In 2004 I was fresh out of college and in the middle of my first year as a teacher. I was also in the middle of an epiphany that I had made a terrible mistake in career choices. Oh, somewhere in there I also wrote my first, (completed) novel-length story.
As it is for so many, writing was a coping mechanism for me. Through writing, I survived a host of personal problems, (different post, different time) and found the motivation to go into the classroom (that felt like a prison cell) every morning. Publication was scarcely a consideration. In truth it would be several years before my manuscript was close to public-consideration worthy.
So, I’ve been at this writing thingy for a minute. And ~sigh~ I’ve learned some things. Mostly, I’ve learned that this is a game of numbers and popularity. I suck out loud at popularity but I’m an accountant, (blessed second career). I get numbers.
Women make up the majority of readers in the U.S., Canada, the rest of the U.K., and France—like an 80% majority. Meanwhile, in mystery, thriller, and crime, (my wheelhouse) women make up 55% of readers. Literary agents, publishing agents, and publishers would be fools to ignore those numbers. And as hard as publishing has been hit, fools do not flourish.
What does this have to do with a self-publishing?
Originally, I was adamantly opposed to self-publishing. At the very best, I viewed the endeavor as self-indulgent. At worst, I considered it artistic fraud. Most commonly, it just looked icky. Please excuse the technical jargon.
It also looked like a fu—ton of work and hella expensive. Rather than admit to this I took the high road. And by “high road,” I mean the morally superior road. “I may not get paid to play but I refuse to pay to play.”
Yep. I’m a “hoot” at parties.
So, what changed? Well, it was a process. In 2008-ish, I landed an agent...for about 15 minutes. Then he stopped answering my emails. Turns out he could sell the hell out of coming-of-age memoirs and celebrity diet books but a gritty crime novel was more difficult to sling than either of us thought.
Eighteen months later, my dream agent, (the crime-fiction agent NOT named 'Donald Maass') passed on my book. She said in fatigued honesty, “I don’t know who, (among crime fiction publishers) I would pitch this to.”
She also told me to consider reworking my story for the Young Adult market which she didn’t work in. Undeterred, after several days of crying and day drinking, (kidding) I pushed on.
Another agent, because there is always another agent, said and I vaguely quote,
“Your story is about a car thief in 1985 Houston. It’s very macho. I don’t know that I can sell that to a publishing agent, who is probably a woman, might not have even been born in 1985, and has probably never been outside of the five boroughs and most certainly is NOT macho directed.”
As much as I would’ve liked to have said, “That’s, like, just your opinion, man.” The guy had been in the publishing game for 20 years, with a stable of successful authors. The majority were women and even the men on his service wrote contemporary mysteries marketed to women.
The easily-marketed part is key.
A year or so later, a publisher that I respected, with an award-winning independent publishing house, told me, “I believe it (my book) will find a home but not with me.” He offered no suggestions but one only needed to look at his list of published books to see the targeted audience.
Of course I could’ve taken some direction, could’ve reworked my book into a angsty-teen drama with crime elements and even set it in a city with a storied name, like Tidewater or Santa Fe or Twenty-Nine Palms. I could’ve even gender-swapped my protagonist.
But it’s not about publishing. It’s about publishing the story I wanted to write. Those examples of would/could/should are all somebody else’s story. My story is what they used to sell on spinner racks in truck stops.
"Finish it, send it out, and keep sending it out until someone sends you a check." -Robert Heinlein
What Heinlein didn’t say is, if you never get the check, it’s probably because NO ONE READ YOUR MANUSCRIPT. In Heinlein’s day there was an expectation that at some point, someone would read the stacks of manuscripts in the slushpile. These days there are roughly 3000 publishers in the U.S. and less than a third accept unagented or unsolicited manuscripts. We won’t even get into the legitimacy of some of those publishing houses that do accept unagented manuscripts.
Supposedly Frank Herbert got 30 rejections before Chilton (a technical press) published his masterpiece, Dune, the best selling science fiction novel of all time. These days it’s more likely to be 30 agents—the goaltenders—rejecting you without a publisher ever seeing a word you wrote.
Publishing is a secondary goal to landing an agent.
Agents take on only 5 or 6 new clients a year, out of thousands of queries. Of course those 5 or 6 are the ones who have the best shot at selling to publishing houses. Out of those 5 or 6 it is likely that only one will land a deal, if that.
Super agent, Janet Reid, states she has had years where none of the clients she signed lands a deal.
That leaves a larger number of writers who were signed by an agent but who’s work didn’t fit the publishing houses’ marketability strategy. Or who’s agent misjudged which publisher to pitch it too. There are truly too many variables to list.
The bottom line, the cold-hard truth, is that an agent doesn’t guarantee publication. For that matter, getting a publishing agent (the folks at the publishing house who, ideally, make an offer of publication) doesn’t guarantee publication. Even if the book fits the publishing house' marketability matrix, the publishing agent still has to be the loudest/most compelling voice at the meeting when all the publishing agents are fighting for their acquisitions to be printed.
Dreams die in administration.
Most writers start writing and then worry about the business end after the book is written. Other writers start in the business. Connie Briscoe was an editor and learned the game from the inside out before a single word she wrote saw the commercial light of day.
Did that give her a leg up in publishing? Hell no, she’s a woman of color writing books marketed to women of color. That’s a mountain few of us can look at without getting vertigo, much less attempt to climb. But working in the industry did teach her what publishers want and what they don’t.
Personally, I already have a job I don’t want.
There are also niche publishers. A niche publisher focuses exclusively on one genre or subgenre, (Regency romances, babysitter-ghost hunters, et al). In my end of the swamp, Hard Case Crime IS the game. Their formula is simple: republish out of print, hard-boiled crime titles from the 1950s-to-1970s by guys like Lawrence Block, Max Phillips, and Richard Stark. They will, on occasion, publish new material from established writers like Stephen King and Max Collins but those guys already have a following so it’s a low-risk venture. Hard Case only does sure-things and cinches.
Dreams also die in quiet resignation.
A couple of years ago I stumbled across two books that changed everything for me, especially my prejudices against self-publication. First was The Wheelman by Duane Swierczynski, a modern heist book, in the spirit of Richard Stark, Wheelman was an absolute joy to read until the final 20 pages.
I won’t spoil it for you other than to say that either the publisher strong-armed Swierczynski into using his debut book to SELL A COMPLETELY UNRELATED SERIES, or the publisher was criminally negligent in failing to stop that trainwreck of a segue-ending. Either way, I skipped Swierczynski’s second title and the last I heard he was writing comic books. Lesson: even a “big” publisher will not save you from yourself—and certainly not from themselves.
The second attitude-changing book for me is E. Abernathy’s Cold Comfort. A psychological thriller that doesn’t skimp on characterization or heart, Cold Comfort is brilliantly written and is first-class in presentation.
I state that last part because Abernathy self-published the book. It is an absolute triumph with great looking graphics, a professional format, and “real book” feel. Unlike a certain tome about sparkly vampires with margins large enough for you to draw the forest, (tree-by-tree) that was mowed down for all that paper.
But, but, but small presses...
A writing coach of mine signed his contemporary mystery with a small press (to remain nameless). They edited out the homoeroticism and coarse language from his Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil-esque potboiler and then published the remaining 12 pages. Kidding. Mostly.
When the book, (against all expectation) earned-out the miniscule advance the publishers went for another bite at the apple by releasing an “uncensored” edition. But readers don’t like to feel fleeced and they passed on the cash grab. The second book failed to make back “production costs” and the press dropped the author. His successive books were self-published.
A friend who signed with a small press was surprised when she received a proof copy before an edit copy. Truly, most writers, no matter how good their grammar or how sound their story, typically get an edit copy (corrections and development notes) with more red than a crime scene. My friend was dubious but committed to the course. Then she read the proof copy and it was like they hadn’t even employed an editor or proof reader. The first books went out before the errors that SHE CAUGHT were addressed. Meanwhile, it was still up to her to promote the book. Which the big presses expect as well, in case you were wondering.
I can do bad all by myself.
So, I’ve seen how truly iffy traditional publishing is, how very badly any publisher can screw up a good book and just how professional a self-published book can be. Mostly, I can see how easy it is to do absolutely everything right and still never see a word professionally printed on a page.
From those experiences, I also saw my way forward. If they can gut my story, make me change the very essence of the book, and still screw up the execution, why can’t I?
That is, I can certainly do no worse than the publishers.
If writers have been responsible for their own marketing for the last twenty years, (and they have been) if I have to market my book for one of the big four publishing houses, why can’t I market my book for me? There is a cottage industry of editors, book designers, and marketers providing support for writers. Most took a chance on their skills to step away from big-publishing. Why shouldn’t I take a chance on myself?
Next week, we’ll discuss the “how” in self-publishing.
The photo at the top: Stephen King, is the property of the Writers Studio. The text is a quote attributed to Mr. King and was added to the photo. Use here is for educational/illustrative purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.
