publishing

A Vow to Be Discriminate

Okay, I realize that title doesn’t sound like a positive thing (especially if you overlook the “be”), so let me explain. If I am not discriminate, I am by definition indiscriminate. And that is something I do not wish to be.

I enjoy supporting fellow writers. Exchanging feedback on query letters, discussing the ins and outs of the business, offering chocolate when the rejections come in, swapping manuscripts for critique … all high on my agenda. I’m happy to support with more than my time, too. I’ve bought several books (some hard copy, some eBook, and some both) over the past couple of years by writers I know. Often these are in genres I don’t normally read a lot of, but in these cases I know the writer personally, and I know that the quality of writing is up to snuff, so I put my money behind them. These have been both traditionally published and self-published books.

But I will not support only because the “I know the writer” half of the equation is met. For one thing, I know too many, and half of them are self-publishing these days. Even at 99 cents or $3, that can add up.

More importantly, that “writing is up to snuff” part is critical. Reviewing books publicly can be super-sticky for a writer, especially one who’s still seeking the ever-elusive agent and publishing deal. My even-handed criticisms might be based more on my decades of experience as a reader, but it just looks bad to have even a hint of “bashing” others.

So the only vote of support I might have for some books comes in the form of currency and/or downloads. If I don’t believe a book is worthy, for whatever reason, I think it’s okay for me to withhold that vote. Certainly, I don’t think I do myself, my fellow writers, and most importantly readers any favors if I contribute to artificially inflating the rankings/visibility of a book I don’t believe in.

The brunt of this falls on the self-published works, it seems, because there are so many among my acquaintances, and because the self-publishing process has an inherent reduction in quality control. I am not anti-self-publishing. I’m still actively considering it for myself. But I’ve always been picky and demanding when it comes to books. Super-picky, some might say. (Mindy McGinnis has her own way of putting it, as those of you who know her can guess.) That pickiness isn’t going to change (and shouldn’t, in my opinion) just because I’ve talked to the author.

So I’ll continue to check samples and listen to the opinions of those I trust. If I believe in the work, you can bet I’ll put everything possible behind it. I’ve already pre-ordered the eBook for Sophie Perinot’s debut in less than two weeks, and I also plan to hit a brick-and-mortar store release day to buy a hard copy … maybe two. (Who has a birthday coming up and likes historical fiction?) I’m already earmarking money for several copies of Mindy McGinnis’s debut novel (which I was privileged to read and critique pre-querying), and that doesn’t come out until Fall 2013.

Am I too picky? Am I missing the boat of Authorial Solidarity? Have you ever found yourself stuck between a writer-friend who wants your support and your integrity that says, “This really wasn’t ready to go out into the world?” How do you handle it?

Speak up:

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Levels of Response in the Publishing Game

As I wade through the waters of Trying to Get Published, I find there are a lot of things the general public doesn’t know about the process. Since most of us start out in the general public before moving into Wannabe-Writer-Ville, we come into the process as clueless newbies.

The first thing we learn about is the query letter. That’s a tricky beast all in itself and deserves weeks of study. But with the magic of the internet (and cool sites like AgentQuery Connect), we get up to speed on how and why, and work out a query letter that’s considered ready to go.

We carefully read submission guidelines, send out a batch or two of queries, and we wait.

As a newbie, we may not know how many possible responses there are. Let’s break it down.

SILENCE
First, has it only been ten minutes? If so, chill out. (If the agent promises an auto-response to confirm receipt, check your spam folder, wait a little longer, then try again.) If it’s been a few weeks/months, there are questions to answer. Does the agent have a stated “no response means no” policy? If yes, move on. If no, and there was no auto-response, do a little digging to determine whether the agent typically responds and how long it usually takes. (QueryTracker is a great resource for this.) If it’s been unreasonably long, and the agent always responds to queries, might be worth resending.

FORM REJECTION
This can vary from a super-brief “Not for me, but thanks,” to a very politely worded paragraph that means the same thing. Don’t agonize over every syllable. Just move on.

PERSONALIZED REJECTION (on query)
This is pretty rare, but occasionally happens. Sometimes it’ll look personalized, but a little research shows it’s a form. If you really do get a personalized reply, glean what you can from it, but again—don’t agonize. Move on.

PARTIAL REQUEST
Yay, they want to read some of your manuscript! First, a partial typically means three chapters or the first fifty pages. In my experience, agents are pretty clear with what they want and how they want it. Follow their instructions. Once you send it off—don’t agonize. Your query seems to work, so send off a few more to celebrate.

FULL REQUEST
Yay, they want to (potentially) read the whole thing! Some agents go straight from the query to this point, skipping the partial in-between. Same advice goes—send as instructed, don’t agonize, and send off some more queries.

SILENCE (on requested material)
Ugh. Hold on! Has it only been two weeks? Chill out again.

Many agents state that they respond to full manuscripts within X amount of time. Wait that length plus a few weeks (or an extra month), then try a politely worded nudge. Sometimes you get an apologetic note that things got crazy and you’re next on the list, or there’s been a technical problem and could you please resend … and sometimes you get more silence.

FORM REJECTION (on requested material)
Ouch. This sucks, because you often can’t even tell how far they read. This is where I most often see the “I just didn’t love it enough” wording. Frustrating, because it doesn’t really give you something to act on, other than trying to find the agent who is going to love it enough. Check with beta-readers and critique partners to see if they have ideas about making it more “loveable” but … don’t agonize. Send more queries and get back to work on your WIP (you do have one, don’t you?).

BRIEF REJECTION (on requested material)
A little better than the form, and may give you a touch of direction on revisions. If the feedback resonates, act on it. But don’t agonize. Get back to work.

DETAILED REJECTION
This can hurt the most but be the most valuable … maybe. The agent cared enough to type up 3-5 paragraphs on what they liked and didn’t like, but ultimately, they don’t want this story. Often this type of rejection includes a statement like, “Please keep me in mind for any future projects.” Make a note of that. If this story doesn’t pan out and your WIP gets to querying stage, I highly recommend starting your new query letter to these agents with: “In (month and year), you were kind enough to read the full manuscript for (insert title).”

A rejection like this warrants a little agonizing. You need to look over their feedback carefully. Let it sit for a day or two until the sting is gone, then read it again. What resonates? What could make the story better? This may be the time to dive into some big revisions. But if the feedback doesn’t resonate at all, or contradicts what other agents have said they liked, it may be yet another occasion to move on.

REVISE AND RESUBMIT
There’s nothing relaxing about this type of R&R. This often looks a lot like the Detailed Rejection, but it’s actually a hefty step above. It generally includes the same types of feedback, but includes a clear statement from the agent that if you’re willing to revise, they’d be happy to look at it again.

Agonize. By all means, agonize.

Again, make sure the feedback resonates on some level. Come up with a game plan for addressing the agent’s “problem areas.” Take your time (but not forever) working through your manuscript. Run it through your most trusted critique partner(s) again. Polish the now-rough edges where things got cut and scraped.

Send the new version. Then stop agonizing. Send a query, write on the WIP, do something.

And finally …

CAN WE TALK?
I’ve experienced all of the above levels thus far, except this one. This is where the agent wants to talk to you in real-time, usually meaning on the phone. It may or may not end in an offer of representation. Depends on how you and the agent click, how they feel about other projects you have (old or ideas for new ones), if you both have the same vision for a working relationship and your career, etc.

If/when I get to that point, this thread (and the links within it) will be my guide, definitely.

And as I wait for that phone to ring, nothing will stop me from agonizing. I’ll keep some chocolate handy.

Did I miss any? Do you have any advice on handling the various levels of response?

Speak up:

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Everything I Need to Know, I Learned from … Food Network??

I admit it, I’ve been completely addicted to Food Network lately. (You’d think it’d do damage to my waistline, but I’ve found when you see all this extravagant, wonderful food that’s far better than anything you can get your hands on in real life, you don’t actually eat that much.)

In particular, I’ve watched a lot of the competition shows they have: Cupcake Wars, Iron Chef America, Chopped, Sweet Genius, etc. And I’ve learned a couple of keys about being classy while competing against your peers.

#1 Don’t Compare Really, I already knew this, but I’ve seen just how ugly it is when it doesn’t happen on these shows.

The classiest competitors talk about what they were going for, how they went about it, what inspired them, and so on. They don’t even mention what their fellow contestants did. The focus is on what they did, and is it good enough?

Inevitably, someone comes along who makes some remark (either blatant or backhanded) about another chef’s dish or execution or style, or how their own is better. Every time, I want to mute the TV. It makes me cringe and grit my teeth.

This applies easily to the writing world. It’s harder when I’m in the fight, rather than watching from the other side of the television, but it’s still important. The important thing is my writing. How I pull it off, whether it’s good enough … not whether it’s better than Writers X, Y, and Z. And if I must have such thoughts, I should keep them to myself. Or at least vent them in absolute privacy.

#2 Don’t Talk Back to the Pros Oh, when contestants (on ANY reality show) talk back to the judges, I want to scream at them and run away, all at the same time. You don’t have to agree with them. You don’t even have to take their advice if you don’t want to. But you should respect that there’s a reason they’re sitting in judgment and you’re not. They have expertise, and have earned the right to be publicly opinionated.

Again, obviously applicable to writing. How often have we seen people bashing agents, editors, and publishers? Posting comments to their blogs about how they’re outdated dinosaurs and no one needs them anymore? Or those horror stories about writers who send scathing replies to form rejections of their queries?

Yeah, publishing’s changing, but really? That’s no excuse for dissing people who DO know a thing or two about the industry. Have some respect, and behave professionally. It’ll make YOU look better, and who doesn’t want that?

So, thank you, Food Network, for reminding me not to be a full-of-myself jerk as I attempt to navigate the world of getting published. I’m sure everyone who has to interact with me thanks you, too.

Speak up:

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The Value of Expertise

I might get myself in trouble with this one.

As a teacher (and especially when I worked in “regular” ed), I’ve heard the following line more than once from parents: “I know what’s best for my child.”

Really? If so, why do we have pediatricians? Dentists? Why send children to school at all, where they’ll be taught by someone who is not the parent of said-child?

We trust that doctors know more than we do about physical health. Most of us take our cars to mechanics because they know more about engines and carburetors and serpentine belts than we do. They have something we don’t—EXPERTISE on the subject.

Same goes for teaching. I studied enough about mathematics and the teaching thereof to earn two degrees. I’ve taught just about every level of math that exists in secondary education. Perhaps I know a thing or two.

That’s not to say parents (or anyone) should blindly trust the experts. But to make an informed argument, they need to gain some expertise of their own.

Ask questions. Do some research. Try a few different things—that would definitely make you an expert on what has and hasn’t worked in the past. Make sure you understand the reasoning behind the advice being given to you before you dismiss it.

Wait a minute. This sounds familiar.

It applies to writing, too.

Writers often say we know what’s best for our stories. In some ways, yes … but in some, maybe not. Does the writer have the expertise to make that judgment?

An editor or agent generally does have that expertise. They’ve studied, trained, and had experience in the world of writing. They might just know more than we do about what does or doesn’t work. (Yes, it’s a very subjective industry, but some things are clear-cut enough.)

Agents are too overwhelmed to give much feedback, and most of us don’t have access to an editor, nor the means to pay a freelancer. So we’re left to gain at least some expertise ourselves.

How can we do that? I have friends who’ve been through MFA programs, and it shows in both the polish and cohesive structure of their work. But that may not be the route for all of us. There are How-To books of various types. Expertise galore, ready for us to access it.

Reading can be a great way, too, but we can’t just read. We have to read on a “meta” level. When we enjoy something, we need to think about why—what did the author do right, and how? If something annoys or bores us, we need to figure out what’s behind that, too.

Will all of that ever equal the knowledge and experience an industry pro can bring to the table? Probably not. But that’s where strength in numbers comes in. Solid critique partners who’ve also done their part to gain expertise can have a huge effect on our outcome. (More on that coming on a special post August 15th.)

The bottom line is that we shouldn’t plug our ears and chant that we know what’s best for the story simply because we wrote it.

Well, really, we can do anything we want in our novels … if we don’t care about getting published.

Speak up:

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Humility is Sexy

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. 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? Working with my tailor-made, long-term critique partners helps me—more on that soon.

Speak up:

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Accomplishment vs Prestige

Some … interesting conversations I’ve observed lately had me thinking about the distinction between the two ideas named in this post title. The whole writing/publishing world is changing, with more options readily available than ever before. And naturally, people are making value judgments.

Person A: [This, that, or the other non-traditional route] isn’t real publishing.

Person B: Why are you tearing down other people’s success?

Person A: You’re deluding yourself.

Person B: You’re a jerk.

Mud-slinging and childish behavior ensue. Any chance for rational discussion of pros and cons is lost.

Aside from personality flaws I’m not qualified to diagnose, it seems part of the problem arises when one or both parties fail to differentiate between accomplishment and prestige. So I’ll stick my neck out and discuss it.

All of the following are accomplishments that warrant unequivocal pride and satisfaction:

• completing a novel
• writing a query letter that garners requests
• securing an agent
• landing a publishing contract with a big-name publisher
• landing a publishing contract with a mid-sized publisher
• landing a publishing contract with a small/niche publisher or micro-press
• learning the formatting gymnastics required for self- and/or e-publishing
• releasing a book through self- and/or e-publishing
• selling books
• finally telling your family you’re a writer, and surviving the laughter

But the fact is, some of these accomplishments are more prestigious than others, and measuring “success” is complicated. I have a friend who’s well into six-figures with advances (Big 6 publishers) and foreign rights sales with her debut novel, and it’s not even released until this fall. I have other friends who’ve been published by start-up indie publishers founded by fellow writers, and some are doing quite well. Still other friends have gone entirely the DIY route, and a few of those are also doing impressively.

If I say that first friend with the Big 6 contracts is more successful than the others, does that mean I’m disparaging the others’ accomplishments? Not at all. I’m saying she’s reached a higher level of prestige. We can’t all be Olympic gold-medalists. Even if some of us eventually get the same level of success as my friend, we won’t necessarily take the same route. And that’s okay.

(Incidentally, all of my aforementioned friends have accomplished more than I have in those respects. I’m still working on it.)

Part of the problem is likely the implication that novels that are self-published or released by a small start-up aren’t “good enough” for the big-time. Is that true?

Let’s be honest—sometimes it is.

There are other possible reasons, though. Not hitting the right timing with trends. A topic/genre that’s more niche than mainstream. Or an author that wants to keep complete control over their product, for whatever reason, so they never even try the traditional route.

I’m in no position to say which category any given book falls into. But my advice to all is to acknowledge that there’s always going to be someone “better” and more successful. Compete against yourself. Choose a route, set a bar for yourself, and focus on surpassing it. Next time around, get a bigger contract, or a higher percentage of positive reviews, more downloads at a specific price point, or whatever makes sense to your situation.

Not everyone can be at the top of the prestige tower … but everyone can move higher bit by bit. Be realistic about where you are. You’re not as high as someone else—the latest Big-6 bestseller or whatever. You don’t need to pretend you are. Take what you’ve accomplished, own it, and enjoy it. Then get back to work.

Speak up:

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