Various conversations with some established British writers this past week, and the ongoing blog discussion about the behaviour of Helene Hegemann have got me thinking about the condition of writers, young and old, in 2010. Some people, especially those who have been publishing since the 1980s, suggest that this is a bad time to be a writer, a point to which some of these recent blogs have referred.
Me, I'm not so sure. (And please, don't go mad with stuff about the unreality of writing about this subject from within the security of the Guardian compound: there's no disputing that irony). My point is that, historically, the position of the writer has always been a bit marginal, even aggressively so, as the necessary outsider. It is, of course, a commonplace to suggest that the writer's marginal status is the key to his/her authenticity as an artist. I'm wondering whether, perhaps, the writer's current predicament (if that's what it is) could turn out to be a blessing in disguise.
But how dire, really, is the situation? You could say that the garret has been replaced by Starbucks, and how bad is that? Writers of all types and conditions are now part of a global community, and can become engaged in a worldwide conversation. Unlike the bad old days, we all – whoever we happen to be – can now enjoy some kind of audience, for better or worse. I believe that writers want two things: love and money. Or, to put it another way, readers and remuneration. With the trusty laptop, at least half that equation is satisfied.
Some sort of remuneration is not out of the question, either. Next to Starbucks, there's the kitchen table. Self-publishing has now become much easier and more affordable, a better bet all round. Of course, it is not the same, I concede, as working through an established imprint, or an influential corporate house such as Penguin or HarperCollins. But how much longer will these giants survive, at least in their present form?
There's a case for saying that just as the status and position of the writer has changed irrevocably with the world wide web, so equally, the status of the publisher has been transformed by Amazon and Google, both of which are poised to play a much bigger role in the international world of books than hitherto. Disintermediation – not my favourite word – is likely to mean the reconfiguration of the publishing hierarchy, from top to bottom, bringing writer and reader much close together.
No one – literally no one – knows precisely how this will play out. The ongoing process of change is sponsoring all kinds of apocalyptic visions. Optimistically, however, I'd speculate that no amount of structural change and/or professional streamlining will alter the writer's essential task: to sit alone from day to day, in a room, putting words down, one after the other, on the page.
For an interrogative species, with a narrative gene, some things will never be redundant.
