Indie Publishing: An Abridged History

The publishing industry, much like any industry, has had guidelines, checks and balances in place for its entire lifespan. Even before literature started being published for the sake of entertainment rather than solely education or the spread of religion, there were strict rules in place as to who was permitted to reproduce books and what methods were permissible (as an example: prior to the advent of the printing press in the west by goldsmith Johannes Gutenberg, the only people who were permitted to reproduce the Bible were monks, scribes, and other church officials primarily using the exceedingly expensive material vellum in place of paper). This has led to certain genres and topics being considered either ‘low brow’ or undesirable, also in part due to how capital has become a larger and larger focus of publishers over the years, which in turn was one of the things which helped popularize the act of indie publishing over the past few hundred years.

 

The emergence of indie publishing was helped in no small part by the Arts and Crafts Movement. The roots of the movement began with various retaliatory groups and figures which began to gain popularity during the industrial revolution of Britain between the 18th and 19th centuries. One such figure, and the primary inspiration behind the Arts and Crafts movement, was a man by the name of William Morris who was a textile designer, poet, translator, and notable socialist activist. Morris, as an artisan by trade, was one of the many who felt as though the Industrial Revolution was a threat to the handcrafted arts of the United Kingdom, as the push to favour standardized machine-made goods (which were cheaper and faster to produce than handcrafted goods) gradually saw trade artisans lose valuable customers and, thus, their livelihoods. He would eventually found Kelmscott Press after a long career in various political and social causes, such as campaigning against architectural restoration and being a dedicated member of the Social Democratic Federation after embracing Marxism in the 1880s (although he was also influenced by ideas of Anarchism). Kelmscott Press was a small independent publishing house which focused on publishing limited-edition hand-illustrated books, and the impact of such a house ran by a notable social figure was even felt in the United States.

 

While the Arts and Crafts Movement began in England, the States were quick to adopt its core ideas of rejecting standardized modernity and taking matters into their own hands for the sake of obtaining more freedom with the art they produced, although the socialist overtones of its British counterpart were largely lost in America. Despite this difference, Morris was also touted as a seminal figure of the Movement in North American countries, something which can be seen even today in the existence of multiple branches of the William Morris Society which can be found in Washington DC in the U.S, Toronto in Canada, and Hammersmith in England. It was, in part, Morris’ ideas and actions which helped the indie publishing scene eventually flourish in these countries, although it was not until the early 1940s that the term ‘vanity publishing’ was first popularized to refer to independent publishing houses. It was also during this time period that pulp magazines, publications focusing on more ‘gritty’ stories that involved anything from sex to homosexuality to gore as a focal point, had reached their peak in popularity – these magazines having been almost entirely indie publications from their very inception in the late 1800s as major publishing houses deemed the stories unfit for publication based on things such as length, subject, and especially genre as stories revolving around ‘unseemly’ topics (queerness and violence especially) were deemed too ‘improper’ and ‘low-brow’ for publication, or the publishing house was afraid that it would not see a return on investment should the story (or stories) be published. These attitudes are a primary reason for the taboo following the horror genre as a whole to this day.

 

Another reason indie and self-publishing has continued to grow in popularity is money. Currently, the cost to an aspiring author looking to publish their first book using traditional methods (that being signing a contract with a publishing house, such as Penguin Random House or HarperCollins) is nothing. Publishing houses cover the cost of editing, cover design, marketing, and any other expense associated with the release of a novel – this is in stark contrast to self-publishing, where an aspiring author could pay anywhere from 500 to 2000 GBP. Major publishing houses also offer ‘advances’ to their authors, these being a non-refundable payment that an author receives upon signing a contract. Despite this initial difference, publishing with a major house would mean that an author would, on average, see a very small percentage of royalties from the sales of their book(s) – that being anywhere between 15 and 20%, on top of the fact that the author is only paid royalties after the publishing house has made back all the money that went into services (editing, cover design, etc.) surrounding the publication of that book, something which can weigh heavily on authors who cannot live without their royalties. Indie publishing, on the other hand, typically grants an author 30-70% of their royalties, making it more financially viable in the long term for most of today’s aspiring authors.

 

Independent publishing has a long and storied history that continues to this day. The act of taking art into one’s own hands has inherent ties to political movements (anarchism, socialism, and Marxism) as a result of people like William Morris who spearheaded the Arts and Crafts Movement, emphasizing that, at the end of the day, art is for the people and by the people, rejecting standardization and genre-based scorn. Without indie publishing, many stories that don’t ‘fit’ into society’s idea of propriety would have never been published (notable examples of such stories include Legends & Lattes and Angels Before Man), especially as indie authors typically see a significantly larger amount of money in royalty percentage compared to traditionally published authors.

 

 

 

 

Bibliography

Beyer, Greg. “What is Pulp Fiction? (More than Just a Movie)” TheCollector.com, March 12, 2023, https://www.thecollector.com/what-is-pulp-fiction/. Accessed 6 June 2025

Hagye, Sara. Industrialization: Architecture’s Resistance and Adaptation, www.eiu.edu/historia/Hagye.pdf. Accessed 4 June 2025.

Herklots, H.G.G. “The Look and Feel of the First Bibles | Christian History Magazine.” Christianhistoryinstitute.Org, Christian History Institute, christianhistoryinstitute.org/magazine/article/look-and-feel-of-the-first-bibles. Accessed 6 June 2025.

Obniski, Monica. “The Arts and Crafts Movement in America.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1 June 2008, www.metmuseum.org/essays/the-arts-and-crafts-movement-in-america. Accessed 4 June 2025

Renauld, Marie-Madeleine. “The Effects Of The Industrial Revolution vs. Arts & Crafts Movement” TheCollector.com, July 24, 2020, https://www.thecollector.com/industrial-revolution-arts-and-crafts/. Accessed 5 June 2025

The William Morris Society, 1 Apr. 2025, williammorrissociety.org/. Accessed 4 June 2025

 

 

 

Anatomy Class

Fig. a; the Eyes as Observers

They have no time for fantasies

For gentleness, or doctoring

The ink is wet, the quill is sharp

No time to waste

 

[Alone. They are alone

and hiding. Quiet.]

 

Letter after letter is sent across seas

Of synapses raging,

Shrieking, like an out of tune harp

The Observers’ quill makes haste

 

[Their tethers groan. Rolling, rolling, in

their sockets – cornea swiping over flesh.

Pliant.]

 

There is no stopping, there cannot be

Details are consumed, translated, digested

More

More

There is always more

 

[Light hurts. They crave

gentleness. Colours explode in the dark.

More letters to send. This is

all they know.]

 

 

Fig. b; the Tongue as a Poet

It dances behind ivory walls,

Hedonism incarnate

Soft and squishy, but remembering its shape

Sliding back and forth, and back and forth

It is partial to sweet things;

That fizzling burst of honey,

The coating of chocolate,

To clinging cream

 

Bitterness shocks the organ

It curls, and drools, and spasms

And goes back for more

Maybe this time, the Poet will expect it

Maybe this time, it will not flinch

Perhaps

 

It pushes against its walls

Beats against them as it spins tales about empires

Ones that never existed

The Poet forms the shapes of words into the air:

‘Once upon a time,’ the Poet lilts

‘There was a maiden so fair.’

It brings fantasies to life

and the Observers seethe

 

SPICE CUTS IT

FRONT TO BACK

IT ASKS FOR MORE

DEEPER

CRUELER

IT PRESSES ITSELF AGAINST THE FLOOR

HARDER WITH EACH CUT

ITS BODY SWELLS, COATED IN MUCUS

 

Its relief is written about, reflexively expressed

Even should it know agony will return

It melts in its chamber,

preparing

waiting

waiting

to spin its tales

to dance again

 

 

Fig. c; the Heart as a Musician

One-two

It knows its cues

Three-four

It always has

Five-six

They are melted

Seven-eight

Into its flesh

One-two

Once in, twice out

Three-four

No time for rest

Five-six

No time for doubt

Seven-eight

It wants for naught

One-two

It simply waits

Three-four, five-six

For a message, for the next cue

Seven-eight, nine-ten

To change the song and sing anew

Eleven-twelve, one-two

The organs need no tuning up

Three-four, five-six

The Musician has made sure

Seven-eight, nine-ten, ele-

That the blood can sing throughout the pipes

-ven-twelve, thirteen-fourteen

It works predictably, endlessly

One-two, three-four, five-six

Only as strong as its beating drum

Seven-eight, nine-ten, eleven-twelve

And yet it cannot feel the irregularities

Thirteen-fourteen, one-two, three-four

The mistakes in the rhythm as it changes

Five-six, seven-eight, nine-ten

A skip, a stutter – the Musician is unfeeling to them

Eleven-twelve

Simply keeping

One-two

A steady thrum

Three-four

Of blood through veins

Five-six

Singing sweetly

Seven-eight

In tunes unheard

 

 

Fig. d; the Lungs as Partners

Spongy insides watered by red brine                  Nutrients filtered out from impurities

Filled with the world’s ironies                           Creating the perfect blush-wine

With smoke which chokes                                 A meticulous alchemist

And poisons the darling enologist                      Who a smooth transition is trying to coax

 

Moments of stillness are welcome                     Moments of stillness squeeze their roots

It is a good thing, to slow the drum                    They are an omen, a witch, a beldam

Under which shuddering flesh is caught,            Which clogs the throat with scum

To revel in the calm before the trumpet sounds   And kills the air’s welcome psalm

 

As the trumpet calls                                          When the winds return

Partners wither and burn.                                  It is as though every leaf falls

They have no mouth between them                    And every branch shrinks

To scream above the Musician’s waltz               As polyps constrict at the stem

 

Wine-dark seas flood roots again                       Partners come into bloom once more

Faux mesophyll layers swell around their core   Alchemy resumes in the fen

Nerves are steeled                                             Preparations are due

While irony fills them anew                              Against the winds to shield

 

 

Fig. e; the Liver as a Lover

Day by day, hour by hour

Minute by minute, second by second

Woes and sorrows, poisons and tinctures

The Lover examines them all

Feeling whiskey-smoke, clear rivers,

honey-thick assurances sweeter than any flower

 

Its ears burn and ache listening to, feeling all

the chaos unleashed upon it

by an unreachable muse

to whom a name the Lover cannot give

for nothing it thinks of could befit

the likeness of god behind a shawl

 

A vague understanding is all there is

Between Lover’s ears, beneath its skin:

Poison is worth it, pain is noble

That it is a good thing, to hang off the eagle’s bill

Should an unnamed god sing

For another burst of honey’s fizz

 

The Lover does not ask questions

As its body yearns and groans beneath immeasurable repetition

Beneath growing burdens which twist slothful hooks

into its scarred crooks

Questions do not honour the obligation

of preventing a god’s afflictions

 

Day by day, week by week,

Month by month, year by year

Poisons swallowed, tinctures tested, hedonism encouraged

The Lover a haggard hound, the Poet undiscouraged

Dog protects dear,

left with love to seek

 

 

Fig. f; the Nerves as Madmen

They are on fire (they’re burning {to cinders [to ashes]})

          Nothing to be done (this is how the world is{?})          no relief

Sandpaper peeling flesh under guise of eiderdown

Ice picks worming beneath fingernails (a cold motif)

                     They twitch and squirm and grow

And grow

And grow

Filling every inch

Screaming

Weeping

Begging for less

          Yet more

To varying success

 

Fire burns brighter (hotter {colder})

Some of them rejoice,

sinews grow                      muscles spasm

tremors shake their bodies

          ‘we feel’, they whisper, ‘we know, we know, we know, we think, we are’

Words ripple across an empty chasm

As shuddering hands grasp, fingertips bleed true

 

Locust swarms, toad plague           atop the threshold! A scar!

red, red streak clawed across eyes of millions

billions

                               The blind lead the blind

                                                                        Seeking input, seeking life

          sharing one madness-touched mind