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| Early morning delivery. |
On Christmas Eve Day, I opened the door early morning to what I first thought was a Christmas present, then I thought it was a freebie sample that I ordered online, but when I bent down to pick it up, I saw the label. Oh. It's from a small indie publisher that I designed for in the past, a rich kid imprint paid for by his also-rich daddy, a guy who cashed out by selling his imprint years ago. They probably use the son's company as a tax shelter for the earnings from that sale, which renders their product indifferent, like so many widgets that exist only to serve their obscured financial purpose, not worth the paper they're printed on. And so the gift was actually my own work mailed back to me in bound book form, certainly not a new experience for me. How...well, not a gift.
I quickly took a look at the work I did for them on the cheap, unsurprised by its' poor quality. One book had been case stamped on the spine incorrectly (upside down, actually; a major production error that's a firing offense in major league houses), which I noticed by removing the jacket I designed, because I always inspect books for their quality. The other book contains some inane drivel about an arrogant British wanker who hates the yoga retreat he's attending, and (surprise, surprise), probably has epiphanies later on down the road, read: further along in the book. Ho hum. A real pager turner, not worth my time. It's not exactly prize-winning stuff, but that's the whole point; they position themselves deliberately on the bottom of the pile, to mine the marketing niche as low-end producers, probably wanting to escape notice so The Tax Man doesn't come a-calling. Huh. I know that game, too.
It's embarrassing, but people do this kind of stuff ALL the time. Every day, actually. They take a real vocation and turn it to shit, then piss and moan about the cost, which is exactly what they did to me when I worked for them. It was beneath me, and by them time they shamefacedly told me they were flat broke, (the first and only time their "publisher" deigned to speak to me in person), and besides, like, they could totally use my desk space for one of his six or seven pretty boy "assistants" (nudge, nudge, wink, wink), I think they thought they were lashing out at me for being a major talent who stooped to their level for shekels because they had me in a vulnerable position financially, which is about as far from the truth as we are from the sun; another light that will forever fail to reach them, because they just don't get it on every level, and that includes way existentially, man.
As they continue to play their petty games with one another at their inept labors today, I couldn't help but reflect on my time there, in the early morning light, Christmas Eve morning, looking at these books that could have been so beautiful, and I thought that when they had the real deal right beneath their gazes, they refused to see true worth. They took the hefty gifts I gave them, and they turned their backs on them, because they know they aren't worth the price of the ticket. I thought about how sad that was for them, but that they were no longer my flock to tend to. They are now someone else's poor problem.
I wish you peace on this 26th day in December during our continued Christmas season, as we recall the journey of The Three Magi who came bearing gifts for our Lord and Savior, a baby born lowly in a manger, because His parents were turned away from the inn at Bethlehem, and Amen for that: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biblical_Magi.
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| More cheap, shoddy goods, just in time for Christmas! How thoughtful. |
