How to lose reader trust (and how to get it back)
Publishing's parallels with the gaming industry
I’ll admit it. When it comes to video games, I’m what some might call a filthy casual. I’m just here to have fun. And I’ve been here to have fun. As a kid, I played Ultima, Might and Magic, and King’s Quest. I remember when combat switched from turn-based to real-time. And for a hot second, I was even part of one of the first MMOs—Ultima Online. (But when I say a hot second I mean a hot second. My access was very limited, so I probably logged in twice. Still, I was there!)
(Wait, you might be asking. Why are we talking about games when this is a writing and publishing newsletter? That’s a fine question. And we will get there! Trust the process.)
I haven’t been around since the very beginning of games (though it might seem like that to some of you), but I’ve been around long enough to see some major shifts in the types of games that get made — and what those games are doing to lose player trust.
Things like . . .
Grind.1
This includes repetitive tasks to level up skills, items, or some other arbitrary point system. Season/battle passes2 fit here.
Grind doesn’t further the story; it just artificially lengthens playtime.
Day-one patches.
When you buy a game, it’s basically expected that you’ll also need to download a day-one patch. That’s because games might be, uh, unfinished, broken, or unplayably buggy on release day.
Monetization/micro-transactions.3
Stores that have all the best items locked behind in-game (but real) currency.45 And of course I have to mention loot boxes.6
Attention/urgency mechanics.
Either you have to do something in a short period of time or you have to wait for a cooldown. Or you can pay (real money) to skip the timer.
Misleading marketing.
You know that feeling when you see a trailer for a game and it looks amazing, but then you get the game and you realize there were a lot of big promises . . . and no delivery.
Imitating without understanding what made something work.
Sequels that seem to have lost sight on what made players love the earlier games. Or all the battle royale modes other games added after Fortnite took off, as if Fortnite players were going to leave a game they were already enjoying.
Okay, okay, let’s get to the point:
Publishing — as an industry — should be looking at gaming as an example of what not to do for long-term sustainability.
While a lot of these tactics do lead to short-term gains, it only works for a few games, and it only works for a little while. Even for hits, the life cycle of heavily monetized games is pretty short. Players figure it out. They realize they’ve spent hundreds (or even thousands!) of dollars on something designed to dominate their attention and extract their money. And they stop playing.
No one likes to feel manipulated.
Obviously, gaming is still chugging along, in spite of increasing resistance to these tactics. But gaming is a multi-billion dollar industry. There’s room to lose players. Some of these games weren’t meant to be long-term anyway, just quick ways to make cash. And games can be social/shared experience, so people might keep playing just to spend time with physically distant friends.
Publishing . . . is considerably smaller, with tighter budgets and less room to lose reader trust. Publishing cannot afford to make these mistakes.
And still, I think we’re seeing similar trends with short-term financial gains as a priority, focus breaking out a handful of books at the expense of all others, and issues with industry wide . . . morale problems.7
I could talk about how this affects authors (that’s my jam and we all know it), but what it really comes down to — especially when we’re comparing it to gamer experience — is how all this affects readers.8
Cost
I’m sure we’ve all noticed, but books are getting more expensive. Some of that is natural, given inflation and the price of materials going up, but do readers agree that the increase makes sense? Has the overall quality of a physical book gone up to match the increased price?
I . . . don’t think so. In YA, we’ve seen an increased cover price of paperbacks: a few years ago, books that were $9.99 bumped up a dollar . . . then two dollars. And this year, I’ve seen paperbacks that cost $15.99! That’s almost the price of an adult paperback. And, let’s be honest, they don’t look any fancier than they did before. Certainly not six dollars fancier.
Side note: It’s an open secret that some publishers/imprints have policies that books do not get special effects unless some sort of threshold is met — this is sometimes decided by the print run or even the number of preorders. The preorder threshold puts the burden of getting a nice book — worth paying the higher cost, perhaps — onto the author and the reader.
Ebooks are also going up, but without the excuse of material costs. And sure, the publishing industry can talk all day about whether we think ebooks are worth more than a cup of coffee (I do think they are), but it comes down to whether readers are actually going to buy them at higher and higher price points.
Of course, there are some books that look nice. Really nice. Extra special nice.
There’s been an explosion of special editions recently, some with bonus content exclusive to certain retailers, which forces fans to buy multiple copies if they want the full story. (Read
’s The Exclusivity Effect.)On those special editions, we see a major focus on expensive special effects, like fancy endpapers, stenciled edges, and so on.9 These create a sense of FOMO (fear of missing out), because they are beautiful objects, and if you love the book, don’t you want the most beautiful edition there is? Maybe all the beautiful editions?
Recently, someone said it seems like all books have special editions. But the reality is, most don’t. That tells me that books that “only” have standard editions — particularly standard editions without specs — are basically invisible to readers.
And it makes sense. Special effects stand out. They grab reader attention when they’re on the shelves and social media photos, and they make the higher price point seem worth it.
As for the books without all those specs but cost the same? It’s harder for a reader with a limited budget to justify that.
Misleading marketing
This is when flap copy (or back cover copy) doesn’t accurately describe the book.
It’s the confusing trend that covers for middle grade books, young adult books, and adult romance books are all illustrated, often with similar styles.
It’s the way books for teens are marketed to adults,10 leaving a gap in the space between middle grade and young adult. (Those books do exist! But they’re not as common as they should be, and they’re not getting promoted the same way as books that appeal to adults.) And the way middle grade books are getting more mature to fill that gap, leaving another gap on the other side. . . .
Visibility comes in here, too. In the same way I’m certain I’m not seeing all the games I’d be interested in playing (assuming they’re getting made at this point . . .), many books aren’t getting sufficient promotion, leaving readers with the feeling that there are only a few options. Or, if they do see other options in a bookstore, they might be less willing to take a chance on something they’ve never heard of before. Especially given costs.
Imitation without understanding what made something work
While there is comfort in reading a book that feels familiar, I know we’ve all seen publishers buy up a ton of books with a superficial similarity to a breakout hit in order to capitalize on a trend.
Not only does that do a disservice to the authors of those books, but the readers as well. Readers don’t want clones. They can reread a favorite, if that’s what they want.
But when, let’s say, a vampire book hits the top of every list and stays there, rather than looking at the themes and emotional arcs, figuring out what it is that made readers so invested and using that, there’s rush to buy more books that include vampires.
Discussion of those books is flattened into that similarity/trend as they pass through production without getting the attention they deserve. The marketing plan is “maybe it will go viral on TikTok.” The books are on and off the shelves in a matter of months.
Meanwhile, readers are bombarded with books that sound like one they’ve already read — without ever hearing about what makes these other books truly special.
And when the trend is over, that’s it.11 We will not speak the trend’s name for another seven to ten years.
It’s not all bad news, though. Here’s something gaming recently got right.
Elden Ring.
Baldur’s Gate 3
I haven’t played the latter (yet), but I did play Elden Ring, and let me tell you: it wasn’t broken upon release. There was no in-game store trying to sell me extras. The story was interesting and I never felt like my time was being wasted. And when I finished the game, that was it. It didn’t try to keep me playing with artificially complex end-game mechanics. It was simply a quality game that delivered on its promises.
Because the company behind the game prioritized player experience over everything else. But what about money? How did they pay the bills?
Well, Elden Ring released in February 2022. By the one-year mark, the game had multiple Game of the Year awards and had sold over 20 million copies.
Now we’re seeing the same thing with Baldur’s Gate 3, which released in September and has already sold millions of copies. And it’s doing that with no additional monetization, grind, or attention-stealing mechanics. You buy the game. You play the whole thing. And get the entire experience.
It’s a raging success.12
Publishing can do this, too.
First, understand that prioritizing short-term profits is not a long-term strategy. Squeezing more money out of readers may work for a few years, but in the long run, it erodes trust.
But if we prioritize reader experience, a lot of other problems get fixed in the process.
That means paying authors enough to be able to focus on their work without rushing. It means supporting the midlist, not only a chosen few. And it means hiring more editors, publicists, and other staff — and lowering the number of books they’re required to work on every season.
Storytime:
Years ago, I asked one of my editors what her workdays looked like. She outlined meeting after meeting. “But when do you edit the books you’ve acquired?” I asked when she was done.
At home. After work.
From a different editor, I’ve seen timestamps on edits that were for hours meant for sleeping. Like, all the hours meant for sleeping. I’m saying I don’t think the editor got in any sleep in order to get that work done.
Editors and other publishing staff are stretched thinner every year, with less time to work on any of their books, let alone the smaller (commercially speaking) books. Publicists are overburdened. And no one is getting paid enough.
Fixing this will cost money upfront, but it will result in better books — and therefore higher book sales — in the long run. It will regain reader trust and create new readers who want to join in the experience.
This is, of course, only something the top people can fix. The ones who decide how many people work for the publisher, how well the staff is paid, and how many meetings everyone has to attend.
But if publishers don’t want to lose (even more) readers, the industry must prioritize readers over profits. Prioritize authors, editors, artists, and everyone else who works on the books.
Do that, and the profits will come.
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Thanks to the folks who read this early: Lauren,
, and .This is the common term for gameplay that, well, feels like a grind. It’s not really fun or rewarding. It’s just what you do to (hopefully) get to the next fun part.
In the games I’m familiar with that have this, you purchase a battle pass ahead of time (or you can purchase it during the season as you complete the objectives) for $10-30. When you complete certain objectives and start to “fill out” your pass, you unlock cosmetics, level skips, and other perks. Sometimes you can also get in-game currency to spend in the in-game store, which makes this feel like a deal.
Some games are free-to-play and use micro-transactions as the way to keep the lights on. Think Fortnite, Fall Guys, or Path of Exile. Other games are not free-to-play (meaning, they cost money to purchase the game — on a Playstation 5, that’s about $70) and also have micro-transactions.
This might be tokens, coins, energy, whatever. These are generally packs of in-game currency — purchased with real-world money — that obfuscate how much money is being spent. For example, it might cost $5.99 to purchase 50 tokens, but you need 52 tokens to do something. So now you’ve spent $11.98 for 100 tokens, but since the thing you wanted was 52 tokens, you have 48 left over, but that’s not enough to buy anything with, and how much money did this 52-token thing cost anyway?
Note that even when the rest of the game is buggy or broken, the store always works. Always.
These are digital “containers” with a randomized assortment of goodies. The very coolest stuff is rare, so in order to get the special item you want, you often have to purchase several boxes.
Loot boxes can be very controversial, especially when they contain items that might help you win the game more easily, and there have been a lot of accusations that they are, essentially, gambling. Here are two articles that might help you understand more if you need it. 1 2
To put it mildly.
A lot of this is trad YA focused, because that’s the side of the industry I know about.
I mean, obviously I want those things for my own books. I want them so bad. And I don’t hold anything against authors who get special editions. As I’ve said before, this is not a Chosen vs. Everyone Else situation. Frankly, I’m just glad when authors get nice things. Period.
This is particularly disheartening since the inclusion of marginalized voices and stories has been treated as a marketing trend.
Man I hope gaming companies are paying attention to why players love these!
So many good insights here. (And thanks for linking to my piece about exclusive editions!)
Sometimes I despair about late-stage capitalism. The recommendation of "hire more people, let them actually do their job" is basically "Stop doing what you've BEEN doing to squeeze out more profits to shareholders, namely more work for fewer people." (See: CHOKEPOINT CAPITALISM for a longer explanation about more of that.) It can feel impossible to fight the whole system.
But your article gives me hope, actually! All it would take is one big publisher (...of which there are only 4 now? Or still 5?) ...or even a medium one, like Scholastic or Disney, to decide to prioritize reader experience. I bet that in a few years they'd have all the biggest hits, and then other publishers might follow suit.