Circ de Suckee

I've finally figured out why -- and I say this with affectionate and grateful recognition of all those terrific homeschoolers who've squeezed the already-whimpering household budget a little harder in order to purchase SHM -- our circ numbers bite so much.

It's a new magazine, of course. With no publicity budget.

And of course there's the name. I mean, good grief. Thank you again, you awesome subscribers who not only keep a magazine with a title like Secular Homeschooling in your actual home, but even bring it to park days and other gatherings.

(I myself tend to choke when cornered on the name of the magazine I edit. "Um -- it's about homeschooling!" I say with desperate cheer. "Lots and lots of homeschooling! Oodles of it! Nice homeschooling! Totally organic! Biodegradable! Cute little kids doing cute stuff with their cute parents! Did I mention the homeschooling part?" Like if I say all that loudly and often enough, they won't actually see the s-word on the cover when I finally haul a copy out to show them. Yes, I always carry copies with me. Not the whole print run. I do have a shred of dignity, thank you.)

But I really don't think those are the factors that are keeping SHM's numbers in the three digits. I think there's more to it than that. And now I'm sounding even to myself like my good friend who's really smart and funny and a joy to hang out with, but who thinks that absolutely everything, including the cheese they put on his burger when he asked for it plain, is the result of some huge overarching conspiracy. I'd love to feel that important, but I really don't think anyone's out to get me.

No, here's the deal:

Last week, someone at a homeschooling gathering gave me a copy of a homeschooling magazine. "I thought you'd like to see this!" she said. "I know you're always interested in homeschooling magazines."

I don't know where she got the plural. I'm always interested in the well-being of exactly one homeschooling magazine, which is kind of obvious by the way I lug copies of it around, never talk or think about anything else, and ask people at park days to please keep it down while I work on an article. (I'm really in demand at this kind of gathering. Really.)

Still, like an idiot, I took the magazine she offered me.

I think it was only human of me to look at this publication and suddenly feel like a four-year-old in a room full of grownups.

No, not just four years old. Four years old, carrying a paper plate on which are balanced several blue and green and orange and purple clay sculptures I've labored over all morning. And now I'm trying to sell them. And I've somehow wandered into the board room of a multinational, multi-skillion-dollar company.

I looked at this glossy new magazine, and in my head I heard my own voice piping up:  "This one is a elephant! And this one's a giraffe. Do you want to buy a elephant or a giraffe?"

Oh, God, I'm such a loser.

This magazine I'm holding is just a little older than mine, and it's slick! It's got advertisers! It's got Rosetta Stone, fer crying out corn!

I brought it home and, in my usual mature and grownup fashion, explained to my family that I would now be retiring as editor of Wow -- Check Out The Loser magazine and would instead be turning my time and energy to something more in line with my abilities. I was thinking maybe I'd put in an application to be one of those people who cleans up the locker rooms of professional athletes.

My husband took a look at the publication I'd brought home and explained some of the facts of life to me.

"This is almost all advertising," he said, thumbing through it.

"I know!" I snapped. Way to rub it in. Some of those advertisers were people I'd said no to. And some of them were people who'd said no to me.

"So, there's no substance here," he said. "How many people do you think are actually sitting down and reading this?"

"A lot," I said. "Their circulation must be huge. Rosetta Stone doesn't advertise with just anyone."

"A big circulation doesn't mean a big readership," my husband corrected.

"Well, it sure means something."

"Do you know that magazine I keep getting in the mail every week and throwing away? I never ordered that. They got my name off some mailing list, started sending me free copies, and bingo -- another 'subscriber' to tell advertisers about."

Hmmph.

"And look at the articles," he went on. "This one is a book excerpt. This one is a book excerpt. This one is a review -- no, wait, I think this is an excerpt, too. The author of the book wrote it, anyway. So basically that's three ads passing for articles."

"Okay, but -- "

"Here's a so-called article that just happens to be a glowing review of the product that just happens to have a facing full-page ad," my husband said. "There's not even an author credited. For all we know, someone from the company wrote it."

"Maybe they -- "

"And here's another article about another product that just happens to have an ad on the facing page! Let me see, now, who wrote this? Gosh, it doesn't say! They sure like the product, though!"

"I just -- "

"Hey, look!" my husband said brightly. "An article about places that offer special rates for homeschoolers. And gosh! These places all happen to have ads in the magazine! Imagine that!"

"Okay, okay."

"This isn't really a magazine," he finished. "It isn't a resource. It's an ad package. Someone in the business set this up. It's completely artificial."

"It's the Spice Girls!" I said, inspired. "Isn't that how they got started? Some corporation decided to make a band?"

"Exactly."

I looked at the magazine again. It still looked like a magazine to me. If I saw this in the library or at a newsstand, I wouldn't be surprised.

But I'd be shocked if they charged seven dollars for it.  They'd be pushing their luck asking for four.

I suddenly understood why I get so many people asking for "sample" copies of my magazine. They're expecting something slim, sleek, and glossy. Something cranked out. And if they think about it at all, they're expecting that, like the publication I was given, the publisher is making money primarily from advertisers.

That's not what I want. I'm not saying I could get it if I did want it; but I never wanted my magazine to be the big book o' advertising.

I want Secular Homeschooling to be primarily reader-supported, in the same way that I want my doctor to work for me rather than for an insurance company.

I ran a mixed review of a book in the latest issue. I felt lousy about doing it because I know what a hard job writing is, but I wanted people to know that I'll say what I really think about a book or a product. I rave when I like a book because I like the book, not because the writer or publisher might consider advertising with me.

I want to keep it that way. I want readers to be my top priority.

Homeschooling is hard work, and it deserves a serious journal.

It's hard to give people an idea of why SHM costs so much when they haven't held it in their hands. You can hear from someone -- and a lot of people have mentioned this kind of thing on loops and forums, and I thank them again and again -- that the magazine has almost no ads; that it's almost all articles, and they're in-depth rather than two page surface-skimmers.

But if what I was given at the park is what a homeschooling magazine (or any other kind of magazine, for that matter) supposedly looks and acts like -- that's a pretty strong preconception to fight.

I'm looking for help.

It's not just that I need to get the word out about this magazine. It's that I need to know how to get people to understand what it really is. And what it isn't.

Let me know what you think.

I'll be going to my first homeschooling conference in about a month. I hope that will be some good publicity.

I know there are people who go to conferences all over the country, but I have no idea how they manage it. How do they even find out about out-of-state conferences? How do they get to them without blowing all their money on travel and lodging fees?

See above about loving any input I can get.

And as always -- thanks for being here.