/ Publishing Education in the 21st Century and the Role of the University


Publishing education arose in the 20th century in response to a need for trained employees in a stable industry with a well understood set of competencies and skills. Today, the publishing landscape is disrupted, and that stability is seriously threatened. Given these circumstances, what is the role for university-level publishing education? This article argues for a model of university-level (graduate and undergraduate) publishing education that builds upon a vocational self-identification of incoming students, nurtures a community of practice and professional discourse, and in doing so generates and renews the very culture of publishing. In times of transition and disruption, this is a role uniquely suited to the university, where an environment of collaborative research, development, and innovation can be cultivated.


Publication is not the production of books but the production of a public for whom those books have meaning.

—Matthew Stadler, Publication Studio

At a time when both publishing and post-secondary education are in disruption, what is the role for university-level publishing education? To the extent that publishing education is construed as a kind of industry training, what are we to make of its future prospects as the industry itself struggles to navigate increasingly uncertain waters, struggles even to justify its own existence in the transition to a digital world? What can the publishing industry ask or want of the academy in such times?

This essay looks at the role of publishing education within a larger ecology of publishing: as it has evolved in recent decades; as it has responded to industry and market needs; and as it cultivates a community of practice that is perhaps more resilient than many would expect. It argues that publishing education—especially in a university setting—can serve a broader and longer-term agenda than typically realized in the industry training model upon which it has largely been founded. It argues that the foremost role for publishing education is in the grounding and nurturing of a set of values and virtues that are undoubtedly core to publishing in its industrial manifestation, but which serve a cultural milieu that transcends industry per se. Publishing education’s role, then, is the gathering and cultivation of those people who will take on this tradition, who will renew it and re-energize it. It is to nurture that cohort in a context of high-level discourse and practices, collectively generating and renewing the culture of publishing. And it can do it without losing sight of an essential playfulness that leads to experience with the limits of what is possible.

Publishing Education: Perspectives

Modern publishing education in the West gelled in the late-20th century, largely as an institutional response to a need for trained employees in a stable industry with a well understood set of competencies and skills. The maturity and growth of publishing markets and the firms that served them demanded employees who could serve that growth. Bright young people with liberal arts educations had always been a foundation, but the rise of specific publishing studies courses, workshops, and degree programs spoke to the need for a more targeted skill set.

In the UK, a variety of university-based graduate programs emerged, dating back to the early 1960s at Oxford Brookes (then Oxford Polytechnic) and Edinburgh Napier (then Napier College), with several other Universities following in later years. In North America, professional development and in-service courses (most famously the with Radcliffe Publishing Course in the 1950s, later reestablished at Columbia) led the way. A similar program at Stanford emerged in the late 1970s, and in Canada the Banff Publishing Workshop was established in the early 1980s after the Radcliffe model: a short, intensive industry-led breeding ground for the next generation of publishing professionals.[2] As market specialization and technical sophistication (esp. in software) grew through the 1980s and 1990s, a host of post-secondary and continuing education opportunities emerged at countless Universities and colleges across North America and Great Britain. Our own program at Simon Fraser University (SFU), founded in the early 1990s, was designed as a hybrid of the British graduate degree and American professional development models.

This industry-driven approach, which emerged in a period of relative stability in the publishing industries, served until well until the beginning of the 21st century, when disruptive transitions began to affect publishing. Today, in the century’s second decade, the world of publishing is changed. The very idea of a stable industry with stable labour requirements is in some question. More to the point, the idea of a stable curriculum, or at least a stable set of core competencies for publishing graduates and would-be employees, is also in question. Today, markets are disrupted; distribution and sales channels are in flux; production is a quagmire of emerging and yet unstable technologies. Even editorial curriculum, which perhaps has the best claim to an idealist vision of what it aims to do, has been disrupted, especially in periodical publishing. In light of all this, what is a university to teach, exactly? How can anyone craft meaningful curriculum in such circumstances? To take the question one step further, if what’s needed in the new world of publishing is guts, resilience, and a high tolerance for ambiguity, why does anyone need to go to school to get into the business?

There is, of course, still a call for trained employees today, especially given emerging technical roles like EPUB production, ONIX metadata stewardship, social media marketing, and the like. In Canada, we find increasing demand for interns in these kinds of specialties, and direct many Simon Fraser students to these kinds of work. One wonders, however, if this kind of hiring is indeed sustainable; is it realistic to think that the young graduates and new professionals hired into established firms on “social media internships” or “ebook QC” positions are headed for a long future in these firms—or in the industry at all? Much here relies on a set of troubling assumptions: first, that the publishing industry can readily absorb the impact of a shift to digital consumption.[3] Second, there is an assumption that the industry can adequately articulate its needs; that industry’s staffing and skill requirements are clearly enough defined, that the logic of means and ends is stable and unproblematic, and that those charting a course to the future (armed as they are with 20th-century navigational aids) can be trusted to find their way.

Regardless of the longer-term stability of publishing careers today, it has always been the case that specific technical production skills (such as listed above) are learnable on the job—or at least acquirable in short in-service training workshops. If so, then perhaps the best an institution can do in such circumstances is to offer short workshops—a week or two of intense, high-contact learning—with the curriculum revisited and re-conceived at least annually. This was the model employed for many years at Radcliffe, and at Banff, and in the Summer Workshops program at SFU. Indeed, this is a model that has long been trusted to make junior publishing employees into the kinds of people that will grow to inherit the industry from their elders.

What then to make of university-level publishing education? In asking this I am implicitly making a distinction between training workshops and formal academic (and especially graduate level) programs, such as the Master of Publishing Program[4] we offer at SFU. The distinction is not necessarily hierarchical. Rather, the issue is that the actual practices explored in the short, intense workshops are often so dynamic that they seriously resist being baked into curriculum, and as such are a long way from the accredited, discipline-based curriculum approach of typical university programs unfolding over a number of years. The problem of keeping curriculum current is something we have struggled with constantly at SFU. It is something publishing programs have always had to deal with, but the acceleration of technical developments makes it a growing challenge. One can perhaps build curriculum around “foundational concepts” and “best practices,” but only if these are stable enough year over year not to make a mockery of the accreditation process over time.

To focus on this limitation may miss the larger point, however; dwelling on the specifics of curriculum risks missing the much more interesting and important fact that publishing is far more than technical skills. Centuries ago publishers and printers parted (business) ways along these lines. Knowing how to run a press is a different kind of work altogether than knowing how to define a book and bring it to market. Even such overtly technical practices like design and production management are based more on deep contextual awareness than of technical skills, despite the latter’s perennial call to arms.

In the late 1980s, the advent of desktop publishing technology brought printing and publishing practice closer than they had been in ages, blurring the lines between the publisher’s and printer’s skill sets. Through the early 1990s, typesetting and page makeup shifted from an outsourced production task to an in-house technical skill due to the availability and convenience of inexpensive and highly capable software. And, as the digital age has made publishing even more personal—given social media, blogging, and self-publishing—this convergence of practices continues. Just as publishers had made the transition a generation ago from outsourced typesetting to using QuarkXPress in the office, we have watched Canadian publishers go to great lengths first to organize and collectively negotiate outsourced ebook conversion (as though it were just like printing and distribution services) and then, broadly dissatisfied with both the quality and their level of editorial engagement, gradually bring the process back in-house. Not surprisingly, interns and recent publishing grads have filled a critical role in bringing the necessary skills into the publishing firms, being in a position to bring new knowledge into established houses.

Interns—especially publishing students—fill an interesting role here, not just as cheap labour (though they certainly provide that), and not just the source of up-to-date skills (they certainly are that too). Perhaps the most important quality of student interns in publishing is that they are young and unencumbered by traditional notions of workflow, or by the way things had to be done, or by which skills were on which side of the boundary between publishing vs. service providers.[5] Interns and students are able to cross other boundaries as well, such as between traditional publishing and the web. At SFU, we have seen young interns accomplish things in established publishing firms that existing employees couldn’t do, not just because of skills and specialized knowledge, but because of a broader sensibility about what was properly the business of a publisher. And this brings us to the real role of university-level publishing education.

At SFU, we realized some years ago that one of the most important functions of our master’s program was the identification and gathering together of the brightest young people who are interested in publishing. Year after year we bring these people together: bright young students, typically a few years out from their undergraduate degrees (often with a BA in English), who have a sense of vocational identification with the world of publishing. To a considerable degree, the success of our program is in what the students already bring to the table as much as what our curriculum provides. Half the battle is identifying the right students, and bringing them together. This is a filtering function, one that Universities have always served, for good or ill, and one that graduate schools certainly serve. Of course we teach them too; our graduate program covers editorial, design and production, marketing and business management, policy analysis, and technology management. We teach them in the classroom, in the lab, in intensely creative group projects, and in industry-partnered research and development.

It is worth lingering for a moment on this vocational self-identification by our incoming students, for this is foundational. It speaks to a transformational model of education rather than an instructional one. It offers the opportunity for students to become publishing professionals rather than to merely learn what publishing professionals do.

The raw material for a university program in publishing is a group—a cohort, a community—of young, brilliant people. These are people who say, “I love books, magazines, literature, and I want a career in that.” This is not the same thing as saying, “I want to be an editor” or “I want to be a publicist.” It is instead a vocational identification. Our candidates begin with a sensibility about the world of publishing and its cultural contexts: they are well read; they are already sophisticated in their thinking about genre and voice in writing, about trends and market positioning. They are already attuned to subcultures and identity and art and design. They are, on arrival in our program, nascent publishing professionals. This is possible because publishing is a grand cultural tradition, and not merely a set of skills leading to a job.

What a university program can uniquely provide to students like this is an environment that nurtures a community of practice and professional discourse in which to develop their already-existing sensibilities. It does so by engaging with them not just as individuals, but also as a group; they enter into this environment collectively and together undergo the process of learning and becoming valuable professionals. They are working individually and collectively: acquiring and generating knowledge, and perspectives, and the very culture of publishing. This is where the real magic happens: in a constructive process in which knowledge is actively generated, interpreted, contextualized, by a community of practice.[6] They are building culture, renewing the culture of publishing year by year.

A Craft Tradition

Publishing is an industrial activity; it is perhaps the very prototype for industrial activity, stretching back even before the industrial revolution. And, of course, publishing is tied closely—perhaps inextricably—to literature, which we think of as art. But there is a third category that is germane, which is craft. When we talk of publishing, we often think in terms of functions and functional explanations. But beyond storytelling; beyond reaching an audience, beyond filtering and amplifying and framing,[7] there is also the business of making things, and especially making things that last. This is a grand tradition in publishing, stretching back past Gutenberg to the scribal era, and it is a tradition containing immeasurable cultural wealth.

Craft is organized practice, within a community of practitioners and aspirants operating within a common discourse, over time. The architect Malcolm McCullough wrote:

A practice cultivates mastery and judgment. Based on lifelong learning and devotion to a core set of knowledge and values, it has intrinsic benefit for those who take part in it. In that regard, a practice is a goal in itself. This quality is demonstrated by anyone who works primarily for the right to continue to practice.[8]

Craft is a collaborative endeavour, organized within communities of practice: between teacher and student, master and apprentice, and peer to peer. Craft is an iterative business: we make things in order to critique, in order to learn, in order to improve. “Critical making” is something of a buzzword in 2013,[9] especially in light of the “maker culture” that has emerged as the open-source and DIY ethic have been applied to hardware. But critical making is not new; indeed, it was well and thoroughly elaborated and theorized in the 1980s by Seymour Papert and colleagues in the Epistemology and Learning Group at the MIT Media Lab under the moniker constructionism. The idea of constructionism is simply that we learn best by creating personally meaningful artifacts and sharing them within a community of practice.[10]

What makes the craft tradition even more powerful is that it is rooted in a history; its community of practice is not merely the people who are connected together in the present, but rather extends into the past. Craft happens over time, and in publishing it is embodied in a grand tradition spanning centuries. Attention to this tradition is key to publishing education, as is the active construction of this tradition going forward.

And here is the value to publishing that a university program can provide: it is not just the individuals trained and released into the workforce, nor the passing down of skills and competencies although these are important; it is rather the active renewal of publishing culture. To do this requires attention to both the past and the future; it requires both continuity over time and ongoing reinvention. This is something that can only be done with an ever-greening supply of new people and a productive, practical, risk-tolerant environment in which to let them grow. It can be difficult to do in a corporate setting, but this is precisely what universities do best.

On Curriculum

In terms of curriculum design, what must a program or a course do to feed the discourse and coach the practice? At SFU, we bring our cohort into contact with all kinds of working professionals who embody current practice and contemporary thinking, and in certain courses these professionals actively assess student work. We bring them into contact with the discussions and the debates and the issues that are shaping the world of publishing right now. We connect them with the online communities and the conferences where the edges of these discussions exist. We get them to read broadly, and to write about it, and to engage, actively, with those larger community discussions. We challenge them with perspectives derived from faculty research and professional activities (in which we are assessing and providing insight to the industry as a whole). When our students graduate, they are not just emerging into this world, they are already part of it; they are helping create it. Second, we get them to do things, because publishing studies is not just about talking. We get them to write, edit, design, produce, and build things—to research and develop, because the discourse of publishing is embodied in its artifacts and products at least as much in what people are saying. It is discourse + practice.

And we get them to share what they create: with each other, and with a larger community of people. At SFU, we’ve had success with the hands-on parts of our work actively leading industry practice. We do this partly because we can; a university program and graduate students can afford to do experimental work and exploratory R&D without worrying about sacrificing next season’s list, or the next issue, or the quarterly bottom line. We can afford to play with techniques and tools and methods of doing things.

For example, a few years ago, we had our Masters students produce The Book of MPub, [11] ,which prototyped a web-first workflow for developing a book in simultaneous print and digital formats. The point of that project was not to “teach” the students how to do book production. The point was to get them to play with the techniques and methods and models, so that they had first-hand experience with the possibilities and limitations. For instance, the production workflow employed in The Book of MPub was reversed compared with typical book production: going from web-native content and editorial process into Adobe InDesign rather than the exporting a digital version from the print production tool. But in doing so, the students were also able to discover an “agile” editorial model and an open peer review process, facets which were even more interesting even than what we were able to accomplish in re-engineering the production process.[12]

Indeed, there is no “right way” to do e-production today; there are any number of approaches and publishing as a field is still in the midst of exploring the possibilities. So it makes little sense to try to teach this in any kind of instructional way. What makes more sense is to have students play with and experiment with all the ways that things can be put together, all the ways one could reconceive of the process, and discover how to put the pieces together. In the fall of 2013, our graduate students ran a project with seven parallel book production experiments—including typical print-first workflows, online software-as-a-service approaches, and digital, XML-first strategies[13]— in order to explore the constraints, affordances, strengths, and weaknesses of each. There was no one “best” solution but we learned a good deal in the parallel exploration of possibilities and in playing the different strategies off against one another.

A similarly open-ended approach came with a new first-year undergraduate course at SFU in 2013, The Publication of Self in Everyday Life,[14] which asked students to become publishers of themselves, beginning with registering their own domain names, setting up their own web hosting, and building their online presence in a variety of modes. In doing so, we then as a group explored the dynamics of the central values and virtues of publishing: the establishment of a coherent and authoritative voice, gathering and sustaining an audience, measuring and evaluating the relation to that audience in terms of the sustainability of the publishing proposition. The larger goal of the course is the development of this discourse, of making our students conversant—fluent—not just with what publishing talks about, but how it does what it does. The result is that we’re graduating students who are already involved, on a number of levels, with the challenges and opportunities that are facing publishing today.

Here is an approach—a perspective, an opportunity—that can uniquely be served by an educational institution. The vast majority of publishing firms simply can’t afford to play or set up “skunkworks” operations. Conversely, startups are often too constrained by capitalization and promotion needs directed towards a particular vision of return on investment. Universities, however, are uniquely oriented to research; this distinguishes them from professional firms, but also from other sorts of educational institutions, from workshops to schools to colleges. When I say research I mean more than simply those activities that produce new knowledge; I mean the cultivation of practices that bring a knowledge- and culture-generating mindset to the fore. In SFU’s Masters program, students actively do research in classroom-based assignments and projects but also in a capstone internship program focused on an original project: an analysis of some facet of actual practice or a research & development opportunity. This project forms the basis of a graduating project report.

What a university program can do, then, is to attract and recruit the brightest, most interested minds, assemble them in a cohort that will serve as a constructionist community of practice, provide focus over a period of time, provide opportunities for original research, establish connections with professionals and professional discourse, and build collectively, without distractions from other quarters. In being both steeped in the traditional values and virtues that constitute publishing as a profession and a craft, and in actively seeking the limits and their transcendence, we build on and build new publishing culture. At the points where our students leave the university and engage with industrial, professional, or entrepreneurial contexts, the result is the renewal of publishing culture in the large.

Structural and Operating Principles

So far I have sketched a high-level vision of the role of the university in publishing education and an approach curriculum design. Of course, the success or failure of any educational offering depends on a number of operational and structural elements that affect the experience of students in the program and how they interact with the contexts we provide.

The following are operating principles we hold to at SFU, and which shape not only our practices, but our relationships with the academic and professional worlds:

  • Students are co-investigators; we learn, and contribute, by making; that we work collaboratively and openly; research is as much the business of the students as the professors.
  • Boundaries are porous; that we should not just seek a discrete niche, but that we should spill over disciplinary and technical boundaries. Publishing is by nature and history a polymath profession.
  • Practical and vocational interests are inseparable from intellectual, academic, and theoretical ones. And, more broadly, that real expertise is often drawn from the intersection of multiple domains.
  • The balance between academic and professional perspectives makes for a richer collegial environment than either alone.

These operating principles are based on the idea that publishing is and always has been a “maker culture”; that hands-on, studio-based practice blends with scholarly and critical approaches in a way that pays homage to the long craft tradition of printers and publishers.

Situating the Curriculum

There are at least four disciplinary facets of publishing studies—four perspectives that are simultaneously in play (this is true in SFU’s program and in many others). These cross academic and methodological boundaries and tend to resist attempts to pigeonhole publishing in one or another university faculty unit.

Publishing studies features a social science analysis of publishing structures, functions, and activities, in both industrial and broader public practice, and as such is a close colleague of Communications, Media Studies, Cultural Studies as well as Policy Studies and Business.

Publishing studies can be seen within the humanities as a study of the modes of human expression in modernity and beyond. Publishing is thus a close colleague of disciplines like Book History, English Literature, Media Archaeology, and the Digital Humanities generally. The latter is methodologically linked with much of publishing studies, while differing perhaps in its scholarly goals.

Publishing studies celebrates and builds on the art and craft of the book, its design and production, and operates as a studio-based practice akin to fine arts programs in the university.

Publishing studies also engages with applied technology and technics—as a socially situated, pragmatic, experimental research & development practice—and thus shares similarities with applied sciences.

Within these four facets come a broad range of curricular areas, which necessarily cross over and blur boundaries.

We hold a sociological and historical view that publishing is and has been a central infrastructural component of democratic society and that the constitution of this relationship is currently in transition. This leads directly to a structural analysis of policy, regulatory frameworks, and cultural nationalism (esp. in countries like Canada). Industry analysis proceeds in terms of case studies, ethnographies, histories, as well as statistical and summative studies of industrial and public activity. Policy and legal analysis follows in terms of how publishing (in the broadest sense) is regulated and constrained by legislative and legal frameworks. Closely related is the sociology of texts[15] in circulation both currently and historically.

As professional education, publishing studies focuses practically on key specialties from within the scope of publishing traditionally: editing and editorial, design and production, marketing and publicity, business management. Professional education in publishing must also take serious stock of the craft tradition and history of publishing, with an eye to the values and virtues that have survived the test of time and are worth taking forward. I can think of no better example than the study of typography, which demands that students are steeped in historical tradition in order to be effective practitioners. The crucial role and appreciation of this history leads to an appreciation and fluency with the forms, genres, and discourses that shape professional practice.

And in times of rapid change in industry structure and the professional world, a focus on entrepreneurship is a growing theme within publishing studies, owing to a general trend toward this disaggregation of publishing functions.

Beyond the ever-fascinating study of disruption and tumult in the industry, there are also areas of significant opportunity and growth today. They include:

The intersection of traditional Publication Design with Interaction and User Experience Design, which can be seen as the merging of a formalist tradition with a radically contextualist one.

The growing omnibus field of the Digital Humanities as it re-examines the relationship between texts, authorship, and reading, and re-inscribes scholarly and editorial competencies and skills.[16] Large swaths of DH practice and method overlap or are adjacent to practices in publishing (e.g., markup, database design, user experience design, editing), yet publishing studies and the digital humanities often appear to run at right angles to one another in terms of purpose and objective. There is surely an opportunity for complementary work here.

The ongoing revolution in Scholarly Communications, which moves from a gatekeeping function producing regular-sized accreditable packages to a more fluid, granular, and dialogical communications model. Much more than a field of technical innovation, the evolution of scholarly communication is a crucible for working out the relationship of publishing to communication more generally.

The Open Education movement, as it incorporates a large swath of what was traditionally the purview of publishing as an industry, and as it affects copyright and the read-write universe. The shift from a one-to-many mass-media model and a participatory media model is most keenly affected here.

Technological standards and evolving practices, especially in light of the broad dynamic of open systems vs. proprietary media. These demand to be understood in both technical detail and cultural-historical perspective.[17] Publishing has always found itself in tension between the technical capabilities of the machines and methods that allow it to function and the expressive ambitions of the people who animate it; the pendulum swing between periods of relative technocentrism and transcendence is a dynamic which animates publishing history.

The study of the Internet as a cultural platform, especially in the sense of the Network, to use James Bridle’s framing of the singular network that unites all of us and all of our technology.[18] The achievement of a singular, open, shared communications platform has huge constitutional implications for publishing and its role in society.

These many facets and opportunities combine to make an exciting and vibrant picture of publishing studies and publishing education, perhaps in some contrast to the now-popular conception of publishing as a beleaguered sector with diminishing prospects. The rich disciplinary connections also position publishing as a rich interdisciplinary field, taking energy and inspiration from a variety of sources and bringing it to bear on a grand tradition with a strong vocational calling.

Publishing cannot be reduced to its industrial manifestation, especially in the 21st century, when new publishing environments and models push at traditional boundaries. University-based programs can provide a constructive, research-rich counterpoint that both strengthens and challenges the industrial context by simultaneously engaging and transcending it.The role of university-based publishing education is nothing less than the nurturing and renewal of the culture of publishing itself, by ways and means that are not entirely available within the market-driven sector of the publishing industry. Indeed, a productive relationship with academic publishing studies is precisely the way to help ensure that the culture of publishing—a five-century tradition of immeasurable value—can survive the transition to digital world.


1. I would like to thank Rowly Lorimer, Publishing@SFU’s founder and director, for his careful and insightful feedback on this article, and also for his seminal role in developing the model described herein.return to text

2. Yuri Rubinsky. 1979. “Proposal: A Book and Magazine Publishing Course.” InterArts Program, Banff School of Fine Arts.return to text

3. E-publishing critic and consultant Baldur Bjarnason provided two instructive posts early in 2013 that questioned whether the ebook is in fact a “sustaining innovation” rather than a truly “disruptive” one, drawing on Clayton Christensen’s framing. See his “Which kind of innovation?” (May 3, 2013; http://www.baldurbjarnason.com/notes/the-ebook-innovation/) and “Why does it matter?” (May 10, 2013; http://www.baldurbjarnason.com/notes/why-does-it-matter/)return to text

4. The Master of Publishing Program is the graduate offering from Publishing@SFU. There is also an undergraduate minor program and a professional workshops series. See http://www.ccsp.sfu.ca/educationreturn to text

5. The University of Toronto’s Alan Galey makes an eloquent case for the introduction of digital technical skills into the purview of scholarly editing. A very similar argument holds in trade publishing: a long-term reliance on external service providers for technical skills robs publishing of much of its creative agency, especially in times of transition and re-definition of forms and genres. See Alan Galey. 2010. “Mechanick Exercises: The Question of Technical Competence in Digital Scholarly Editing.” in Electronic Publishing: Politics and Pragmatics. Ed. G. Egan. Iter/ACMRS.return to text

6. The term “community of practice” was elaborated in a theory of learning in Jean Lave & Etienne Wenger’s 1991 book, Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. (Cambridge University Press).return to text

7. Michael Bhaskar’s 2013 book, The Content Machine (Anthem) provides the best functionalist treatment I’ve seen so far, remarkably clear and comprehensive analysis.return to text

8. Malcolm McCullough, Digital Ground. MIT Press 2004. p152.return to text

9. On “Critical Making” see Matt Ratto’s project from the University of Toronto’s iSchool: http://criticalmaking.com/ and also the recent book, The Art of Critical Making: The Rhode Island School of Design on Creative Practice, ed by Somerson and Hermano. Wiley. 2013return to text

10. Seymour Papert & Idit Harel. 1991. Constructionism. (Ablex Publishing).return to text

11. The Book of MPub (2010) can be found at http://tkbr.ccsp.sfu.ca/bookofmpubreturn to text

12. John W Maxwell & Kathleen Fraser. 2011. “Traversing the Book of MPub: An Agile, Web-first Publishing Model.” Journal of Electronic Publishing 13 (3). http://dx.doi.org/10.3998/3336451.0013.303return to text

13. See Publishing@SFU’s PUB607 Publishing Technology Project for fall 2013: http://tkbr.ccsp.sfu.ca/mpub/pub607-fall2013return to text

14. Publishing@SFU’s PUB101: Publication of Self in Everyday Life can be found at http://posiel.comreturn to text

15. D.F. McKenzie. 1999. Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts. Cambridge University Press. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511483226return to text

16. Galey 2010.return to text

17. See esp., Brian O'Leary. 2014. "Twelve Steps." Magellan Media Partners, May 6, 2014. http://www.magellanmediapartners.com/index.php/mmcp/article/twelve_steps/return to text

18. James Bridle. 2010. “Network Realism: William Gibson and New Forms of Fiction.” BookTwo.org http://booktwo.org/notebook/network-realism/return to text