Results tagged “publishing”

Authors and editors frequently become good friends. Both know that the professional relationship may not last forever—either can change publishing houses—but I’ve learned never to say a final goodbye, because the winds of change can bring people back together just as easily as it parted them. So has it been with me and Elizabeth Moon, whose Paksenarrion series (The Sheepfarmer’s Daughter, Divided Allegiance, and Oath of Gold) I edited at Baen Books lo these many moons ago.

These days Elizabeth is a Del Rey author, and recently she spent several days in Brooklyn with my husband and me. Elizabeth lives in a small town in central Texas, so New York was one big chocolate box to her. When she wasn’t running around the city, we talked. Aside from fine-tuning her new novel, which returns readers to the Paksenarrion universe (Oath of Fealty, coming next March), we discussed, and certainly not in this order: baking bread, Greek food, adoption, the New York subway system, attack squirrels, prairie management, restoring old houses, and visions from God.

And horses! Lots about horses! Take a look at this quick flick in which she tells us a bit about her own horse, Mac, and some of the horses that will appear in Oath of Fealty.

So, yesterday I just found out from The Editor that BITTER ANGELS has done well in its first month. Very well, in fact. I was, as you can imagine, thrilled to hear it. I was also relieved, because, well, you know, it might easily not have done well and that would have been much less good.

I also realized I was well and truly back on the rollercoaster that is a career in professional writing.

Everybody (well, almost everybody) knows that when you’re setting out to be a professional writer, you face rejection. How much rejection?

Well, I climbed aboard the ride back when the world was new, no one had heard the word “internet,” there were still jobs in Detroit, and I was typing manuscripts on my pale blue Smith Corona Selectric (which I abandoned without a backward glance for a Commodore 128 when I hit college). Back then, of course, you mailed out your manuscripts and the replies were mailed back. Little envelopes meant acceptance. Big envelopes meant rejection, because they’d sent the mss. back with a little slip of paper attached telling you what you already knew, that they weren’t buying this one. Some of them were nice, some of them were rude, most of them were forms. All of them were painful.

I got my first rejection slip at 16. It was from Young Miss magazine. I saved it, and I continued to save every slip I got after that. Then, I sold my first story to this micro-zine out of New Jersey. Immediately after that I sold another to a slightly bigger mini-zine out of Chicago.

This is it! I thought to myself. I have arrived! From now on there will be no more big envelopes!

You can guess how well that prediction turned out.

After that it was a solid year of collecting more little slips. And another. And another. Oh, there were sales here and there, but there were way more rejections than anything else.

On the tenth anniversary of that first rejection slip I threw a party. For a decoration, I took all my rejection slips and taped them together into a banner and hung it around the living room. One of my roommates measured it. It came out to 55.5 feet. I was averaging 5.5 feet of rejection per year.

Actually, I was very proud of myself. To me this was a sign I was really working at my dream.

But I should have paid attention to the way that work was going, because it was predictive. Even if you do manage to hit the top, this is a precarious business and it is full of things one cannot control. Publishers get bought up and bought out, lines suddenly change direction, technological changes turn the world over, whole economies crash. And that’s just on the big scale. On the small scale, covers can be poor quality, marketing plans can fail, a Big Name can come out with a book that absolutely swamps yours, and you can be dropped, or simply not renewed.

All of the above have happened or happening to me and to authors I know, and these are the times that not only try our souls, they are the the times that separate the adults from the kids. Because the blackest period of writer’s block is nothing compared to the call from your agent telling you you are not wanted by the people who last week were assuring you they loved you.

This is the time when you rage. You storm, you cry and you throw things. You wear out your friends’ patience wailing about the unfairness of it all.

But then you dig deep. You must. Because the only way, the only way out is to write something new and to send it out again. This is not getting back on the horse, because eventually you and that horse might come to an understanding. This is more like wrapping the bungie around your ankles and heading for the edge of the cliff once more, because you and publishing are never going to come to an understanding any more than you and the laws of physics are.

But if you understand that, if you can go in knowing that the rejection will come again as sure as the drop after that first high hill, it can be one hell of a ride.

Some of my authors have begun tweeting about their writing progress. Perhaps they are unaware that I can use this new tool to spy on them as their deadlines approach. Those who are going to be on time have nothing to fear. It’s those who are twitching and moaning about being late, o so late, I can’t help it, it’s my neuralgia / unfaithful boyfriend / deadline for another publisher / inability to stop rewriting / addiction to WOW that’s getting in my way of finishing. And wasn’t “Lost” great last night?

To these authors I say: You’ll have something to tweet about if I catch you.

But I got a big laugh out of John Birmingham’s recent messages. Read all together like this, they give the impression he’s been drinking heavily, but the last tweet contradicts that. He’s in the throes of finishing the sequel to Without Warning, the apocalyptic SF thriller that postulates what would happen to the rest of the world if the U.S. were essentially wiped off the map. [Answer: Nothing Good.]

Anyway, here’s how the sequel is coming along:

Every writer has multiple learning curves.

The obvious first arc is learning the craft of writing, a process that takes a great deal of time and devotion. The more one writes the better they get and despite having written two books, I am still learning at a great pace, every day spent increasing my knowledge and improving my skill.

But what happens once a book is finished?

There is also a learning curve for how to get a book published.

Most people write a novel to be published. It is a natural drive. People yearn to make a career doing what they love, and I have yet to meet a writer who is not in love with writing. Finishing a book is the first step, however, and getting the book into the hands of an agent or editor is the only way to be published and make that dream come true. There is a great deal to learn to make that happen.

I receive a lot of email from hopeful writers every day. They all ask a variety of similar questions and by the large I reply to every single one. I have been where most of them are, unsure of the process one goes through to get a book published but willing to ask the questions, and any help I can give pays forward the help I’ve been given over the years.

To the point of his article, last week I received this email:

• “It has been two weeks since I sent my book to an agent and I have not heard anything back yet. What should I do?”

I receive this kind of question quite regularly. Usually I admire brevity but this is a case where I really need to know more. Did the writer submit her book following the guidelines laid down by the agent? Did the agent request the book or did the writer just send it? Who is the agent and who do they already represent? There are many possible reasons why she has not heard back from the agent—those reasons fodder for a different, much longer article I will write—but I want to point out part of the email that struck me.

The words “two weeks.”

Bookseller Molly Bolden, author Cherry Adair and I did a critique of manuscript first pages at the Jubilee Jambalaya Writers Conference last weekend in picturesque Houma, Louisiana. Participants (anonymously) handed in the first page of whatever work they had in progress, and American Idol-like we took turns commenting on what was good and bad about each one. Hopes were raised, dreams may have been crushed, but I believe that most attendees gained by listening to others’ work and applying our comments to their own.

“You need a stunning first sentence, or an editor is just going to set your manuscript aside,” seems to be the common wisdom right now among aspiring writers. That’s not necessarily so; it’s also possible, by using an overtly provocative sentence, to come across as trying too hard. In another session at the same conference I spoke about the importance of a strong opening more in terms of the first scene and first chapter, after which one is not allowed to slump, of course, but must continue to hold the reader’s attention as the story continues. As a general rule, I do not care to hear about the prevailing weather conditions as the story begins. If there’s a tornado a block away and the protagonist is heading for the basement stairs, that’s relevant. Otherwise, start with something more revelatory about the characters and their situation.

So what does make a strong opening sentence? Let us look to the work of the masters. Here’s a little quiz to see if you can match the first sentences of these popular Del Rey authors to their prize-winning/bestselling novels. (Answers after the jump.)

1. There was no doubt about it: there was a fox behind the climbing frame. And it was watching.

2. For numberless years a myna had astounded travelers to the caravansary with its ability to spew indecencies in ten languages, and before the fight broke out everyone assumed the old blue-tongued devil on its perch by the fireplace was the one who maligned the giant African with such foulness and verve.

3. This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it.

4. “Send up another, damn you, send them all up, at once if you have to,” Laurence said savagely to poor Calloway, who did not deserve to be sworn at: the gunner was firing off the flares so quickly his hands were scorched black, skin cracking and peeling to bright red where some powder had spilled onto his fingers; he was not stopping to wipe them clean before setting each flare to the match.

5. Questions, always questions. They didn’t wait for the answers, either.

6. Brigadier General Clarence Potter crouched in a muddy trench north of Atlanta. Overhead, U.S. bombers flew through what looked like flak thick enough to walk on.

THE CHOICES
a. Elizabeth Moon, The Speed of Dark
b. Harry Turtledove, In at the Death
c. China Miéville, Un Lun Dun
d. William Goldman, The Princess Bride
e. Naomi Novik, Empire of Ivory
f. Michael Chabon, Gentlemen of the Road

A war has begun in the streets of the internet(s).

And it is not pretty. As all terrible wars become.

Last month, several agents and editors put together a Twitter event called #queryfail. Twitter, another in a long line of social networking sites designed to move information quickly through the internet(s), hosted agents and a few editors to post what did not work with query letters they received. It began as a harmless helpful tool for both sides of the publishing coin. Writers got a rare opportunity to see what not to do while querying; agents got an opportunity to use a new possible marketing tool and educate writers who are sorely in need of it.

A couple thousand anonymous queries were rejected and told how they needed to improve.

For a month, nothing happened during the war.

Until now.

Writers have been given a forum called Agentfail to strike back at the agents who rejected their queries, in some cases with outright scorn. It is a natural reaction, I must admit. When I opened up the first three agent rejections I received for my first novel, Song of the Fell Hammer, my reaction was anger. It had no basis in logic. Given the internet(s) though, these people have the ability to respond to their perceived “attackers” in just as anonymous ways as Queryfail worked.

So, being in between both worlds and a writer trying to break into the business, where do I stand in this war?

I sit firmly on the side of the agents!

Now where’s my broadsword?

I normally post on Fridays, but not this week, because the Random House offices will be closed. That’s because we’re playing company-wide office merry-go-round: Hundreds of staffers are packing books, manuscripts, files, supplies, everything they own into orange rolling crates and shifting to new office spaces. As I was removing from the corkboard behind my computer all the memorabilia from years of sitting at this desk—and many a long-forgotten desk of yore—I suddenly realized that I could inflict the experience on the readers of Suvudu. Well, heck, it could qualify as an episode in publishing history.

What I’m taking off the board and carefully moving to my new office, six floors up from here with a lovely southern exposure:

• Hand-drawn cartoon by Dan Simmons chronicling a book tour for—as I recall—The Fall of Hyperion, from my days at Bantam long ago

(Click the image to get a closer look.)
• Thank-you card from William Gibson for the present of a spider-monkey skull (upon the signing of a new contract, also at Bantam)
• Photos of two cute Japanese teenagers in cosplay outfits, souvenir of a business trip to Tokyo
• Postcard of Darth Vader sipping a martini, with the words JOIN US! …Lord Vader & Lucas Licensing invite you for cocktails, details to follow
• Photo of Terry Brooks and his wife, Judine


• Voodoo doll liberally festooned with pins, present from a former assistant


• Scroll of honor from the Los Angeles County Probation Department—which runs the Operation Read Literacy Program—in thanks for a donation of hundreds of copies of Fahrenheit 451


• Shoulder patch of the Windy City Rollers (women’s roller derby team), sent by Chicago author Jennifer Stevenson, who’s a skater-in-training


• Button reading “The Editor is always right. You will listen to the Editor. The Editor is God!”


• Another button, this one reading “Cute but Dangerous”—present from an author.


• Yet another button: “Returns Suck.” (Referencing book returns from stores.)

And more. But that’s enough. Even though I’ve filled eight boxes so far, I have lots of packing left to do. And writers wonder why we don’t respond more quickly on their submissions.

I spent far, far too many hours this week writing catalog copy for my fall ‘09 Del Rey titles. Yes, I know that the catalog is our reps’ most important selling tool. Yes, I realize that booksellers refer to it for vital publication info. Yes, I should be happy that so many good books will reach the reading public next fall. I merely comment on how much time out of my day (days plural, in this case) writing good catalog copy seems to take.

Maybe it would be easier if I pretended to be selling women’s clothing. “New hardcover with alluring blue jacket spectacularly emblazoned with gold foil, just the right length, accessorizes with every outfit to take you from morning into night.”

Or kitchen appliances. I’ve read enough copy about appliances to think I could make that work: “This original trade paperback adapts to every kitchen situation. Can be read while waiting for water to boil, snapping green beans, stirring sauces, even peeling potatoes. Mixes one saucy heroine and one hunk of beefcake into a spicy casserole of love.”

Oog, that’s terrible. I like to think I did a better job on the copy for my upcoming books, which include A Princess of Landover, the first new novel in Terry Brooks’s Magic Kingdom of Landover series in almost 15 years; In Great Waters by Kit Whitfield, whose debut novel Benighted cast a whole new light on the werewolf mythos; the first issues of a four-color graphic novel adaptation of Stephen King and Peter Straub’s gripping novel The Talisman, and many more.

For another fun take on writing catalog copy, try “Selections from H.P. Lovecraft’s Brief Tenure as a Whitman’s Sampler Copywriter,” courtesy of McSweeney’s. “Few men dare ask the question ‘What is toffee, exactly?’ All those who have investigated this subtance are now either dead or insane….”

One of our number here at Del Rey was incensed this week at being inflicted with the aptly named Annoy-a-tron, a nifty little electronic device that beeps intermittently, sounding like some kind of message alert or dead-battery warning. It’s practically impossible to pin down its location, as the sound seems omnidirectional and the time lag between beeps varies unpredictably; it’s also magnetized so that it can be hidden practically anywhere in a loved one’s vicinity.

My colleague was so annoyed by the noise that he unplugged every electronic device in his office, and when the beeps continued started complaining to everybody in sight, finally arousing the pity of another colleague who let him in on the joke.

The rest of us considered this episode the height of hilarity. I am not quite certain what this says about us, except that we all needed a good laugh and could actually fit in a few moments to enjoy one. Next week will be all business, as the Del Rey editors present their Fall ‘09 titles in what we call the launch meeting. [more after the jump]

Perhaps I should qualify that statement before a vast moan arises from the ranks of aspiring Del Rey authors. To be precise, it’s not that we’re publishing too many books; if pressed to delete some from the 2009 list I’d have a very hard time complying. But I’ve just spent all week writing what seemed like eight hundred and ninety-seven TIs for the fall ‘09 titles and am utterly exhausted.

What’s a TI? It stands for Title Information sheet, and it is the most important document an editor will ever create for his or her book—yea, even more important than the contract request or the editorial revision letter.

Its primary users are the sales force. The TIs provide our reps core information on each title in one succinct document, which they will refer to again and again as they make sales calls on booksellers and other accounts. Under the heading Keynote, for example, we give them a one-line description of the book. Under Positioning Statement we tell them how the book fits into the Del Rey list and try to give a sense of its relative importance within the season. And under Key Selling Points we give them reasons that they can pass along to their customers as to why this book will sell.

Aspiring authors can catch an editor’s eye by thinking in these terms.

[more after the jump]

Far from the excitement and grandeur of Comic-Con, a lone explorer sets out on a difficult quest. In a mysterious setting, the secrets of publishing are unraveled. Join us as we seek the true nature of…

THE EDITORIAL ASSISTANT.