March 2010

Is My Independent Publisher’s Contract Normal?

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Dear Editor…

I submitted my query to a number of agents and an independent publisher and the publisher is interested in my work. I’ve received a contract and there isn’t any mention of an advance, and they’ve asked me how many books I would like to purchase to help with self-promotion. Is this normal?

Sincerely,

Cindy

Dear Cindy…

Signing with an independent publisher means venturing outside the traditional models of publishing. Depending on your personality and goals, that can be scary or exciting. Your potential publisher seems to be offering an alternative based on the concept of partnership publishing. That is, instead of offering an advance, they offer higher royalties than traditional publishers with the belief that you’ll be more inclined to participate in the bookselling process—especially the marketing part—in exchange for that larger royalty. Hence their inquiry about the number of promo copies you’d like to buy. The unusual part of that is that they’re asking; usually publishers specify the number. That’s certainly the case with traditional publishers, who’ll only give you a few free copies unless you negotiate otherwise. After that, you have to buy more promo copies, usually at a deep author discount.

The key word here is ‘negotiate.’ Some terms should be negotiable, such as the royalty rate, the number of free copies, and your author discount. Don’t be afraid to negotiate. ‘Partnership’ works both ways.

Happy writing!

The Editor

This Story in my Head Won’t Leave Me Alone

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Dear Editor…

I’m an engineer but I’ve had this story floating around in my head for a few years and it won’t leave me alone. It’s really starting to bother me because I don’t have the foggiest idea about writing styles or even where to begin. I do know I have to get it out of my head. Help! Where do I begin?

Sincerely,

Joe

Dear Joe…

Stuff that TI scientific calculator back into your shirt pocket and whip out your Roget’s thesaurus, because you’re about to become a writer. Run, don’t walk, to your nearest community college and enroll in a fiction writing class. If there’s a university nearby, they’re sure to offer a fiction class in their extended studies program. At this point, it doesn’t matter if that raging idea in your head is for a nonfiction book—which I doubt, given your use of the word “story”—because even nonfiction writers must learn how to craft engaging narrative. Fiction, in a formal writing course, is your starting point. There, you can let the genie out of its bottle in a step-by-step manner under the guidance of a pro. Your instructor will help pinpoint your specific genre and audience, at which point you should tap into the online organization for that genre and get into a critique group. Then read all you can in that genre to learn its idiosyncrasies as well as general craft, as each genre has its own quirks. Above all, stop resisting. Many writers would kill to have an idea that passionate in the wings. Work it, boy, work it!

Happy writing!

The Editor

Confusing Rejection Letters from Editors

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Dear Editor…

I have received a couple of rejection notices from editors that confuse me. They write they like the premise and voice, but say the execution fell short.  What do editors mean when they talk about execution? Pace? Plot?

Thanks!
Author in Waiting

Dear Author in Waiting…

Pace? Plot? Possibly. The fact is, the editors didn’t specify exactly what they thought fell short, so you’re left to do exactly what you are doing: guessing. Bleh. Alas, useful feedback takes time, something beleaguered editors are hard-pressed to find even for the books they already have under contract. BUT they did slip you some very valuable feedback: that your premise and voice are The Goods. That’s huge. Two of the toughest critics you’ll face just told you 1) that your concept is engaging enough—and shows enough market potential—to get them to stop their hectic day to read your manuscript, and 2) that they bought into your narrative voice. They didn’t have to tell you that; they could’ve just whipped out one of those generic “It’s not for me” replies. So, while those editors didn’t give you a blueprint for revision, they did confirm that your manuscript has key strengths. That should put well-deserved pep in your step. For your revision, I suggest you focus on more abstract items like tension, pace, and character arcs, as those are harder to explain in quick rejection letters than dialogue (“the characters didn’t sound natural”) or plot (“the storyline didn’t hold up”), and thus are more likely to fall into the grab bag that is “execution.”

Happy writing!

The Editor

Which Comes First, the Editor or the Agent?

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Dear Editor…

I’ve heard that the only way a publishing house will even consider looking at a manuscript is if it’s submitted by a literary agent. Is that true? And if so, how do I go about finding an agent for myself?

Sincerely,

Mary

Dear Mary…

It’s true: most signed manuscripts reach editors through agents. Frustrating, yes, but it cuts down on editor response time with submissions. Agents essentially screen manuscripts for editors, who know that if an agent shows them something, that project is likely of interest. Reviewing random submissions means losing time sifting through manuscripts that aren’t even in the editor’s realm of interest, hence the popular “no unsolicited manuscripts” rule.

To get your agent, go to writers’ conferences, retreats, and regional meetings, because the agents who speak at those events usually extend open submission invites to attendees. And when you go, always pay for critiques with the agents. Face time is invaluable. Be polite and firm but not pushy. That means no shoving manuscripts under toilet stall doors. Don’t laugh, that really did happen to me when I spoke at a conference. Ever polite, I called through the door, “How about if I wash my hands first?” I’m happy to say, the writer let me.

Happy writing!

The Editor

Are Sentence Fragments Worth Fisticuffs?

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Dear Editor…

An argument is ensuing in my writing group about “realistic” dialog. On one side are the believers in using clipped dialog as they believe that is the way people speak—all the time. I say sometimes people speak in full sentences, so I use both. What’s the right balance? Assuming two native speakers.

Sincerely,

Bill

Dear Bill…

Here’s hoping I can save you folks from coming to blows in this war over words. Or rather, over dialogue.

Realistic dialogue uses a combination of sentence fragments and full sentences—as does real speech. Relying on one technique too heavily makes dialogue sound manufactured. Go too heavy on the sentence fragments and the dialogue will sound choppy, distracting your readers’ attention away from your content to your craft, something you never want to do. Go too heavy on full sentences and your characters will sound long-winded or (gads!) stiff. In either case, if you’re using a technique often enough to spark argument, odds are you’re overusing it. Might your group be reacting so strongly because those complete sentences of yours sound too formal? Be sure to fill them with shifty syntax, to use casual grammar and self-interruptions, and, sometimes, to let them be run-ons. Above all, let your hair down! Full sentences needn’t be death sentences your cohorts fear.

Happy writing!

The Editor

Thinking about Direct Thoughts

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Dear Editor…

I’m reading more novels, especially YA, where direct thoughts are put in italics. It’s clearer, and obviously editors are accepting/using the style. I’d prefer to use it in my YA novel. Advice?

Sincerely,

Karen

Dear Karen…

For better or worse, there’s no definitive law in publishing about whether or not to italicize direct thoughts or set them roman. Words into Type references using italics for thoughts, while The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th ed. leans more toward roman type, with neither tome issuing a true edict on the matter.

YA novels commonly sport direct thoughts because that’s a handy visual cue for younger readers: Not in this lifetime, she thought. (And with italics in play, you can often omit the “she thought” part, which is a nice bonus. Most of the time, the fewer words, the better.) Adult books are more likely than YA to use roman type for direct thoughts: Not in this lifetime, she thought. Ultimately, this is a matter of “house style.” That is, each publishing house (sometimes even each imprint within a house) picks one mode over the other and instructs all their copyeditors to mark up manuscripts accordingly. The good news is that without an authoritative decree in place, you’re free to indulge your preference. As long as you apply it consistently, you’re good to go. When the time comes for your editor to transmit your final manuscript to the copyeditor, you can request your mode of choice for the final book. If “house style” calls for the other mode, so be it. It’s not an issue worth battling over.

Happy writing!

The Editor

What’s So Wrong with UN-Happily Ever After?

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Dear Editor…

I’m writing my first romance novel. I think my ending is creative and powerful. My critique group agrees . . . but they still want me to rewrite it. I don’t end with the two lovers together. My group says they have to be, that a romance novel MUST have a happy ending. But that’s so predictable. Does it really have to?

Sincerely,

Desperately Seeking an UNhappy Ending

Dear Desperately Seeking an UNhappy Ending…

Only if you want that romance novel to sell. Fans of romance novels are a loyal group—when they find an author they love, they stick with that author, book after book. But if you disappoint them, you’ll be needing more than roses and chocolates to win back their hearts. A super way to disappoint them is to deny them their Happily Ever After. They’ve got an acronym for it—HEA—so you know they’re serious. Sure, exceptions that KIA the HEA have value and are legitimate, but the masses demand HEA. There’s a certain escapism going on for Romance readers; they read for the affirmation of true love, and HEA endings deliver that. But why do you think Happily Ever After equals predictability? How you bring about your HEA is where that creativity of yours can shine. Ditch the picket fence, can the fairy tales, and bring those lovers together in a way that no one could predict. You are in control, not the genre. This way, everyone gets their dose of happy.

Happy writing!

The Editor

The Perils of Swapping Slang

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Dear Editor…

Often it seems that dialogue can get choppy and sound too contrived.  How do you establish a more natural conversation, especially when writing with a teen voice and vocabulary?

Sincerely,

Anna

Dear Anna…

First and foremost and absolutely most important: “Natural” teen conversation is not about swapping slang. That is, by far, the most common pitfall of newcomers to teen fiction. Consider this exchange of slang: “Dude, that flick was sick.” “I’m sayin’, bro! Way killer.” These are the words of youth, yes, but they sound terrible in written dialogue. Slang will date a book (“groovy”, anyone?), but even worse, it almost always sounds contrived when usurped by adults. Not to mention painful. (Translation for fellow thirty-something-plusers: “sick” is “cool,” not vomitous or snotty.)

Natural teen dialogue isn’t about slang. Rather, it’s about another “s” word: syntax. You want to string your words together in a more footloose fashion, and throw in a little bad grammar while you’re at it. Nothing sounds more contrived in a teen’s mouth than meticulous, proper sentence structure. A teen would not say, “You need to stop doing that” or “Stop running in the hall.” At best, those lines are dull. There’s certainly no youthfulness in them. Instead, a teen would say, “Don’t be doing that” or “Quit with all the running.” You may need to toss a blanket over your signed copy of Elements of Style before attempting this kind of anarchy, but it really will make for more natural teen dialogue.

Another pertinent characteristic of teens is that they are all emotion and reaction, with fewer self-censoring mechanisms than adults. They talk first and think (about both what they say and how they say it) second. Next time you write two teens conversing, let them react and blurt. That way, you’ll have less opportunity to stick a bunch of narrative in between the lines of dialogue describing what the speaker is doing, where he is doing it, and how he is doing it, which chops up even the best dialogue. Sure, you need your narrative pauses in conversation, but be willing to let the dialogue build on itself with a few good back-and-forths before you give readers their narrative breather. It’s a balancing act, I know, but one well worth perfecting. Because when you get this down, the conversations between your teen characters will be more natural—and way sicker.

Happy writing!

The Editor

Forty-Six-Year-Old Wants to Sound Sixteen

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Dear Editor…

I’ve been told that the main character in my teen novel sounds too sophisticated. I’m forty-six years old! How can I sound like a teen?

Sincerely,
Too Old in Idaho

Dear Too Old in Idaho…

I have a hunch your writing is missing a key element of the teen persona: melodrama. Think about it—with a teen, things aren’t bad, they “suck, big time.” And moms don’t get mad, they “freak out” or their “heads explode” or there’s the classic, “she’s gonna kill me!” They don’t self-analyze, they just react—and that reaction is usually overboard. They certainly don’t say, “I was curt, even to Pam.” Instead they say, “I even ripped into Pam for no good reason. Some friend I am. Here, Pam, let me shove you off a cliff while I’m at it. God, I can be such a jerk.” The things that happen to your teen protagonist should rattle her cage, big time. Let her be melodramatic about it, let her judge herself and others harshly, erroneously, and/or quickly. Inject a little melodrama into your character’s personality . . . you’ll sound thirty years younger in no time.

Happy writing!
The Editor