: anybody not doing this by the end of 2011 will be seen as “behind.” (It might be that any agent not already suggesting this, if not insisting on it, is behind now.)

Every ebook sold offers a publisher and an author a significant opportunity for engagement with a real human being who will, almost certainly, buy another ebook in the future. The Peter Workmans and Charlie Nurnbergs of 21st century publishing will build their success on that fact. How well that opportunity is exploited is a future success trait that should hit many consciousnesses soon. (That’s why we tried to stress the importance of direct-response marketing knowledge in two posts some months ago.) As people wake up to these opportunities, how they’re pursued is likely to become the focus of some extensive discussion along the value chain (between publishers and retailers, between publishers and authors, and among publishers).

PS. The first time I met Charlie Nurnberg was in about 1974 at the suggestion of my father. (Len said: he’s a smart guy; you ought to talk to him.) That day Charlie explained to me about granting permissions for excerpts. You do it, he said, and you require a credit line that reads “from Title X by Author Y, published by His Publisher, Address, book price plus $1.25 postage and handling”. That’s how he always did it and money just rolled in. Sometimes the credit line was appearing in Readers Digest with 20 million or more readers. Charlie worked for a small publisher called Frederick Fell at the time.  (They had one huge author, but that’s another story.) With a standard device, he turned regular engagements into revenue streams. There’s a thought worth preserving in that.

I write this in my home aerie, 17 floors above snow-covered 2nd Avenue, within 10 minutes by foot or subway from just about all of American trade publishing. Like everybody else, most of my information exchanges are online, but the intense proximity of literally ALL of consumer publishing’s editorial, marketing, and business decision-making is, at the very least, an extraordinary daily convenience. (Last week Connie Sayre and I saw seven major company CEOs for 30-to-60 minute meetings in between lots of other work. Try that in any other industry and any other town.) It is a frequent source of joy. And it is an indispensable component of whatever knowledge feeds my consulting practice and this blog. One question that it is fair to ask is whether, in a wired world where we SKYPE today and will have conversations tomorrow with a hologram apparently sitting in the next chair, does Manhattan still matter? I believe that it still does and that it still will but I will admit to being as sentimental about the dense and quick-paced Manhattan gestalt as some people are about the smell of the paper and the smell of the glue. (And I’m well aware of how sentimentality can cloud their thinking!)

And on that flight of fancy, I wish everybody a Happy New Year and a healthy and prosperous 2011.

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One of the functions of this blog is to predict important changes in the business just a bit before they happen. We think we were a bit ahead of the curve in seeing the ebook acceleration and in seeing the likely pressure on bookstore shelf space. Today it would seem that the next great pressure point in publishing houses is going to be the sales departments. In the next couple of years they will probably change more than they have in the last half-century.

When I first became aware of how the publishing business worked in the 1960s, the field reps (referred to frequently then as “the men”) were the key connection between the publishers and the market. The closest thing there were to national chains in the early 1960s were department store buying groups who seemed to all be clustered in tiny little offices on 42nd Street in the block just west of 5th Avenue. The local department stores — Marshall Fields in Chicago, Rich’s in Atlanta, Halle Brothers in Cleveland, were big and important accounts.

Because the reps were the key to getting books into the hands of readers, everything revolved around passing information and excitement to them and through them. Thus were publishing “seasons” necessary to group the books, organize them into catalogs, and to prepare sales materials (tip sheets, jackets, blads for illustrated books) in an orderly way. This pretty much required that publishing lists be frozen some weeks before the sales conferences which themselves were a couple of months before the first books on the list would ship.

Today the field reps are probably responsible for anywhere from 5-to-15 percent of a house’s sales. The major accounts: Amazon, Baker & Taylor, Barnes & Noble, Borders, and Ingram for everybody (and the mass merchants like Costco, Target, and Wal-mart for the biggest players) are now at least 70% of the business, often more. These customers are almost always covered by national account staffs, not by field reps.

National account sales almost never work with catalogs or seasons; they work by months. Each national account has its own rules and regulations governing when they need to know about a particular month’s books. Whether sales calls occur monthly or less frequently, the structure of the presentation is around each month’s deliveries, not around seasonal catalogs.

It seems transparent that the shift in sales resources has not kept pace with the shift in sales channels. The ratio of national account business versus field business has gone from what was probably about 50-50 20 years ago to 80-20 now. But field forces haven’t shrunk by anything like that proportion. The fact that 80% of the business is now season- and catalog-free hasn’t changed the procedure in most houses of building marketing around seasons and catalogs.

I checked in with a couple of veteran salespeople to confirm my notion that the structure of publishers’ sales organizations hasn’t changed as much as the structure of the account base. One of them made a couple of important points. He posited that field sales force reductions had been slow to happen because the field reps are highly visible in the industry. Outspoken independent stores, which have a public profile larger than their sales, want to be called on and complain if they’re not. Publishers in the houses who are fighting for attention for their books don’t like to see fewer reps selling more and more titles.

This same sales veteran also underscored that both marketing and publicity are living in a similarly restructured world and haven’t changed as much as they should either. He points out that Amazon coverage really calls for marketing talent and thinking, not sales talent and thinking. Sales, as this person sees it, is often about talking an account into taking a chance on stocking a book. Amazon works by algorithms and you can’t talk them into anything. (Furthermore, it doesn’t really cost you any sales if Amazon is out of stock; they’ll source the book from a wholesaler to satisfy the customer. If you’re not on the bookstore shelf, on the other hand, you aren’t going to make a sale.) So the Amazon coverage needs to be about keywords, marketing programs, and metadata. It isn’t about salesmanship, as it is in an independent account, or about navigating a complex supply chain, as it is at a chain or mass merchant.

Experiments have been tried. Ten years ago, Random House tried putting reps into the field specifically to call on the branches of bookstore chains. That has always seemed like a good idea to me: store managers and clerks affect sales; being faced out affects sales; and there’s a lot of display opportunity that is locally controlled. Only a rep calling on a chain branch can affect those things and good merchandising of the books in the store will mean fewer returns. Different chain managements (and some chains have changed their managements the way some people change their shoes) have different attitudes about those calls. Very few actually see the benefit and encourage it. Some quietly discourage it; some try to forbid it. Whether or not Random House continued that effort, it certainly didn’t become widespread.

But as independent bookstores continue to diminish in size and number, publishers need to come up with other things for reps to do to keep them in the field. Calling on chain stores would be one productive thing. Calling on local newspapers to push books or calling on special market (non-bookstore) accounts would be two others. We know of one major publisher that was trying things like that three or four years ago but it apparently didn’t work for them. That same publisher fired a bunch of reps a couple of years ago and shifted a lot of sales coverage to telemarketers.

Catalogs are slowly moving to electronic. Harper started the movement with their own initiative a couple of years ago; now Edelweiss from Above the Treeline is providing an industry solution. But seasonal list planning is still the predominant go-to-market mechanism in our industry.

I just don’t believe the status quo can hold a lot longer. Selling by seasons in the digital age is nutty. Preparing printed catalogs that are out of date before the ink on them dries in the digital age is nutty. And making the entire publishing house’s marketing staff work around sales conferences and list preparation when most of its customers don’t buy that way is beyond nutty. There needs to be a complete re-think of how publishers put books into the marketplace. The divisions of responsibility among national account reps, field reps, telesales reps, marketers, and publicists need to be rethought.

With a new step-increment drop in print book sales almost certain following what we all expect to be an ereader Christmas (and our new biggest sales day: December 25), I think we can expect some very hard thinking around this subject at many publishing houses in the first six months of 2011.

I belatedly realized that this was a very important topic that hadn’t been covered at Digital Book World. It is now. We have a great panel: Rich Freese of National Book Network, Alison Lazarus of Macmillan, and Michael Selleck of Simon & Schuster will discuss the changing role of the publishers’ sales department on a panel moderated by David Wilk, a veteran of trade book sales and distribution. I consider this a prime example of what I’ve tried to make DBW’s distinguishing proposition: discussion of business challenges caused by technology even if the topic itself isn’t primarily about technology.

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One thing I’ve heard often and dismissed is that we need print to preserve intellectual property. I figure that digital files are less destructible than paper and that, with any care at all, it should be possible to create more reliable preservation of bits than of atoms.

I still think that. However…

A month ago I was helping my sister clean out some of the old files of my father’s (now gone over eight years, but it takes a while to get around to this stuff.) Among his papers, I found the hard copy of a speech I had delivered at a VISTA Conference (VISTA is now a company called Publishing Technology) in November of 1995. As I started to read it, I realized I hadn’t seen it in a long time. I checked and it wasn’t on my web site. I checked further and it wasn’t in my hard drive.

So if Dad hadn’t saved this printed copy, I wouldn’t have had it to show you. I’m glad he did. Ironically, the speech was titled “How Quickly Things Change”.

The speech is too long (I’ve learned a thing or two about brevity in the past 15 years), for which I apologize. It is on the site without edits or corrections or updates (both because I’m honest and because I’m lazy). But I think many people of my generation and close to it will enjoy the refresher course about what the world of digital change looked like to book publishers in November of 1995. And the many people now thoroughly engaged in the issues that concern this blog and our industry who were still in school or in short pants at the time might be amazed at how little we knew at what was, at least for trade, the dawn of the digital publishing era.

At the time I made this speech, the obsession of most book publishers was to take advantage of the seemingly-vast amounts of data that could be packed on a CD-Rom. Several major publishers had formed “new media” divisions or departments to start creating what were, in effect, enhanced ebooks or apps out of their intellectual content. The industry was only on the verge of consciousness about how important connectivity was. In the speech’s opening sentences, I say “last year at this time, very few of us had heard of the World Wide Web” and I myself had been online since before the 1992 election. But “online” then meant, for most people, being connected within the walled gardens of America Online, Prodigy, and Compuserve.

I was happy to be reminded that I got a number of things pretty damn right at that early stage.

1. When most people in publishing didn’t believe it, I said that getting online was much more important than making fancy new products on CD-Roms.

2. I suggested resisting the trend to “new media divisions” because online communication was the key going forward and the move to exploit it should not be siloed.

3. I identified cell phones as (arguably) the fifth big new technology adoption of the past 20 years (the previous four being the VCR, the audio CD, the fax machine, and the personal computer.) But it is a time-capsule moment to recognize that the cell phone wasn’t ubiquitous yet.

4. I saw that professional publishing would shortly become mostly electronic, particularly directories.

5. I didn’t name it Wikipedia, but I did envision an encyclopedia online that is “dynamic, interactive, and perpetually being updated by organizing on-line tools to solve an age-old need.”

6. I said that we’d reach “universal connectivity”, defined as the point when just about everybody above the poverty line would be online, by the year 2000. At the time 16.6% of adults had internet access and only 10% had used the internet in the last month. By the way, those numbers constitute a reasonable approximation of where ebook uptake is today.

7. I said newspapers would be crushed first, magazines second, and that we’d be glad we’re in the book business as internet use grew.

8. At the time of the speech, there were 100,000 active domains and under a million home pages. In what I remember was an audience-gasp moment, I said that the small merchant on the corner would also have a presence on the Web. As I put it, Time Warner and MCI would be “joined, literally, by the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, and the local real estate agent.”

9. At a time when “several hundred” American publishers had web sites (“plus 38 British, 31 Canadian, and a handful of Australian”), I cautioned publishers against thinking that having web sites would substitute for having booksellers. Some people thought they might.

10. I said there should be a web page for every book, although I was somewhat over-ambitious in how I saw it developing organically and being part of the development and early marketing process.

11. When publishers were thinking of digital products almost exclusively as CD-Roms, which were “enhanced ebooks”, I saw the value of just delivering the text file to be read on a screen. (Of course, I thought we’d deliver them on diskettes, and I was wildy wrong about that!)

12. I concluded with a summary of all the ways online could be involved in our business, from agent submissions to marketing to make the case again that “new media divisions” were not the answer for publishers as they entered the digital age.

Of course, there’s a lot I didn’t see coming. No mention of iPods and iTunes and disaggregating the album into songs. (But I did see the impact of disaggregation on newspapers.) No mention of piracy or DRM. And although it had existed for a few months at that point, no mention of Amazon. (I did say that “it will be some time” before we’d be selling substantial numbers of books online, which turned out to be true. Amazon was still two or three years away from having a significant sales impact for most publishers.)

My job in these VISTA conferences was to deliver a message which was “way out there.” I was supposed to throw caution to the wind, to be the guy who could say things that most people wouldn’t say even if they believed it. In some ways, the greatest utility of the speech today is to show people where “way out there” was 15 years ago, in November of 1995.

So a belated thanks to my wonderful Dad for saving a hard copy of this speech. But I’m not changing my mind about the fact that usually, digital files will be more enduring than paper.

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One of the recurring characteristics of “change” is that the first iteration of something new looks a lot like what it is replacing. So it has been with ebooks and ebook retailing. The ebooks themselves have, for the most part, been the same as the print books except rendered on a screen instead of on paper. And when we say “the same”, we mean right down to duplicating meaningless blank pages and the legend often found in print books that tells you how many printings the book has had. (This still happens frequently; I’ve just experienced it on The Big Short which I’m now reading in B&N’s reader.)

And ebook retailing has also imitated print book retailing in that the emphasis has been on the assembling the largest possible aggregation of book title choices in one place. This is a paradigm that makes intuitive sense in the physical world; once I’ve driven to my local superstore, I don’t want to find the mysteries are here but the cookbooks are in a store down the block.

It has been a long-established “fact” (although I question if it is still true, as we’ll explain later) that the larger is the selection of books available in a single location, the more powerful is the magnet to attract customers. My father found this out when he was in charge of the Brentano’s chain in the 1960s. Their Short Hills, New Jersey store was the worse-performing store in the chain until they doubled its title selection. And then, like magic, it became the best-performing store in the chain.

Amazon dot com reproved the point when they went into business in the mid-1990s. Although they were not the first online bookstore, they were the first to really attempt to carry everything. In fact, they went beyond carrying everything by providing a database (obtained from Baker & Taylor, in which there is another story) that not only showed just about all the books in print but also books that were no longer in print! Conventional publishing and retailing theory at the time would have said it was a bad move to return suggestions in search results that were books not available for sale. But, of course, it built their competitive advantage. They rapidly became the best place to search because of the completeness of their database and, actually, confirming to a customer that “what you want is a book that was indeed published but is not now readily available” made it easier to sell the customer a substitute. Whereas the the store (online or off) that didn’t have the unavailable book but didn’t also provide that information found it harder to close the alternate sale.

The point about the importance of selection was proven again by Amazon when they launched the Kindle in November, 2007 and lit the fire for what is still a spreading conflagration of ebook reading. Before Kindle, there were perhaps 100,000 ebook titles available as PDFs that could be read on a full-function computer, but not nearly as many in formats that could work on smaller devices (Palm, Mobi, Dotlit). Amazon launched Kindle with about 150,000 titles and used their market power to get big publishers to put more and more of the newest, hottest books into their format closer and closer to publication date.

There were other features of the Kindle (the ability to load books wirelessly and instantly without going through an intermediary device; its easy-to-read e-ink; its built in dictionary; Amazon’s deep relationship with very large numbers of online book buyers; and, of course, eye-catching prices relative to the print edition prices of the hottest new books) that fueled its near instantaneous success, but the robust title selection was a critical element.

So to that point — one could say to this point — the largest possible selection in one place has been as important to the success of an ebook retailer (obviously: online) as it was historically to a print book retailer with a physical store.

Early in the decade, it occurred to me that the magnetic power of the large selection in one physical store had sharply diminished. When Dad doubled the inventory of the Short Hills Brentano’s, he delivered a selection that the consumer couldn’t match for many miles around. When Barnes & Noble and Borders got Wall Street money to replicate the Bookstop model of 100,000+ title superstores in the early 1990s, they were enabling consumers to find conveniently books which had previously been obtainable only with great effort. But the limitless shelf space of online bookselling undercut that advantage and by the early part of this decade, it seemed to me that the consumer was finding the unlimited availability of titles online which could be delivered in a day or two so powerful that the large selection in a store that might be available immediately had really diminished appeal.

But there’s another thread of bookselling history on- and offline that I believe will soon become the dominant paradigm for ebook retailing. And, of course (just so you are reminded what blog you’re reading), it fits into the concept of “verticality”.

Publishers have known for a long time that good deals can be made and large sales can be registered through what we call “specialty retailers”. (The label for these sales in a publishing house, and others such as sales to catalogers or premium sales, is “Special Sales.”) The store that sells the tools and materials to refinish your floors can sell you a book to explain how to do it. The store that sells computers and paper and ink can also effectively sell resume or how-to computer books. The garden supply store can sell books on how to make your roses bloom.

Amazon and other online merchants (and not just of books) have long operated “affiliate” programs by which a web site can earn a commission on sales made at the primary merchant by referring a customer. This generally works by having the affiliate site promote a particular book title; when the site visitor clicks on the link, s/he is delivered to Amazon or BN.com’s page for that title. If the customer buys, the referring site gets a commission. These revenues don’t often amount to big money for the referring sites (although they sometimes do), but it is believed (but as with All Things Amazon, we don’t have the critical data to confirm) that, cumulatively, referrals from perhaps millions of affiliates deliver significant volume and customers to Amazon (and others.)

This is as far as “special sales” have gone in the ebook world. But the guess from here is that this is about to change and that the change we’ll see in the next few years will obliterate the notion that “all subjects in one place” is a significant marketing advantage, online or in a store. Many book sales, and particularly ebook sales, will move to “contextual” resellers. Your accountant’s web site will sell you the book(s) that help you understand a new tax law or how to ready your business for sale. Your favorite sports web site will sell you the new biography of Alex Rodriguez. And your favorite “Literary Review” newsletter and website will take care of your needs to acquire fiction directly and without your having to shop the vaster stacks of an online superstore.

That is: curated ebook offerings (a click away from the ability to buy lots more content beyond the curated selection) will be featured on every web site with any significant traffic. Delivering purchaseable content — books right now, but ulimately magazines, shorter articles, and relevant audio- and video-content as well — will become a standard expectation of any site (or web community) that aspires to a true mutual embrace with its site visitors. “What I’ve read lately and liked, and why” is a legitimate offering to anticipate from every blogger or commentator with a following.

Last week, Barnes & Noble held its regular call to announce financial results and future expectations. In that call, B&N expressed the expectation that the ebook world would ultimately settle down to about five players and that they’d be one of them. With that perspective, they saw for themselves a reasonable proportion — say 20% — of the ebook market.

My first reaction to that was “what are they thinking? There won’t be five online booksellers; there will be five million.” A day or two later I had a conversation with one of my personal tech gurus who saw it the way B&N’s statement suggested they did  (“it will consolidate, just like the music business did…”) He also asked a lot of practical questions. On what devices will these ebooks be read? How will all these individual sites deal with the format issues, the DRM issues, the customer service? In other words, “great vision, Mike, but how can it possibly work?”

I think it will work like affiliate sites worked, but in a more sophisticated way. A strong central operator providing scale facilitates the commercial offering of the niche player. The harbinger of the future is the deal announced last week between F+W Media and Ingram Digital. Ingram is setting up all F+W specialist web sites (and they have them for many different vertical interest groups) with the ability to sell both ebooks and print of all publishers to their site traffic. (Although we have working relationships with both companies, we weren’t involved in that deal and don’t know any of the details.)

I believe that the Ingram-F+W deal is the start of something new and big. Both companies are going to find ways to improve on whatever is the starting point. F+W is going to have to learn how to merchandise what Ingram can give them into a unique shopping and content consumption experience for the consumer. And Ingram is going to have to learn how to deliver what they can offer to F+W in a way that enables F+W  to curate and enhance the selection to deliver something uniquely customized to its own community.

If that view of the future is right, the competition among the players who can provide the ebook selection and transaction services Ingram does — those in the game already like Amazon, B&N, iBooks, and Kobo and those saying they’re about to come in like Google, B&T’s Blio, and Copia — is going to take place in a whole new arena. B&N has announced deals like this, where they “power” somebody else’s bookstore. Kobo hasn’t yet, but I’d expect them to; it just seems to me like an opportunity they’d see. This is a bit odd; it puts “wholesaler” Ingram in competition with retailers to create the next round of niche retailers. Ingram obviously has the built-in capability to offer print and electronic book delivery but, of course, B&N has the internal resources to do that too, and  B&T can do it too. There are anomalies to rationalize about margin, but, in the end, customer acquisition through this strategy will be far cheaper than it is most other ways, even if a fixed margin from the publisher is shared with the niche player.

This business hasn’t really begun to happen yet; we’re just seeing the outlines of it. Initially, the competition appears to be about how each retailer delivers its vast set of content choices to the online consumer in a consolidated way. (And usually it has been the same for Ingram. Most of their business has come from large “sell everything” ebook stores.) But over time it will evolve into a competition for niche resellers. Winning is always about delivering the best consumer experience but the challenge will be to deliver the best consumer experience to somebody else’s consumers. White label is the key to the ebook (and book) retailing future.

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Big publishers have to be very happy about how things have been developing in the ebook world over the last six months or so. In that time, we have gone from a situation in which Kindle appeared to so totally dominate digital reading that Kindle-only publishing seemed an imminent threat to disintermediate publishers to one where it is not only Amazon’s hegemony that is threatened. Even their position as the ebook market leader isn’t safe.

Although one of the big factors in this change, the iPad, was unforseen at the time, we wrote around 16 months ago about the possibility that Amazon’s position leading the pack on ebooks would be hard to defend in one of the first posts on this blog.

As the ebook world has evolved (so far), we have the following “facts on the ground.” You will see from this recitation why so many people outside commercial publishing see eliminating DRM as a key to ebook marketplace efficiency. Our guess is that, regardless of the merits of the idea, going DRM-free is a non-starter for the big houses because it will be a non-starter with most big authors and most big agents.

1. If you buy an ebook from the Kindle store, you can read it on many devices within the Kindle reader software. That software is currently available for the iPhone, iPad, iPod Touch, PC, Mac, and Blackberry with Android reportedly on the verge. If the Kindle book has no DRM, though, you can read it on any reader that supports the Mobi format or you can use a program like Calibre to convert your Kindle book to epub, which can be read on just about all other devices.

2. But if you buy an ebook from Kobo or BN (through their “reader” software, not for the Nook), you can do the very same thing (and Kobo’s Android app is at least a bit ahead of Kindle’s; it was announced over the last weekend).

3. If you buy a book from iBooks, the iPad bookstore, you can only read it on an iPad and, soon, on an iPhone. That is, unless it were DRM-free which is, some are told, an option for publishers.

4. If you want to read on a Kindle device, you can only read books you buy from the Kindle store (unless you select from DRM-free mobi files, which leaves out the biggest books).

5. If you buy a Nook, you can theoretically read epub content obtained elsewhere by putting it through its DRM paces at Adobe Digital Editions, but it ain’t easy. My expert on these subjects, Kirk Biglione, points out that this is one of the big advantages of loading devices through wireless means (which sidestep having to deal with ADE) rather than computer synching. Because ADE is a challenge for most people, the interoperability across devices promised for epub files is, for protected files, more theoretical than real.

6. The Sony Reader is like the Nook: theoretically able to handle anything epub but made much more difficult by Adobe DRM. Sony is also suffering at the moment from having no apparent mobile strategy.

7. Bottom line: DRM creates hassles if you try to read on anything except the platform on which you bought. But Kindle, Kobo, and BN Reader (not Nook), provide a pretty seamless experience across devices.

8. The promise of the presumably-imminent Google Editions is that you will be able to read them on all systems that browse the web (except that Kindle’s browsing is not going to provide a terribly satisfying experience and Sony, which doesn’t provide a web browser, is probably left out of the Google Editions party).

So the e-ink devices generate the real lock-in, or, more often, lock-out, problem. It is your Kindle device that locks you into the Kindle store; your Kindle file can be ported to a non-Kindle device using the Kindle reader software.

This is a mixed, but probably mostly negative, blessing for future sales of Kindle devices. On the one hand, consumers who figure this out will be increasingly unwilling to chain themselves to a reader that makes them buy files they can’t use elsewhere. On the other hand, the spouse of a friend cracked her Kindle a few days ago and because of the hundreds of books she’d bought over the years from the Kindle store, couldn’t really consider purchasing any other reader as a replacement. So she bought a new Kindle.

So while the Kindle store almost certainly still has the most titles of any ebook retailer, Amazon is definitely facing some uphill battles selling devices to new customers. Even before the iPad hit in April, DigiTimes reported that Nook devices outsold Kindles in March. (Could this be the power of 700 retail locations talking after the cream of the online customer base had already been harvested by Amazon over the past 2+ years?) Then they reported yesterday that total e-ink monochrome ebook reader sales were 700,000+ for April and May, of which 37% were Nook and 16% were Kindle. In the same two months, of course, Apple reports selling 2 million iPads. So, in two months, iPads outsold Kindle devices about 20 to 1.

That means that even if 2 million new iPad owners, on average, buy 1/3 as many ebooks as 700,000 new single-purpose ebook device purchasers, the larger, full-color, web-ready screens sold in the last two months would be responsible for as much ebook consumption as the book-dedicated devices.

Meanwhile, the device prices are coming down sharply. Kobo announced a $159 device on sale at Borders a month ago. Since then Borders announced their own branded device for $119. Then Barnes & Noble cut the price of the Nook to $149 for the wifi model and $199 equipped with 3G. Many had been anticipating a price cut before year-end by Amazon from the $259 level they have maintained; but the B&N move forced their hand and Kindle just announced they were coming down to $189. Because aside from all the competition that Kindle faces on the device side, the Agency model has made it harder for them to keep customers loyal with a pricing advantage on the biggest books.

What this adds up to is that a much more diversified marketplace is developing for ebooks than publishers would have dared hope for a year ago. This, in turn, makes the customized ebook offering that Ingram is enabling (as they announced last week in a deal with F+W) even more powerful, because more and more devices — and therefore consumers — will be able to readily take advantage of ebook offers that aren’t served up from the Kindle store. Since one of the great unmet challenges of book sales on the web is merchandising — making it quick and easy for consumers to find what they want — curated offerings on specialized sites might really work better for a lot of people. And then Amazon will feel some of the pain that big publishers do, being horizontal in an increasingly vertical world.

On the other hand, big publishers have apparently lived past the danger of a massive problem: the possibility that authors could find most of their audience by setting up with Kindle alone. There is still more complexity to be added. Google will arrive shortly with a big splash. Newcomers Copia (a client of Idea Logical) and Blio are still planning market entries in 2010, and they each have some unique propositions the current players do not. The more different places an ebook might successfully be sold; the more variety in the way ebooks get merchandised; and the more benefit that can accrue from effective distribution of files and metadata; the more a publisher with some savvy will look like a sensible option to an author who might be thinking of a do-it-yourself effort.

There was a conference called Untethered last week. I didn’t go because it was an “all publishing” conference about technology, and I am skeptical about any horizontal approach. But there was a panel of publishing CEOs asked to estimate how much of book sales would be ebooks five years from now. The high guesses were 40-50%. I think they’re low. And if the question is what percentage of the books that are narrative writing are ebooks by five years from now, I think they are way low. (Apologies to the first batch of people to see this post and those who got it by subscription because I hadn’t quite finished this thought when I put it up. I saw it later and fixed it.)

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I am finding an eerie similarity between the disastrous Gulf oil spill and the parlous state of America’s bookstores. In both cases, the forces are in place for a disaster that will play out over the coming months and years. And while the tragedy of what is happening in the Gulf is far more consequential to everybody on the planet than what is happening to our bookstores, we are appoximately as powerless to prevent an eco-system disaster of the first magnitude in both cases.

Of course, the causes of the problems are quite different. British Petroleum, it would seem from here, could have operated differently and the blowout might not have happened. If the US government had the same offshore drilling rules as the Canadian government, requiring the relief well to be dug at the same time as the main drilling well, the disaster might have been averted.

Just like the shrimpers on the Gulf Coast, we are entering the highly visible stages of what will be a painful and accelerating change in the circumstances for general trade publishing. In an exchange in the comments of a post here from last November called “Why are you for killing bookstores?”, I was told by a resident of Orange County, California, that he didn’t even know where his nearest bookstore was. Now there is news that Laredo, Texas, is aware of its status as the largest city in America without a bookstore because its local B. Dalton outlet has been closed. Unfortunately, I don’t think Laredo will retain that status for very long. Much larger cities will be joining Laredo. These are like ships not bothering to leave the harbor because there is nothing out there worth catching.

Bookstores in the US are being pushed aside by the forces of what in the larger sense is definitely progress. The four biggest villains are the switch by consumers to Internet shopping (which affects all brick-and-mortar retail; Walmart’s sales are down too) and three aspects of that switch that amplify the problem: the ubiquitous availability of used books sold alongside the new, competition from long tail books that would have disappeared from commercial view in years past, and the rise of ebooks. All three of these effects reduce print sales in terrestrial stores, crippling retailers and damaging publishers as well.

The trend is impossible to ignore. Borders, just rescued by the latest White Knight that believes the business can be saved, announced that same store sales were down over 11% in the first quarter compared to a year ago. Barnes & Noble’s reduction in same-store sales was put at “2 to 4 percent” in its most recent reporting. [Late add: B&N actually reported same store sales down 5.5% in the most recent quarter.] Borders is a financially challenged operation with an inadequate supply chain, which could have led to not having the books they need to get all the sales that might have been available to them. But, if that’s true, the well-financed and well-operated B&N would be benefiting from their rival’s problems. (They probably are; sales would have been down more if they weren’t.)

I first worked in a bookstore almost 50 years ago, in the summer of 1962 in Brentano’s flagship store on Fifth Avenue. I’m going to guess that there were about 25,000 titles in that store: 10,000 hardcovers upstairs on the main floor and about 15,000 paperbacks downstairs in the brand new paperback department where I worked. Maybe there were more, but not a lot more. And this was one of the best bookstores in America at that time.

There just weren’t a lot of bookstores in America in 1962. Mass-market paperbacks were on sale in many drugstores and on many newsstands, and were in somewhat limited supply in bookstores. Paperback distribution then was just about exclusively through rack-jobbing local wholesalers and offered lower margins than trade books. Even Brentano’s, which was one of the few stores served direct by mass-market publishers, displayed the mass-market paperbacks by publisher rather than by subject to make it easier for the publishers’ reps to check their stock and fill in empty pockets every week.

Department stores were critical outlets for publishers. They provided what amounted to local chains in each city which were, at that time, just beginning to expand into suburban locations through a nascent shopping center industry. Reps for Dolphin Books (Doubleday) and Collier Books (Crowell-Collier, later Macmillan), two trade paperback lines begun by my father, were putting racks of their books into barber shops and motel lobbies in many parts of the country which had virtually no bookstores at all.

Running a bookstore was very hard. Publishers were numerous, title acquisition was fragmented. The only national wholesaler, Baker & Taylor, was really a provider for the libraries, which were willing to wait for B&T to go get the book after they ordered it from them. Local wholesalers, sometimes the same operations that rack-jobbed the mass paperbacks, didn’t attempt to stock much more than the bestsellers, the resupply for which was their real profit center.

In the late 1960s, as shopping center construction heated up, this started to change. Two national chains, Waldenbooks and B. Dalton Booksellers, grew on the back of that expansion. Shopping center developers preferred a national chain to a local independent as a tenant; they were more “bankable” when the developer was borrowing money to build. So these two chains started to grow as fast as suburban mall development would let them, which was pretty damn fast. When I went into publishing sales in 1974, each of the chains had about 300 stores nationally.

Dalton revolutionized backlist sales. Before scanning technology existed, Dalton instituted unique SKU numbers for every title which the cashier would punch into the register when each sale was made. (The SKU number was on a sticker on the book.) That enabled an automated reordering system to bring core backlist (designated “model stock quantities”) back in as they sold it.

Dalton had a “hot list” and a “warm list” of titles. The “hot” titles sold 10 copies a week across the chain. The “warm” list sold 10 copies a month across the chain. That was in a chain of about 300 stores and gave me my first real understanding of how few titles sold very much in a bookstore! Those lists were very important. If your book wasn’t on the hot list, it wasn’t going to get noticed by a buyer for re-ordering. And if it wasn’t on the warm list, the title was likely to be returned.

At about the same time, the early 1970s, the Ingram Book Company introduced technology that changed life for the independent bookseller: the microfiche reader that allowed every retailer to know, before they ordered, what Ingram was carrying. All of a sudden, just as Dalton was demonstrating how important a broader selection and in-stock backlist could be to a store’s economics, independent stores could imitate that strategy by ordering regularly through Ingram. Although computerized inventory management help was still a few years in the future, just being able to get the books from a single reliable supplier enabled independents to begin to compete and grow. (Of course, independents still didn’t have the advantage of 300 locations providing data so they could detect a “hot” book or “warm” book that might not be evident in a single store.)

There were two newer operations spawning stores with robust backlists in the 1970s: Paperback Booksmith and Little Professor. Both jump-started new independent stores with their branding, their inventory, and systems to support both new title buying and keeping key backlist alive. The Doubleday and Brentano’s chains had fewer stores, but bigger and richer ones.

From the publishers’ perspective, this was all providing more and more opportunity: more stores, more efficient stores, more backlist-conscious stores. So general trade publishers grew. Title outputs grew. Dalton and Walden grew. Independents and various smaller chains grew. Ingram grew. Baker & Taylor grew.

In the 1980s, the growth continued, fueled by increased efficiencies. Machine-readable fonts enabled Walden to imitate Dalton’s point-of-sale monitoring without having to sticker every book. Computerized inventory tracking systems improved efficiency at stores far and wide and at the wholesalers as well. New retailer Crown Books pioneered a new idea: a more limited selection of new books, combined with a lot of remainders and bargain books, and aggressive discounting of bestsellers. Even while the chains grew, the independents grew and became more powerful. A newly-energized American Booksellers Association became an aggressive advocate. They sued major publishers, ultimately forcing changes in sales policies that were deemed too chain-friendly.

Throughout the 1980s, the independents were the ones building the big category-killer stores. Good independents were confident that they beat the chain stores on title selection. They were even competing pretty much at full price against Crown’s deep discounting simply by being the place you could find the books you wanted. In the late 1980s, Borders and Barnes & Noble, along with Wall Street, saw the opportunity. Borders acquired Waldenbooks and B&N acquired B. Dalton to give them operational scale, and then they started to open very large 100,000+ title stores (under their own brands, not the acquired ones) in a model that had been developed by a Texas operation called BookStop (which was acquired by Barnes & Noble.) This just meant more growth for publishers; more backlist being stocked in more places. This might have been when the big indies first started feeling a pinch; I recall Andy Ross of Cody’s expressing concern about a big Barnes & Noble opening in Berkeley about that time. But the indies and the chains had a much bigger problem just over the horizon.

In the summer of 1995, Amazon.com opened for business. And, probably since Day One, but certainly increasingly and increasingly obviously, Amazon has been damaging the ecosystem which spawned a robust bookstore network and, which, in turn, fostered large and powerful general trade publishers. That was when the wall protecting the water that fed bookstores and trade publishers was breeched by the oil of digital distribution.

The analogy is not precise. Amazon is not a villain like BP. They aren’t just destroying an old eco-system; they are building a new one. To the consumer that is finding shopping easier than it ever was before, finding books they could never find before, being presented with cheaper choices of used books and electronic books that were not available before, there is no crisis here. In fact, there is no problem.

But to bookstores that depended on customers that had little other choice but to come to them for the books they wanted, shop from what was available under the store’s roof or wait for something to be brought in from outside, and who were effectively restrained by geography from shopping around for price or selection, the waters have become toxic. And to publishers that built a business whose principal competitive advantage is their ability to take intellectual property and put it onto bookstore shelves, the imminent prospect of reduced revenue, increased costs, more difficult title acquisition, and competition from old IP long-sold or long-dead, are now fouling the drink for them as well.

All of the eco-destroying forces that have so far hit the  bookstores, like the oil coming onshore in the Gulf, are just harbingers of much bigger waves of challenge to come. More and more people buy ereaders and cut print consumption drastically; more and more books get digitized; the long tail only gets longer as more and the more digitized stuff meets increasingly efficient print-on-demand. And more and more competitive material enters the supply chain with some appeal to the public but with no participation in the structure that makes bookstore stocking easy. The bookstores’ problem is not just about demand, it is also about supply. That’s competitive advantage for trade publishers in getting their books on bookstore shelves, but it is competitive disadvantage for bookstores competing against a universe of content a click away from more and more eyeballs and mindshare.

In an exchange in front of a large audience at BookExpo last week, one prominent publishing executive took relative comfort in the fact that “more than 90% of our business is still print.” That’s (still barely) true, but only about 70% of the business is still occurring through brick-and-mortar outlets. That number will be under 50% in 12 to 18 months, and the slide will still be accelerating. Big publishing grew in an eco-system of expanding retail shelf space. It has been challenged in the past 15 years as all that growth was stopped by the new forces unleashed online. Now that shelf space is going to start to shrink faster and faster, it is hard to see how big trade publishing can avoid doing the same.

Another aspect of this problem was raised this morning on a mailing list I’m on. Public libraries are losing the funding they need to stay open. Public libraries buy a lot of books from trade publishers, although most of those sales go through wholesalers and not all publishers are managing library sales discretely the way they should. Library purchases have tended to act like ballast in previous recessions; public funding wasn’t usually as volatile as consumer spending. Unfortunately and somewhat coincidentally, the erosion of the bookstore infrastructure is occurring when we’re also facing what is likely to be a longterm crisis in public funding as well.

Two Australian booksellers were in my office last week. The trauma they face is even worse than it will be here. Geography has protected Australia from competition so books are priced 50-to-100 percent higher than they are here. That’s been great for bookshops. Their trade looks like ours did 15 or 20 years ago.  With the arrival of ebooks and POD, they’re probably facing the changes we’ve seen since then in the next two or three years.

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Before the Internet deconstructed the publishing value chain and enabled new models, both publishers and booksellers benefited from a lot of what I’d call “secondary business”. Secondary business was not what they were set up or primarily intending to do, but which they easily could accommodate to earn easy margin that supported their primary operations.

Publishers controlled an apparatus that could make bound books out of manuscripts and put them on bookstore shelves for patrons to buy. These were not trivial capabilities and they were much in demand. Although  the principal business model for a commercial publisher was to select what to publish, develop it editorially in collaboration with the author, and then take the risk of printing inventory and distributing it in hopes that it would sell, sometimes opportunities arose that were less risky ways to employ their skills.

I had my first experience with this kind of publishing in the late 1970s when my friend Caroline Latham was the writer-for-hire and then publishing consultant to a wealthy man named Jack Eisner. Eisner was a Warsaw Ghetto survivor with an exciting and moving story of his experiences on the run from the Nazis during World War II. After the war, he built a very successful import-export business so that by three decades after the war he had the time and resources to deliver his story to the broadest possible audience.

Caroline co-wrote his book, The Survivor. Eisner hired Abby Mann (the Academy Award-winning screenwriter of Judgment at Nurenberg) to write the screenplay for the movie, and the play was written by Susan Nanus. Jack financed the production of the play on Broadway, where it had an extremely brief run.

Caroline engaged me to help her make the book deal. We were working with William Morrow, a fine and venerable publisher. They paid Eisner no advance. Eisner agreed to put up a substantial sum (I think it was $75,000) for advertising and promotion of the book. Morrow made all the decisions about printing and distribution. With a deal like that, they couldn’t lose. And they didn’t, although the book didn’t sell very well in relation to the investment made in it by Eisner. It is worth noting that there is a paperback edition of the book, renamedThe Survivor of The Holocaust, still available from Kensington.

The more common author of this kind for publishers would have written a business book that “paid off” for the author in ways other than trade store sales. Sometimes it just enhanced their reputation and improved their primary business. Some business book authors move large numbers of copies of their books themselves. In bygone days, “selling” your book to a trade publisher (for little or no advance) with contractually-stipulated author buy-backs was a deal that worked for both sides. I remember a very significant trade publisher telling me over a decade ago that “author sales” constituted one of their largest distribution channels.

Working with an established publisher has a couple of distinct advantages: the imprimateur of a brand name is one and their ability to move copies through commercial channels is another. But it also comes with definite drawbacks for the commercially-minded author. The profit on books the author moves is shared with the publisher. And the time schedules for trade publishing are traditionally glacial; virtually every author’s first disappointment is how long it takes from the time their book is completed until the time a publisher puts it out.

One stark example of an author who does better self-publishing than he could do with a trade house is Michael Durkin. Michael is a sales trainer and motivational speaker who sells his own self-published book, bundled together with audio CDs that are simply recordings of his speeches. The package of the book with about six of the CDs sells for $100 and he sells about 25,000 of these a year, mostly through the 100 or more speaking engagements he usually does, plus a few from his own web site. Durkin is so averse to sharing his margin that he doesn’t even try to sell his material through Amazon! Durkin also points out that his book is a fabulous prospecting tool; he uses it regularly as a door-opener. It gets people to hire him for the speaking engagements that fuel his product sales which, if you figure that his cost of goods leaves him with a margin of more than $80 per package sold, is producing a solid seven-figure profit for him annually.

Durkin agrees that 20 years ago he almost certainly would have worked through a publisher with a buy-back arrangement which would have meant a significant hit to his margin. And it would have constituted a very nice subsidy for a publisher.

Bookstores also have lost what is collectively a vast amount of secondary income to the Internet. My father briefly fought a battle in the 1950s to stop the practice of giving wholesalers more discount than bookstores got. Len wanted to force library supply to go through retailers so that library purchases were subsidizing the retail bookstore network, not warehouses that simply extended the publishers’ supply chain. It was a great insight (although both libraries and wholesalers, deeply cognizant of the value-added services wholesalers perform today for libraries, would argue persuasively against it today as, apparently, they did then.)

What often distinguished a successful independent store was its ability to do “back door” trade: serving local businesses, schools, and community groups. If a local reading group needed 10 copies of a book, they’d buy it from their local bookshop. Bulk business, and there is lots of it in every community in America, was most conveniently transacted through a local merchant. Now it is most conveniently transacted through the Internet. When a “back door” book business succeeds (like Jack Covert’s 800CEO-Read business based in Milwaukee and originally spawned by the independent Schwartz Bookstores), it is because it develops a far-flung following (served largely through the Net) rather than a local one.

It only works now if it is built on a vertical principle so it can appeal to a global audience. Being local doesn’t provide enough of a competitive edge for a local purchaser who is looking for wide selection, the ability to buy in bulk, the ability to ship to different recipients, and the ability to handle all that business online.

It is almost impossible to prove this with data, particularly retrospectively, but my intuitive hunch is that competitive independent stores in the 1980s and 1990s outdid their chain competition largely because of their ability to develop and serve secondary business — business above and beyond what is delivered by the traffic that comes in  the front door, shops the displays, and walks out with the goods. If that were true, it would explain why independents seemed to be hit harder than the chains in the first decade and more of the Amazon-led online bookselling revolution.

But all publishers and all brick-and-mortar book retailers earned critical margin in bygone days from sources that have alternatives they didn’t have then, even though neither the publishers nor the booksellers would have identified this business as critical to their survival. That’s another manifestation of the permanent alterations occurring to the ecosystem that spawned and enabled the existence of a general publishing business.

BookExpo America is this week. I’m really sorry I’m missing the Self-Publishing Day on Monday. That’s clearly a movement that is rapidly growing in importance; one we’ll have to “cover” a bit at Digital Book World next January. It’s an increasingly potent commercial force that all elements of the trade community — authors, agents, publishers, wholesalers, and retailers – will want to understand. I can’t make it because I’ve got meetings elsewhere in the city all day Monday. I am planning to be on the floor all three days the exhibits are open. I know many big houses are off the floor in meeting rooms this year; I’ll be paying attention to  how that changes the feel of the show.

I can already tell I’m glad to have Cader’s BEA LunchtoGo app; I don’t believe I’ve had such a simple stand number look-up device. (It has lots of other data and functionality as well, but that’s mainly what I’ll use it for.) I’ve got an iPhone now but I have had a handheld organizer since 1986. I remember a few years ago Frankfurt offered data of this kind for the Palm Pilot which you secured by having it “beamed” from one of the kiosks they set up around the Book Fair for the purpose. The process was klunky and, as I remember, so was the tool. I don’t think the experiment made it into a second year. But Lunch’s tool is much cooler, and it shows how a web site can work just like an app (as long as you’re connected; the data’s in the cloud, not in your hard drive) and dodge the restrictions of the Apple environment.

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I contributed to a long-standing industry argument I usually try to avoid when I speculated that ebook growth could lead to a situation which threatened the returnability model for book inventory shipped to retailers and wholesalers. I should have been more emphatic that what I was actually suggesting was that the model of using speculatively-printed inventory to sell books was threatened, and that returnability, which is a subset of that model, would go along with it.

Coincidentally, Ken Auletta wrote a New Yorker piece at the same time in which he demonstrated that lots of smart people, he among them, don’t actually understand the economic impact of returns, let alone the promotional impact of the practice of using books as posters and display props, which is responsible for most of them.

Misunderstanding the economic implications of returns, failing to grasp how it is most useful to think about and analyze them, and various misinterpretations of them are very common up and down the ranks in publishing, in big companies and small.

I recall in the early 1980s I had a small publisher client that was distributed by a larger one. I used to go into the big publisher’s office every couple of weeks and leaf through the sales rep orders, trying to figure out which reps were best selling my client’s books effectively and which ones perhaps needed to get a refresher course on the sales handles.

The sales director in this shop, who ran sales departments for several large publishers in his career and who was both a nice guy and thought of as a “numbers man”, kept tabs on the returns percentage from the two national chains: at that time, Walden and Dalton. He calculated those percentages meticulously at the end of each month, based on that month’s shipments out and returns processed.

Well, you could count on the fact, every year, that returns percentages for both chains were astronomical in February, when few new big books shipped and every excess of optimism going into Christmas was punished. And you could also be sure that both chains had low returns in November and December, when retailers are much too busy building up stock for holiday sales to send anything back.

In other words, the calculation produced a result that was, literally, useless. It simply confirmed the obvious. I bring up this straw horse because it demonstrates an important fact that is just as true when analyzing returns for an account for any period of time, even a year.

The returns in any period of time are at least partly driven by purchases made in a previous period of time. So if sales in a prior period were high, the returns percentage in a subsequent period of lower sales will also be high, and that’s regardless of the appeal of the books being shipped in either period.

So as sales fluctuate, as they inevitably do, publishers will find that all weak sales years have apparently high returns and strong sales years have low returns. This isn’t cause and effect; it is more like a tautology: the inevitable consequence of the fact that returns are based on the sales made three months ago, six months ago, and sometimes a year ago, not on the sales being made right now.

One way a publisher might try to analyze their way around the timing problem is to look at returns by title which, if the calculation were done when an edition’s life was completed (perhaps on the hardcover after it has been remaindered deep into the paperback’s life), would seem to be a valid number to analyze on a stable base: the shipment of one particular book.

But even calculating things that way is not very useful as an analytical device. Returns come from the inventory in the pipeline when the book declines or dies. If the book has already sold for years in that edition, the base for the returns calculation (all books shipped) includes those from many printings long past. The copies in the pipeline at that point might only be 10% or 5% of the total the book has shipped in its lifetime, so the returns will, of course, come in under those percentages.

A publisher trying to manage inventory efficiency needs to be concerned with the books in her own warehouse and the books currently in the supply chain and subject to return. Those sold long ago are not part of that inventory. Taking 100,000 copies back on a book that sold a million or two million and calculating the returns percentage won’t produce any flashing caution lights, whereas taking back 25,000 of 35,000 pushed out on a new “make” book will produce a lot more internal scrutiny and hand-wringing in most houses. But a tighter focus on how to to manage the inventory actually in the supply chain in the face of declining sales would be much productive than an “analysis” that produces nothing but a historical observation. A publishing company can realistically make a lot more progress and save a lot more money figuring out how to reduce the 100,000 than the 25,000.

One factor that affects returns percentages and is not often considered by a publisher is the frequency with which an account orders. I’ve never had the opportunity to do the analysis, but I’d bet there is a very strong inverse relationship between the frequency with which an account orders a publisher’s books (whether direct or from wholesalers) and returns percentage. There are two interrelated reasons for this.

The obvious one is that the store that reorders is signaling that they’ve sold books, meaning that what is available to be returned as a total of what they’ve ordered is less, the effect we’ve noted above. But the other is that an account that orders less frequently is raising returns as a percentage in one of two other ways (depending on the book): they’re either over-ordering to prevent going out of stock or they’re failing to reorder when they are out and losing sales, which means that whatever is returned (of other titles, in this case) is calculated against a smaller sales base than should have been the case.

And all of this is very important to take on board right now because publishers are likely to be entering a sustained period of declining brick-and-mortar sales (which is the part of the inventory pipeline most likely to generate returns), caused in part by declining brick-and-mortar shelf space. That means that advance sales on new titles are going to be lower than before and the number of backlist titles being stocked is going to steadily decline at the same time. And that adds up to a higher returns percentage on a declining sales base.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that if stores close or cut back their shelf space, they’ll be sending books back that will increase returns rates. But it will not be simple to separate out how the current strategies for inventory placement are working and to avoid having the “noise” of returns made because of contraction cloud those judgments.

The “good news” is that the old measurements (total returns in a year against total shipments out in a year) will deliver an exaggerated picture of how much current new title sales are declining (although they will be delivering a true picture of a very sad fiscal reality.) The bad news is that we’re going to start hearing about companies whose overall returns percentages have gone from the 20s to the 30s and then higher.

I wrote in the piece that I referred at the top that it looks like sales registered online — whether print or electronic — will be half the sales of new narrative text books published by 2012. When that number gets to 90%, there won’t be much of a premium on a publisher’s ability to understand, and thus to be able to manage, their returns with sensitivity and sound analysis. But between now we will be living through several years when it will be one of the critical skill sets for all publishers fighting to survive sea changes in the business.

For a few years earlier in the decade, we had a thriving little business called “Supply Chain Tracker” in which we took the sales and inventory data provided by major accounts and delivered publishers reports in Excel to help with analysis. We created what we believe were some critical metrics to watch: percentage of stock on hand sold, week by week in each account; percentage of each book’s stock in an account’s Distribution Center (if they had one); total inventory in the retail pipelines we could see and what percentage was selling through in a week (by title), and then the same for wholesale and distribution centers. Most of a publisher’s supply chain inventory is really visible today, if a publisher takes the time and care to look. Just glancing at each spreadsheet an account delivers for how things are going on top sellers was never sufficient; the price to be paid for such inattention in the future will only escalate.

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I have gotten some requests, in comments and off-the-blog, to write what I was going to say to the AGM of the PA in an appearance I was supposed to make there on Wednesday, April 28. I felt terrible about having to cancel an engagement that was booked many months ago but it was tied into a trip to the London Book Fair which was cancelled due to the Iceland volcano. Since I was really prepared for the talk, updating the “Stay Ahead of the Shift” speech from last year’s Book Expo and adding some thoughts about the immediate future in the US market that I think British publishers should take on board, the suggestion is one I can readily respond to.

The premise underlying this piece (and really much of my work) is that all of us, to function, must have a view of how we think things in publishing will change. Change has been a constant in publishing forever, of course. In my lifetime, in the US, mass-market paperbacks and mall stores have risen and fallen; wholesalers have gone from local warehouses that replenish bestsellers to national operations that can provide hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of titles to any store in 24 hours; general trade publishing has consolidated from tens of real competitors to a Big Six; and, in the past 20 years or so, the superstore, usually run by a chain, with over 100,000 titles has became about the only brick-and-mortar formula that seemed sustainable. (NB: On that last point, I think more focused, smaller stores would actually work better, but it would take a large player with a real supply chain to try them to find out.) When I started in the 1970s, the big national accounts were less than 20% of a publisher’s sales and the field reps were responsible for much more than half the business. It would be inflating the importance of the field now to say that those numbers have reversed.

But the changes we’ve been experiencing in the last ten years have been much more dramatic. The combination of used books and the Long Tail enabled by print-on-demand, all delivered by Internet retailing, has eaten relentlessly, if invisibly, into the market for publishers’ new offerings and estabished backlist. The growth of Internet ordering has sapped the viability of the brick-and-mortar network and in the past decade we’ve seen shelf space shrink following relentless growth since the end of World War II.

And, at the same time, even before the recent growth in ebook sales provoked a new digital consciousness, marketing opportunities have been shifting from the print and broadcast world to online.

Publishers have adapted to these changes by changing their sales force deployments, discovering the virtues of social network marketing, and, more recently, going to XML-based origination procedures that make it easier to deliver a book’s content in a variety of ways (the principal ones being as a book, as an ebook, and as a web page.) Publishers who saw the future coming were able to prepare for it. Cambridge University Press, for example, had tens of thousands of old backlist titles set up for print-on-demand long before other publishers did and they reaped a harvest of sales and profits in the past decade as a result. Last year, Simon & Schuster shifted resources from field reps to telemarketers. In an age when Skype allows free face-to-face phone calls and gas prices do nothing but rise, one can’t help feeling they are also getting ahead of a curve by doing that.

Changes of this kind make it clear that a publisher is required to have a view about where things are likely to be going  to plan their business intelligently. It is our purpose to explore that: first with a long view, looking perhaps 20 to 25 years out, and then with a more immediate one thinking about changes that are literally “coming right up.” Because it’s what I know best, this view is US-centric, but because the US is the largest English-speaking market in the world and the view from where I sit (intellectually, not geographically) is that the world is now any and every publisher’s market, these thoughts should be relevant to a UK publisher even if they aren’t primarily centered on the UK market.

I hope we can agree on two things before we start, though. One is that increasingly profound change is inevitable. And the other is that all future planning, just as inevitably, depends on one’s view of what that change will be.

So, with that as preamble, I want to try to envision two futures: one long-term — which we will call “the next 20 years” — and one short-term, looking ahead just two or three years.

Before tackling the 20 year vision, which will be disturbingly dissimilar to where we are now, I want to remind you from recent history how much can change in 20 years. Once again, I cite US-based examples, but I think these will probably be reminiscent of some aspect of local history for every market in the world.

In 1968, television in the United States was dominated by three over-the-air networks that divided pretty much 100% of the national audience, approximately in thirds on average, but it was not uncommon for a single show to have half the national audience. Major cities had a few local stations available in addition; most of the country did not.

By 1988, cable television penetration had reached well over half US households, delivering a choice of many dozens of channels and network TV’s share of the audience had plunged. Today there are five national TV networks in the US and they share substantially less than half the total audience. Top-rated shows fight for the attention of 15% of the country, not fifty.

In 1982, record companies were on the verge of explosive growth. The Sony Walkman and other portable cassette players were joining cassette players in cars, creating an incentive for maturing boomers to re-buy music they’d purchased 10 or 20 years before on records. A very few years later, the same phenomenon repeated with CDs. Back catalog in new formats became a gold mine for established companies.

But by 2002, the CD sales had turned into a curse. They were gold masters, easily ripped by any computer into the new digital formats which ultimately meant iTunes and iPod for the most part. The transition from analog to digital, which stripped the record companies of the power they had which was based on their ability to put product on store shelves, was accelerated by the CDs that all consumers had by then. The fuel for the final burst of record company profitability in the 1990s resulted in the fire that burned them up.

Newspapers in the US had their biggest year yet for advertising sales in 1989. Things got even better in the early 1990s, with growth in classified ads leading the way.

But then along came the Web. Classified advertising moved to Craig’s List, in some ways to eBay, and to many niche sites for camera buffs and auto aficionados and a host of online real estate communities. Google and Yahoo and the web itself disaggregated and reaggregated the content newspapers produced. Both the advertising model and the circulation that drove the advertising were challenged. Twenty years later, many newspapers have died and those that survive are hanging on by their fingernails and desperately grasping for a formula that will allow them to sustain their business online.

In 1975, the mass market paperback business in the United States was the tail wagging the hardcover dog. Agents and authors were balking at the idea that the hardcover house would get 50% of the subsequent paperback income, even though it had always been that way. In 1979, Crown Publishing sold the paperback rights for the long-forgotten novel “Princess Daisy” to Bantam for $3.1 million, a number that still stands as the record for a mass market licensing deal. As my father predicted in his seminal book, In Cold Type, published in 1982, the distribution model for mass markets was inherently inefficient and couldn’t last for trade-type books. It didn’t. By 1995, mass market publishing was a genre business, which was how it started after World War II and what it is, for the most part, today.

Twenty years ago, we went online through very slow modems to very limited and klunky online portals: Prodigy, Compuserve, and the seemingly-modern America Online. The World Wide Web hadn’t yet been invented!

Today we carry the world’s information in the palm of our hand and we’re annoyed if we can’t get a connection, 24/7/365.

And twenty years ago, the book business was on the verge of its last great boom. In the US, Wall Street was just discovering that very large free-standing bookstores, offering consumers 100,000 titles or more under one roof, were cash-generating machines. They opened the vaults for Barnes & Noble and Borders to open hundreds of such stores across the United States. In the mid-1990s, Amazon.com was founded, enabling sales even deeper into the backlist.

But, although it wasn’t as dramatic as the record companies’ distribution of CDs, there were the seeds of old publishing’s destruction sown. Amazon also enabled the sales of used books and the Long Tail, books that had — before Amazon and Ingram’s Lightning Print made the idea of “out of print” an anachronism — stopped competing with the new offerings of publishers. Now they were alive again. That alone would have made things much more difficult. In addition, the impact of growing online sales steadily weaken bookstores and consequently undermine the primary USP  publishers always had: that they could put books on retail shelves. These factors have made establishment publishing an increasingly difficult proposition every day of the past decade.

This admitted stage-setter is the first of what will be a four-part post. The next installment will spell out a vision of the world of communication into which publishing will fit 20 years from now. The third piece will suggest what a publisher will look like then. And the fourth will cover some changes we can expect over the next three years which, among other things, might call for some recalibration of the competition between UK-based publishers and US-based ones. I’ll publish one each day that I don’t have something else until all four are up. And I’ll have added links to the subsequent pieces in this postscript as they’re made available.

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