Behind the Editor’s Desk

Every few weeks, I receive a letter from another prison inmate requesting free Berklee Press books. These letters are always handwritten and polite. I have a folder of them.

I’ve tried several times to fulfill these requests, but there are complications, and I’ve found it inordinately complex (impossible, so far) to make it happen, much as I want to. Maybe, someone out there will have some ideas of organizations that can help me navigate this. I really don’t have the time or resources to make this happen, myself. I feel badly about saying no, though.

Consider, what better way can an inmate spend their time, besides making music? It not only relieves the tedium and the tension, but it develops a skill that can make the world a better place. Studying music in prison creates a diversion that might keep prison guards safer. Learning music is a forum for introspection and an exercise in self-control. A music book in a jail cell could put some light in a dark place. So, when a prisoner begs me for book about how to learn guitar, I want to make it happen. Even if he’s a murderer.

There are some complicating factors, though. For example, there are many rules governing what kinds of materials inmates can receive, and they vary by institution, and by state. Many prisons don’t permit CDs. At some institutions, only the librarian can request books. Other institutions don’t have libraries, and so different administrators are charged with such decisions. The bureaucracies tend to be Byzantine, figuring out the proper procedure for a given institution.

There are hurdles on the Berklee side, as well. Berklee College has a long list of people asking for free stuff from them, and others (rightfully, in my opinion) take precedence. Inner-city kids, for example, or musicians struggling in New Orleans. Wonderful Berklee efforts such as City Music provide incredible outreach and service to communities worldwide.

It’s no surprise or criticism that we take better care of  young musicians still struggling with the Katrina aftermath than in incarcerated murderers, pimps, drug dealers, etc.   There are so many opportunities to help more deserving constituencies that we never get to, it’s really not such a good allocation of limited resources to send prisoners free books.

Still, though, the prisoner requests keep coming to me.
As I see it, two things must happen in order to get inmates books.

1. Someone official at the institution must administer the request, not the inmate. This requires about five rounds of communication, judging from my past experience. Unfortunately, I don’t personally have the administrative capacity to undertake transforming inmate requests into institutional requests. Do you? Or do you know of an organization that does? A couple hours per request should do it. (Maybe less, once you get the hang of it, and develop some form letters.)

2. An entity other than Berklee College must pay for the book and administer the process. You, maybe?

Let me know if you have any thoughts about how to make this happen. I’m out of ideas (and time to think about it), myself.

Hell is looking for new graphics designers.

What I want doesn’t seem to be that unreasonable. I want a freelancer to design covers for our books. So, I placed an ad on Craigslist, very explicitly stating my needs.

Here’s my ad:

“Freelance graphic artists with specific expertise in book cover design are invited to send work samples to Berklee Press, the publishing division of Berklee College of Music. Looking for designer(s) who can give multiple concepts per topic and transform often crushing feedback into brilliant new designs. Must be patient, flexible, professional, and creative, providing a fresh look at contemporary music themes, with art that stands out against the competition and is a positive reflection of our brand. Please send a link to online samples of your work.”

Here’s what I get:

1. Tons of designers with no book cover experience.

2. Lots of illustrators, many of whom seem to want to draw comic books.

3. Lots of designers sending résumés but no work samples.

4. A very small number of graphic artists who have done a book cover or two, but the covers aren’t great. To put it kindly.

5. Several sent me broken links.

6. Several tried applying for full-time jobs with me.

Not one—NOT ONE—designer sent me a single image that had anything to do with music.

I’m not sure why everyone is wasting so much time, trying to respond when they are obviously not a good fit. I’d rather not get any responses than get inappropriate responses.

I once had a painter cold call me and say that he had a lot of portraits of famous musicians and that he wanted us to publish a book of them. I said that we didn’t do projects like that. Then he begged to come in and meet with me, just for an “informational interview” so that he could get practice showing publishers his work.

For some reason, I relented. He seemed like he needed some career guidance, I guess. What a mistake. So, he came over, and showed me his hideous portfolio. I said, “Thanks, but as I said, we’re not interested.” I tried to give him some insight into how a publisher’s decision-making process works—a sense of the financial realities of what he was asking us to do.

He left. But then he kept following up, sending me additional samples, clearly confident that I was on the verge of changing my mind.

I wasn’t! I really wasn’t! I never had any interest, and I was clear about that from the beginning! He just wasn’t listening. Aaaaaahhh!

The way to get me, a publisher, to say yes to something is to try to anticipate my needs and then position yourself as a solution to my problems. Don’t send me pastel drawings of your cat. Read my ad, maybe look at my Web site to investigate our existing covers, and then send me what I’m requesting.

Is that rocket science?

I’m just astonished at how outrageously inappropriate all the designers who responded to my ad are, and I reiterate my question, “Why are you wasting both of our time?”

Now, I have to write fifty or so rejections. I so hate sending rejections. It’s an acknowledgment that we’ve reached a dead end, of shattered hope, and of failed communication.

Dude, even though I’m telling you to get lost, know this: you might have talent and promise. You might have a wondrous soul—beautifully tortured and worthy of expression. I’m truly sorry that you are starving in a garret. But what you’re doing to me, sending me on a wild goose chase to your Web site with broken links and off-base scribblings, is flat out rude. Consider my note a rejection of your ill-conceived business practices, and get a clue! You’re life will get easier when you learn this lesson.