Canonic.xyz and literary experiments with NFT's
What happened in 2021 and will it ever happen again?
Disclosure: I currently have no commercial relationship with the founders at Canonic.xyz, although I am looking into getting my novel published on their platform. I don’t own any stake in their business nor do I own any literary NFT’s. this is not investment advice and you should do your own research before buying anything, which I don’t recommend that you do.
Canonic is a crypto publishing platform that launched several years ago. Users can be purchase physical books and collectible literary NFT’s using crypto. By allowing users to pay with crypto, Canonic circumvents an increasingly important censorship chokepoint in the modern economy: the credit card payment processor (Substack, in comparison, does not do this, allowing it to outsource part of its censorship and moderation role to Stripe as an arms-length third party).
From Canonic’s FAQ page, we can learn more about the basics of their platform:
Content published with Canonic is directly stored on BTC Ordinals and on the BitcoinSV chain.
This allows you to reach your audience with a global and stable censorship resistant Proof of Work network, earn income with Bitcoin, and build on top of an interoperable and decentralized layer.
In the age where AI algorithms have the power to tamper with data at scale, Bitcoin allows you to cryptographically prove the existence of a piece of work at a particular moment in time.
Canonic stores the following parts of your work online:
BTC Chain Ordinals:
An image of your work's cover so you can prove authorship with your wallet keys
The hash of your work so you can protect it from future tampering
BSV Chain:
Your encrypted work so you can prove authorship with your wallet keys
An on chain unique identifier of your work we call the BSBN (Bitcoin Standard Book Number)
Title, author, description, cover, and price of the book
The paymail of the entity that published the work
Reviews from users who can prove on chain their book purchase
User's encrypted purchase receipts
In summary, we can think of a platform like this as circumventing two forms of censorship:
Prospective censorship prior to your work being published (evading the Amazon or large publishing platform chokepoint).
Retroactive censorship after your work has already been published (for an example, we can look to Roald Dahl’s books being modified many years after his death).
I’m particularly interested in Canonic because of one thing in particular: to my knowledge, they hosted the most successful literary NFT sale of all time.
Sometime around the height of the 2021 crypto bubble (I can’t seem to find or remember the exact date), pseudonymous science fiction author and essayist
(ZHP) released a short story collection in NFT form on Canonic.xyz.Each on-chain NFT that was sold was redeemable for a premium leather-bound book and the collection sold out rapidly to the tune of 50 thousand dollars. Even accounting for the bubble-driven financial mania of the era, this was a fairly remarkable commercial achievement for a pseudonymous author with no institutional backing of any kind.
I followed this with great interest because at the peak of this financial euphoria, it seemed like a new publishing model had suddenly been unlocked.
Around this time, Emily Segal did a crowdfund for her next novel on Mirror.xyz for a similar sum in ETH, which also felt very exciting.
To put this moment of hope into context, it seems like publishers are increasingly adherent to something like a Hollywood-style publishing model: putting the great majority of their marketing resources behind huge anticipated blockbusters, and a small minority of resources behind discovering the next breakout success. Authors in the middle of these two extremes—the mid-list—have been increasingly struggling to make a living.
And of course, it’s the mid-list where most literary fiction authors might hope to have a dream of writing full-time—an increasingly impossible endeavor. This dynamic of an extreme power law distribution in success seems to be a general trend for all artistic fields due to attention-distribution dynamics on the internet.
Literary NFT platforms were, in my view, an attempt to overcome the ruthless power law economics of modern publishing, where the mid-list author gets obliterated and you either get scraps or a home-run style movie deal. If the medium-sized fan base of a midlist author is interested in crypto-collectible versions of their favorite literary works, then this might open up a new lifeline of support for the kind of modest life of the arts that writers like myself aspire to have. This was something of an extension of the “1000 true fans” hypothesis.
Most of us, of course, have always struggled to negotiate this balance between writing literary fiction and making a living. Speaking for myelf, I’ve found it exhausting to work full-time and then to write after work or on weekends, and I’ve often taken extended breaks from writing simply because the imperatives of needing to eat and pay rent were so overriding. Energy has been a major constraint for me in this respect, and to an extent I’m still feeling a bit burnt out after the intensive leadup into writing and self-publishing my debut under a year ago, which I did while effectively unemployed.
This is not to complain or to expect that a life of the arts should be economically viable as your sole source of income, but merely to point out that’s difficult, and the promise of the literary NFT once held great hope for me as a writer of fiction. I don’t ever want to make money on a newsletter since my newsletter is itself a means of acquiring readers for my novel and connecting with a community of readers and writers more generally, but I understand completely how vital it’s become to many authors of both fiction and non-fiction (and I am indeed very happy to see this, it’s just not a strategy that maps onto my own goals).
Thus, it was with some degree of disappointment that the NFT bubble popped and effectively nuked most of its markets, including the literary ones.
If we look at the transaction history for one of ZHP’s literary NFT’s on Canonic, we see the aftershock of what happened post FTX-collapse by virtue of the lack of transaction history:
If we are being honest, it does seem like NFT’s in general were mostly a ZIRP-driven casino, and the NFT market hasn’t recovered even as BTC has pumped back to all-time-highs. I do think that one can speculate that proof-of-scarcity may once again return if and when AR and/or VR approximate photorealistic fidelity, in which case 3-dimensional objects in AR or VR might once again be valuable insofar as their ownership and uniqueness can be proven on-chain, but that’s still guessing.
A cursory survey of various crypto publishing platforms I’ve kept track of reveals that the market for literary NFT’s never really got started.
There was a time where I had hoped that I might work on a project like this (which was a total fantasy, as I’m not a technical person), but the market showed that at least this current iteration of literary NFT’s isn’t even close to generating sustainable demand from collectors.
This is probably because people who like to read book are almost always not the type of person to gamble on JPEG’s (or, in this case, PDF’s).
I still believe in the idea of digital collectible books, but I think we won’t see them garner any demand until people are spending most of their days in AR or VR environments where proof-of-ownership feels more realized due to the dimensionality of a “digital book” in such an environment.
To see a really cool in-browser mockup of what a 3-D book could look like, check out Stripe.press:
Regardless of the literary NFT component, general crypto publishing platforms like Canonic are still vitally important in the age of the monopolistic platform fiefdom—a state of affairs which is nothing short of feudalism—and I think every writer interested in freedom of expression should make an effort to put their books on platforms like this in order to contribute to their growth over time.
Regardless of your political affiliation, building a lifeboat off of AMAZORG is a collective-action problem that we are ultimately all heavily incented to solve.
This sent me down memory lane to ... sometime in 2021 I guess? Back when Air was holding the weekly run-off in which whatever community members accrued the most "points" -- by convincing other members to vote for their ideas -- was rewarded with an Air account. I was at home, pandemic-mode, taking care of my son and working on edits for my first (conventionally-published) novel. I'd been making a living primarily through magazine freelancing for many years, but was wondering how sustainable that was. And also just wondering what was next: after the book, with a new family, after the pandemic, etc.
All of which is to say I caught a sort of Air mania, and put a bit of energy over a couple of weeks into accruing enough Air points (or whatever they were called) so that I could get an account. I can hardly remember what my proposal was: I think it was to create a centralized "review" of experiments in the the production and distribution of fiction happening in this new space.
I won an account, but within a month I'd basically forgotten about it / abandoned the idea. Looking back, I quickly saw that I hadn't been especially interested in the blockchain or anything happening there. I'm not arguing that this space has no value -- just saying that I wasn't really interested in it. What drew me to the contest was: (1) the aura of excitement and quick-moving possibility, (2) the suggestion of community, and of course (3) a feeling that all of the above might connect me with opportunities for, yes, making money from writing that felt meaningful to me. An undertaking that I'd had some really good luck with via traditional measures, but which was starting to feel increasingly shaky.
Chatting privately with other participants in the Air contest, it was clear that many of them felt the same way. They had no real passion for blockchain -- many even felt antipathy for it -- but were hungry to find a space where there might be cash/enthusiasm sloshing around in a way that could help support their work.
My sense was that this atmosphere of enthusiasm (and the associated capital, however much and been there to begin with) had really dried up. This post seems to confirm that. I share your sense that literary publishing could use a good shakeup*, but I need to start going through your archives to understand your argument about the role that blockchain might play.
(*I say this even though I plan/hope to publish my next novel through extremely conventional paths!)
Another observation from 2011: to the extent I was, back then, able to find people who were doing literature stuff on the blockchain -- notional subjects for my imaginary Review of Blockchain Literature Project -- it all seemed to me to be of ... very low quality, by any standard I could imagine. But, again, maybe I'm just not really understanding the pitch, or aware of the right examples. (I'm ordering your book right now, fwiw!)
As for me: post-Air, I moved on carried along by the flow of life. My book came out, got reviewed, etc. I've kept magazine freelancing, though there's even less of it to do than before, and I make more of my income from other sources. I'm optimistic that my own brand-new Substack (https://tracksontracks.substack.com) might eventually fill some of that gap, but we'll see. As for the broader machinery of literary publishing -- yes, I'm in as much suspense as anyone. As silly as I find the Air thing in retrospect, the element of excitement and community and, I don't know, open-ness ... it all seems worth remembering, no matter the greater merits (or not) of the project.