Now You See It: The Visible Publisher

“A good publisher is invisible.”

Alison Baverstock—publisher, author, and lecturer—spoke these words during the first week of class last semester. She threw me for a loop, along with the other fifty-some students in the Kingston Publishing MA. After all, we were there for a specific purpose, to learn how to become publishers. It wasn’t encouraging to hear that the key to being successful in my dream job is to remain invisible. I don’t want to be like Mia in The Princess Diaries film—lying alone in the rain, contemplating my insignificance (“I’m invisible…and I’m wet.”).

But I’ve remembered Alison’s words for a reason, and not because I’m afraid of being sat on or forgotten in my irrelevance. Scary as it might seem, the invisibility of a good publisher rings true. I’ve seen this first-hand. How many times have I enjoyed a book’s pristine design and flawless type? How many times have I comfortably read its content, enjoying the words that flow through my mind as easily as off my tongue? I have a publisher—or several—to thank for those small pleasures, even if I take them for granted sometimes.

And yet, I can also think of instances when I have been distracted by certain mistakes in my readings. Even the smallest flaw can—to borrow a theatre term—break the fourth wall between the reader and story. A misspelling here, a clunky sentence there, maybe even a gaping plot hole are all shocks that remind me that there are forces other than the author at work in producing this book—and someone fell short in seeing it through to perfection. In this case, the quality of the finished product can make the consumer forget the work that goes into producing it in the first place, whereas its imperfections reveal the chinks in the publishing process.

Unfortunately, it seems like this form of visibility for publishers is increasing with Kindle and E-reader sales. I’ve only owned my Kindle for a couple months, but I have noticed more errors in the downloaded material than in the physical books. In fact, there hasn’t been a single e-book with the flawless quality I’ve come to expect from good publishing. And if a Google search is any indication, I am not the only Kindle customer who has noticed the lacking quality in e-books; one article even claims that this negligence in editing makes Kindle books look like “cheap copies of the originals.” If digital publishing is truly the future of the industry, then shouldn’t publishers put that much more care into mastering the form and perfecting the content? Otherwise, they risk being visibly called out for failing to fulfil their responsibilities in improving the work.

If these observations are accurate, being a visible publisher more often than not means possible infamy or incompetence, to an extent. Working in relative anonymity is part of a publisher’s job, so if I want people outside the industry to recognize my name or work, becoming a publisher wouldn’t be the best option. But fame has never been my goal, anyway. And invisibility does not signify insignificance.

I’ll just have to take comfort in the fact that if I discover the next J.K. Rowling, my name will be written right beneath hers. In invisible ink.

Mind The Gap

Over a week ago, I graduated from Grand Valley State University on May 30. As in, I walked across the stage, shook President T. Haas's hand, did the Running Man on camera, and strolled demurely back to my seat with diploma in hand. It still doesn't seem real, but that could have been because the ceremony itself was such a whirlwind, where I was only one in thousands to graduate.

But that wasn't really the case the night before, at the Honors College Recognition Ceremony. Dr. J, the president of the Honors College, wasn't kidding when he said that was our night, because that was definitely a night when all of us smart freaks felt special, and were recognized for going above and beyond the general curriculum. And I was fortunate enough to be awarded the Outstanding Senior Award, the highest honor the Honors College can give, for which I was recognized and expected to give an inspirational speech to the assembled students.

I stressed over this speech for days beforehand, taking advice from Jenn's high school valedictorian speech and trying to accommodate my family's somewhat outrageous requests (no, Sean, I will not draw attention to the DICK-tionary as a veiled shout-out to you). But I finally came up with something I was proud of, and felt that it fit the situation when I spoke at the Recognition ceremony. So, I have posted my speech below, because I am very proud of it and otherwise, it will fade into virtual obscurity.

Good afternoon, and welcome to the family, friends, loved ones, and faculty members of the 2011 graduates of the Frederik Meijer Honors College, and thank you for helping us through. I’d also like to add a special thank you to my family, who have taken up a table by ourselves and are probably among the loudest in the room—and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You know, it’s times like these when it’s good to have a twin—otherwise, we wouldn’t have had enough tickets! But most importantly, congratulations to the graduates themselves. Because as Dr. J said, it’s our night, our celebration, and we should enjoy it.

If you’ve ever been in a train or subway station—whether in New York, Chicago, London, Paris, Beijing, wherever—you may have noticed that there’s a small space between the edge of the platform and the train door. It’s usually only about six or seven inches wide, nothing too daunting, but big enough to catch your suitcase wheel or trip you if you’re not careful. It’s one of those small inconveniences to keep an eye out for, especially if you’re a bit clumsy or unobservant, or you tend to read when you’re walking…or all three. Apparently, there are a lot of people like…that out there, because the subway stations in London warn their passengers about this space before people even get on. They have an announcement on the PA system: Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. Sometimes, like on souvenir T-shirts, it’s just shortened to Mind the gap. Kind of silly, really, but I’m sure it keeps at least a couple people from tripping.

As college graduates, we are facing that gap. We are at that space in our lives between the platform and the train, between our academic work and what we have been working toward. For some of us, this space might be the span of a summer, little more than a pause and a transition between two different degrees. For others, the gap might require a little more patience while applying for jobs or grad school. It might be the width of an instant or the span of months before we step onto the train that will take us to our next destination.

And we, like many others, have the opportunity and the education to make something of our journey. But we also have a unique advantage as graduates of the Frederick Meijer Honors College. Because our platform, our foundation at Grand Valley, has equipped us with not only knowledge, but experiences unlike any other. We have all survived a grueling Honors curriculum and maintained high standards of work throughout. We have all run the marathon that was our Civilization sequence, and we have conducted independent studies for our Senior Projects. Many of us have studied abroad—from Egypt to France, Chile to China, all over the world. Some of us have participated in service trips, or even sponsored our own. We have worked in internships and clinicals, presented at national conventions, published work locally and nationally, served as ambassadors and spokespersons. Forgive me if I’ve left anything out, but I don’t think we have the time to list all the achievements of the graduates in this room.

A famous writer—you may have heard of him—once wrote: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. As much as I love Shakespeare, I think he left a part out. We are not only the ones to achieve greatness, but to seek greatness. Haven’t we already? And after all we’ve accomplished at Grand Valley, can you just imagine what we else we can do? I am looking at a room of break-through researchers, best-selling writers, leading physicians, politicians, and philanthropists, and world-changers in the making. And though we might be headed to different destinations—grad school, the workforce, mission work, or someplace else altogether—we shouldn’t forget that we all left from the same platform.

But we also need to keep in mind that one silly piece of advice, to mind the gap. Because that is where seeking greatness has the potential to turn into something good, in the decisions and the difference we try to make as we move from college to whatever is waiting ahead. However narrow or wide that gap may be, we can still make something of it. So tomorrow, when we become official Grand Valley graduates, regardless of whether you walk across the stage or not, remember: seek greatness, but do good, and mind the gap in between.