So there’s an article in Library Journal’s netConnect supplement with my name on it. My name is on it because I wrote it.
Library Journal is owned by Reed Business. Which is owned by Elsevier. Yes, the Elsevier, the Elsevier I’ve already said I wouldn’t write for. So, yeah, how’d that happen, exactly, Dorothea?
I screwed up, is what happened. I wasn’t thinking, and I should have been. It was not an intentional hypocrisy, but it is hypocrisy nonetheless. I’ve been furious with myself for two months about it, and let me assure you I haven’t stopped kicking myself just because I’m finally coming clean.
What happened was, a very nice editor from Library Journal contacted me to ask if I’d write an article for pay about how user experience informs library design. It sounded like an interesting topic, and goodness knows everybody and her cat who works in a library reads Library Journal, so I—
— asked whether I would keep self-archiving rights; I wasn’t that far gone. Six-month embargo, I was told, during which time the article would be free online anyway. (Which, incidentally, is an interesting and not-uncool model; the publication gets the initial eyeballs, the article stays open access indefinitely.) Okay, I said, sounds reasonable; when’s the deadline?
And then I went to Library Journal’s website and sorted out who owns them. Gah. I thought about backing out, but I have a thing about obligations, once I’ve agreed to them. Besides, it’s not that nice editor’s fault that he works for the Evil Elseviley Empire. (Well, it is, I suppose, but it doesn’t stop him being a nice editor, and I’m all for nice editors.)
So I’m coming clean—you can call me nasty names now, because I’ve earned them. And I’m apologizing for my stupidity; I’m really sorry I contradicted my own principles. And I’m dividing the paycheck between the Alliance for Taxpayer Access and Science Commons, adding a stupidity dividend out of my own funds. And in six months I’ll self-archive the article.
And I’ll try my level best not to be such a moron next time.
The experience was instructive in one way: I got a firsthand look at the Library Journal copyright-transfer agreements. Let me tell you, their standard one is fearsome. The money quote:
Each Work shall be a “work made for hire” and, as such, Reed Business Information shall own all right, title and interest in and to the Works, including all copyrights and other intellectual property rights therein and all renewals and extensions thereof, in all formats and media, whether now known or hereafter developed, throughout the world in perpetuity. To the extent any of the Works are deemed not to be “works made for hire,” you hereby assign to Reed Business Information all right, title and interest in and to the Works, including all copyrights and other intellectual property rights therein and all renewals and extensions thereof, throughout the world and in perpetuity. You waive all moral rights you have in the Works
Missing period theirs, not mine. This was the first one I received from the administrative assistant (not, I must emphasize, the editor). $DEITY on a pogo stick, how can anybody sign that thing? It’s heinous. Unconscionable. Mess-of-pottage territory.
After reclaiming my jaw from the basement floor, where it had landed after taking out two intervening stories on the way down, I emailed the editor to say (politely) that this wasn’t what we had agreed, and did I need to send along the SPARC Author’s Addendum?
No, no, he assured me, that’s not necessary; just ask the admin assistant for the other agreement. So I did. Money quote from the result:
You hereby grant Reed Business Information (a) a worldwide, perpetual, royalty-free right and license to use the Work, including all copyrights and other intellectual property rights therein and all renewals and extensions thereof, in all formats and media, whether now known or hereafter developed, including without limitation to publish, display, perform, distribute, reproduce, digitize, transmit, translate, modify and create derivative works of the Work for all or any purposes including but not limited to advertising and promotion; and (b) the right to assign or sublicense all or any of the foregoing rights. You agree that the foregoing license shall be exclusive until six (6) months following the publication of the Work by Reed Business Information and non-exclusive thereafter.
Whew. Much better. Although it occurs to me that draconian-by-default licensing keeps a lot of open-access advocacy out of Elseviley Verlag journals, which doubtless makes Elseviley Verlag very happy—but creates a somewhat skewed impression of what librarians (not to mention practitioners in other disciplines covered by Elseviley Verlag journals) really think about open access.
So now you know. If you write for Library Journal (and whether you do is between you and your conscience; nothing to do with me), ASK FOR THE OTHER AGREEMENT, because the first agreement is intellectual-property brigandry of the highest order.
