Becoming a writer to be a brand name is like doing law solely to prepare for your selection to the supreme court.
– Justine Larbalestier
Tag: law
#quikfic 27
After making love in every state capital, we switched vowels. We’re up to 24 state capitols with 12 arrests and three warnings.
Pen to Paper: Copyright and the Public Domain
Copyright is pretty important to writers. Like most aspects of the law, there are ins and outs that it doesn’t hurt to have a law degree to understand. But Brian Klems over at Writers Digest has collected some of the popular copyright Q&As for easy access and comprehension. You can read the official word on copyright matters at the U.S. Copyright Office’s FAQs.
How long copyright lasts depends on when something was published and how it was published. The length of copyright now far outlasts the creator’s lifetime thanks to Mickey Mouse and Sonny Bono. (Come to think of it … did we ever see them together?) Increasingly, some corporations are using the copyright laws to enrich themselves at the expense of the public good (like they use or break or bribe their way around all the other laws). This is turning copyright law into a minefield for creators and is shrinking the public domain. For a guided tour of what’s good and what’s bad about the present state of copyright law, read this excellent graphic presentation (okay, it’s a comic book) written by three lawyers; the PDF is freely available at the Public Domain website. It focuses on documentary filmmaking, but don’t let that deter you from reading it.
I’m a great believer in copyright while I’m living and could (theoretically) earn some part of my living from what I write. And this is a good time to remind everyone that my stories and haiku (indeed, all my words here at Catsignal) are copyrighted and made available through a Creative Commons license. Scroll down the About page to see both.
But there will come a time after my inevitable death when there will be absolutely no good reason why my work shouldn’t be freely available to all. Why wouldn’t a creator want his stories to join those of Aesop and Shakespeare and Dickens in the public domain? Without that escape hatch, a creative work faces the possibility of being orphaned and lost forever.
Pen to Paper: Using Song Lyrics in Fiction
Author and poet Blake Morrison has an article at the Guardian’s website about using song lyrics in your fiction. It’s an excellent cautionary tale, and the moral of the story is given in the lead. Read it here.
In the non-fiction editing I do, I have to let the publisher know if I come across three words or more of lyrics that aren’t in the public domain (generally regarded as anything written before 1923). So what Morrison has written isn’t surprising to me, but I’m glad he’s given us the benefit of his learning curve. (The sums of money are given in British pounds. As of even date, the exchange rate is £1.5 equals $1.)
Morrison’s article refers to the laws in Great Britain, but there’s no substantial difference (so far as I can tell) here in the United States in copyright protections and remedies for violations. All these years, whenever someone has sung The Birthday Song in a TV show or movie or play, or written the words in a work of fiction, they’ve had to pay for the privilege. It’s not in the public domain; the authors have passed on, but Warner Music Group still owns the rights. As a refresher, see the U.S. Copyright Office’s page concerning Fair Use.
There are two simple ways to get around this: use the song’s title to refer to it, or paraphrase the lyrics. Here’s a combined example: “That was Jerry Lee Lewis with his Great Balls of Fire,” the announcer said. Jeff turned the radio off. “The only nerve-shaking and brain-rattling I’m interested in will be when that rocket lifts off tomorrow. That’s the only ball of fire I care about, too.” Do it without the announcer and readers still can figure out what song you’re referring to and it’s safe.
If you’re serious about using some lyrics, you have to contact the person who holds those rights. That can get terribly tricky because ownership of lyrics bounces around like paperbacks at a yard sale. It may well be that neither the lyricist nor the publisher own the rights. If it’s an older song still covered by copyright, you may find the publisher has gone out of business. Then you’re into some detective work on top of whatever the rights owner will charge you.
The laws don’t change just because you’re writing for fun or are selling your work on a limited scale. Here’s an instructive anecdote: Broadway playwright George S. Kaufman discovered that one of his plays was being staged by a summer-stock producer who hadn’t paid for the privilege. The fellow told Kaufman, “It’s only a small, insignificant theater.” Kaufman responded, “Then you’ll go to a small, insignificant jail.”
Re-read Morrison’s lead. That’s the bottom line.
Fiction: The Bird Feeder
Ewen Macklin made a hole in the side of the bag of wild bird seed and put a plastic cup to it to catch what spilled. He filled six such cups and tipped the bag back so no more of the seed would flow. He put the cups into a little basket and headed toward the back door of his home.
Only a couple of years earlier he would have taken the new bag of bird seed outdoors and held it aloft as necessary to fill the feeders. But that time had passed and the cups and basket were a necessary compromise.
“Joy, joy, joy,” he told himself. Macklin was certain this was the last real joy in his life now that age and death had taken the others from him. Feeding the birds — and, by extension, the squirrels — that came to his yard was an unalloyed, unadulterated delight.
It wasn’t until he started back inside after his happy errand that he saw his neighbor, Jon Burtle, staring at him hatefully. His young son, Jon Jr., who was about nine years old, had an identical expression on his face. Macklin ignored them and went in. He had never engaged the family next door in conversation and they had returned the silence. The Burtles’ vile bumper stickers and the political campaign signs they permitted in their yard indicated there would be no meeting of the minds among neighbors, and that was the end of it.
Fiction: One True Man
“Let me be certain I understand you,” the president said. “You are arguing against prosecution.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” he said.
“Even though we have clearly identified the lawbreakers and have ample evidence to prosecute and gain convictions.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” he repeated.
“You’ll need to explain why again.”
“Mr. President,” he began, “I firmly believe it is in everyone’s best interest to simply move on from this point; my colleagues and I all agree on this. We don’t wish to wallow in the past. The people are tired of this matter and want to put it behind them.”
“How can we possibly do that?” the president cried out.
“Mr. President, those at the top who organized it all are gone. There is, obviously, a new administration in power and we know that similar things will not happen. To hold these people accountable for the things they were ordered to do would be unfair. They were doing their jobs to the best of their abilities, and even though matters went much further than any of us would have wanted, prosecutions won’t change what has happened.”
“What about the simple, old-fashioned concepts of law and order and justice?” the president demanded.
The other man sighed slightly. “Sir, those are very high-minded ideals, but many of us believe following them blindly is not pragmatic at this time. These men who could go on trial were among the brightest and most capable. If we prosecute them, it will send a signal that government service is dangerous and no place for bright, capable people.”
“These men have lied, have sanctioned torture, and have had people killed. That doesn’t deserve a response from our legal system?”
“Mr. President, we greatly fear that any prosecution could establish the precedent for a new administration taking revenge on the previous one every time there is a regime change. It would be politically destabilizing.”
“The people we’re talking about prosecuting deserve their day in court to plead their cases,” the president replied, “and the rest of us deserve to see that no one, no matter how highly placed, is above the law. Tamper with that and you tamper with the foundation of civilized society.”
“Mr. President, again, these are fine ideals, but…”
“But nothing!” the president fumed, and he slammed his open hand down on his desk. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit! The trials will go forward, as scheduled, in Nuremberg. And I hope I never again see the day when any official of the United States would shy away from our sacred responsibility to justice. Get the hell out of my office!”
The defeated bureaucrat slunk out of the Oval Office in the direction Truman’s finger pointed.
“How do people get into government without understanding its most basic functions?” Truman mused. “I can only hope this pusillanimous attitude doesn’t spread.”