An open letter on the "unlawful use of creators' content" for Artificial Intelligence (AI) models has been sent to companies working in software development by the Creators' Rights Alliance (CRA). This has been signed by members including The Society of AuthorsThe British authors’ organization, with a membership of over 7,000 writers. Membership is open to those who have had a book published, or who have an offer to publish (without subsidy by the author). Offers individual specialist advice and a range of publications to its members. Has also campaigned successfully on behalf of authors in general for improved terms and established a minimum terms agreement with many publishers. Recently campaigned to get the Public Lending Right fund increased from £5 million to £7 million for the year 2002/2003. Regularly uses input from members to produce comparative surveys of publishers’ royalty payment systems. http://www.societyofauthors.org/ (SoA), the Association of Author's Agents, the Authors' Licensing (ALCS) and Collecting Society and the Writers' Guild of Great Britain.
Links of the week August 5 2024 (32)
Our new feature links to interesting blogs or articles posted online, which will help keep you up to date with what's going on in the book world:
12 August 2024
The letter outlines that members of the CRA and the 500,000 creators they represent "do not authorise or otherwise grant permission for the use of any of their works protected by copyright and/or related rights (including performers rights) in relation to, without limitation, the training, development, or operation of AI models".
Companies should only use this data if they have "licensing arrangements" with the creators, the letter adds, citing UK law. Creators should also be compensated for the "copyright infringement" that the CRA claims has taken place to date, and the letter also adds that they should be credited or have the option to remove their work from AI platforms.
Two further academic publishers have confirmed they have made deals with or are considering working with artificial intelligence (AI) companies a week after Taylor & Francis revealed it is set to earn £58m ($75m) from selling access to its authors' work to AI firms.
Wiley and Oxford University Press (OUP) told The Bookseller they have confirmed AI partnerships, with the availability of opt-ins and remuneration for authors appearing to vary. In July, academics hit out at Taylor & Francis (T&F) for selling access to its authors' research as part of a partnership with Microsoft worth $10m, with parent firm Informa's half-year financial results later revealing that it was set to earn tens of millions from AI deals, with one additional confirmed but unnamed AI partner and future deals in the pipeline.
Taylor & Francis told The Bookseller it is "protecting the integrity of our authors' work and limits on verbatim text reproduction, as well as authors rights to receive royalty payments in accordance with their author contracts".
Following the controversy from academics, who claim not to have been told about the Microsoft deal and claim they are not receiving any further remuneration for their work, The Bookseller subsequently asked a range of publishers across both academic and corporate, whether their authors' work was being used for AI research.
Trevor Dolby looks at the payments model of new publisher Authors Equity
I wonder if you have come across a new publishing company that's sprung up in New York called Authors Equity? It's been established by some very big hitters indeed: Madeline McIntosh, former chief executive of Penguin Random House US; Nina von Moltke, former president of strategic development at Penguin Random House US; and Don Weisberg, former chief executive at Macmillan.
They have a very slick landing pad of a website which then takes you to Substack, where they are creating, as all good publishers should, a community. Their USP, other than 'small is beautiful', is what they are calling Aligned Incentives: 'Our profit-share model rewards authors who want to bet on themselves.' In essence, they are not paying advance and royalties.
Orbit UK has launched Run For It, a new horror imprint and Hachette UK's first dedicated horror list.
The first titles to be published under Orbit's new imprint are scheduled for publication in autumn 2025. Run For It shares its name with the new imprint announced by Orbit US.
Publisher Anna Jackson commmented: "The growth of the horror market in the UK has been widely reported, and we're thrilled about the fact, because here at Orbit we're huge fans of the genre. There's never been a better time to set up a new list that is dedicated solely to horror, which will put a spotlight on the most exceptional and gripping voices in the area. It feels particularly exciting to launch this during Orbit's 50th anniversary year, when we're celebrating our long, illustrious history, and also the bright future ahead."
Amid fluctuating sales in the publishing world and turmoil in Hollywood, this year's San Diego Comic-Con provided a much-anticipated opportunity for passionate fans to geek out over beloved characters and brands. What's more, it was a total banger. And amid moments of spectacle (e.g. a Galactus made of drones rising into the sky) and an element of danger (e.g. a fire near a Penguin-themed speakeasy that filled the sky with actual smoke), the event was brimming with major announcements, from new imprints to new formats to new business plans.
Marvel was unquestionably the big winner at this year's Comic-Con. Basking in the record-setting debut of Deadpool & Wolverine, the studio went all out, stunning onlookers with an impressive drone show over Petco Park that set a new bar for activations and teased the arrival of the Fantastic Four to the MCU. A Marvel Studios panel on Saturday brought even more shock and awe with the mask-ripping reveal that Robert Downey Jr. would return to the MCU as Doctor Doom in a future Avengers film.
Marvel's publishing program was not forgotten in the hoopla, with Marvel Studios president Kevin Feige appearing at a panel with Marvel Comics editor in chief C.B. Cebulski to chat about their love of comics and announce a new series about the Time Variance Authority, a sort of temporal police squad popularized in the Disney+ miniseries Loki.
May Webb sees her first hum standing at a bus stop, and mistakes it for a sculpture. One year later, in the anxious "now" of Helen Phillips' new novel Hum, AI-based robots called "hums" have taken over many jobs, or rendered them obsolete (May's job working on AI communications has been erased). In fact, as the novel opens, a hum is performing facial recognition obscuring surgery on May's face. May is being paid well to be a guinea pig in this test, a choice she may come to regret. Reading Hum is like shifting your perspective a couple of years into a dystopian future. Everything could turn out this way. In fact, it seems likely this is where we might be headed, based on the current state of climate change, artificial intelligence, surveillance, and government control.
Read it as a warning, and double down on that danger when you consider the dire implications for a responsible mother trying to grab a few moments of private time with her husband while giving her children a taste of the quickly dwindling natural world in a pricey Disneyland-esque botanic garden. Phillips' short stories and earlier novels have been compared to the work of Calvino, Kafka, Margaret Atwood, Ursula Le Guin, and Lorrie Moore. But she's truly an original. Hum is speculative fiction at its best. (No AI was involved in our email conversation, which spanned the continent.)
How can authors improve their chances of getting adapted for film and TV?
When I read the one line pitch for J P Delaney's novel, The Girl Before, in a book scout's report in 2015, I was immediately riveted. A young woman moves into her dream home, an architectural masterpiece designed by an enigmatic architect, but soon that dream becomes a nightmare as she realises her fate is inextricably linked with "the girl before", a previous tenant who died within its four walls.
The book wasn't even finished yet, but had already been the subject of a heated global auction off the back of a partial manuscript. Even off a short summary, I could sense that this modern Gothic premise, reminiscent of the Daphne du Maurier novels I'd loved as a teen, would make an incredible TV show. The concept was emotionally compelling, and the dream home offered something visually arresting that would become a character in itself, defining the lives of those who were seduced by it. It would be five long years before I'd be able to prove that my hunch was correct...
So in a world where countless books barely make a ripple on publication, or even get as far as being printed, how do you best improve your chances of getting your story to screen? And what is the process that propels certain books to the desks of producers like me?
Exploring the evolution of thriller novels in the age of television binge-watching.
Summer is the time for thrillers. Seasonal reading lists and beach-town bookstores are chock-full of the genre. But what the heck is a thriller, anyway? How is it different from a mystery, a crime story or a police procedural? How can a domestic suspense novel like "Local Woman Missing," by Mary Kubica; a cozy novel like "The Birthday Mystery," by Faith Martin; a horror novel like "The Last House on Needless Street," by Catriona Ward; and a historical novel like "The Briar Club," by Kate Quinn, all be called thrillers? Has the category become so inclusive as to be meaningless?
For me, a thriller writer, these questions aren't rhetorical.
Amanda Prowse, bestselling author of 31 novels, reflects on the inspiration for her latest, Swimming to Lundy
Swimming to Lundy is a book that I have wanted to write for a while, about confronting the dark seeds of betrayal that can take root in our guts. Seeds that if not squashed can grow branches of shame, regret and anger, clouding whole lives.
It's the story of two seemingly unconnected women, Tawrie in her late twenties and Harriet in her mid-forties, who discover the power of taking control and finding the confidence to make decisions that alter the course of their futures. Set in the seaside town of Ilfracombe - really just an excuse for me to spend time on the beautiful North Devon coast! - the women feel the arms of community around them while simultaneously battling the intense interest that comes from living in such a small place.
Gill Paul hadn't read "Valley of the Dolls" before deciding on its author, Jacqueline Susann, as one of the subjects for her new novel, "Scandalous Women."
"I was vaguely aware that Jacqueline Susann had quite a difficult backstory, which is something I'm looking for in my work," Paul tells The Times from London, where she lives.
Susann was an actress before turning to writing later in life. She gave birth to her only child, who had severe autism - at a time when little was known about the disorder and even less support was available - and was herself diagnosed with breast cancer. Her drive to excel in publishing and become a bestselling author, which she achieved with Valley of the Dolls, credited with inventing the modern book tour and was spurred on by making sure she was able to provide for her son when her cancer returned. Susann died in 1974 at age 56.
The debut author on the importance of picture books, the connection between loss and love, and the beauty of illustration
Could you tell us about the inspiration behind The Fun We Had? The Fun We Had was inspired by my two young children and the relationship they shared with their Nana (my mum), who passed away last year from cancer.
When he was three, my son walked in with his doctor's kit and asked if there was any way he could make Nana better. I had to explain that he couldn't - nobody could - but he could still do something very important: he could make her smile.
That became the starting point for this book. The joy they brought each other and the memories they had made were far more powerful than any illness would ever be. I didn't specifically set out to write a children's book about loss; it's something I just found myself scribbling down after an emotional day. I later read it to my children, who refused to even entertain it without pictures, and then to my mum.
Amy Neff discusses the background to her story of long-lasting love
Could you tell us what The Days I Loved You Most is about, and what inspired it?
The Days I Loved You Most tells the love story of Joseph and Evelyn, who have been together for a lifetime when she receives a tragic diagnosis, and they decide they want a say in how their love story ends. I wanted to explore what it looks like to love someone over decades, what it means to build a life together, and how we say goodbye to a life well lived. Writing was my way of grappling with the tragic truth that you can't control if the person you love leaves this earth before you do, and at some point, we all have to say goodbye.
Summertime, and the reading is easy. Or at least, it's supposed to be. Holidays were made for sinking blissfully into a pile of books: for long, hot afternoons swinging in hammocks or basting on the sand, gleefully inhaling trashy beach reads or the Booker prize longlist. Finally, we have time to read, plus the urgent need to justify what is essentially two weeks of lying down by looking at least vaguely busy.
Yet, by the pool this year, I saw a striking number of people scrolling on their phones instead, some with an unopened paperback lying forlornly by the sun lounger. Not for nothing, an author friend pointed out to me recently, did Instagram Stories get its name. Reels contain just enough of a miniature plot to satisfy the human need for narrative twists, even if they are only a few seconds long, while the most successful influencers have essentially turned themselves into fictionalised characters in their own long-running minor drama. But grazing on these bite-size stories is the literary equivalent of snacking on junk: just filling enough to put you off a proper novel-length meal, but somehow never quite satisfying, and leaving the addicted reader irritably craving more.
In my opinion, one of the most brilliant and powerful things about poetry is that it can be a vehicle for children to write in their voice, about their life. As a former primary school teacher, I'm well versed in how much the English education system is still bound by an outdated notion that Standard Spoken English (SSE) is the correct way to speak, regardless of who we are, where we were born, where we grew up and who we grew up with.
Teachers, regardless of their own accent and cultural heritage, are expected to model SSE in the classroom. In my classes in Manchester, I was forever feeling I had to correct verbal and written Mancunian-isms like "can I go toilet?" or "I went town with Mum last weekend" into so-called proper English because of the expectations set. One day a lad in my class who was a pretty shrewd (if awkward) character to deal with stopped me dead in my tracks when he said: "Mr Goodfellow, how come you tell me it's wrong to say, ‘can I go toilet?' when my dad says it, and my grandad says it?" And I got it. I got the fact that the way members of a family speaks to each other, the way a person thinks is their cultural heritage. Poetry allows that voice to speak.
Can "citizen detectives" online, like those on Reddit or Websleuths, be helpful to missing persons or homicide investigations? This is one of the elements our debut thriller On the Surface explores.
The internet has amplified our fascination with true crime. Pre-internet, when someone went missing or was murdered there might have been some degree of local citizen involvement - police interviews with potential witnesses, canvassing, or laypeople assisting in searches guided by law enforcement. But now our "community" - and our interest in missing people and crime in general - reaches far beyond what happens in our neighborhoods, towns, or cities. It sometimes even extends past the boundaries of our own countries.
Are you prone to reading ruts? Or do you crave a little more focus? What have you been waiting for?
It's funny, sometimes, to step back and look at your own reading habits. They can seem thoroughly unremarkable-so much so as to be unnoticeable-until something shakes them up. Left to my own devices, I am as likely to get into reading ruts as I am to zoom all over the genre and topic map, trading fantasy for nature writing for literary fiction for an anthology of essays for a memoir about a place or a neighborhood or one moment in time.
This year, though, I've been reading almost exclusively science fiction, which is a trip. It's limiting and eye-opening at once, an experience that is fascinating and weird and sending me down a lot of random meandering paths about what exactly science fiction is, what it does, what it ought to more frequently encompass, and what beautifully porous boundaries it has.
A visit to the RNIB office brought home to author AA Chaudhuri the dedication of the charity's staff and the importance of the work they do
In June, my literary agent Annette Crossland and I were invited by Lara Marshall, library Engagement Manager at the Royal National Institute of Blind People (RNIB), to visit the RNIB's London offices on Pentonville Road in North London. It was an absolute pleasure to be invited. We were particularly excited to see the RNIB's Talking Books Studios, formerly situated in the charity's old offices in Camden but now housed in its impressive new London hub: the Grimaldi Building.
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