Down Time

Right now, I'm in the midst of some serious downtime.

It's not exactly of my choosing. In early May, I sent off my finished manuscript to my agent and I'm still waiting to hear back. It's been a month and a half and I'm trying to be patient. Book Expo America happened somewhere in the middle and I'm sure he was busy with that. He has other clients. It takes a long times to read 156,000 word document.

But I'm trying to be patient. I'm dying to hear what he thinks.

I might just send him an e-mail in a week or two if I don't hear back, but I know I haven't been forgotten. This, my friends, is the nature of the publishing business. It's S-L-O-W. If we do manage to find a publisher, I know that my book won't hit the shelves until about two years from now. At least. If it takes a client two months to hear from an agent, you can maybe understand why unsigned writers wait upwards of 3-6 months to hear anything.

What to do in the meantime?

The smart thing to do is to roll right into another project, to get so excited about something new that I forget I'm waiting to hear back, but I'm finding that to be difficult. The kids are out of school. The neglected corners of my life need some attention. I've been re-reading a few abandoned pieces and the novel I started a few years ago--but my bookshelf, stocked with all that delicious summer reading, seems much more appealing. I'm gardening, cooking, enjoying my children, and just taking a moment to exhale. In the vernacular of Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, I'm filling the well.

When I was a ghostwriter my schedule required that I produce a 250-page book every six weeks, with an additional two weeks for revisions. Even with an outline, even with such light material as comedic teenage angst, it was a tough schedule. On my own, now with considerably more responsibilities and subject matter requiring a bit more thought, I'm on track to produce a book every 5-10 years. My writing is slow, thoughtful, deliberate. I often berate myself for being so slow. I know I could work harder, put in more hours, but writing isn't my everything. And I feel almost apologetic about it.

In April, I had the chance to meet the extraordinary writer, Andre Dubus III. In the few minutes we spoke, I sensed he was also an extraordinary human being. He asked me what I did for work and I told him I was a writer. I told him I was on the verge of completing my second adult novel, which took me nearly nine years to write. I was a little embarrassed by this, citing my twin girls as one of the reasons it took me so long. I admitted I found it hard to work as much as I'd like given the demands of family life. Writing, for me, takes quiet and concentration. Family life is noisy, complicated, messy. (For example, in the forty-five minutes that I've been writing this blog post, I've been interrupted about once every five minutes.)

Mr. Dubus looked up from the book he was signing and said with the utmost sincerity, "Your life comes first. Enjoy your daughters. Wait until they're all grown up, then you can write a million books."

I wish it were that simple, but the sentiment was certainly a relief to hear. I think of it often. When I grow old, will I regret not publishing more often? Probably not. But I would definitely regret missing out on my daughters' childhoods. What's the point of writing if there's no life to write about?

The Most Important Point of View--Yours

Right after college, when I had moved to New York and was just beginning to discover who I was as a writer and as a person, two brilliant young writers were making huge waves in the literary community--Junot Diaz with Drown and Edwidge Danticat with Breath, Eyes, Memory. A few years later, Jhumpa Lahiri came on the scene with her short story collection, Interpreter of Maladies. All three writers were (and still are) fiercely talented. Their works also shared the common themes of the immigrant experience and cultural marginalization. All three moved to the United States when they were very young--Diaz from the Dominican Republic, Danticat from Haiti, and Lahiri from London (though her family was from India).

I admire all of three writers greatly, but putting my young self up for comparison (a treacherous pastime all of us would do better to avoid) was hopelessly discouraging. It's one thing to compare talent--even if I fall short, there is at least the hope that one day, if I work hard, maybe I'll achieve similar skills--but another thing entirely to compare one's point of view. All three writers, by virtue of their cultural histories, had an inherently interesting point of view. I did not. I had a happy, quiet childhood and grew up in a small Maine town. Likewise, my young adulthood was focused, calm, and full of hard work.

Yawn.

No matter what I do, I will never be able to change my history, my cultural heritage, or who I am. My source material is far less interesting right off the bat. It's like starting a race one lap behind. This bothered me a lot early on. Who would be interested in the musings of a happy, well-adjusted person?

Two conversations I had over the past year helped me change my mind. The first was with a friend of mine who moved to the US from England five or six years ago. She confessed to me that while growing up in England she was obsessed with American culture and that a book about small town America seemed very glamorous and exotic to her. Really? It had never occurred to me that a story about rural America could be exotic to anyone. My world view, obviously, had been too narrow.

The second conversation was with my writing mentor, Richard Russo. I mentioned to him my fear of being too "normal" to be of any interest to readers and then he said the simplest, most remarkable thing--that my point of view is as valid as anyone else's.

Maybe I knew this all along, but hearing those words somehow gave me permission to be me without apology. So if you've experienced a similar feeling of self-doubt, let me pass on the following affirmations:

Your point of view is as valid as anyone else's.

You are an observer and have learned things about human nature just by virtue of being alive. 

What is dull to one person can be exciting to another. Not even Diaz, Danticat, and Lahiri 
appeal to everyone.


Your work will find an audience. 

So there. Now stop fretting and get back to work.

The Curse of the Six-Figure Advance

Don't let anyone fool you--writing is NOT its own reward.

Writing is fulfilling, fun at times, and most of us would do it for free (shhhh...don't tell anyone), but a large part of the reward is putting our work out into the world and seeing what comes back. We need to see some positive results, something that tells us our time and effort are worth it, something that keeps us motivated on those days when it feels like the story is going nowhere and we don't think we have the will to carry on.

Among the markers we writers use to gauge our success (for better or worse) are bestseller lists, awards, movie and TV deals, glowing reviews from publications and fans alike, and blurbs from famous people. Oh yeah--and that little thing called a book advance. The single, most concrete measure of the worth of our words. The fact that any publisher would pay to put our words into print is a pretty heady thing, but when a publisher decides they are willing to pay a lot for it, well, that's the stuff of writers' dreams.

The bigger the advance, the better, right? Not necessarily. In fact, sometimes a bigger advance can be a bigger headache.

Before I delve into the reasons why a big advance can be problematic, it's important to understand how publishers determine what to pay for a book in the first place. When it comes to a first-time authors with no track record, it's anybody's guess how many copies of their book will sell. Publishers look at trends, the sales of similar titles, the current marketplace, and then make their best guess. That's right, guess. No one knows which books will hit the bestseller lists and which ones will tank. It's all a crap shoot. So the publisher takes a guess and makes an offer based on that guess. If another publishing company is interested in acquiring the same book they will also make a bid, driving up the price of the advance. Then it becomes not just a game of how well they think the book will sell, but how much money they're willing to risk in order to get the book. As the price goes up, the author gets more and more excited. He may feel this is a reflection of the value of his work, when really it's a competition between publishers to see who will "win" the book. The problem is, it may not be an accurate reflection of potential sales.

Oh, sure, in the short term, a big advance is a wonderful thing. It's lots of money in your pocket that you get to keep no matter how your book sells. It also means lots of publicity--a big book deal is often published in the trades, garnering attention well before publication. The publisher is more likely to make the book a higher priority on their list. And--let's admit it--being in the "six-figure club" just feels fantastic. It's like joining the major leagues.

Over the long term, though, the author's sales might fail to live up to that big advance. In fact, the vast majority of books will fail to earn out their advances. It may not seem like a big deal, I suppose, considering that you've already received a nice paycheck, but what happens when you try to get your second book published? You now have a track record. When a publisher considers buying your next book, they are going to look at your sales. Here, the size of your previous advance matters--a lot.

For instance, let's compare two authors--Author A and Author B. Author A received an average-sized advance of $20,000, while Author B received $100,000. Both earned $30,000 on sales. Who looks better on paper? Author A--she earned out her advance and collected an additional $10,000 in royalties. Her next contract offer is likely to go up considerably.

While Author B sold the same amount of books, his statement shows he still needs another $70,000 in sales to equal his advance. This shows up as a negative $70,000 in total sales. It's likely Author B's next offer will go way down, closer to the sales amount. Some publishers might not even want to take a chance on the next book. And yet both authors had the same earnings. The only difference is that Author B's publisher arbitrarily gave him a higher advance. 

So what's the take away from this? Should you say "No, thank you!" when a publisher makes you a big offer? Of course not! It's free money--are you crazy? What you need to understand is that a big advance does not automatically translate into big sales. Likewise, not being able to live up to your advance is not an indication of failure. On the flip side, a small advance need not feel like a failure, either. In other words, it's a numbers game and nothing more. The game may not always work in your favor, but it's not necessarily your fault. Don't use it to gauge your value as a writer.

Agents Are Evil and Other Publishing Myths

The recent dispute between Hachette and Amazon has brought out the publishing industry haters again. I've been reading through some of the comments people have been leaving and are shocked by the number of people who are pro-Amazon and anti-publishing. The issue is complicated and nuanced and as an author whose books are available through Amazon, it would be hypocritical for me to take a stand at the moment--but I reserve the right to do so in the future. As a consumer I have enjoyed Amazon's low pricing as much as anyone, though I will say that the company's recent practices have made me re-think the true cost of underpricing books. From now on, I will be making more purchases at my local independent book store.

What I do want to take a stand on, though, is the constant demonization of publishers and agents. Yes,  over the past twenty years the major publishing houses have consolidated to the point where there are only four major houses remaining. Yes, the bottom line is important to them--and why wouldn't it be? Profit margins have been shrinking. Book stores are closing. People are downloading books for free. The industry is in jeopardy. Contrary to popular belief, books are not cheap to produce. Every book that is published is handled by a managing editor, a copy editor, a fact checker, a book designer, a publicist, and a sales team. Then there's the cost of production and distribution.

Even though money is a big issue at the corporate level, to say that these houses are populated by cynical drones is plain false. I have worked with three different publishers in the course of my career, and every editor I've ever met is an extremely hardworking, deeply passionate, certifiable book geek. Yes, they do edit--though the writer generally has veto power, so if I book seems like it wasn't edited well maybe you ought to blame the author. (Typos, on the other hand manage to slip through no matter how carefully you edit. Quite a maddening experience, to which I can attest.) Editors are very fond of their authors and only take on projects they feel strongly about. I'm sure they all want to find the next THE FAULT IN OUR STARS, but since no one can predict what will be the next big hit, an overall love of the written word is the major motivating factor. Publishing jobs pay too little and the hours are too long for it to be otherwise.

Good agents get paid well, but they earn their keep. I worked at Writers House Agency for six years in the accounting department and have had three different agents in the course of my career (two left the industry). I can tell you that an agent's primary concern is for the author. Period. Contrary to popular belief, they are not shills for publishers. They are not unnecessary middlemen. They act as contract lawyers, editors, mediators, accountants, and career managers. Whenever someone asks me if they need an agent, my answer is always an unequivocal yes. Sure, you can get your work in print without one given all the new methods of publishing these days, but I wouldn't try it. An agent's commission seems like a small price to pay for all the services you get in exchange, plus the time that is freed up for writing instead of negotiating a contract or scanning royalty statements for errors.

I just finished writing a novel and my agent has it right now. He's going to tell me where the weak spots are so I can polish it up before we send it off to find a publisher. As he's reading it, he'll be thinking about various editors who might be excited by this particular story and with any luck, we'll find someone who will want to spend the next year working with me to make it the best story it can be. Then we'll all work together to find an audience for it. And it will be a pleasure to be surrounded by professional people who truly have a love for the written word.