by R.C. Lewis
I feel like I'm at a weird place in my life right now. Post-debut, pre-release of second book. Is this how parents feel when they have one child and are pregnant with the next? Like, I should know sort of what to expect now, but the experience is somehow different.
And it is different. Not only from book to book, but from author to author.
Setting aside fears of falling victim to Sophomore Slump (because if we don't talk about that, it can't be real, right?), there are a lot of things that can make getting your second published book out the door different from the first.
For some authors, right off the bat it's a matter of getting that second contract because their debut is a one-book deal. Usually the debut publisher gets first look at your next manuscript, but do they accept it? If yes, proceed to the next paragraph about two-book deals. If no, then you're back in submission-land all over again, which is its own kind of wondrous terror.
Say your first publishing contract is for a two (or even three!) book deal. Hooray for a little bit of security! I'm going to assume we're not talking about sequels/series here, because they're a different experience—one I don't yet have any expertise on. But here are some reasons you may find you upgrade your Professional Writer hat a few levels in the process of creating Book Number Two.
Organics-B-Gone
You're already contracted with a publisher, they have their idea of the brand they're going to present you as, and you probably want to keep them happy. This may mean they want your second book to be in a particular vein, probably in some manner similar to your debut. And this can be great! ... Except instead of bolt-from-the-blue inspiration like you had for that first book, you may have to go digging for an idea that fits this mold. That can make it a less organic process than you may be used to. (This happened to me for my next book. Fortunately, by the time I finished the first draft, I was in love with the characters and story! But it took some time to get there.)
Popping the Question ... Over and Over
Often if the second book is unspecified in the original contract, you go through a phase of pitching ideas to your editor until you find something they'd like to see you write. Sometimes this is informal, maybe a handful of one-line pitches and your editor says, "That one sounds cool," or "They all sound great to me—is there one you're particularly excited to write?"
Other times, you may go through writing more formal proposals. This can involve a full (sometimes lengthy!) synopsis and some sample pages/chapters to establish the voice. Sounds like less work than writing a whole manuscript, and it generally is by most measures, but I also know some authors who've been through the mental-wringer trying to write proposals.
And if that proposal is turned down? It's back to work, grinding out a proposal for another idea.
The Revolving Door of Publishing
The longer you're under contract at a particular publisher, the more likely this is to happen to you. Your acquiring editor may not even be the one who's your editor by the time your debut comes out (that happened to me), and then the editor who launched your debut may not be the one who sees your second book through to the end (that also happened to me ... in fact, I was between editors when my debut released).
This is no big deal (says she who chased off two editors before ever her book hit shelves), but the transitions can be a little jarring. Your acquiring editor loved your writing! You know it, because of all the "I love this!" during the "We want to pay you money and publish it" phase. What if New-Editor doesn't love your work? They didn't pick you—they just got assigned.
Really, it's okay. New-Editor may not love your work the same way, but they'll love it in their own way. Their editing style may be different, but we all want to be in this business a nice long time, right? That'll probably involve working with lots of different editors along the way no matter what, so flexibility is key in the skill set.
(If New-Editor really does hate every word you write, though ... That may be time to call Agent-Awesome and get them to intervene.)
And remember that all of the above are likely things that will happen to us at some point in our careers. If not on our second book, then one down the line. If we get there, it means we stayed on track, and that's a good thing!
R.C. Lewis is the math-teaching, ASL-signing author of Stitching Snow and her *second book* Spinning Starlight (Oct. 6, 2015), both from Hyperion. You can find more information at her website, or find her random musings on Twitter.
Showing posts with label professionalism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label professionalism. Show all posts
Monday, June 1, 2015
Friday, February 21, 2014
Respecting Agents' Time … and Our Own
by R.C. Lewis
When it comes to agent-hunting, there are a lot of Do-and-Don't lists out there. Do your research. Don't use rhetorical questions in your query.
Well, here's another one. Most of us are busy people, but let's focus on agents for a minute. If you keep an eye on a few over social media, you get a sense of how hyper-busy they are. One particular agent seems to single-handedly keep the turkey-jerky industry rolling by rarely stopping for a real lunch. My own agent insists she does sleep, but I'm not sure I'm convinced.
So let's talk about how we can respect their time and ours.
R.C. Lewis teaches math to teenagers—sometimes in sign language, sometimes not—so whether she's a science geek or a bookworm depends on when you look. Her debut novel Stitching Snow is coming from Hyperion October 14, 2014. You can find R.C. on Twitter (@RC_Lewis) and at her website.
When it comes to agent-hunting, there are a lot of Do-and-Don't lists out there. Do your research. Don't use rhetorical questions in your query.
Well, here's another one. Most of us are busy people, but let's focus on agents for a minute. If you keep an eye on a few over social media, you get a sense of how hyper-busy they are. One particular agent seems to single-handedly keep the turkey-jerky industry rolling by rarely stopping for a real lunch. My own agent insists she does sleep, but I'm not sure I'm convinced.
So let's talk about how we can respect their time and ours.
DON'T: Give Them a Call
Like, ever. There's just no reason to call an agent on the phone. You don't need to ask permission to query. You don't need to call to get submission guidelines. (It's really easy to find that information. If you can't find submission guidelines for an agent, they probably don't want to be found.) I'm signed with an agent and I would only call her if I absolutely had to talk to her right this second. Email is awesome.
Disrespecting Their Time: The thing about phone calls is they have to be real-time by their nature. A caller is interrupting their work needlessly.
Disrespecting Our Time: It's truly wasting time. It's not endearing us to the agent. It's not giving us a leg up. Plus, every workday minute of an agent that we waste is a minute they could've been working for their clients—our fellow writers.
DON'T: Respond to Form Rejections
So many reasons not to do this. Have we all heard the horror stories about irate writers lambasting agents for their form responses? Don't Be That Person. But some writers have politely responded asking for more specific feedback—and gotten it! I still say don't do it. Here's why.
Disrespecting Their Time: Can you imagine if all writers asked for feedback on form rejections? Heck, even ten percent? Even if the agent just ignores such requests (the most efficient choice), clearing them out of their inbox could take a significant chunk of time. Time they're not being paid for, because they work for their clients.
Disrespecting Our Time (and Energy): Maybe it's a waste because we get nothing. Maybe it's a waste because the only response we get is no more specific or helpful than the form rejection was. Maybe it's a waste because it sends us in a very wrong direction. Maybe we luck out and things happen … but assuming we're the exception just isn't a good idea.
DO: Take Revision Seriously (pre-query or R&R)
Sending in a manuscript that needs an inordinate amount of work? Not good. Sending one in on a R&R (Revise & Resubmit) after a week? Also not good.
Disrespecting Their Time: In the former case, straight up waste of time to clutter the agent's inbox with something that isn't remotely ready. In the latter, the agent has already taken the time to read our manuscript and respond thoughtfully with ideas for revision, sometimes including extensive notes. To breeze through rather than digging in is a disrespect of that time and of the time they'll waste reading again only to discover it's not there.
Disrespecting Our Time: This may seem counterintuitive because we might be hurrying in an effort to be efficient with our time. But if we don't take the time to do it well and do it right, it's wasted.
DO: Know When to Pull the Trigger
On the other end of the spectrum, we might work and fix and fuss forever. And ever. And never send it out there at all.
Disrespecting Their Time: Wait, we're not wasting the agent's time because they don't know we exist, right? Pretty much, except if our project is awesome, we're wasting time the agent could've spent submitting and selling that manuscript.
Disrespecting Our Time: Seems to me that fussing endlessly does one of two things. (1) It keeps an awesome manuscript from ever getting out there. (2) It keeps us from letting go of a not-quite-awesome manuscript and moving on to develop our awesomeness level on something new.
Any other thoughts on (dis)respecting agents' time as well as our own? Any traps you've either avoided or fallen into?
R.C. Lewis teaches math to teenagers—sometimes in sign language, sometimes not—so whether she's a science geek or a bookworm depends on when you look. Her debut novel Stitching Snow is coming from Hyperion October 14, 2014. You can find R.C. on Twitter (@RC_Lewis) and at her website.
Friday, August 16, 2013
The Hard News
by S. L. Duncan
I remember starting out on this ridiculous publishing endeavor, the whole querying process lived on this binary of good news and bad news. And let’s face it; the news was mostly the latter. Yet there was some comfort in knowing that it was always going to be one or the other. You either got requests for a partial or full manuscript of your work, or you got rejected.
And then one day that good news leads to even better good news—the offer of representation.
I say I remember this feeling, like it was SOOOOO long ago, but really, as a published author, not much has changed. I still participate in this querying process, only this time my agent does the querying (though he has a cooler name for it—submitting), and for the most part, the results are the same. Either the editors like my work and offer a deal, or they reject it and no offer.
There is, however, a new dynamic—a third possible response, acknowledged usually with the help of your agent. I’ve been on submission for a new book for a few months now, the first round of what might be a hard sell. It’s a WWII middle grade book about a boy surviving the London Blitz with a future-predicting, haunted teddy bear. I was warned prior to submission that the historical elements and the more literary tone might make for a tough get. So when my agent sent me the compilation of the first round responses to his submission, I was prepared when there was not an offer on the table.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the uniformity of the responses—all 12 of the 14 that bothered to respond nearly said the exact same thing, and it was mostly positive. What they loved and what they gravitated toward is what we thought they’d hate—the historical setting. So what went wrong? Why didn't they offer a deal? This is a bit hard to admit publicly, but here you go:
Nobody connected with the main character.
Ouch.
So, here’s where that new dynamic comes in: The Hard News. A good agent, much like the one I’ve got, wears multiple hats. The one you want him or her to wear in this situation is the psychologist hat. There is plenty of advice my agent gives based on his experience, but he doesn’t give me the answer—he asks what I think is the answer. Can’t you just imagine me, on the leather-bound couch, my agent sitting in the chair beside me, pen and pencil in his hand, checking his watch for how much of the hour is left? Lose the furniture and the impatience, and that’s just about what we’ve got—him on the phone asking, “What do you think you should do?”
This is where I am right now—holding neither good nor bad news. Just hard news. Hard because I know it’s true and it will take a grand effort to basically start over. Hard because it would be so easy to say everyone else is wrong and set out again on another round of submissions. Heck, I might even land a deal. Deep down, though, I’d know those original editors were right; that the work and effort I’d put into writing and mastering that book was flawed, and in a big way.
So be prepared for Hard News to come with the good and the bad. Because while it’s a hard thing to accept that you’re wrong about something, it’s an even harder thing to do something about it. And who knows? With a little effort, it might just be Good News in disguise.
S. L. Duncan writes young adult fiction, including his debut, the first book in The Revelation Saga, due in 2014 from Medallion Press. You can find him blogging on INKROCK.com and on Twitter.
I remember starting out on this ridiculous publishing endeavor, the whole querying process lived on this binary of good news and bad news. And let’s face it; the news was mostly the latter. Yet there was some comfort in knowing that it was always going to be one or the other. You either got requests for a partial or full manuscript of your work, or you got rejected.
And then one day that good news leads to even better good news—the offer of representation.
I say I remember this feeling, like it was SOOOOO long ago, but really, as a published author, not much has changed. I still participate in this querying process, only this time my agent does the querying (though he has a cooler name for it—submitting), and for the most part, the results are the same. Either the editors like my work and offer a deal, or they reject it and no offer.
There is, however, a new dynamic—a third possible response, acknowledged usually with the help of your agent. I’ve been on submission for a new book for a few months now, the first round of what might be a hard sell. It’s a WWII middle grade book about a boy surviving the London Blitz with a future-predicting, haunted teddy bear. I was warned prior to submission that the historical elements and the more literary tone might make for a tough get. So when my agent sent me the compilation of the first round responses to his submission, I was prepared when there was not an offer on the table.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the uniformity of the responses—all 12 of the 14 that bothered to respond nearly said the exact same thing, and it was mostly positive. What they loved and what they gravitated toward is what we thought they’d hate—the historical setting. So what went wrong? Why didn't they offer a deal? This is a bit hard to admit publicly, but here you go:
Nobody connected with the main character.
Ouch.
So, here’s where that new dynamic comes in: The Hard News. A good agent, much like the one I’ve got, wears multiple hats. The one you want him or her to wear in this situation is the psychologist hat. There is plenty of advice my agent gives based on his experience, but he doesn’t give me the answer—he asks what I think is the answer. Can’t you just imagine me, on the leather-bound couch, my agent sitting in the chair beside me, pen and pencil in his hand, checking his watch for how much of the hour is left? Lose the furniture and the impatience, and that’s just about what we’ve got—him on the phone asking, “What do you think you should do?”
This is where I am right now—holding neither good nor bad news. Just hard news. Hard because I know it’s true and it will take a grand effort to basically start over. Hard because it would be so easy to say everyone else is wrong and set out again on another round of submissions. Heck, I might even land a deal. Deep down, though, I’d know those original editors were right; that the work and effort I’d put into writing and mastering that book was flawed, and in a big way.
So be prepared for Hard News to come with the good and the bad. Because while it’s a hard thing to accept that you’re wrong about something, it’s an even harder thing to do something about it. And who knows? With a little effort, it might just be Good News in disguise.
S. L. Duncan writes young adult fiction, including his debut, the first book in The Revelation Saga, due in 2014 from Medallion Press. You can find him blogging on INKROCK.com and on Twitter.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
De-Deifying Agents
by Charlee Vale
Anyone who has done even the most basic research about getting traditionally published will come across the term literary agent. An agent will most likely help you get your book into the best shape it can possibly be. Having one of these is a really good step toward getting a book deal with a legitimate publisher. They are a commodity, something that is highly sought after and notoriously hard to procure.
Notice anything about that last paragraph? The language I intentionally used in the above paragraph about agents, is language that could be used about anything. Not once did I refer to them as people—or even human—and this is pretty much our normal perception of them.
In the internet community of aspiring writers, you'll often hear agents described as something: gatekeepers, the way to fame, elusive, or any number of positive and negative things that dehumanize them and make us treat them like the mythical creatures of the publishing industry.
The language we use to describe literary agents inherently has problems in it. When we stop referring to people as people, they become objects. And when someone becomes an object, not only can they be acted on without their consent, but a whole host of behavior is opened up that would be otherwise unnacceptable.
I've heard more than a few horror stories—writers tracking down agents' home addresses to send them material, showing up in person at a non-business location, screaming at agents at conferences for not accepting their pitch, following them. Would we ever consider doing these things to a random stranger? No, probably not. So why is it okay to do it for someone with the title literary agent? It's not, and it's the image that agents are somehow not human that is to blame.
Literary Agents are people just like us. They have families, birthdays, apartments, and houses. They cook, clean, get dressed, and go to the bathroom. They are people, they have names—more than that, identities. Being a literary agent is their job, and despite most of them loving what they do, it isn't who they are.
When interacting with agents on the internet and in person, get to know them. They're really fun people. I encourage you to talk to them looking to hear their thoughts and opinions rather than looking for an opportunity to pitch to them. Listen to their interests in order to get good book recommendations instead of trying to seek out the next trend. Try to see them as a person with hopes and dreams similar to the ones you have, not just a potential business opportunity.
Don't make literary agents gods—that image puts just as much pressure on them as it does on you, probably more.
"What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person." —Paper Towns (John Green)
Charlee Vale is a Young Adult writer, photographer, and tea lover living in New York City. You can also find her at her website, and on Twitter.
Anyone who has done even the most basic research about getting traditionally published will come across the term literary agent. An agent will most likely help you get your book into the best shape it can possibly be. Having one of these is a really good step toward getting a book deal with a legitimate publisher. They are a commodity, something that is highly sought after and notoriously hard to procure.
Notice anything about that last paragraph? The language I intentionally used in the above paragraph about agents, is language that could be used about anything. Not once did I refer to them as people—or even human—and this is pretty much our normal perception of them.
In the internet community of aspiring writers, you'll often hear agents described as something: gatekeepers, the way to fame, elusive, or any number of positive and negative things that dehumanize them and make us treat them like the mythical creatures of the publishing industry.
The language we use to describe literary agents inherently has problems in it. When we stop referring to people as people, they become objects. And when someone becomes an object, not only can they be acted on without their consent, but a whole host of behavior is opened up that would be otherwise unnacceptable.
I've heard more than a few horror stories—writers tracking down agents' home addresses to send them material, showing up in person at a non-business location, screaming at agents at conferences for not accepting their pitch, following them. Would we ever consider doing these things to a random stranger? No, probably not. So why is it okay to do it for someone with the title literary agent? It's not, and it's the image that agents are somehow not human that is to blame.
Literary Agents are people just like us. They have families, birthdays, apartments, and houses. They cook, clean, get dressed, and go to the bathroom. They are people, they have names—more than that, identities. Being a literary agent is their job, and despite most of them loving what they do, it isn't who they are.
When interacting with agents on the internet and in person, get to know them. They're really fun people. I encourage you to talk to them looking to hear their thoughts and opinions rather than looking for an opportunity to pitch to them. Listen to their interests in order to get good book recommendations instead of trying to seek out the next trend. Try to see them as a person with hopes and dreams similar to the ones you have, not just a potential business opportunity.
Don't make literary agents gods—that image puts just as much pressure on them as it does on you, probably more.
"What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person." —Paper Towns (John Green)
Charlee Vale is a Young Adult writer, photographer, and tea lover living in New York City. You can also find her at her website, and on Twitter.
Monday, April 1, 2013
One Writer's Yuck Is Another Writer's Yum
by R.C. Lewis
I first heard this line on the most recent season of "Necessary Roughness" on USA.
"Don't yuck my yum."
I heard it again recently on this very cool episode of "a show with zefrank". (It's four minutes. Worth the watch. I'll wait here if you'd like.)
Here's the basic idea. I happen to like black jelly beans. To me, they are YUM. To some of you (I know, probably many of you), they are definitely YUCK. It's totally cool for you to not like what I like. What's not so cool is if in expressing your dislike, you cross that line into implying there's something wrong with me for liking black jelly beans. Or even going so far as to tell me I should stop liking black jelly beans right now.
Why am I talking about this on this particular blog? Because everything in the world of writing can be a yuck or a yum to different writers.
Where this particularly comes to mind for me is in regards to genres and categories. I write Young Adult, particularly within the sci-fi and fantasy genres. I've lost count of how many times fellow YA authors have reported getting asked one of the following: When are you going to write a REAL book? Are you going to move up to adult books eventually? Do you write teen books because there's more money in it?
Extreme annoyance, and sometimes even rage ensue.
So let's assume these are just snobbish types who look down their noses at children's literature in general, right? But wait. I've also seen the (very) occasional kid-lit writer in one category (say, Middle Grade) clearly showing disdain for another category (say, YA or chapter books).
Why are you yucking my yum?
As a reader, I'm not crazy about straight-up romances. I like novels with romance in them, but Romance as a genre isn't my thing. Still, I can understand why others like them, and that's cool. Read on, Romance readers!
As a writer, I'm pretty sure I couldn't write a chapter book to save my life. Even a middle-grade book would be a pretty big stretch for me. Attempting historical fiction would leave me a quivering, tearful mass of former-writer. As things stand, I don't think I would enjoy it. Does that mean I think FTWA contributor Sophie Perinot is out of her medieval-loving mind? No. It means she's a different writer than I am. Write on, Sophie Perinot!
Don't disparage the other colors in the jelly bean bowl. Insulting your peers can leave you lonely in the end.
Have you ever experienced someone "yucking" your writerly "yum"? Please share. You're among friends here.
R.C. Lewis teaches math by day and writes YA fiction with pride by every other time. Her YA sci-fi novel Stitching Snow will be published by Disney-Hyperion in Summer 2014. Meanwhile, you can find her at Crossing the Helix and on Twitter (@RC_Lewis).
I first heard this line on the most recent season of "Necessary Roughness" on USA.
"Don't yuck my yum."
I heard it again recently on this very cool episode of "a show with zefrank". (It's four minutes. Worth the watch. I'll wait here if you'd like.)
Here's the basic idea. I happen to like black jelly beans. To me, they are YUM. To some of you (I know, probably many of you), they are definitely YUCK. It's totally cool for you to not like what I like. What's not so cool is if in expressing your dislike, you cross that line into implying there's something wrong with me for liking black jelly beans. Or even going so far as to tell me I should stop liking black jelly beans right now.
Why am I talking about this on this particular blog? Because everything in the world of writing can be a yuck or a yum to different writers.
Where this particularly comes to mind for me is in regards to genres and categories. I write Young Adult, particularly within the sci-fi and fantasy genres. I've lost count of how many times fellow YA authors have reported getting asked one of the following: When are you going to write a REAL book? Are you going to move up to adult books eventually? Do you write teen books because there's more money in it?
Extreme annoyance, and sometimes even rage ensue.
So let's assume these are just snobbish types who look down their noses at children's literature in general, right? But wait. I've also seen the (very) occasional kid-lit writer in one category (say, Middle Grade) clearly showing disdain for another category (say, YA or chapter books).
Why are you yucking my yum?
As a reader, I'm not crazy about straight-up romances. I like novels with romance in them, but Romance as a genre isn't my thing. Still, I can understand why others like them, and that's cool. Read on, Romance readers!
As a writer, I'm pretty sure I couldn't write a chapter book to save my life. Even a middle-grade book would be a pretty big stretch for me. Attempting historical fiction would leave me a quivering, tearful mass of former-writer. As things stand, I don't think I would enjoy it. Does that mean I think FTWA contributor Sophie Perinot is out of her medieval-loving mind? No. It means she's a different writer than I am. Write on, Sophie Perinot!
Don't disparage the other colors in the jelly bean bowl. Insulting your peers can leave you lonely in the end.
Have you ever experienced someone "yucking" your writerly "yum"? Please share. You're among friends here.
R.C. Lewis teaches math by day and writes YA fiction with pride by every other time. Her YA sci-fi novel Stitching Snow will be published by Disney-Hyperion in Summer 2014. Meanwhile, you can find her at Crossing the Helix and on Twitter (@RC_Lewis).
Friday, December 21, 2012
Talking the Talk ... on the Phone
by R.C. Lewis
2012 turned out to be an eventful year for me. I signed with an agent in late May, and she sold my book just a couple of months later. The agent-getting part involved five agents offering representation, so I had The Call five times—three of them in one day. With submissions, I talked to two offering editors on the phone.
The phone is not my favorite thing in the world.
It makes me feel awkward, and like I have to really concentrate to catch every word as well as every nuance of tone since I have no body language and facial expression to cue off of. And my agent (bless her!) let me know I had some bad habits.
See, once upon a time (when I was a teenager—no, I won't say how many years ago that was), I had a friend who would talk on the phone for hours. Usually some kind of teenage drama or another that she wanted to rant about. If I didn't say "uh-huh" on a fairly regular basis, she assumed either I wasn't there or didn't agree with her stance of being outraged at the situation. So I got used to a lot of, "Uh-huh, I'm still with you."
I also have a mother who can't always find the word she's looking for. Somehow, I almost always know what that word is, I provide it for her, and we continue the conversation. It's just how conversation works with her.
But you know what? When you do either of those on the phone with strangers, it can be kind of annoying and off-putting.
Not exactly the impression you want to give prospective agents and editors, right?
Honestly, I was always listening and paying attention to what the other party was saying. (How could I not? Agents and editors!) But I learned that it's important to sound like you're listening by not saying anything at all. In my case, I learned to wait until a direct question was asked or there was a full second of silence—more than just taking a breath—to take my turn at talking.
And I'm definitely glad my agent was direct and honest enough to train me up on that before my editor calls.
So, when preparing for The Call at any level, definitely get a list of questions ready, things you need to know by the end of the conversation. But also take a hard look at any bad phone-talking habits you might have.
You know what they say about first impressions.
Do you have any tips or tricks for successful phone conversations for a phone-phobic person like me? Any strategies for handling the inevitable nerves that come with high-pressure phone calls?
R.C. Lewis teaches math by day and writes YA fiction by every other time. Her YA sci-fi novel Stitching Snow will be published by Disney-Hyperion in Summer 2014. Meanwhile, you can find her at Crossing the Helix and on Twitter (@RC_Lewis).
From the Write Angle will be taking next week off. Happy Holidays to all our readers, and Good Writing in the New Year—break a pencil!
2012 turned out to be an eventful year for me. I signed with an agent in late May, and she sold my book just a couple of months later. The agent-getting part involved five agents offering representation, so I had The Call five times—three of them in one day. With submissions, I talked to two offering editors on the phone.
The phone is not my favorite thing in the world.
It makes me feel awkward, and like I have to really concentrate to catch every word as well as every nuance of tone since I have no body language and facial expression to cue off of. And my agent (bless her!) let me know I had some bad habits.
See, once upon a time (when I was a teenager—no, I won't say how many years ago that was), I had a friend who would talk on the phone for hours. Usually some kind of teenage drama or another that she wanted to rant about. If I didn't say "uh-huh" on a fairly regular basis, she assumed either I wasn't there or didn't agree with her stance of being outraged at the situation. So I got used to a lot of, "Uh-huh, I'm still with you."
I also have a mother who can't always find the word she's looking for. Somehow, I almost always know what that word is, I provide it for her, and we continue the conversation. It's just how conversation works with her.
But you know what? When you do either of those on the phone with strangers, it can be kind of annoying and off-putting.
Not exactly the impression you want to give prospective agents and editors, right?
Honestly, I was always listening and paying attention to what the other party was saying. (How could I not? Agents and editors!) But I learned that it's important to sound like you're listening by not saying anything at all. In my case, I learned to wait until a direct question was asked or there was a full second of silence—more than just taking a breath—to take my turn at talking.
And I'm definitely glad my agent was direct and honest enough to train me up on that before my editor calls.
So, when preparing for The Call at any level, definitely get a list of questions ready, things you need to know by the end of the conversation. But also take a hard look at any bad phone-talking habits you might have.
You know what they say about first impressions.
Do you have any tips or tricks for successful phone conversations for a phone-phobic person like me? Any strategies for handling the inevitable nerves that come with high-pressure phone calls?
R.C. Lewis teaches math by day and writes YA fiction by every other time. Her YA sci-fi novel Stitching Snow will be published by Disney-Hyperion in Summer 2014. Meanwhile, you can find her at Crossing the Helix and on Twitter (@RC_Lewis).
From the Write Angle will be taking next week off. Happy Holidays to all our readers, and Good Writing in the New Year—break a pencil!
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Save the Snark (and the Hate)
by R.C. Lewis
I've been on Twitter for a few years now, almost exclusively for the writing/publishing side of my life. If you've been around the Write Angle for a while, you know several of us are big fans of Twitter as part of a writer's social media package. Jemi Fraser recently did three different posts on great Twitter hashtags for writers, and Calista Taylor laid out the basics in Twitter 101.
You can get amazing things from Twitter—camaraderie of other writers, news on industry trends and events, and insider tips straight from agents and editors. Amidst all that, you also get what people are eating for lunch, who's coming down with a cold, and complaints about weather/mass transit/utility companies/anything else that can be annoying. Part and parcel.
Here's a small subset of the tweets out there—writers snarking at those industry insiders, especially agents.
They come in several forms, but the underlying sentiment always seems the same. Agents are evil, money-grubbing, elitist jerks. They only want crap from celebrities anyway. They won't take a chance on anyone new.
Now, hang on.
There's nothing wrong with going it alone, whether by self-publishing or working with publishers who take unagented submissions. Many writers find that's the right course for them. For others, the efforts of querying and securing representation are worth it.
Whichever course we choose to take (or maybe both!), why sling hate at the other?
By and large, agents work hard. They often hold down other jobs to pay the bills, essentially working for free on the hope that the books they believe in will sell. I certainly couldn't do what my agent does (fair enough, since I'm pretty sure she couldn't teach my math classes, either).
I imagine there are some agents who are jerks. After all, you can find a jerk or two in just about any group of people. And yes, we have the right to be ourselves and say what we want.
But what possible good comes from being rude (and even at times downright hateful) toward anyone in an industry we hope to be considered professionals in?
No matter what the industry is doing, and no matter our course within it, behaving like a professional will always be in fashion. The same goes for more than agents—editors, fellow authors, and readers deserve it, too.
There's plenty to be gained by developing a reputation of respect.
R.C. Lewis teaches math by day and writes YA fiction by every other time. Her YA sci-fi novel Stitching Snow will be published by Disney-Hyperion in Summer 2014. Meanwhile, you can find her at Crossing the Helix and on Twitter (@RC_Lewis).
I've been on Twitter for a few years now, almost exclusively for the writing/publishing side of my life. If you've been around the Write Angle for a while, you know several of us are big fans of Twitter as part of a writer's social media package. Jemi Fraser recently did three different posts on great Twitter hashtags for writers, and Calista Taylor laid out the basics in Twitter 101.
You can get amazing things from Twitter—camaraderie of other writers, news on industry trends and events, and insider tips straight from agents and editors. Amidst all that, you also get what people are eating for lunch, who's coming down with a cold, and complaints about weather/mass transit/utility companies/anything else that can be annoying. Part and parcel.
Here's a small subset of the tweets out there—writers snarking at those industry insiders, especially agents.
They come in several forms, but the underlying sentiment always seems the same. Agents are evil, money-grubbing, elitist jerks. They only want crap from celebrities anyway. They won't take a chance on anyone new.
Now, hang on.
There's nothing wrong with going it alone, whether by self-publishing or working with publishers who take unagented submissions. Many writers find that's the right course for them. For others, the efforts of querying and securing representation are worth it.
Whichever course we choose to take (or maybe both!), why sling hate at the other?
By and large, agents work hard. They often hold down other jobs to pay the bills, essentially working for free on the hope that the books they believe in will sell. I certainly couldn't do what my agent does (fair enough, since I'm pretty sure she couldn't teach my math classes, either).
I imagine there are some agents who are jerks. After all, you can find a jerk or two in just about any group of people. And yes, we have the right to be ourselves and say what we want.
But what possible good comes from being rude (and even at times downright hateful) toward anyone in an industry we hope to be considered professionals in?
No matter what the industry is doing, and no matter our course within it, behaving like a professional will always be in fashion. The same goes for more than agents—editors, fellow authors, and readers deserve it, too.
There's plenty to be gained by developing a reputation of respect.
R.C. Lewis teaches math by day and writes YA fiction by every other time. Her YA sci-fi novel Stitching Snow will be published by Disney-Hyperion in Summer 2014. Meanwhile, you can find her at Crossing the Helix and on Twitter (@RC_Lewis).
Friday, September 28, 2012
Communicating With Your Editor
by Matt Sinclair
As some of you know, I not only write, I also work as an editor. It's how I make my living. My professional life deals with staff writers and the occasional freelancer--all nonfiction. Plus, as president and chief elephant officer of my publishing company, Elephant's Bookshelf Press, I am responsible for all the editorial and publishing of our (so far) anthologies.
Suffice it to say, I've been dealing with both sides of the editing desk for a long time. I remember an informational interview years ago with a friend's sister who was working at a magazine. This was back when email was new-fangled, the Internet was only making its presence known to the masses, and the World Wide Web didn't exist. The answer to one of the questions I asked during the interview remains in my mind to this day. Although how I phrased the exact question has faded over time, I basically asked what was the most important part of the editorial process. "Communication," she said, without batting an eye.
This summer, I had a few reminders of how important communication is to the partnership of writing. In one of my freelance jobs, I used to deal with a couple editors. This worked out well for me as it often enabled me to have multiples jobs spread out over several weeks. I was in the midst of revising a piece when I received an email from one of the editors, who let me know she was leaving to take another job. In the intervening transition, it turned out some information was lost. One of the pieces I'd been assigned was supposed to be longer than the original assignment. While it wasn't too hard to boost up the word count (and increase the amount on the invoice), it still translated to a bit of wasted time on my part and the editor who took over for the departing editor.
On another project, I was shocked to find what appeared to be a writer who was reluctant to make basic changes to the manuscript. Grammatical basics were emerging as a problem, leading me to wonder if it was a communication problem or something deeper. The copy editor on that assignment kept in regular contact with me about the progress, and things were eventually resolved, but it injected a bit of uncertainty to the editorial process.
The key message I want to convey is that, as solitary as writing might seem, it takes a partnership between writer and editor to deliver the best final product. To be honest, I think the new freedom of self- and independent publishing has left many writers forgetting or disregarding the value of that partnership. What is the most common criticism of Fifty Shades of Grey, for example? It could have used a good editor.
No matter how simple and carefree a scene might appear to the writer, it might confuse the editor, which means it probably would confuse most readers, too. Confusion can creep in from many directions. Whether the issue is about the essence of a story, the editorial process, or even whether your agent likes or dislikes your current manuscript, speak or email with your partner. Try not to assume someone is questioning your abilities as a writer, and if you're confused by the feedback you receive from an editor or agent or other member of your team (again, even self-publishers shouldn't be doing everything "alone"), ask questions.
You'll be glad you did.
Matt Sinclair, a New York City-based journalist and fiction writer, is also president and chief elephant officer of Elephant's Bookshelf Press, which earlier this year published a short story anthology called Spring Fevers, available through Smashwords, Amazon, and in print via CreateSpace. EBP's latest anthology, The Fall, will be released in late October. Both anthologies include stories by fellow FTWA writers, including Cat Woods, J. Lea Lopez, Mindy McGinnis, and R.S. Mellette; R.C. Lewis and Jean Oram also have stories that will be in The Fall. Matt blogs at the Elephant's Bookshelf and is on Twitter @elephantguy68
As some of you know, I not only write, I also work as an editor. It's how I make my living. My professional life deals with staff writers and the occasional freelancer--all nonfiction. Plus, as president and chief elephant officer of my publishing company, Elephant's Bookshelf Press, I am responsible for all the editorial and publishing of our (so far) anthologies.
Suffice it to say, I've been dealing with both sides of the editing desk for a long time. I remember an informational interview years ago with a friend's sister who was working at a magazine. This was back when email was new-fangled, the Internet was only making its presence known to the masses, and the World Wide Web didn't exist. The answer to one of the questions I asked during the interview remains in my mind to this day. Although how I phrased the exact question has faded over time, I basically asked what was the most important part of the editorial process. "Communication," she said, without batting an eye.
This summer, I had a few reminders of how important communication is to the partnership of writing. In one of my freelance jobs, I used to deal with a couple editors. This worked out well for me as it often enabled me to have multiples jobs spread out over several weeks. I was in the midst of revising a piece when I received an email from one of the editors, who let me know she was leaving to take another job. In the intervening transition, it turned out some information was lost. One of the pieces I'd been assigned was supposed to be longer than the original assignment. While it wasn't too hard to boost up the word count (and increase the amount on the invoice), it still translated to a bit of wasted time on my part and the editor who took over for the departing editor.
On another project, I was shocked to find what appeared to be a writer who was reluctant to make basic changes to the manuscript. Grammatical basics were emerging as a problem, leading me to wonder if it was a communication problem or something deeper. The copy editor on that assignment kept in regular contact with me about the progress, and things were eventually resolved, but it injected a bit of uncertainty to the editorial process.
The key message I want to convey is that, as solitary as writing might seem, it takes a partnership between writer and editor to deliver the best final product. To be honest, I think the new freedom of self- and independent publishing has left many writers forgetting or disregarding the value of that partnership. What is the most common criticism of Fifty Shades of Grey, for example? It could have used a good editor.
No matter how simple and carefree a scene might appear to the writer, it might confuse the editor, which means it probably would confuse most readers, too. Confusion can creep in from many directions. Whether the issue is about the essence of a story, the editorial process, or even whether your agent likes or dislikes your current manuscript, speak or email with your partner. Try not to assume someone is questioning your abilities as a writer, and if you're confused by the feedback you receive from an editor or agent or other member of your team (again, even self-publishers shouldn't be doing everything "alone"), ask questions.
You'll be glad you did.
Matt Sinclair, a New York City-based journalist and fiction writer, is also president and chief elephant officer of Elephant's Bookshelf Press, which earlier this year published a short story anthology called Spring Fevers, available through Smashwords, Amazon, and in print via CreateSpace. EBP's latest anthology, The Fall, will be released in late October. Both anthologies include stories by fellow FTWA writers, including Cat Woods, J. Lea Lopez, Mindy McGinnis, and R.S. Mellette; R.C. Lewis and Jean Oram also have stories that will be in The Fall. Matt blogs at the Elephant's Bookshelf and is on Twitter @elephantguy68
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
If You Prick Us Do We Not Bleed—Writers Be Kind to One Another in Your Public Comments
by Sophie Perinot
It is perfectly acceptable for an author not to like another writer’s work. Writers, especially good ones, are generally prolific readers and—because we are “in the biz”—it’s not surprising that we have strong opinions as to what works and what doesn’t when it comes to plot or prose. While wearing our “readers hats” we may even have cause to comment on or review books written by others (most of us are members of Goodreads at the very least). And, I would argue, it is perfectly acceptable for a writer to express his/her disappointment with a book in a review, comments to friends, and/or even an email to the author of the novel.
What is not acceptable is gratuitous cruelty or, worse still, attacking the person not the book.
A blog post by fellow debut author Nancy Bilyeau got me thinking about this subject. In a piece for English Historical Fiction Authors, Nancy discussed the rise and fall of an author few of us have heard of—William Harrison Ainsworth. While there was plenty of interesting information in Nancy’s piece (about the man, his work, and how he shaped popular images of The Tower of London), what will stick with me is this:
I do not know who “one writer” was but that is just as well because if I did I would be sorely tempted to dig him up and give him a stern talking to. I cannot imagine ANYTHING less appropriate or professional than wishing another writer—another human being—did not exist purely on the grounds of his prose (Nancy’s article makes clear Mr. Ainsworth was an upstanding fellow). Did “one writer” give a moment’s thought to how his fellow author might feel stumbling over such comment in the morning paper or overhearing it at a gathering of writers?
We all know this sort of behavior is, sadly, not a thing of the past. I can think of several recent examples from the blogosphere. I will not list them (or link to them), however, because to do so would be to repeat hurtful words spoken about living authors. Suffice it to say the modern examples are chilling—just as you’d expect from a culture that prides itself on speaking its mind and then some.
Civility and professional courtesy—that’s what we need. Without them we might as well be politicians. First off we need to remember we are not required to share every writerly thought or opinion that comes into our heads. But, to the extent we choose to offer criticisms of other writers work we can choose to:
A great way to test whether our comments are appropriate before making them public is to imagine ourselves on the receiving end of them. No matter how deserved your comment was Mr. Edgar Allen Poe, couldn’t you have thought of kinder phrase than “turgid prose” when describing Mr. Ainsworth’s writing (another example from Nancy’s piece)?
If empathy and human kindness (our better angels) won’t sway us away from personal attacks and virulently worded critiques, then self-interest should. When you read Mr. Poe’s comment above were you disappointed in him? I was (thinking of driving to Baltimore and giving him a stern talking to). If such comments make readers think less of the writer who penned them how is that good for sales? Besides, the world of writing is a small world. Someday the author you savaged may be asked what he thinks of including you on a panel at a writers conference, or he may be asked to recommend a next novel for a book club. I am betting you get neither the seat nor the recommendation. So before you prick a fellow writer with personal attacks or cutting remarks about his novel, remember there will be blood and not all of it may be the other guy’s.
Sophie Perinot is author of THE SISTER QUEENS (NAL/2012). For those in the Mid-Atlantic region Sophie will be a Presenting Author at the Baltimore Book Festival this September. If you are looking for her in the virtual world she both blogs and tweets.
It is perfectly acceptable for an author not to like another writer’s work. Writers, especially good ones, are generally prolific readers and—because we are “in the biz”—it’s not surprising that we have strong opinions as to what works and what doesn’t when it comes to plot or prose. While wearing our “readers hats” we may even have cause to comment on or review books written by others (most of us are members of Goodreads at the very least). And, I would argue, it is perfectly acceptable for a writer to express his/her disappointment with a book in a review, comments to friends, and/or even an email to the author of the novel.
What is not acceptable is gratuitous cruelty or, worse still, attacking the person not the book.
A blog post by fellow debut author Nancy Bilyeau got me thinking about this subject. In a piece for English Historical Fiction Authors, Nancy discussed the rise and fall of an author few of us have heard of—William Harrison Ainsworth. While there was plenty of interesting information in Nancy’s piece (about the man, his work, and how he shaped popular images of The Tower of London), what will stick with me is this:
“One writer said of him in 1870: ‘Let us start with an opinion fearlessly expressed as it is earnestly felt, that the existence of this writer is an event to be deplored.’ Ainsworth was still alive when this sentiment was published, and in reduced circumstances.” (emphasis added)
I do not know who “one writer” was but that is just as well because if I did I would be sorely tempted to dig him up and give him a stern talking to. I cannot imagine ANYTHING less appropriate or professional than wishing another writer—another human being—did not exist purely on the grounds of his prose (Nancy’s article makes clear Mr. Ainsworth was an upstanding fellow). Did “one writer” give a moment’s thought to how his fellow author might feel stumbling over such comment in the morning paper or overhearing it at a gathering of writers?
We all know this sort of behavior is, sadly, not a thing of the past. I can think of several recent examples from the blogosphere. I will not list them (or link to them), however, because to do so would be to repeat hurtful words spoken about living authors. Suffice it to say the modern examples are chilling—just as you’d expect from a culture that prides itself on speaking its mind and then some.
Civility and professional courtesy—that’s what we need. Without them we might as well be politicians. First off we need to remember we are not required to share every writerly thought or opinion that comes into our heads. But, to the extent we choose to offer criticisms of other writers work we can choose to:
- Be polite and constructive. For example, “the novel’s pacing lagged in the mid-section” not “the pace was so slow I aged ten years in the last five chapters. I can only recommend this book to insomniacs.”
- SCRUPULOUSLY focus our comments on the book not the writer. For example, “I found the alternating first-person perspectives confusing,” not “that Sophie Perinot doesn’t have the talent to write two viewpoints successfully. In fact I am not sure she could even pull off one.”
- Make certain we are judging the book against the author’s goals (what she set out to do) rather than what we would have written or would rather read. For example, “the author cast the book as a thriller but I was never in suspense” not “the book is a thriller but I wish more time had been spent on the romantic plotline because I love romances.”
A great way to test whether our comments are appropriate before making them public is to imagine ourselves on the receiving end of them. No matter how deserved your comment was Mr. Edgar Allen Poe, couldn’t you have thought of kinder phrase than “turgid prose” when describing Mr. Ainsworth’s writing (another example from Nancy’s piece)?
If empathy and human kindness (our better angels) won’t sway us away from personal attacks and virulently worded critiques, then self-interest should. When you read Mr. Poe’s comment above were you disappointed in him? I was (thinking of driving to Baltimore and giving him a stern talking to). If such comments make readers think less of the writer who penned them how is that good for sales? Besides, the world of writing is a small world. Someday the author you savaged may be asked what he thinks of including you on a panel at a writers conference, or he may be asked to recommend a next novel for a book club. I am betting you get neither the seat nor the recommendation. So before you prick a fellow writer with personal attacks or cutting remarks about his novel, remember there will be blood and not all of it may be the other guy’s.
Sophie Perinot is author of THE SISTER QUEENS (NAL/2012). For those in the Mid-Atlantic region Sophie will be a Presenting Author at the Baltimore Book Festival this September. If you are looking for her in the virtual world she both blogs and tweets.
Friday, May 18, 2012
In an Instant
by Calista Taylor
I find it really is all about first impressions. Though it's unfair to sum anyone or anything up with a simple glance or a few words, it really is the way the world works. As a writer, and someone who will likely need to promote themselves and their works, this becomes even more important. Our readers (whether they be those buying our books, or agents and publishers we're querying) will too often decide in just a few minutes whether or not they'll stick around or move on.
So what are the first impressions you give others? What will others see? Some things are pretty obvious, but I find other aspects are easy to overlook. I'll admit to having a bit of a checklist that I try to run through, and have posted it below, in case it might help.
This may all be rather obvious, but too often I find there are things that get overlooked. Is there anything you first notice or that immediately stays with you?
Calista Taylor is the author of several romantic mysteries and has a steampunk craft book due out in September 2012.
I find it really is all about first impressions. Though it's unfair to sum anyone or anything up with a simple glance or a few words, it really is the way the world works. As a writer, and someone who will likely need to promote themselves and their works, this becomes even more important. Our readers (whether they be those buying our books, or agents and publishers we're querying) will too often decide in just a few minutes whether or not they'll stick around or move on.
So what are the first impressions you give others? What will others see? Some things are pretty obvious, but I find other aspects are easy to overlook. I'll admit to having a bit of a checklist that I try to run through, and have posted it below, in case it might help.
- Name—Your name or pen name will be one of the first things a reader notices. Is your name unprofessional or difficult to say/spell/remember? I know this isn't always avoidable, since many write under their real name, but it is something to consider if picking a pen name.
- Book Covers—A bad book cover or one that looks unprofessional may easily give the impression that the story being told is no better than its cover. With a bad cover, your reader may not even get far enough to bother reading your blurb. Your book will never stand a chance.
- Your Query—This goes without saying—your query represents your writing.
- Opening Chapters—Many readers will first read the sample before purchasing. You want your entire manuscript to be well polished and well written, but paying extra attention to your opening chapters certainly can't hurt.
- Your Writing—an obvious extension of the opening chapters. Do your best to make sure your writing is polished and you've told the best story you can.
- Your Bio—Readers want to connect with the authors they're reading. Is your bio bland? Is it longer than a few words? Or do you go to the other extreme of listing your entire resume? I recommend keeping it short, pertinent and personable. I think humor is a bonus.
- Your Bio Picture—I find this doesn't really have to be a picture of you, if you're not comfortable posting an actual picture of yourself. A representative icon/image or painting/portrait works just as well. If using an actual picture of yourself, it should feel fairly professional, even if not taken by a professional. If not using an actual picture of yourself, I recommend NOT using a stock photo of a model. It ends up feeling like you're trying to hide something and you're trying to pass yourself off as someone your not.
- Your Website and/or Blog—Does it look professional? Does it represent you and your stories? Does it feel/look current?
- YOU—I've left the most important for last. In the end, it's all about you, so if you do have an online presence, if you're going to conferences or book signings, remember that everyone around you or those you come in contact with, will have a first impression. Try your best to make sure it's a good one and it's one that is professional and personable. Just do your best to play well with others.
This may all be rather obvious, but too often I find there are things that get overlooked. Is there anything you first notice or that immediately stays with you?
Calista Taylor is the author of several romantic mysteries and has a steampunk craft book due out in September 2012.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Giving Birth To Premies: When Acting Impulsively Can Hurt Your Writing
by Cat Woods
My nephew was born early and the doctors did nothing to stop his delivery. In their defense, he had a large head and weighed nearly seven pounds. Neither his measurements nor his calculated due date gave any indication that he was eight weeks premature.
As the first grandchild in the family, his birth was joyfully anticipated. His struggle to survive was not. Quite simply, the doctors had made a nearly fatal error. Not unlike some writers I've known.
Premies arrive in this world before they are ready. Among other things, they struggle to breathe on their own and eat on their own. They cannot regulate their own body temperatures and their heartbeats can be erratic. Over the first few years, their physical and emotional development can be stunted as they valiantly attempt to catch up to their full-term peers. In short, every day is an effort to survive.
As writers, we often put ourselves in premature situations. We are so certain we are ready for the next step, we jump at the opportunity to query and submit long before we hit our professional due dates. This often ends in rejection ... or worse.
Creating and sticking to a publishing plan of action is a lot like committing to a pregnancy. A mid-term mind change can effectively destroy all viability. Therefore, it is vital that we understand the ins and outs of the publishing biz long before we embark on our query/submission journeys. Once we have committed to a plan, we must very seriously consider the ramifications of switching gears halfway through. If we decide termination of one plan is in our best interest, we need to act professionally when it comes time to wrapping up all loose ends before moving on.
How have you ever misjudged your writing due date? How has this changed your writing journey? Please share your premie stories and tips of avoiding them to help other aspiring writers reach full-term with their projects.
After giving birth to four healthy babies, Cat Woods would like to deliver her juvenile fiction to a bookshelf near you. You can follow her writing journey at Words From the Woods.
My nephew was born early and the doctors did nothing to stop his delivery. In their defense, he had a large head and weighed nearly seven pounds. Neither his measurements nor his calculated due date gave any indication that he was eight weeks premature.
As the first grandchild in the family, his birth was joyfully anticipated. His struggle to survive was not. Quite simply, the doctors had made a nearly fatal error. Not unlike some writers I've known.
Premies arrive in this world before they are ready. Among other things, they struggle to breathe on their own and eat on their own. They cannot regulate their own body temperatures and their heartbeats can be erratic. Over the first few years, their physical and emotional development can be stunted as they valiantly attempt to catch up to their full-term peers. In short, every day is an effort to survive.
As writers, we often put ourselves in premature situations. We are so certain we are ready for the next step, we jump at the opportunity to query and submit long before we hit our professional due dates. This often ends in rejection ... or worse.
**A Word of Caution**
Creating and sticking to a publishing plan of action is a lot like committing to a pregnancy. A mid-term mind change can effectively destroy all viability. Therefore, it is vital that we understand the ins and outs of the publishing biz long before we embark on our query/submission journeys. Once we have committed to a plan, we must very seriously consider the ramifications of switching gears halfway through. If we decide termination of one plan is in our best interest, we need to act professionally when it comes time to wrapping up all loose ends before moving on.
Mid-Term Writing Risks
- Querying Agents After Subbing to Editors: While this doesn't sound like a big deal, it can have a huge effect on an agent's ability to represent a certain manuscript. Agents possess no more power than Joe Writer when it comes to resubmitting a project. If we've submitted our work to editors, agents lose the personal edge to call on their insider knowledge of those editors. And in this business, personal relationships between agents and editors can make the difference between a deal and a rejection.
- Querying Agents After a Self-Pubbing Fail: More than a handful of writers have fallen into this trap. After a dozen or so painful rejections, Willa Wanna-be self-pubs believing the masses will LOVE her book ... because, well, because it's dang good. For 1001 reasons Willa Wanna-be decides to go back to the Agent Submission Process. Agent Incredible will very likely shy away from this project for a variety of reasons. One of the biggest reasons being that once a book already has an ISBN, the opportunity for a solid publicity push has decreased exponentially. This translates to a serious loss of sales potential.
- Querying Multiple Projects Simultaneously: While this sounds more efficient than detrimental, having several projects in the hands of a handful of agents can really muck up the query process. Nicholas NetCaster grew impatient with the time it took to get a response and figured he'd up his chances by sending several stories into the query world at one time. Having to 'fees up to his faux pas when more than one agent expressed interest turned several on-the-fencers away. They simply did not want to deal with untangling his literary knots. Once a problem, always a problem? Maybe not, but why set yourself up for long explanations and perceived unprofessionalism?
- Querying Half-Assed: A favorite editor of mine frequently blogs about this problem. Isabelle Impulsive sends query letters to agents while submitting packages to editors while keeping track of nothing. In time, Polly Publisher and/or Agent Incredible get around to the submission. S/he wants this project, but ... Impulsive Izzy already forgot who she sent packages to. She's already a) signed with an agent, b) signed with an editor or C) self-pubbed and D) failed to let any of the above know about her promiscuity and mid-term abortion. This can make even the most patient agents magic-marker your name on "the list". And trust me, agents and editors have been known to talk.
- Marrying the Not-One: After being painfully single for a lifetime, Patrick Premie not only dates the first agent or editor to bat her eyes his way, he goes for the ring exchange. I can't say this enough: Do a background check on your literary love match. Preditors and Editors, baby. Word of mouth. Blogs, book acknowledgements and bad press (or no press). You would never let a proctologist deliver your baby. Why would you sign a contract for your picture book with an agent who only reps erotica? Or hasn't sold anything in three years? Or who really is a scammer in disguise preying on your desire to see your name in print?
- Inducing Pre-Term Labor: Worse than signing on with an incompetent book doctor is inducing labor yourself via premature self-publishing. Please, please, please wait until your writing has reached full-term. Wait until you are absolutely certain your manuscript is the best it can be. Wait until you can commit to a full-scale marketing plan. Wait until you hear back from all agents and editors you sent a query to. Wait until you have a doctorate in self-pubbing so you don't end up in a legal battle over minor mistakes. Wait for the right time to do your project justice, and most importantly, wait to self-pub for the right reasons. To do otherwise is to shortchange yourself and your writing career.
How have you ever misjudged your writing due date? How has this changed your writing journey? Please share your premie stories and tips of avoiding them to help other aspiring writers reach full-term with their projects.
After giving birth to four healthy babies, Cat Woods would like to deliver her juvenile fiction to a bookshelf near you. You can follow her writing journey at Words From the Woods.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Humility is Sexy
by R.C. Lewis
Disclaimer: I'm not a literary agent. I don't really know what they think, beyond the thoughts they put out there on their blogs and Twitter feeds. (I do not listen to the haters who think agents are an elitist clan of devil spawn who take joy in crushing the dreams of aspiring writers.)
But I think they would agree with the title of this post. Let me explain why.
First, you have to understand humility. Contrary to popular belief, it isn't beating up on yourself. It isn't saying your writing is crap, especially right after someone has complimented it. It is not a lack of confidence. I grew up with this simple definition:
You can definitely believe you know a few things while acknowledging there's room to know more. I have a student who epitomizes this. With all her accomplishments, she could easily have the biggest head on campus. Yet bragging would never occur to her. She does what she does, no big deal, but if you compliment her, she'll thank you.
She doesn't tell you all the reasons why your compliment is misplaced.
So, why do I suspect agents find humility sexy? I'm sure they want confident writers who believe in their ability (well, most of the time—we all have moments of doubt) and don't have to be talked down from the ledge every other day. Confidence is not the opposite of humility—arrogance is.
We've all seen arrogant aspiring writers (and, er, some published writers, too). The ones who lash out at anyone who dares criticize their masterpiece. Who insist it's your fault for being dense if you can't keep track of their fifteen different narrators. Who don't care if you tell them word counts much over 100k make publishing pros twitchy—not a single word can be cut from their 450k-word debut thriller. Who say they will never change X about their novel (title, character's name, their vision of printing the whole thing in Comic Sans) no matter what a publisher says.
It ain't sexy.
(Okay, those were extreme examples, but even when you scale them back, I'm thinking they're not too attractive.)
Humble writers do their research on the publishing industry and don't blame 'the system' for all their problems. They handle critique like a pro, not giving in to every beta reader's whim, but being open to possible improvement. They'll aspire for greatness, knowing there will always be more to learn, and never claiming they've already arrived and why haven't you acknowledged it yet?!
Is there anything that helps you find the balance, neither tearing yourself down nor puffing yourself up? Taking the stings of critique and the occasional right-hook of an agent rejection without letting them destroy you? Taking compliments and accolades without thinking you've arrived at the top?
Disclaimer: I'm not a literary agent. I don't really know what they think, beyond the thoughts they put out there on their blogs and Twitter feeds. (I do not listen to the haters who think agents are an elitist clan of devil spawn who take joy in crushing the dreams of aspiring writers.)
But I think they would agree with the title of this post. Let me explain why.
First, you have to understand humility. Contrary to popular belief, it isn't beating up on yourself. It isn't saying your writing is crap, especially right after someone has complimented it. It is not a lack of confidence. I grew up with this simple definition:
HUMBLE = TEACHABLE
You can definitely believe you know a few things while acknowledging there's room to know more. I have a student who epitomizes this. With all her accomplishments, she could easily have the biggest head on campus. Yet bragging would never occur to her. She does what she does, no big deal, but if you compliment her, she'll thank you.
She doesn't tell you all the reasons why your compliment is misplaced.
So, why do I suspect agents find humility sexy? I'm sure they want confident writers who believe in their ability (well, most of the time—we all have moments of doubt) and don't have to be talked down from the ledge every other day. Confidence is not the opposite of humility—arrogance is.
We've all seen arrogant aspiring writers (and, er, some published writers, too). The ones who lash out at anyone who dares criticize their masterpiece. Who insist it's your fault for being dense if you can't keep track of their fifteen different narrators. Who don't care if you tell them word counts much over 100k make publishing pros twitchy—not a single word can be cut from their 450k-word debut thriller. Who say they will never change X about their novel (title, character's name, their vision of printing the whole thing in Comic Sans) no matter what a publisher says.
It ain't sexy.
(Okay, those were extreme examples, but even when you scale them back, I'm thinking they're not too attractive.)
Humble writers do their research on the publishing industry and don't blame 'the system' for all their problems. They handle critique like a pro, not giving in to every beta reader's whim, but being open to possible improvement. They'll aspire for greatness, knowing there will always be more to learn, and never claiming they've already arrived and why haven't you acknowledged it yet?!
Is there anything that helps you find the balance, neither tearing yourself down nor puffing yourself up? Taking the stings of critique and the occasional right-hook of an agent rejection without letting them destroy you? Taking compliments and accolades without thinking you've arrived at the top?
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Connect the Dots for a Successful Public Presentation
by Cat Woods
Fast Fact: Public speaking is not high school speech class.
Evidence: Me
During my demonstration speech (you know, the one where you can't even hang on to your note cards because you have to SHOW how something is done?), I crushed the eggshell I was supposed to decorate.
After another I shook so badly, I couldn't walk back to my seat in a straight line. If a cop had been present, I'd have landed a DWI for sure.
As far as I was concerned, the word speech should have been reserved for tenth grade English and diagramming sentences. Since that time, however, I've presented at social organizations, professional organizations and Young Writers' Conferences. I've found myself at the front of the room in libraries, schools and churches.
The moral of this story: If I can speak in public, so can you. It's as simple as connecting the dots.
We must do a little research. We must know our audience and the reason behind our presentations. We must have clear goals. We must care so deeply about our topics that we can allow our presentations to meander within the confines of our expectations.
Last week I spoke to a fourth grade class. January was the teacher's month to help her students make a real world connection between what they learn in school and how this knowledge is necessary and applicable into adulthood.
In more ways than one, I connected the dots.
I have never walked out of a presentation drained. Instead, I'm energized and focused. I feel renewed excitement, motivation and connection toward whatever topic I spoke about. The minute that changes, is the minute I pack up my microphone and store it in the attic with the remnants of my shattered eggshell.
How about you? How does public speaking make you feel? If you're an experienced presenter, please share your tips with those just starting out. If you've never given a public presentation beyond your high school speech class, tell us why not. Do certain topics or audiences seem more appealing than others? More terrifying?
Curious minds want to know.
Fast Fact: Public speaking is not high school speech class.
Evidence: Me
During my demonstration speech (you know, the one where you can't even hang on to your note cards because you have to SHOW how something is done?), I crushed the eggshell I was supposed to decorate.
After another I shook so badly, I couldn't walk back to my seat in a straight line. If a cop had been present, I'd have landed a DWI for sure.
As far as I was concerned, the word speech should have been reserved for tenth grade English and diagramming sentences. Since that time, however, I've presented at social organizations, professional organizations and Young Writers' Conferences. I've found myself at the front of the room in libraries, schools and churches.
The moral of this story: If I can speak in public, so can you. It's as simple as connecting the dots.
- Connect with your topic. You're a writer. You're passionate about the process, the business, literacy, your book, your genre, your audience, etc.... Whatever you are speaking about, make sure you are engaged in the topic. You must first believe before you can ask others to do the same.
- Connect with yourself. Before entering a room, take a deep breath. Give yourself a pep talk. You are smart, funny, warm and compassionate. You know this topic like the road map of veins on the top of your hand. Stand confidently, no matter how uncertain you feel. And for heaven's sake, wear clothes you like. If your new suit is stiff, you'll be stiff.
- Connect with your audience. Right off the bat, you must personalize your presence with the guests in the room. Smile—the kind that reaches your eyes and not just turns the corners of your mouth. Maintain solid eye contact. Make each individual in your audience feel as if you notice them and are personally thrilled that s/he is here. Your audience's comfort level has a direct impact on your comfort level. Breaking the ice is your job.
- Connect your audience to your topic. This could be the single most important connection you make in a presentation. To keep audience members from memorizing the vein patterns on the backs of their hands, you must engage them immediately and make them feel as if they have a stake in the presentation. Give them a reason to be there and a reason to listen. Make it personal.
- Connect with the energy and use it to guide your presentation. Watch your audience for cues on when to elaborate or when to gloss over something. Presentations are not about you. They are personal experiences between your audience and your topic. You are the messenger.
We must do a little research. We must know our audience and the reason behind our presentations. We must have clear goals. We must care so deeply about our topics that we can allow our presentations to meander within the confines of our expectations.
Last week I spoke to a fourth grade class. January was the teacher's month to help her students make a real world connection between what they learn in school and how this knowledge is necessary and applicable into adulthood.
In more ways than one, I connected the dots.
- My Topic. Hello! English, grammar, characterization, yada yada yada. Easy peasy. But I took it one step further. I figured out how writers use each and every subject in school.
- Myself. I got out of my jammies for once and actually did my hair. I wore the appropriate--adult, but not boring--clothes and tapped into my inner fourth grade kid. Humor.
- My Audience. They're kids. That's easy. A smile. A raised eyebrow. A little wave to the shy girl who so wants to be noticed but will never tell you that. A conspiratorial wink to the class clown when the teacher gives him a hard look and a subsequent finger to the lips to let him know we share a secret and we're in this together—quietly. It's easier than you think to play a room as long as you know your audience. Once, when talking to the local Kiwanis chapter, I connected to my audience via the strongest presence in the room. I told them I was woefully unprepared to speak to such a prestigious group of professionals, but when the judge asks, "What are you doing for lunch?" and follows your "Nothing" with, "Well, you're busy now," you have no choice but to say yes. Even if you only had one hour to prepare. It worked because every business professional has felt pressure from above. This icebreaker connected us on a very real level.
- My Audience to My Topic. The teacher wanted me to talk about parts of speech. The kids wanted to hear anything but that. I met in the middle and asked if they'd ever had to write a paper for their teacher. I asked if it looked like it had been shot with a red pen when they got it back. Then I showed them my working binder of a manuscript with all the red lines and notations and scribbles and stickies and told them they were just like me. With that simple prop, I showed them that we were on the same level: imperfect, yet ambitious (a very fourth grade trait). That alleviated all the angst they were feeling and nudged their curiosity about the process. Seriously, how does a mess like my binder end up in the library?
- The Energy. I explained how a writer writes, read them a short story I'd written and answered questions. When questions slowed, I hit them with a bomb. "What subject in school does a writer never need to use?" Math. Of course. It's so brain-opposite from the written word that it's obvious even to the youngest readers. I then walked them through the various ways writers might get paid. By the word, the page or the completed project. They had to figure out which would be the better deal for the story I had read them. A whole new round of questions followed based on this new tangent. At the end of my presentation, a student raised his hand and said, "So, a writer really needs to know a lot about a lot of things." Bingo! The kids were happy, the teacher was happy and I was happy.
I have never walked out of a presentation drained. Instead, I'm energized and focused. I feel renewed excitement, motivation and connection toward whatever topic I spoke about. The minute that changes, is the minute I pack up my microphone and store it in the attic with the remnants of my shattered eggshell.
How about you? How does public speaking make you feel? If you're an experienced presenter, please share your tips with those just starting out. If you've never given a public presentation beyond your high school speech class, tell us why not. Do certain topics or audiences seem more appealing than others? More terrifying?
Curious minds want to know.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Don’t Want to be a “One Book Wonder”
by Sophie Perinot
Much of our time as newbie writers is spent worrying about breaking in. We work like demons to polish our manuscripts and then to come up with a query letter that will have agents salivating to see pages. (Doesn’t the image if agents salivating make you giddy?) Once we have a trusty agent at our sides we spend weeks on submission with publishers, torn between avoiding our in-boxes (fearing news), and checking them every 30 seconds (hoping for news).
Without for a moment suggesting that any of our efforts to land that debut book deal are wasted (okay, the maniacal email checking IS a waste but most of us simply cannot stop), it is never too early to look beyond our initial deal. If we want our writing to be a career, we need to work towards long term goals. We need to keep this thought on the edge of our mind from the beginning—one is NOT enough.
I know what you are thinking—“gosh darn it she’s greedy.” But seriously, I can’t be the only one who wants to turn this published author gig into a regular thing and not just a fluke. And decisions we make and actions we take NOW, as debut authors, are essential to avoiding the dreaded “one book wonder” syndrome. The key to subsequent book contracts is sales. The key to sales is building an audience who looks forward to you next book and retaining that audience. And the key to that, in my opinion, is disciplining our “author image” (aka our brand), something that requires a good deal of SELF-DISCIPLINE and SELF-CONTROL. We can start by remembering...
The muse works for us, not vice versa. Writing novels may be art but it is also business. We need to plan our brand at the starting line and run a smart race. We should not let “inspiration,” fate, indecision, or anything else push us around. So, before we query our first book, pick up an agent and (hopefully) a book deal we need to ask ourselves, “What type of books do I want to write for the next five years?” Because make no mistake...
A jack of all genres is the master of none. Agent Rachelle Gardner addressed this issue recently in this excellent post. Read it. My favorite quote: “once I’m interested and we’re in conversations about representation, I want to hear about the other books you have ... that would serve the same audience as the first one. I need you to have a ‘brand.’” So if your debut novel is historical fiction (as mine is) you’d better be prepared to work in that genre exclusively (and work hard) for the foreseeable future.
Now you can whine and say, “but that’s not f-a-i-r I have an awesome manuscript for a YA paranormal, and terrific ideas for an adult cozy mystery.” No one (certainly not me) doubts the brilliance of your ideas or your ability to write publishable books in more than one genre. But the truth is, it’s a tough market out there. These are not the old days when you could debut and then spend years building an audience (building a career) while hanging out on your publisher’s mid-list under contract. These are the “sell-through or perish” days. And if you do the social networking and marketing necessary to make your debut novel a solid seller—if you create a veritable “legion of fans”—you would be CRAZY not to capitalize on that by producing another book for that audience. And you aren’t crazy. So tell the muse “I am the boss here,” tuck away all those ideas for projects in other genres and give your fan base what they crave.
And long before you are are writing that second or third novel (building yourself as a top brand in the world of thrillers or YA or, ahem, historical fiction), remember that a disciplined author image is also important. Starting before your first novel debuts. Starting before you send that first query letter. Starting, in point of fact, the moment you post anything, anywhere as the writer you hope to become.
If I had a dollar for every time I’ve seen or heard an author comment “inappropriately” (on Twitter, or Facebook, over drinks at a conference, or in some other public setting) I wouldn’t need to write my next book. Okay, that’s hyperbole, but I see ill-advised comments often—too often. How, you may ask, can a comment be inappropriate or ill-advised if it represents the genuine thought or opinion of said writer? This is America after all. We say what we think. We have First Amendment rights. Sure do. But nothing—not even in the First Amendment—suggests that speech doesn’t have consequences and as a writer you do NOT want one of those consequences to be loss of audience. Remember, to be successful authors with multiple book deals we need to be able to sell books to people who are NOT LIKE US.
You want to argue politics? Ream other writers? Tell someone about yucky or intimate details of your life? Fine, but get a room—or rather keep that stuff in the private sphere of your life (virtual or other). When you have your “author hat” on, think smart and speak smart. Is your publisher going to be thrilled if you badmouth another author in your genre or at your imprint—nope. Is making fun of people from rural settings going to help you sell books in Iowa or Nebraska—nope. Ask yourself, ultimately do you care whether the people who by your novels vote the same way as you do, or practice the same religion, or support the same causes? I don’t.
I want everyone to feel comfortable buying and my work and I want them to judge that work on its own merits, NOT on how they feel about who I am personally when the author hat comes off. Once I’ve built an audience (fingers crossed) I don’t want to lose a single member. So when I am posting a comment on twitter, or sitting next to a fellow author at lunch I practice “dinner party behavior” (as such behavior existed before so many of us forgot our etiquette). Everything I think does not need to come out of my mouth in a professional setting. This is particularly true in the virtual world because remember the internet is forever—those twitter posts we toss out there so lightly are searchable and eventually they are going to the library of Congress.
Bottom line: When you are an author audience is everything—they are the key to making writing a career (and to showing up at signings to find your Aunt Irma has a little company for once). If we start early and exercise a little self-discipline while building our author image we can attract an audience of readers who will be back for more, and MORE IS BETTER.
Much of our time as newbie writers is spent worrying about breaking in. We work like demons to polish our manuscripts and then to come up with a query letter that will have agents salivating to see pages. (Doesn’t the image if agents salivating make you giddy?) Once we have a trusty agent at our sides we spend weeks on submission with publishers, torn between avoiding our in-boxes (fearing news), and checking them every 30 seconds (hoping for news).
Without for a moment suggesting that any of our efforts to land that debut book deal are wasted (okay, the maniacal email checking IS a waste but most of us simply cannot stop), it is never too early to look beyond our initial deal. If we want our writing to be a career, we need to work towards long term goals. We need to keep this thought on the edge of our mind from the beginning—one is NOT enough.
I know what you are thinking—“gosh darn it she’s greedy.” But seriously, I can’t be the only one who wants to turn this published author gig into a regular thing and not just a fluke. And decisions we make and actions we take NOW, as debut authors, are essential to avoiding the dreaded “one book wonder” syndrome. The key to subsequent book contracts is sales. The key to sales is building an audience who looks forward to you next book and retaining that audience. And the key to that, in my opinion, is disciplining our “author image” (aka our brand), something that requires a good deal of SELF-DISCIPLINE and SELF-CONTROL. We can start by remembering...
The muse works for us, not vice versa. Writing novels may be art but it is also business. We need to plan our brand at the starting line and run a smart race. We should not let “inspiration,” fate, indecision, or anything else push us around. So, before we query our first book, pick up an agent and (hopefully) a book deal we need to ask ourselves, “What type of books do I want to write for the next five years?” Because make no mistake...
A jack of all genres is the master of none. Agent Rachelle Gardner addressed this issue recently in this excellent post. Read it. My favorite quote: “once I’m interested and we’re in conversations about representation, I want to hear about the other books you have ... that would serve the same audience as the first one. I need you to have a ‘brand.’” So if your debut novel is historical fiction (as mine is) you’d better be prepared to work in that genre exclusively (and work hard) for the foreseeable future.
Now you can whine and say, “but that’s not f-a-i-r I have an awesome manuscript for a YA paranormal, and terrific ideas for an adult cozy mystery.” No one (certainly not me) doubts the brilliance of your ideas or your ability to write publishable books in more than one genre. But the truth is, it’s a tough market out there. These are not the old days when you could debut and then spend years building an audience (building a career) while hanging out on your publisher’s mid-list under contract. These are the “sell-through or perish” days. And if you do the social networking and marketing necessary to make your debut novel a solid seller—if you create a veritable “legion of fans”—you would be CRAZY not to capitalize on that by producing another book for that audience. And you aren’t crazy. So tell the muse “I am the boss here,” tuck away all those ideas for projects in other genres and give your fan base what they crave.
And long before you are are writing that second or third novel (building yourself as a top brand in the world of thrillers or YA or, ahem, historical fiction), remember that a disciplined author image is also important. Starting before your first novel debuts. Starting before you send that first query letter. Starting, in point of fact, the moment you post anything, anywhere as the writer you hope to become.
If I had a dollar for every time I’ve seen or heard an author comment “inappropriately” (on Twitter, or Facebook, over drinks at a conference, or in some other public setting) I wouldn’t need to write my next book. Okay, that’s hyperbole, but I see ill-advised comments often—too often. How, you may ask, can a comment be inappropriate or ill-advised if it represents the genuine thought or opinion of said writer? This is America after all. We say what we think. We have First Amendment rights. Sure do. But nothing—not even in the First Amendment—suggests that speech doesn’t have consequences and as a writer you do NOT want one of those consequences to be loss of audience. Remember, to be successful authors with multiple book deals we need to be able to sell books to people who are NOT LIKE US.
You want to argue politics? Ream other writers? Tell someone about yucky or intimate details of your life? Fine, but get a room—or rather keep that stuff in the private sphere of your life (virtual or other). When you have your “author hat” on, think smart and speak smart. Is your publisher going to be thrilled if you badmouth another author in your genre or at your imprint—nope. Is making fun of people from rural settings going to help you sell books in Iowa or Nebraska—nope. Ask yourself, ultimately do you care whether the people who by your novels vote the same way as you do, or practice the same religion, or support the same causes? I don’t.
I want everyone to feel comfortable buying and my work and I want them to judge that work on its own merits, NOT on how they feel about who I am personally when the author hat comes off. Once I’ve built an audience (fingers crossed) I don’t want to lose a single member. So when I am posting a comment on twitter, or sitting next to a fellow author at lunch I practice “dinner party behavior” (as such behavior existed before so many of us forgot our etiquette). Everything I think does not need to come out of my mouth in a professional setting. This is particularly true in the virtual world because remember the internet is forever—those twitter posts we toss out there so lightly are searchable and eventually they are going to the library of Congress.
Bottom line: When you are an author audience is everything—they are the key to making writing a career (and to showing up at signings to find your Aunt Irma has a little company for once). If we start early and exercise a little self-discipline while building our author image we can attract an audience of readers who will be back for more, and MORE IS BETTER.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Letting Go to Help Our Book-Babies Grow
by Sophie Perinot
Our books are our babies. They’ve kept us up nights, and acted badly in front of company (like those agents we queried too early), but we love them to death and we are very, very possessive of them. And, like most parents, we have high hopes for them. We dream that someday they will leave our laptop, pass through the wheels of publishing, and grace a shelf (wooden, virtual or both) somewhere.
Sometimes the “possessive” author part of us and the part that wants what’s best for our books are in direct conflict. What do I mean? Have you heard of the “helicopter parent?” I would argue the “helicopter author” also exists—she’s in all of us (guys, you can read “he’s” if it makes you feel better) and if we don’t keep her under control our book will suffer.
Repeat after me—“I am a wordsmith, I write, I write really well. But it takes a lot more than writing to make a book a success—it takes a village (it’s okay, you can steal that phrase from Hillary Clinton, everyone else has). Once I have a publisher I will let the professionals who work there do their jobs.”
That’s precisely what I told myself when I signed the contract for my debut novel (The Sister Queens). Despite being type-A, I was going to make a conscious effort not to micromanage every step on the publication trail, and not to freak out when I discovered that I didn’t have the political capital to do so anyway. So far, I am pretty proud of myself, and I am going to share the secrets to my tongue-biting success.
1) I keep my eye on the BIG picture—book sales. I want to sell books. My publisher wants to sell books. We both want to sell books to people who are not ME (and not my friends and family for that matter). So what I like—in terms of a cover, or a title or blog-ad copy, etc.—runs a distant second to what a majority of book-buying, cash-carrying potential readers will like.
And the truth is, I am not in a position to predict what will catch the eye of the average book buyer. I am not trained to do that (nor have I conducted studies or otherwise made it my business to keep my fingers on the pulse of such things). Which leads to my next point.
2) I remind myself as often as necessary, that years of experience and professional training DO count for something. Publishing is a competitive industry. The folks my publisher hired didn’t just walk off the street and say “this looks better than working at McDonalds.” They are professionals. The marketing and art department folks are trained to know what gets a book picked up off a “new releases” table. They have been designing covers and brainstorming titles for years. With this in mind, I decided, even as I was offering my own cover ideas (as my editor asked me to) I would stop well short of trying to “direct the brush” of the cover artists, and I would accept that they might know best.
Similarly, my editor has been polishing manuscripts since well before I thought of writing them. So, when I received editorial suggestions from my editor, instead of growling “my baby is perfect as I wrote it,” I consciously adopted a listening frame of mind, and seriously considered every suggestion. My editor gave me the gift of “outside eyes” and not just any old eyes, veteran eyes.
Was ceding some control over a novel I’ve lived with and loved easy—not all the time. Did I take every suggestion my editor made—no (ultimately it’s my name on the cover). But neither did I assume I knew best (or if I did assume that for some, giddy, amount of time—I made sure not to email my editor until the feeling passed).
Bottom line: I wanted a deal with a major publisher precisely so that I could tap into the resources and experience of “the best.” Disregarding the type of accumulated expertise a publisher has to offer is just stupid and stubborn. It is like going to the hospital and insisting on doing your own appendectomy.
My novel has now moved on to the production department. Just recently I saw sample pages. Am I happy with the results of my “campaign of collaboration?” Yes. My novel is still my baby, but she has my editor’s eyes. She looks spiffy in the cover designer’s custom creation. She’s all grown up and ready to hit the shelves in March 2012. In case your wondering, I’ll be the woman in Barnes & Noble snapping pictures of her on display like she’s a kindergartner getting on the school bus for the first time. “Say Cheese.”
Our books are our babies. They’ve kept us up nights, and acted badly in front of company (like those agents we queried too early), but we love them to death and we are very, very possessive of them. And, like most parents, we have high hopes for them. We dream that someday they will leave our laptop, pass through the wheels of publishing, and grace a shelf (wooden, virtual or both) somewhere.
Sometimes the “possessive” author part of us and the part that wants what’s best for our books are in direct conflict. What do I mean? Have you heard of the “helicopter parent?” I would argue the “helicopter author” also exists—she’s in all of us (guys, you can read “he’s” if it makes you feel better) and if we don’t keep her under control our book will suffer.
Repeat after me—“I am a wordsmith, I write, I write really well. But it takes a lot more than writing to make a book a success—it takes a village (it’s okay, you can steal that phrase from Hillary Clinton, everyone else has). Once I have a publisher I will let the professionals who work there do their jobs.”
That’s precisely what I told myself when I signed the contract for my debut novel (The Sister Queens). Despite being type-A, I was going to make a conscious effort not to micromanage every step on the publication trail, and not to freak out when I discovered that I didn’t have the political capital to do so anyway. So far, I am pretty proud of myself, and I am going to share the secrets to my tongue-biting success.
1) I keep my eye on the BIG picture—book sales. I want to sell books. My publisher wants to sell books. We both want to sell books to people who are not ME (and not my friends and family for that matter). So what I like—in terms of a cover, or a title or blog-ad copy, etc.—runs a distant second to what a majority of book-buying, cash-carrying potential readers will like.
And the truth is, I am not in a position to predict what will catch the eye of the average book buyer. I am not trained to do that (nor have I conducted studies or otherwise made it my business to keep my fingers on the pulse of such things). Which leads to my next point.
2) I remind myself as often as necessary, that years of experience and professional training DO count for something. Publishing is a competitive industry. The folks my publisher hired didn’t just walk off the street and say “this looks better than working at McDonalds.” They are professionals. The marketing and art department folks are trained to know what gets a book picked up off a “new releases” table. They have been designing covers and brainstorming titles for years. With this in mind, I decided, even as I was offering my own cover ideas (as my editor asked me to) I would stop well short of trying to “direct the brush” of the cover artists, and I would accept that they might know best.
Similarly, my editor has been polishing manuscripts since well before I thought of writing them. So, when I received editorial suggestions from my editor, instead of growling “my baby is perfect as I wrote it,” I consciously adopted a listening frame of mind, and seriously considered every suggestion. My editor gave me the gift of “outside eyes” and not just any old eyes, veteran eyes.
Was ceding some control over a novel I’ve lived with and loved easy—not all the time. Did I take every suggestion my editor made—no (ultimately it’s my name on the cover). But neither did I assume I knew best (or if I did assume that for some, giddy, amount of time—I made sure not to email my editor until the feeling passed).
Bottom line: I wanted a deal with a major publisher precisely so that I could tap into the resources and experience of “the best.” Disregarding the type of accumulated expertise a publisher has to offer is just stupid and stubborn. It is like going to the hospital and insisting on doing your own appendectomy.
My novel has now moved on to the production department. Just recently I saw sample pages. Am I happy with the results of my “campaign of collaboration?” Yes. My novel is still my baby, but she has my editor’s eyes. She looks spiffy in the cover designer’s custom creation. She’s all grown up and ready to hit the shelves in March 2012. In case your wondering, I’ll be the woman in Barnes & Noble snapping pictures of her on display like she’s a kindergartner getting on the school bus for the first time. “Say Cheese.”
Monday, June 6, 2011
Tough Love and Tough Skin
by R.C. Lewis
Receiving criticism—if it's not in the first paragraph of a writer's job description, it should be. Handling it with professionalism and grace is a must-have skill.
Cat Woods recently discussed the basics of critique partners/groups and several real-life examples of changes made due to critter input. Some feedback resonates right away. (Yes, why didn't I think of that myself?) Some leaves you on the fence. (It could work, but the way I have it might be better, or maybe Door #3 ...) And some is immediately dismissed. (I write for teens and about teens, so while it might be grammatically correct, I'm not using "whom" in that dialogue.)
Those are the rational, I'm-the-writer-so-I-make-decisions-for-my-story reactions.
What about the emotional reactions? How do we react to "mean" critiques and reviews?
I'm not referring to an out-and-out bashing that says you have no business writing and calls into question the quality of your parentage. I'm not talking about reviews that turn out to be written by the guy/gal who stalked you in eighth grade and didn't take it well when you had to shoot him/her down. In fact, the feedback I'm talking about usually isn't "mean" at all.
It's honest. When in a pre-published critique situation, the critiquer usually intends to help. They tell you what works and what doesn't—for them. In a post-published review situation, they're doing what they're supposed to do—give their opinion of the book.
That doesn't mean it won't hurt, although some will deliver their criticism with more "cushioning" than others.
Should we hope for the "extra cushy" kind? Personally, I don't think so. Too much padding, and I might not realize how potentially serious an issue is. Tact is certainly appreciated, but not sugar-coating, at least for me.
Either way, still hurts.
So how do we handle it? Here's some un-cushioned advice, which I direct to myself as well: Suck it up.
When I'm working with my long-term critique partners, we know we're in each others' corner, so we can be blunt with both "Love it!" and "For the love of Neal Shusterman, R.C., what's with the eyebrow-raising?" Dialogue about feedback is useful, because it can help clarify both the writer's intention and the reader's perception.
In other situations, though, particularly if you're feeling hurt or have an urge to get defensive, here's my recommended response, in its entirety:
Thank you for taking the time. You've given me a lot to think about.
If you've already been published and it's a matter of negative reviews, I'll say it again: Suck it up. Moreover, ignore it. Don't respond. Stop looking at your Amazon or Goodreads page(s) if necessary.
And if you don't know why I recommend that so strongly, perhaps you missed the episode earlier this year involving the author of a book about a Mediterranean mariner.
How do you keep your ego in check when receiving criticism? What influence does the writer's possible reaction have when you offer feedback?
Receiving criticism—if it's not in the first paragraph of a writer's job description, it should be. Handling it with professionalism and grace is a must-have skill.
Cat Woods recently discussed the basics of critique partners/groups and several real-life examples of changes made due to critter input. Some feedback resonates right away. (Yes, why didn't I think of that myself?) Some leaves you on the fence. (It could work, but the way I have it might be better, or maybe Door #3 ...) And some is immediately dismissed. (I write for teens and about teens, so while it might be grammatically correct, I'm not using "whom" in that dialogue.)
Those are the rational, I'm-the-writer-so-I-make-decisions-for-my-story reactions.
What about the emotional reactions? How do we react to "mean" critiques and reviews?
I'm not referring to an out-and-out bashing that says you have no business writing and calls into question the quality of your parentage. I'm not talking about reviews that turn out to be written by the guy/gal who stalked you in eighth grade and didn't take it well when you had to shoot him/her down. In fact, the feedback I'm talking about usually isn't "mean" at all.
It's honest. When in a pre-published critique situation, the critiquer usually intends to help. They tell you what works and what doesn't—for them. In a post-published review situation, they're doing what they're supposed to do—give their opinion of the book.
That doesn't mean it won't hurt, although some will deliver their criticism with more "cushioning" than others.
Should we hope for the "extra cushy" kind? Personally, I don't think so. Too much padding, and I might not realize how potentially serious an issue is. Tact is certainly appreciated, but not sugar-coating, at least for me.
Either way, still hurts.
So how do we handle it? Here's some un-cushioned advice, which I direct to myself as well: Suck it up.
When I'm working with my long-term critique partners, we know we're in each others' corner, so we can be blunt with both "Love it!" and "For the love of Neal Shusterman, R.C., what's with the eyebrow-raising?" Dialogue about feedback is useful, because it can help clarify both the writer's intention and the reader's perception.
In other situations, though, particularly if you're feeling hurt or have an urge to get defensive, here's my recommended response, in its entirety:
Thank you for taking the time. You've given me a lot to think about.
If you've already been published and it's a matter of negative reviews, I'll say it again: Suck it up. Moreover, ignore it. Don't respond. Stop looking at your Amazon or Goodreads page(s) if necessary.
And if you don't know why I recommend that so strongly, perhaps you missed the episode earlier this year involving the author of a book about a Mediterranean mariner.
How do you keep your ego in check when receiving criticism? What influence does the writer's possible reaction have when you offer feedback?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)