Paul Cornell, in his Reno 2011 WorldCon report, says many things near and dear — both to my own heart, and to my own convention-going experience. Read this and learn what these conventions are like, why we go to them and why we love them.

But one particular thing he says, which I’ve spent several years realizing, talking myself out of, and then realizing again, is this:

‘No!’ I’m saying that rather too loudly to James Bacon and company when someone tells me that the writer of the (great, but initially a bit buggy) Renovation iPad app has been getting flack from people who are treating his software as something produced as a professional product, ‘no, we should be after people treating us like that, we should aspire to professionalism!’ [...] I never like to see fans giving themselves the excuse that we’re just hobbyists. Because that displays a chasm between fandom and how every author I know drives themselves. And there are plenty of fan organisations that drive themselves that way too. [...] There’s just something about a certain sort of SF fandom that… likes shoddiness…

And it’s true. There’s a certain slipshod, impromptu, rough-around-the-edges-ness that seems as if it’s trying to portray a lifted corner of the fourth-wall curtain, a glimpse behind the scenes into the gear-mechanisms that keep all of this smooth and easy-looking exterior running for us. There’s a perceived value in that accidental unprofessionalism, as if the onlooker will grow and gain from seeing the growth and the smoothing-of-edges coming of age process of the work.

Sometimes I try to talk myself into accepting that, because…well, because there are so many becauses, I think, first and foremost. There are so many reasons why things are this way that it feels like rocking a well-established boat, raining on a bunch of very enthusiastic parade-organizers, to suggest things should be different. But we all, even those of us who are professionals, are still fans. We still volunteer our blood and sweat and hearts to this genre and community, and we bring our professional standards to our endeavors because of our respect and love for it. There is absolutely no reason to do anything less than aspire to professional standards, when you are setting out places for professionals; when you are aspiring to be those professionals; when you know (or simply hope) that the eye of the entire world may be watching.

When mistakes inevitably creep through in the projects that I’m involved in, I sometimes meet this same attitude; either “We’re just small press, no one expects perfection from us” or “You learn to shrug it off and not worry about it so much” or “Maybe no one will notice.” I never want to learn to shrug off less-than-excellence and let it not matter. That’s not in my nature, and I don’t want it to be. I accept that I will not always achieve excellence or perfection, but I hold a burning seed of that professionalism as my core and engine, and aiming for less than perfection as a standard, is never enough for me. Thank you, Paul. Needless carelessness, rationalized needless carelessness, infuriates me, too.

And that brings me to Krista D. Ball’s observation likening sloppiness in self-publishing to knowingly scamming readers out of money.

Here’s the thing. I am not a charity. I have no interest in giving my money to someone who hasn’t even taken the time to try. I’ve worked hard to learn what I have about my craft. I’m still learning, still working hard, still trying to push myself. Slapping together a story that’s never been beta read, never been critiqued, never been edited, AND KNOWING IT HAS PROBLEMS and then expecting people to pay money for it? That isn’t “indie” publishing. That isn’t “giving it to publishers.” That isn’t “the readers will decide what’s good and what’s not.”

That’s just plain lazy.

It’s the same divide in standards of quality. There are a lot of self-published authors Doing It Right, but there’s a growing population of the careless who are exactly the stereotyped worst of the worst — the ones who give self-publication the tarnished reputation that it has.

As Krista adds in the comments: “I’m convinced that financially supporting these scammers, I mean writers, isn’t helping them get better. All they’ll say is “I’m making $100/month. People are buying my stuff. Why should I improve?”

Standard of quality, people. We owe it to ourselves, to our readers and to our genre. It’s easy to make excuses and say “We’re just a fan-run organization” or “I’m just with a small press,” or “I’m just a self-published author,” but until you take that “just” out of the equation and step up to the commitment of seeking excellence for yourself no matter where you fit into the larger picture, you will always be a “just,” and the rest of the system you so want to be a part of will sag and suffer for it.

An uncaring attitude will become habit, such that if you should get to some invisible line where you tell yourself you’ve made it and it’s time for that standard of excellence to come into play, laziness will already be ingrained in you, and your first steps into that professional world will become a serious struggle to keep up.

I posted a while back about the continued need for gatekeepers in publishing; these posts highlight that need.

Learn good habits early. Strive for perfection, polish, professionalism. It is never too early to start behaving like a professional and earning professionals’ respect. Don’t do less than your best, just because you can. There’s nothing endearing about unintentional rough edges, or that peek behind the curtain into a machine that’s falling apart. This is your chance to showcase your best, in front of the people you admire. Bring your best game, always.

–
EDITED TO ADD: @Paul_Cornell, in a response, wished to point out that James [Bacon] himself is very professional indeed. It wasn’t my intention to suggest otherwise (I was impressed with the convention app, and its timely updates!), but to give a nod to the quoted conversation for crystallizing an important issue for me. Thank you, Paul!

Last week, Richard Lee Byers was here, sharing five truths about publishing that nobody told him.

Richard made a lot of good points, so I wanted to follow up with a response. Please consider this post an addendum, not a rebuttal.

1. You will hate your book cover for 24 hours. Then you will fall in love with it.

I’ve worked on a lot of books with a lot of authors, and I’ve seen all of them go through this process. It’s easy to sit back and watch it happen, it’s even easier to sit back impatiently and wait for them to come around. Especially in houses where the author is given little or no control over the direction of the book cover.

At Dragon Moon Press, it’s common to get the author’s input, receive between three and five concept sketches from the artist, and solicit the author’s opinion on those sketches. Ideally, author and publisher are in agreement over which sketch to pick, and the artist goes forward.

Rarely is the final product love at first sight. I know this, but I didn’t really understand it until the book was my own. I was in love with the cover art when the artist turned it in, I knew what overall design I wanted, but when the finished cover came through, it was…not a perfect match for what was in my head.

This turned out to be a good thing. The ideal that had been kicking around in my head for a year made an okay poster, but it didn’t make a good book cover. The title didn’t show up, and there were bits and pieces that didn’t quite work on the screen the way they had in my mind. The actual final product was better. But, it was different, and I had a hard time coming around to that at first. I slept on it, and when I stopped comparing it to the mockup and looked at it with fresh eyes, I really liked it.

It takes 24 hours. Even for me.

2. It’s okay to question things that look wrong.

Every step of the way, there are people working on your book, and people are capable of human error. Not much of it, hopefully, but it happens. Look out for your best interests, and don’t assume that people are infallible or that all their choices have been deliberate ones. If something looks wrong or feels wrong, ask (politely) if it’s wrong.

At the worst, you’ll get some obscure rule of layout or typesetting or grammar explained to you (did you know that when a chapter starts with dialogue and a drop cap, it’s traditional and acceptable to leave off the opening quotation mark?), and you’ll know it for next time.

At best, you’ll catch a mistake while it’s still early enough to fix it (is there a reason this one paragraph is in a different font, or the dedication has been moved to the back of the book? Nope, just a slip. Good catch).

3. Publishing is cliquish.

Richard said this in his post, and it’s true.

Publishing is a high-stakes business, often with short deadlines. Editors and publishers are going to be most inclined to want work with people they’ve worked with before, and whom they can trust to be professional and deliver high-quality work, on time, with minimal drama. They’re more likely to think of the people they like working with when opportunities come up.

A lot of opportunities happen serendipitously, just because people happen to be at the right place at the right time, a spark happens, an idea forms. “I like you and I like your work. Let’s collaborate on something,” forms the beginning of many a project. It’s not a case of “I only work with my friends” so much as, “I liked her story in that anthology, I’d love to have her write for mine.” “I hear he’s a lot of fun to work with.” “Someone bailed on me, and I hear you can whip out a great story in a couple days. Can you help me out?”

In my case, I tapped the shoulders of a few people I’d worked with before, and a few people I just admired. And a lot of the writers in my anthology have become my friends, and have proven themselves professional and easygoing and brilliant, so of course I want to work with them again.

It’s safer to take risks when you’re putting your fate in the hands of safe, known quantities whom you know you can trust to fulfill their end of the deal, than with unknown or difficult people. That’s true on the playground, when you’re trying to recruit friends to help you move, when you’re picking your lab partner, and everywhere else in life. Publishing is no different.

There’s nothing wrong with using this knowledge to your advantage. Network and make friends in the industry. Come up with neat ideas and invite neat, dependable people to join in with you.

4. Publishing is a small, small world. Never burn your bridges–even bridges you don’t think will matter.

This goes hand in hand with #3, but deserves its own mention.

In the world of F&SF writing and publishing, everyone knows everyone. Learn this, and don’t forget it. The same people will often end up entering your professional sphere again, maybe in different roles, and if you’ve stormed off on bad terms from someone, or said something public and damaging in the heat of the moment, it may brand you as difficult to work with. It may mean that you don’t get picked for an opportunity. And when you and that person cross paths again, they may be in a position of authority over you, somewhere new.

I’ve been doing acquisitions at Dragon Moon Press for a couple years now, and I’ve got a pretty good memory. If someone responded to a DMP form rejection letter with insults and threats, I’d remember them. I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to recommend them now that I’m working with Pyr.

Luckily, and to my extreme delight, in cases where I’m ending up working with the same authors again and again for multiple publishers, as we each rise in our parallel careers, it’s with authors that I consider close personal friends. But still, it’s been eye-opening.

It’s okay to have differences of opinion, and to look out for your own interests, but always handle it professionally. Don’t piss off anyone, because you never know where that anyone is going to end up.

5. People with authority answer to people with more authority.

Richard mentioned that editors don’t like to say no or break promises. This is absolutely true. But editors don’t always have the power to say yes or to make promises. Sometimes “I really want to work with you” or “I really want to sign this book” or even “I really want to make this happen” can sound like a promise, but it isn’t. Editors may not ultimately have the power to follow through, as much as they want to.

Editors can connect with an author and fall in love with a manuscript, but they ultimately have to answer to their publishers and justify that connection with facts and figures. And the publisher, who wasn’t at that convention talking with you over coffee and didn’t get swept up in your pitch, may not be as easily swayed, or may have other things lined up, or may be aware of a host of other limiting factors.

Editors don’t like to say no or break promises, especially if they’ve already worked with you, and especially face to face, but they may not be the editor’s promises to make. I’ve been in a position where there have been manuscripts I really wanted to sign, but haven’t had clearance to. It’s easier to do that sort of negotiating behind the scenes and keep it invisible to the author, but–if there’s been personal contact with the author, like if I’ve worked with them before or I’ve heard their pitch at a convention–it’s not always possible.

Just because an editor wants to promise you something, doesn’t always mean they can.

Don’t count on anything as set in stone until the ink is dry, and not even then–there are still conditions to be met and unexpected circumstances that can break a deal.

And then? If the editor goes silent, it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re avoiding you. An editor really, really doesn’t want to have to be the one to let you down. Especially not when they were the one that believed in you enough to make that offer in the first place. It could be that they’re working behind the scenes to try to get things aligned for you and find ways to make it work.

—

So, now you have five truths nobody told me about publishing, from more of an editorial perspective.

If any other publishing-folk want to contribute five, I’d be happy to run them as a future post!

Guest blogger Richard Lee Byers is the author of over thirty fantasy and horror novels, including a number set in the Forgotten Realms universe. His short fiction has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies.

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Five Truths About Publishing That Nobody Ever Told Me

Gabrielle suggested this topic when we discussed guest blogging on one another’s sites, and it’s a good one. Please be warned, though, that it may evoke a somewhat sardonic, cynical, or even bitter tone, because as you might expect, the stuff nobody tells you is often bad. So let me make two things clear before I start:

The first is that I actually like being a writer, and I’ve enjoyed many positive experiences and rewarding relationships over the course of my career.

The second is that your mileage may vary. In the world of publishing, people’s careers vary enormously, and in more ways than just how much money they make. It’s possible other writers will read what I’m writing here and not recognize anything that reflects events in their own professional endeavors. But I can only write based on my own experience, so here are my five truths, each learned the hard way:

1. Publishing is chaos.

Random, illogical things, things the writer has no control over, happen all the time. You submit a brilliant vampire novel just when the publisher has decided vampires are passé, and so it gets rejected. Or, the publisher has already acquired several vampire novels and thus won’t buy another no matter how great it is. Whole lines get cancelled, taking your projects into oblivion along with them. Literary agencies close. Submissions get mislaid and lie forgotten in closets and desk drawers for years on end. Magazines cease publication. Editors quit or get fired. Publishers go bankrupt or make radical changes like deciding that from now on, they won’t produce mass-market paperbacks anymore, only ebooks.

I think you get my drift, and as you read on, you’ll see that some of my other truths can be viewed as manifestations of this pervasive chaos.

Anyway, the flip side is that while it sometimes seems amazing that any writer ever manages to break in or achieve even modest success thereafter, occasionally, the randomness works for you. You submit your vampire novel just when the publisher has decided vampires are hot and is eager to acquire such a novel. A celebrity goes on Letterman and proclaims it the scariest story he ever read. Everything falls into place, and the book does great.

Therefore, the trick is to hang in there and keep honing your skills and your business acumen until the luck runs your way. It’s like poker. Over the long haul, every player catches some good cards. It’s your ability to make the most of those hands that determines whether you end up winning or losing money.

2. Publishing is cliquish.

Ultimately, publishing is about money. (I didn’t include that in my list of secret truths because people did in fact tell me when I was starting out.) If your books are tanking, rarely if ever will what you may have imagined to be a close personal relationship with your editor save you. At least, not unless you’ve got photos or video of just how close it actually got.

But where money isn’t the determining factor, cliques can be important as they were in high school. I once participated in a panel discussion moderated by an editor from a certain book line. She constantly addressed herself to the panelist who published with that same line and pretty much forgot that the lesser beings behind the table even existed. There are circles whose members talk one another up, review each other’s work, nominate one another for awards, and, when they wear their editor hats, buy one another’s stories. If you’re an outsider (and not a star writer whose name will attract readers), don’t hold your breath waiting for an invite when one of the insiders puts together an anthology.

Of course, this phenomenon isn’t unique to publishing. But in a field where the decision to solicit or buy a particular individual’s work is often highly subjective, it can exert a heck of a lot of influence.

Since there’s no getting around it, you might as well try to take advantage of it. Network. Join professional organizations. Make friends. Don’t do sleazy things like nominating somebody for an award just for the sake of sucking up, but short of that, get inside one or more of the cliques.

Or don’t, if, for whatever reason, you wince at the very thought of it. I’m not suggesting that you absolutely must belong to a clique to succeed. But it’s one way of improving your odds.

3. Editors and publishers hold writers to a high standard of professionalism. They don’t always hold themselves to an equally high standard.

Again, I feel the need to emphasize that I’m not talking about everybody. I’ve had plenty of editors who were 100% professional and a joy to work with him. My current publisher is never late with an advance or royalty payment.

But alas, that’s not everybody. Some editors and publishers will sit on a submission for months or years on end. If it’s a solicited submission, that’s abusive. If it’s unsolicited, it’s arguably less so, but still a shoddy practice. Boilerplate contracts often contain clauses designed to screw the writer. Many publishers delay payment because while they hang onto your money, it’s earning interest for them instead of doing something unimportant like paying your rent. Royalty statements are sometimes maddeningly cryptic, by intent and to facilitate paying you less than is actually due.

And as near as I can make out, pretty much everyone on the inside accepts that that’s just the way it is. Depending on your standing, you (or your agent) may succeed in negotiating a fairer contract or obtaining better treatment in other respects. But I’m not aware of any growing industry-wide sentiment that it’s time to stop abusing and exploiting anybody, be he wannabe, first-timer, mid-list writer, or superstar. (If I’m wrong about that, I would love for someone to set me straight.)

The differing standards for writers on one hand and editors and publishers on the other help to shape my next truth:

4. It’s always the writer’s fault.

A while back, I wrote a novel for a certain fantasy franchise. The books in this series always have cool action-packed cover illustrations of monsters, armored warriors, frenzied combat, and stuff like that. Except, not quite always. The cover on my effort shows a book, a piece of paper, and a hammer lying on a tabletop.

Despite being written with care and enthusiasm, my book performed poorly compared to the average book in the line. And it eventually became clear to me that I was considered to blame.

Of course, dull covers are only one of the things that can go wrong. Let’s imagine the worst-case scenario. You write a novel. The editor unilaterally makes stupid changes and never even gives you a chance to review them. The art director slaps a truly bad cover on the project, an ugly painting that was lying around in inventory and not even commissioned for your story. The print run is so small that even if the publisher sells every single copy, the novel can’t rack up impressive numbers or even earn back its advance.

Then, the book goes unadvertised. The publisher doesn’t send out review copies. The sales force doesn’t push it. One of the big chain bookstores closes half its outlets a week before the release date. In the end, the work only sells a few copies.

Guess what? It’s still your fault. Why wouldn’t it be? Why would the editor or anybody else who actually works at the publisher take the heat when he can blame you instead?

The impact of this can be twofold. Once you’ve been branded as a writer whose work doesn’t sell, the publisher may decide to offer you poorer contracts or drop you altogether. And bookstores may decide or order fewer copies of your next book. Which may depress your sales even further and send your career into a downward spiral.

Just as it’s always the writer’s fault when things go wrong, there’s a related belief that it’s always his responsibility to make them go right. As budget-conscious publishers do less and less to promote the average book, there’s an assumption that writers should take up the slack, and never mind whether you have the funds, time, or skills to do it effectively. When an editor doesn’t send you notes on the initial draft of a novel until a week before the contract says the revised version is due, you’re supposed to suck it up, crank out the rewrite at high speed, and keep the project on schedule. Why not? It’s not like you’ve got a life or a day job, right?

5. Editors don’t like to say no or break promises.

Not once they’ve worked with you, anyway, and especially not face to face.

This sounds like it ought to work in your favor, but in my experience, it doesn’t. Because editors who know you actually will reject work and renege on verbal commitments. It’s just that some of them are loath to come right out and say they’re doing it. Instead, they’d rather stall, obfuscate, and wait for you to figure it out.

At a convention, I once pitched a trilogy to an editor who bought it on the spot. Or rather, he said he was buying it. After we both got home, I attempted to follow up in emails. He equivocated for a couple months until it became clear that he’d decided he didn’t want the books after all and was never going to send me a contract.

I already mentioned my novel with the lackluster cover. After it came out, I wrote to the editor about doing another book for the same franchise. She encouraged me to send one pitch after another, and in due course, she shot down each of them. Meanwhile, I found myself waiting longer and longer for replies to my messages. Eventually, it became clear that she didn’t actually want a second book. She wanted me to get discouraged, shut up, and go away.

The problem in such situations isn’t rejection. Everyone gets rejected. The problem was that I wasted time and effort I could have invested elsewhere because the editors weren’t straight with me. I’ve never really understood why. They had to keep up their ends of the pointless strings of messages, so they wasted their own time, too. Go figure.

—

Anyway, there you have my five secret truths. I hope it hasn’t put anyone off being a professional writer. As I said at the start, I like being a writer. I just don’t like it all the time, and now you know the reasons why.

Before you stop reading, may I indulge in a bit of self-promotion? I recently published The Q Word and Other Stories, an ebook collection of some of my best short fiction. You can buy it for the Kindle here.

And you can buy it for all platforms here.

The Spectral Blaze, my new Forgotten Realms novel, comes out June 7th. You can buy it and all my other novels here.

The Graft of Getting An Agent
by Peadar Ó Guilín

So, last time out we saw some of the joyful things that can happen to you when an agent fights your corner. No doubt you’re champing at the bit to go right out there and get one for yourself. But what, you wonder, is the best approach?

I can’t answer that. But I can tell you the approach I used. It’s not pretty. It involves actual work. Worse, it involves the type of research I hate — where you have to actually read stuff, where you have to pay attention to details. Ouch.

But at least it’s easier these days now that we have the internet. Your first job, is to find a long list of agents who are not scam artists. A “scam artist,” for the purposes of this post, is anybody who claims to be an agent, but who asks you for money — usually after telling you how brilliant you are. When you get a request for “reading fees” or for “photocopying” you’ll know you’re about to be taken for a ride. No matter how convincing they are, no matter how much they “love” your work. Further information on the endless list of writing scams can be had on Preditors and Editors. Please don’t get taken in.

So, a reputable list, then. Where can we get one of those? www.writersservices.com has lots of them, lots and lots. You’ll find other agents in the “thank you” pages of your favorite books or weeping in bars about the ones that got away. Your job, at this point, is to try and get yourself the best possible agent for your writing.

He or she will have the following three advantages (at least):

1) A good location.

I have nothing against the many towns and cities that are not called New York or London, but, if you’re writing for the English-speaking world, you’re probably better off getting an agent in one of these cities. For the time-being, that’s where the publishers are, the publishers’ offices and the publishers’ parties. When people “do lunch” they must be able to look out the windows and see Buckingham Palace or the Empire State Building.*

2) A good appreciation for the genre you write in.

Obviously, you’re wasting everybody’s time when you submit your alien story to an SF hater. Avoiding the haters is easy. Just look at their websites — they aren’t shy about telling you what they like and dislike. It’s so easy that you would think nobody ever sent visceral horror to an agent for kindergarten books. You would be wrong.

Check out what authors the agent represents. My agent had a big-name fantasy writer on his roster already, so I knew my work had a chance with him.

3) Success.

Good agents make money by selling the rights to books. When they do, they boast about it. On their websites. If they don’t represent anybody you’ve heard of, or at least, anybody you can find on Amazon, you should probably run away. Unless they’re just starting out, of course, in which case, who did they work for before now? What connections can they bring to the table?

For me, the above three criteria were the most important. All of them are right there on the agency website. There is no excuse for missing them. So, let’s assume that you now have a good list of future partners in crime who can tick off boxes 1, 2, and 3. What’s next?

Ranking

My advice, is to put all of the agents into a spreadsheet and give each of them a score depending on how useful you think they will be to you. Who is the most successful? Who represents works similar to yours? etc. Then, still only my opinion, submit to the first five in the list.

Why only the first five? Well, if three of them tell you, “I rejected you because of the mysterious blood-stains on the envelope,” then you know not to perform a sacrifice before you submit to the next five. It gives you a chance to avoid burning all of your bridges at once.

Submission

Now we’re back to researching again, sadly. Every agency out there has its own procedures, its own preferences and submissions policy. You MUST obey their rules. They get so many submissions that if you fail to check what they want and to give it to them exactly, then you don’t have a hope. Once again, let me stress: it’s on the web-site, and all you have to do is read and obey.

Query Letter

The worst curse of submissions, is the dreaded query letter. You’ve got to write an excellent one. How? Well, luckily, that information is beyond the scope of this post! Personally, I read this book on the subject and didn’t regret it at all. But there are lots of others out there these days.

Editor’s note: there’s also lots of good advice on this blog.

Send Your Best

Writing a novel is an exhausting process. You want it to be over NOW. And that’s too bad. If you think your work is “90% there” or “almost good enough to be published”… if there is any nagging doubt at all at the back of your mind that a scene or a character needs more work…don’t submit. Finish the novel properly or you’ll be wasting your time. Don’t do it.

Finishing Up

I’m a bit of a fraud. I’ve waffled on for hundreds of words just to say this: read the agent’s website. It doesn’t mean they’ll take you on, but you’ll be giving it your best shot. That’s it. Simple as.

Good luck.

*Some exaggerations may apply.

–
In September 2007, Peadar Ó Guilín published his first novel, The Inferior, which the Times Educational Supplement called “a stark, dark tale, written with great energy and confidence and some arresting reflections on human nature.” Foreign editors liked it too, and soon the publishing rights had been sold in a dozen countries. A sequel, called The Deserter, will be appearing in Ireland and the UK in May 2011, with other territories to follow. The Deserter is available for preorder on The Book Depository for readers in North America, Australia and New Zealand.

Peadar has sold a lot of short-stories to markets such as Black Gate and Weird Tales, and has had his work broadcast by Pseudopod.org. He also has a story forthcoming in the anthology When the Hero Comes Home. For more information and free reading, check out his web site at www.frozenstories.org and his Facebook page.

While this blog usually slants toward the small press perspective, I thought it might be good to step into the larger world and offer the perspective of author who works with a major publishing house. Handling of submissions is one of those areas where the small press and major publishing worlds are vastly different. The Inferior, published by an imprint of Random House, was the subject of a prior blog post. Now with the sequel, The Deserter, gearing up for its UK release in a few days (with the US printing soon to follow), he was kind enough to share his perspective on getting in the door at a big publishing house.

What My Agent Did for Me — Or Why You Might Need One
by Peadar Ó Guilín

I like to hear certain things on a regular basis and this is one place where an agent comes in handy. “Wow, Peadar, you are such a genius. I love this book. You’re going to make a fortune…” But I doubt you’re interested in the ego-stoking part of an agent’s job. What you might want to know, is what will she do for you that your mother can’t. Or won’t.

Let’s go out to dinner, shall we?

1) Skipping the Queue

The few remaining traditional publishing houses that accept unsolicited submissions usually bring in a hung-over intern to read the slush. They lock him into the basement with a thousand manuscripts, 400 rats and a nervous cobra*. The intern doesn’t get out again until he has processed several score submissions (or finds the snake). Obviously, he’s got more chance of reaching his home alive if he stops reading early on in each manuscript. The most he can do for you — if he’s feeling particularly happy when he’s shaken the droppings from your life’s work — is to pass it upstairs to the better-looking intern who is allowed to sit in the office and who just might hand your book on to an editor.

Is the editor interested? Maybe, but there’s a good chance he’s already gone out to lunch, probably with an agent.

Wouldn’t you prefer for your manuscript to skip the intern and all the other people whose only power is to say “no”? Your agent knows the real editors, goes to parties with them. Your agent remembers their children’s birthdays. All of this allows her to approach them directly.

Many people wait months or even years to hear back from a single publisher. But because I had an agent, this didn’t happen to me. Once we had agreed that my first novel was ready for submission, I was getting feedback from five or six big houses in a matter of weeks.

2) Getting in the Door

Of course, many of the publishers with the most famous editors and the deepest pockets won’t accept unsolicited submissions at all. They can’t be bothered with the rats, the intern, or even the cobra. Here, your pitiful chances are reduced to zero without an agent.

3) Ordering Champagne

Publishers frown on writers who submit simultaneously to their rivals, but agents are above all of all that and it’s perfectly normal for them to play one house off against another.

My agent, for example, created a bidding war and every day, grinning down the phone, he regaled me with the latest offers. It’s about the most exciting time I’ve ever had. Personally, I wouldn’t have had the guts to make them bid. I would have gone with the first offer. I wouldn’t have known… anything.

4) Reading the Menu

Are you legally trained? Can you parse the meandering sentences in a publishing contract? Would you know which clauses are worth fighting to the death over? Which ones to cede gracefully? An agent knows how to deal. An agent knows everything.

5) Foreign Food

Many books, even great ones, never see publication beyond their homelands. My first novel, The Inferior, has been published in German and Italian; Turkish and Bulgarian. Translation rights have been sold everywhere from Russia, to Korea, to Japan and France. Some of these will never appear on the shelves, but the money still arrived in my bank account to be frivolously spent on chocolate.

I speak several languages and I had published a lot of well-reviewed short-stories before I ever met my agent. However, in spite of these advantages, not once, did my work appear in a foreign publication. With a professional at the helm, however, we’ve sold rights to twelve countries. So far.

6) Get Me My Coat

Bad agents can be disastrous for a writer’s career, but without the good ones, many of us would still be full-time at the day job, growing a paunch and yelling obscenities at the TV. They charge a measly 15% for this heroism. In my own case, at least, I’m not sure I would ever have been published without the help I got.

Anyway, next week, if Gabrielle has me back, I’ll explain how I got my agent. Until then, bon appétit to you all!

*Some truths may be metaphorical only.

–
In September 2007, Peadar Ó Guilín published his first novel, The Inferior, which the Times Educational Supplement called “a stark, dark tale, written with great energy and confidence and some arresting reflections on human nature.” Foreign editors liked it too, and soon the publishing rights had been sold in a dozen countries. A sequel, called The Deserter, will be appearing in Ireland and the UK in May 2011, with other territories to follow. The Deserter is available for preorder on The Book Depository for readers in North America, Australia and New Zealand.

Peadar has sold a lot of short-stories to markets such as Black Gate and Weird Tales, and has had his work broadcast by Pseudopod.org. He also has a story forthcoming in the anthology When the Hero Comes Home. For more information and free reading, check out his web site at www.frozenstories.org and his Facebook page.

Author Jim C. Hines posted recently about power dynamics in publishing — specifically, about how occasionally an editor will take advantage of that power dynamic to harass writers and aspiring writers, and how that sort of behavior is Very Much Not Okay. Even less okay is the fact that sometimes writers and aspiring writers feel they have to endure unwanted sexual comments or advances in order to get published.

It’s an important point.

Jim also reminds writers that:

• an editor you don’t sign with, has no power over you.
• if your writing isn’t ready yet, an editor isn’t going to buy a book from you no matter how many advances you endure.
• if an editor’s going to treat you that way, you don’t have to sign with them. If you’re a good writer, no matter who the editor is, they’re not your only option.

Being an editor, even a female one and a not-particularly-big-name-yet one, I’ve still been witness to that power dynamic that exists between editors and authors. Editors don’t have much power over writers, as Jim points out, but writers sometimes ascribe a lot of power to editors.

I’ve been approached by writers who are as nervous to talk to me as I am when I talk to Big Name Authors. It still boggles me that anyone could possibly be afraid of me, or awed by me, or otherwise assign that kind of power to me, but I’ve seen it happen. When people treat their entire potential career as a living, breathing fragile object and put it into your hands, it’s hard not to feel as though you can affect the course of their lives — whether you really can, or not.

I don’t look for it, I don’t encourage it, and I don’t particularly feel comfortable with it. But I can see how an editor could, well…could like it. And could get used to it, and could take liberties with it.

I’m so careful, when I go to conventions or other networking opportunities. I’m always mindful of my tone. I aim to be casual, friendly and approachable…and aware of where that line is. I’m happy to socialize with writers, or to chat about publishing over coffee or a drink, but I’m careful not to create a power dynamic that might in any way suggest that giving me a backrub or even buying me a drink might lead to a book deal.

It’s always rewarding when a client or a colleague moves beyond that dynamic and becomes a friend. I’m comfortable hugging a friend, or bantering more. But only when it’s appropriate: when the comfort level is there, when we know each other well. When there’s no power dynamic behind it. When it’s familiar, and mutual, and equal.

Enduring a leer or a grope or a crude remark should never be part of the process of getting published. Writers can get into a rut where they’re so single-mindedly focused on publication that anything that’ll get you there seems worth it. It isn’t. There will always be someone somewhere else who will be professional and appropriate. Only by speaking up about the people who are not, and denying them that power, will take it away from them.

Part of the problem is that many people don’t seem to realize that there is recourse: there are people to report to, who are higher within an organization and to whom editors have accountability. Accordingly, Jim has followed up with an even more important post: resources for reporting harassment to major SF/F publishers and conventions. He writes:

As a general rule, if you’ve been sexually harassed by an editor or another employee of a publisher, complaints can be directed to the publisher’s H.R. department. Please note that reporting to H.R. will usually trigger a formal, legal response.

I’ve also spoken to people at several publishers to get names and contact information for complaints, both formal and informal. I’ve put asterisks by the publishers where I spoke with someone directly.

It’s my pleasure to help spread awareness about this issue. Thanks are due to Jim C. Hines, for compiling these resources.

I’ll also add to the list: If you have an issue with inappropriate behavior from a Dragon Moon Press employee or representative, Gwen Gades (the owner of the company) will take it seriously. The contact is publisher (at) dragonmoonpress.com.

Interview: Gabrielle Harbowy, Renaissance Woman, courtesy of The Dead Robots’ Society Podcast

It was a pleasure to meet up with the wonderful crew of the Dead Robots’ Society Podcast this week for an interview. It was a particular honor because the DRS interview with editor Juliet Ulman had been so inspirational for me. Working in an isolated sort of environment like editors do, and doing work that should (if it’s done well) be invisible, doesn’t lend itself to having access to many role models. Hearing Juliet talk about editing and express eloquently so many of the things I believe, or aim to do in my work, or have observed in my own experience so far, helped to affirm for me that I was doing it right — both in terms of how I approach authors and their work, and how I approach my own career.

My interview was a long time coming. Various scheduling obstacles kept getting in the way, but I’m glad that the interest and determination held on both sides. It was a lot of fun, and it turned out to be completely unlike the other interviews I’ve done.

What’s changed? Well… I think… me.

Instead of focusing on how to format a submission, or how to edit, or when to edit, the interview focused on how I balance being an editor, an associate publisher, and a writer.

It was especially interesting because I don’t really think of myself as a writer. Not yet.

I’ve got one story, “Swimming Lessons” up in PG Holyfield’s “Tales of the Children” podcast anthology. That story is on the longlist for a Parsec Award(!).

I have another story — my first professional sale! — which will be appearing in an anthology this December. More news as the date nears, or you can listen to the interview for a couple more hints.

I have a story out on someone’s desk at a major market, and two more in the works.

But editing comes first for me. Though I think I’m constantly learning and improving in all aspects of the business and editing is no exception, it’s where I feel I really shine. And for me, editing blends naturally into publishing. I’m so used to being “hands on” with a novel, having held it from slush pile through editorial, that it seems natural to be the one to take it into typesetting and layout, to discuss promotional opportunities and offer to be the contact person for reviewers and award committees.

Would I be content “just editing”? Could I give those extra responsibilities up? Sure. But I like being busy, and I’m grateful for the opportunity and for the insight I’m gaining into the industry by being able to be more involved in different aspects of it.

I feel the same way about writing. I’m discovering that I enjoy it, and I’m also enjoying the “sensitivity training” that it lends to my editing. I have a different perspective on a lot of things now: I’m more aware of the agonizing wait for authors with work on somebody’s slush pile; I’m more aware of the uncertainty someone feels when they open up a file full of red ink. I feel that I can relate to my clients a little better, because I’m one of them. I understand their half of the experience.

All around, I’d say it’s all easy to balance. Each side of the triangle — writing, editing, publishing — gives me more insight on the other two. All together, it’s an invaluable, ongoing education. Even if I end up focusing more narrowly on one facet or the other down the road, I’ll still be able to bring to it a rounded perspective on the industry that will always inform my actions, no matter what I’m working on from day to day.

Thanks again to the guys at DRS for having me on and inviting me to share my thoughts!

You can follow the Dead Robots’ Society on the web at DeadRobotsSociety.com
on Twitter at @DRSPodcast
and on Facebook at Listeners of the Dead Robots’ Society.

What’s more disheartening to a writer: a rejection letter or a bad review? Both can crush your spirit if you let them. The trick is not to let them.

Tastes are subjective. If they weren’t, we’d all like the same things and there wouldn’t be a wealth of different genres out there to appeal to different audiences, or a wealth of publishers in each genre all looking for slightly different things.

It’s easy to read a rejection from a publisher and think that it says, “No one will like this.” Really, what it says is, “This isn’t for me, at this time.” It’s easy to read a bad review and think that it says, “You’re awful and your publisher was wrong to take a chance on you. And also, you probably smell.” Really, all it necessarily says is, “This isn’t for me.”

If you have been published, you can be confident that your work is good enough to be published. Publishers generally know what they’re doing and have certain minimum standards of quality. People, meanwhile, have individual tastes. They may have higher or lower standards. They may require some certain elements, or require the absence of others, or their tastes may be swayed by personal circumstances or the other media they’ve recently been exposed to.

I was speaking yesterday with the author of a mystery, who said that X number of readers thought that his handling of the reveal was perfect, and Y others thought that he didn’t give enough clues, and Z others complained that he made it too obvious. You can’t please everyone, and you shouldn’t feel pressured to try.

I’m going to divert for a moment, with a disclaimer: This isn’t to say that every manuscript is flawless. If that were true, I wouldn’t have a job. But consider the source and evaluate critically when you receive critique. If your editor or your agent tells you that you have technical issues (plot, grammar, pacing, worldbuilding, point of view) that’s one thing. If the issues are matters of individual preference, it’s okay to stay true to your vision and explain why you’ve done things the way you have. You’ll find that an editor will either work with you to make your vision come across more clearly in the manuscript, or that their vision won’t align with yours. Be as open to their reasoning as they’ve been to yours, and then make your choice: trust someone else’s judgment (with the knowledge that their guidance could make the manuscript stronger), or hold out for an editor or agent who sees things the way you do and agrees with your choices.

So, okay. For the sake of argument, we’ve established that your book is as good as it can be. Your publisher raves about it, your editor loves it, and your legions of fans are plucking it off the shelves faster than it can be printed and telling their friends how great it is. Maybe it’s even up for some awards.

Once you’ve moved past the opinions of publishers, editors and agents, and on to the opinions of readers and reviewers, your window for second-guessing is over. There is no going back and changing things based on the feedback that you get. You have a finished product, it’s out there, and people will think of it what they will.

Some will like it. Some won’t. Some may even have good reasons for not liking it and strong, constructive critique regarding the aspects they don’t like, or may point out the flaws that you knew were there but didn’t know how to fix. Even then, incorporating the advice that resonates with you into your next project and moving forward is all you can do.

What one person particularly liked about a work is probably the same element that another person hated. It has awful worldbuilding; it has great worldbuilding. Someone likes the way the characters are named; someone doesn’t like the way the characters are named. Someone likes the use of magic; someone else thinks there’s too much of it, or too little, or that it ‘doesn’t work that way.’ All you can do with those sorts of reviews are chalk them up to personal taste and let them roll off of you.

Or, someone loves the book but gives it a kiss-of-death single star just because it isn’t available in hardcover, or because the online store they bought it from messed up their order and didn’t deliver it. Yes, your overall rating can be lowered over issues that have nothing to do with your book at all. You have to let that roll off you, too.

Look up opinions of any classic and you’ll see a mix of good and bad reviews. In fact, do that: look up Amazon reviews (since they’re nicely collected) for some of your favorites, and for some classics, and for some books you hate. People will disagree with you, they’ll agree with you, and they’ll be on the fence. Some of them will have gotten something completely different out of the same book or movie; they’ll have missed the point by such a wide margin that they’ll make you laugh. (One review of This Is Spinal Tap complains, “If you’re going to make such an excellent documentary, why make it about about a band that nobody has ever heard of?”)

Here are a few posts to get you started. Click on them, shake your head, roll your eyes, and laugh. You’ve earned a good laugh. It’s okay — I’ll wait.

* One Lonely Star – by Walter Jon Williams
* Lone Star Statements – from The Morning News
* You Can’t Please Everyone – from Get Cynical

Now look at your own reviews, and you’ll be able to take the voices of dissent a lot less seriously. And you have to. Creative taste is subjective and you’ll never be able to produce something that everyone in the world will like.

I know it probably sounds like it’s easy for me to say, since I’m not the one putting my name and my words out there for the masses. Even as an editor and a publisher, though, my ego gets wrapped up a little in the books that I work with — and a little more than that when I’m the one who’s made the decision to offer a contract and champion a manuscript.

So, listen to John Scalzi, because when he talks about his own one-star reviews, he says it, too:

I think it’s useful for all us writers to remember no one work pleases everyone, and you can’t make anyone like it if they don’t, and you can’t keep them from telling other people what they think of it, even if they hate it… and that’s fine. Learn to deal with it. Otherwise it doesn’t matter how much success or praise or satisfaction you earn through your writing, you’ll still obsess over those one-star reviews and it will eat away at your joy. That’s no way to live.

So: own your one star reviews, don’t let them own you. And once you own them, let ‘em go. You’ll feel better, and you’ll worry less about them going forward. Try it for yourself. You’ll see.

* Should I register my manuscript for copyright before I send it out to publishers, to keep them from stealing my ideas?

* I know you only accept digital submissions. However, I can only send this by snail mail because I am concerned over internet privacy.

As creative people, we’re all cautioned to protect our ideas because there are people out there who want to copy them or steal them. But at some point, if you want to get published, you have to get past that fear and send your creation out into the world. If you can’t bring yourself to share your idea with a publisher (or, worse, with the public once it’s published!), you’ll never have a chance.

Publishing is a business and publishers are professionals. If they like your manuscript, they’re not going to steal it. They’re going to sign it.

Publishers want to promote their professionalism and have the best reputation they can, so that authors and agents feel comfortable and encouraged to submit their proposals. A publisher that no one wants to submit work to, doesn’t publish for long.

If you don’t feel that you can trust any publisher or agent anywhere with your query, you’re not at a point where you’re ready to get into a business partnership with one.

Moira Allen over on Writing World breaks the issue down with the dastardly use of logic. This is a must-read. Not only will it put your fears to rest, it’ll make you ashamed of thinking them in the first place.

So, if it’s such a myth, where does it come from?

Digging a little deeper, I’ve found that the frequency of idea theft appears to be higher with short, non-fiction submissions, in venues where authors are asked to pitch an article or a book they haven’t written yet. Certainly, it’s easier to imagine a publication receiving a neat little package with a topic and a list of references, then handing those sources off to someone else and getting an article with quick turnaround.

But even the sites that report on the frequency of pitch theft state that if an article is already written (as your manuscript should always be, before you start querying!) “chances are they’re not going to hire someone else to rewrite it.”

Some tips, to help you sleep at night:

* Do your research and submit only to reputable publishers/agents/editors. There are plenty of resources (like Preditors and Editors) to help you separate the real publishing entities from the scams, and use your own judgment, too. Does the publisher have a name you know? Have you read any of their books? What comes up if you try to search for them online?

* Ensure that what you submit is completed, to make it more recognizably yours. Frank Wilson, Editor-in-Chief at O’Reilly (in an excellent post that applies to fiction as well as non-fiction), says, “There is little copyright protection of ideas, and it is often difficult to prove that you had an idea that we hadn’t already thought of ourselves or heard about from someone else. Copyright law likes to protect written work. If the proposal you send us is complex and detailed and includes an overall description of the concept, an outline, and some indication of your qualifications, however, your ability (and a court’s) to recognize your idea in any finished work increases.”

* Recognize the difference between theft and inspiration. Ideas aren’t unique. It’s what’s done with the idea that makes it something special. Other writers are likely inspired by the same sources and events which inspire you. If “two people fall madly in love but circumstances keep them from being together” were a copyrightable idea, our current field of literature would probably be a heck of a lot narrower than it is! That doesn’t mean that all those stories copied or stole from each other. Similarly, another story may be similar to yours, or yours may be similar to it, just because it’s grown, completely independently, from the same kind of seed. Asimov himself said, (here quoted in an article on io9 about science fiction’s greatest stolen ideas,) “It’d be different if I used the details of his plot and worked up a story that was so like his that nobody could fail to see it – that’s plagiarism. But just to use the idea and build your own plot or story about it – why, we do that all the time.”

…and more!

Kimi Alexandre of the urban fantasy Tale Chasing podcast put up a great interview with Laurie McLean, an agent with Larsen-Pomada Literary Agents.

Kimi asks some great questions, and Laurie shares a wealth of knowledge on a range of topics, including the definitions of urban fantasy and its sub-genres, how the bestseller lists really work, how and why podcasting affects your chances with traditional publishers, and what she does and doesn’t like to see in a submission from a prospective client.

Go here to give it a listen!