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Anyone can be an author today. Anyone. It used to be that someone else had to be willing to invest money in you, but no more. Now you can invest in yourself.

What used to be called the midlist has now gone largely into self-publishing. It means that if you are a good, fast writer, you don’t have to be bound by the comparable slowness of traditional publishing, you get to keep most of the money, and you can steer your own ship. Sounds good, huh?

Mostly it is good. And yet I am still here and I still have a job. Why is that?

There are many reasons, but here are two:

The most obvious reason is that an agent can get you a sophisticated deal with a real publisher, who might spend a great deal of money to make the book a success—way more than you would spend yourself. An agent will understand the complexities of a publishing contract, and will be familiar with all the things that can go wrong. They will be there for you every step of the way, solving problems, asking questions, and going to bat for you. I can’t think of a single author at that level who isn’t represented in some way. But there is more. Writing is a lonely, isolating profession. Authors need someone to talk to who isn’t their mom or their writer friend (where there is bound to be competition), their spouse, or their dog. They want to talk to someone who really gets it–and can do something about it. And if that’s your goal, that’s how you should start. We aren’t yet at a place where the Great American Novel is going to debut online. That day may well come, but even then, there are some losses. Most books need to be edited. They need classy design and cover art. You need the distribution that will get you into drugstores, supermarkets, libraries, schools—and oh, yes, bookstores. So far, I haven’t seen that kind of quality in self-published books. (Ask me again in a year.)

The best way to do this is with genre books, especially when the author can turn out several books a year. The readers just want the story; they don’t care so much about the production quality. On the other hand, there are plenty of cookbook authors who self-publish, and they end up with books that don’t look bad but they could look better. Worse, they are overpriced and too short. They often sell these books only off their website, which means no distribution. When one such author came to me, I was able to get her six figures, another hefty sum for the photos, a decent royalty, and all of the support a publisher can bring. They will easily spend six figures on support alone, not to mention the production costs, the advance, and everything else. This doesn’t even begin to address income from potential foreign sales, audio, dramatic rights, and merchandising rights. Sometimes those things can be huge.

Publishers make money and get paid for a reason. It’s hard. You probably don’t know how to do everything they do, and may not want to.  You have to know about pricing, discounting, distributing, subscriptions, what the market is doing day by day, competition, formatting, polished cover art and book design, incentives, bookstore placement, shelving, awards and prizes, deft and constant handling of social media, mailing lists, a robust online platform including a dynamic website, and about a thousand other things.

So you have to weigh the ingredients. Some people are very good at self-publishing, and more power to them. But they have to spend an enormous amount of time and savvy doing everything a publisher does. They have to spend money as well. They could spend that time writing another book. There is no free lunch.

If you are ambitious and very internet savvy, self-publishing may be the right road for you. Do the math, check out the possibilities, and find out what you will get or not get with a traditional publisher. If you write faster than they can publish you, that’s a clue right there.

How does all of this affect me? Well, it doesn’t. I’m not in a place where I want those midlisty books.  True, a midlist author can build, and many of my authors have done exactly that.  So I would never say never, but only a small percentage of those authors go on to become big sellers. Newer agents may feel differently. But at every conference I attend, someone always asks if agents are becoming obsolete. I always smile, look around the packed room with people spilling out the doorway, and point out the obvious. If you don’t think you need an agent, then why are you here?

Here’s what I do know. Good writing never goes out of style, whatever the format. If you have a wonderful story or something important to say, it will find a place.

You sign up to go to a writers conference. You’re excited to land an appointment with an agent you have always admired. You prepare eagerly for this appointment and you are nervous when you get there. This is your big chance, you think. Talking to a real live agent will open an elusive door for you. Even if the agent doesn’t ask to see your work, you have accomplished something.

What is wrong with this picture?
It’s a fallacy.

Anyone can sign up to talk to an agent or editor. These requests are not screened beforehand. And when you get your fifteen minutes, what do you think will happen? There is only so much that can happen, because as I have said many times, the proof is in the reading. If they ask to see your work, that is no guarantee that they will want to take it further. If they don’t ask to see your work, it’s not necessarily an indication that your work isn’t salable.

Now take a step back and ask yourself how a conference makes money, or at least breaks even. It’s expensive to put on a conference. Someone has to pay for the use of the hotel, the flights and hotel bills for invited speakers, the conference rooms and banquet halls, and for any meals that are provided. They get a nice bundle charging authors who want to attend. Part of that bundle is the chance to meet in person with an agent or editor.

In short, it’s how they attract people to attend their conference, regardless of what the results may be. The chance to meet with an industry professional is so alluring that authors don’t always stop to think what it will really mean for them.

I stopped doing appointments a long time ago, because in all the years I’ve been doing this, I found exactly one author who became a client, and whose books sold. That happened because I was seated at a luncheon table with about 6 aspiring authors, so I went around the table to inquire about what each author was working on. The last person was so far from me that I could barely hear him, so I moved over to sit next to him. Because it was a lunch with no time limit to how long we could talk, we were both able to relax.

He had a very appealing and salable idea, so I asked to see the manuscript. When I got it, I was immediately hooked. I offered representation, which he accepted, and before long we had our first sale.

It should always go like that, right? But it doesn’t. That story is the only time it has worked, at least for me.

Here’s what usually happens. The idea sounds off-market or just unappealing to me. Or it has been done many times before. Or it’s something I am quite sure will have a poor chance of selling. Or the author is so nervous that she writes her pitch down and then reads it to me, her hands shaking. When that happens, I gently take the paper out of her hand, and ask her to pretend she’s talking to a sister or a friend and just tell me her story. It’s awkward and painful when something like that happens. I don’t really care so much what you look like (unless you look terminally weird), or how your manners are (but do try to have some), or who you know, or what some editor said. All I care about is what’s on the page. I’m not going to sit there and read your manuscript in front of you, so the best we can do is to have a pleasant conversation and hope for the best.

A better way to meet industry professionals is to hang around the bar and the lobby where people congregate. Start conversations. Be friendly, but not overbearing. Talk about the weather or the airport or a new movie or a great restaurant in town. You don’t have to go barging around talking about yourself. Ease into it and let it happen gradually. I usually ask people what they are working on, which is a clear invitation. It’s one of the reasons we are there, after all, but I find it much more practical than a stilted, timed meeting. I have hooked up with plenty of authors that way, and it all felt quite natural.

So, if I were an author, I would make the best use of my time by schmoozing around and making myself available, being helpful, being assertive without being pushy, and being alert for opportunities. Don’t be scared. Be friendly. “Do you need an extra chair?” Or “May I join you?” are a lot better than horning in on a private conversation or sitting there hoping someone will notice you.

None of this means you shouldn’t make that appointment. You never know what might happen. Just recognize it for its real purpose and have reasonable expectations.

I’m thinking of the time I was sitting on an agents panel at a conference and realized that I was the best-dressed person on the panel.

This was not hard to do.  Next to me was a young woman with long, unkempt hair. She was wearing some kind of ratty tee, loose pants that looked like clown pants, and great big basketball hightops. On the other side of her was a young man wearing a worn plaid shirt, jeans with holes in them, and sturdy work boots. He looked like a lumberjack.

I was wearing a red, well-made sweater, a gray skirt, a red and white scarf, red earrings, and red shoes. Okay, I got the scarf in Paris. It cost a mere 25 euros. I had a neutral manicure before coming to the conference and my haircut was fairly new.

This is not about knowing how to dress. It’s about looking like a professional, with decent clothes and basic grooming.

Who would you rather talk to if you are looking for an agent or a publisher? The clown pants, the lumberjack, or me? There is nothing wrong with dressing casually. In fact, it is often preferable. But do the jeans have to have holes, no matter how trendy that may be? Can you get a tee that is less than 20 years old and doesn’t sag? If you get a fresh tee, tuck it in, and use a nice-looking belt, you are already there. If you accessorize simply, you are even more there. As an author, no one expects you to look fancy. Just reasonable. You can even be funky or creative or ultra conservative or retro. Just not like you woke up five minutes ago or live in a forest.

I have seen authors who show up wearing bedroom slippers and curlers in their hair. On the other end of the spectrum, I have seen authors who think they are supposed to look very successful, and their idea of proving that is to wear $5000 designer suits and handbags. Really not necessary.

If you have a meeting with your publisher, don’t fret. It is not likely that they will be very dressed up, and you don’t have to be either. But they will look pulled together, and so should you.

On the other hand, I have seen conferences that expect people to dress inappropriately. One had a pajama party in the evening. Yes, I’m serious. They expected authors, agents, and editors to show up in nightgowns or pajamas. Another was held in Hawaii, and everyone was expected to wear swimsuits around the pool. Sorry, folks, but I don’t want to show that much of myself in a work setting. This was a writers conference, not a surfing convention.

Whatever you wear, it should be comfortable. If you feel like your neck is in a noose wearing a tie, don’t bother with it. No one will mind. You don’t need spike heels or anything that slows you down or gets in your way. Remember, you are there to work. Keep it simple, be yourself, and don’t look hopelessly weird. That’s all you need.

Remember what Coco Chanel said. If you dress shabbily, they will remember the clothes. If you dress impeccably, they will remember you.

 

I once received a letter from a 10-year-old girl about a math assignment. The math teacher asked all the kids what kind of profession they wanted to enter, and how math would play a role in that kind of work. The girl said she would get extra credit if I answered. I wanted her to get extra credit

This girl wanted to be a writer, so she was asking how much math writers need to use in their work. It was a valid question for most people–just not for potential writers.

No one becomes a writer because they are good at math. And the very little they use is calculated for them on the computer. You need to know how many words you have written? A quick glance will tell you. You don’t understand your royalty statement? Well, cheer up, because most royalty statements are not user-friendly anyway. Your agent should be able to answer your question, and if the agent doesn’t know, she can ask the publisher. Someone will know the answer. Knowledge of math is not a requirement for the author. You want to understand the vital importance of a sell-through, which involves percentages? Ask your agent. Once you get it, you will know it forever. So I can’t really say that it plays no role at all in a writer’s career, but it doesn’t in the actual writing.

I was very pleased to receive this letter. It was a good question and one I was able to answer honestly. I hope she got the extra credit. What I loved about it was that this girl had the sense to actually find someone in the business and to reach out and ask. Sometimes that’s all it takes. Ask. Send that email. Call that number. Don’t ever assume you won’t be able to get to someone. And don’t be so sure they are too busy or too surrounded by buffers to be interested in you.

No one knew how to name characters better than Dickens. Who else would come up with a name like Ebenezer Scrooge? It sounds exactly like who he is. No one in the world has ever been named that, and that’s just the point. It’s fine to be a little outrageous when it helps to define the character.

Sure, you can name your character Dave or Linda or Chris. But what if you went with Dexter, Winona, or Clementine?  It just sounds more interesting, like these people are not average. And why should your characters be average?

We have expectations of certain names. Irving is bound to be someone older, and probably dull. Tallulah is probably unique, or very southern, or both. Anyone named Samson is bound to be strong. It’s hard to imagine a puny, wimpy kid called Samson, unless you are being deliberately ironic.

If you have trouble coming up with names, get a book of baby names and have fun with it. You can also get foreign names on line for just about any nationality.

Think about what the name means. Corleone means “heart of a lion”.  What a perfect name for that particular family. And there really is a town in Sicily called Corleone. Mario Puzo used it because it was real, but also because it was so evocative.

Naming characters and places can be maddening when you can’t think of just the right thing. But it’s worth it. It’s all part of the storytelling.

 

Sometimes authors are afraid that too much description will delay the action, so they avoid it. That is a mistake.

Once you have the reader hooked, you can slow down, you can move to another storyline, you can do a flashback, or you can add description. The reader won’t mind waiting if she is already dying to know what will happen next. She might even relish the wait if you have her properly hooked.

And good description doesn’t have to be flat and uninspired. It can actually help to tell the story.

Here’s an example. It’s a description of Huck Finn’s father.

I had shut the door to. Then I turned around, and there he was. I used to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much. I reckoned I was scared now, too; but in a minute I see why I was mistaken—that is, after the first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being so unexpected; but right away after, I see I warn’t scared of him worth bothring about.

He was most fifty, and he looked it. His hair was long and tangled and greasy and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. It was all black, no gray; so was his long, mixed-up whiskers. There warn’t no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white, not like another man’s white but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body’s flesh crawl—a tree-toad white, a fish-belly white. As for his clothes—just rags, that was all.

This tells you what the man looks like, but it tells you so much more. He pops up where he is not expected, and he is never welcome. He is cruel. He doesn’t live like a decent human being. This is Huck’s father. It tells us a boatload about Huck, and Huck’s need to be resourceful. He has been living on his own for a long time and he is only 13. He used to be afraid of his father, but now he is not. This is not just a description of the father, but of Huck himself. And it grounds us deeply into the story. The language, the references, the vivacity all add up to placing us where Mark Twain wants us. We are now in Huck’s world and inside his way of thinking.

The secret to description is to make it part of the story, rather than a static piece of information.

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE GODFATHER

To me, THE GODFATHER (meaning the book and the first two movies) is an unparalleled masterpiece. It is operatic in its intensity, Shakespearian in scope, and Mozartian in its ability to take something maddeningly simple and make it brilliant.

Al Pacino was once interviewed about it. He said it is mythological. It’s a story about a powerful king with three sons. Each son inherits one thing from the father, but none of them inherits everything. Sonny inherits the brutality. Fredo inherits the sweetness. And Michael gets the intelligence. Eventually the life they lead destroys all of them.

There are also great business lessons to be learned from this saga. The Corleones are, after all, in business.

There are far too many to list all of them, so I will list just a few modest examples here.

One of the ones I like best is when Michael tells his coterie that all business is personal. He says that every piece of crap you have to take every day adds up. If you treat someone with respect, they will not want to do you in. Disrespecting someone is about the worst thing you can do. They will feel resentful and humiliated and they will want your head on a platter. Many people miss this, because it’s not in either movie, but it’s in the book.

Another aspect of this is to add a personal touch to things that could be farmed out. Tom Hagen is impressed when Johnny Fontane personally drives him to the airport. When someone makes an appointment and comes to see you at your office, don’t send an assistant to fetch the visitor in the waiting area. Go out and greet them yourself.

Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer. Most people have heard that one. But what does it actually mean? It means being aware of everything your enemies are doing so that you are prepared. But it also means having enough respect for them so that you don’t underestimate them. You wouldn’t mind them so much if they hadn’t done something that devastated you. They will do it again—if you let them. Be prepared.

If you haven’t read the book, I urge you to do so. Some people think it can’t possibly be that great because it was so enormously popular. But a book can be both, and this one is. When you combine it with the movies, you have a saga that transcends its own popularity.

I have a thing about audio rights. Here’s a short history:

Audio rights used to be easily retainable by the author, because no one thought they were that big a deal. But then they went digital, and all of a sudden, publishers woke up. They not only demanded that they keep audio rights, but some refused to even offer without them.

That was a big change, one that I never fully accepted. Here’s why.

If the author retains audio, I can sell the rights to an audio publisher and the author gets all the money. She gets it promptly and it goes directly into her pocket, where it belongs. If the publisher retains audio, they can either publish audio themselves, which is often the case, or they can sell those rights to an audio publisher. And take half. HALF. If I sell the rights, I take my standard 15%. But the publisher wants half. It has been that way since I’ve been in the business and no one has ever seriously challenged it.

Except me.

I don’t see why they should get half for selling something that I can sell. Moreover, they will charge it against the author’s royalty account and the author will probably wait for years to get it—or maybe never.

I’m okay with the publisher’s audio division publishing the title. At least that way, the author gets a fair royalty. But even then, it will be charged against the royalty account, and the proceeds may never make it into the author’s pocket.

The worst part is they tend to offer for everything in a lump sum. If they buy a book for say $100,000, the audio is included. It used to be that they would pay $100,000 and I would sell the audio, bringing in an extra sum. Of course, they don’t differentiate between print and audio rights. It’s all lumped in together. Which means they are basically STEALING the audio rights. It’s assumed they get those rights as part of a package, without breaking down the package.
I continue to fight this, but it has become an uphill battle. I would be happy to consider other methods that are fair, but the current system of them grabbing rights is not fair.

How many of you agree with me?

When my daughter was in second grade, she wrote a story. The first line was “It all started with ordinary carrots”.

Why does that work? Because it makes you want to read on. It could have started with “Once there were some carrots.” But that leads you nowhere. What could possibly happen to plain old carrots that would create a story? If you want to know, you’ll have to keep reading!

I don’t remember the rest of it, but I’ll always remember that first sentence. I don’t think my 7-year-old knew at time that she got it right. Sometimes we stumble into something that just works.

But we can learn from this. You don’t have to stumble into it. Learn to do it consciously. Write in a way that makes us want to keep going. That is called narrative drive. When you have narrative drive, you have a page-turner. It could be in any genre. It can be literary or commercial. Whatever it is, the skill of hooking our attention and keeping it should never be underrated. It can be applied to anything—a business report, a school paper, a news story, or a bestselling novel.

Homework assignment: Take one of your favorite books off the shelf and read the first page. Why does it work? Break it down piece by piece to see how it flows. How does it make ordinary carrots come alive?

1. The font is tiny and single-spaced and the margins are miniscule. That lacks professionalism and tells me that you expect me to wade through something that is not quite legible.

2. There are mechanical errors from the get-go.

3. It’s boring. When something is boring, it’s usually because it lacks pacing. Give me something, anything, to worry about.

4. It doesn’t fit the genre it’s supposed to be in.

5. It’s too slow. Which is boring.

6. The characters are dull. Boring.

7. It doesn’t appear to be about anything in particular. Where’s the story? When you don’t introduce a story promptly, it gets boring,

8. It lacks voice, which makes it boring.

9. The cover letter is hostile or tries to crack inappropriate jokes or is disrespectful. One once called me “an arrogant gatekeeper”.

10. It doesn’t know what it is. Where would it fit on the shelf? 

The word I used most here is “boring”. That is the number one reason something gets declined. Hook me right away and keep me there.