The Process Of Getting A Publisher

Don’t look at that man behind the curtain. . .

But, says Dorothy, that’s where all the really interesting stuff is!

Judging by the popularity of exposès ranging from runway shows to cooking shows to bored rich housewives, we all love to see what’s going on behind the curtain. And I’ve found myself watching shows on topics I have absolutely no interest in, just to see the “reality” behind the curtain. (And yes, I used quotes deliberately. I’m aware that those shows are all cut and edited into a TV drama format, which removes real reality from the picture.)

Of late, I’ve had a number of people ask questions along the lines of, “How did you find your publisher/agent?”, proceeding to angle into, “Can you get my manuscript accepted there?” I’ll answer the second one right now: NO. Sorry, Charlie, no tuna in this can. But let me back up to the first question before I explain that answer.

How did I find my agent? Through sheer, unadulterated luck. I’d been rejected by several big names, and had almost given up hope when I attended a family dinner, met a relative I hadn’t seen in about fifteen years, and learned she was an agented writer. She gave me the name of her agent, I looked it up; sent in the manuscript and got a contract offer. Now, before you say “Oh, I guess it is all in who you know”, let me point out that this relative of mine withdrew her book from this agent shortly after our conversation, and I don’t believe her name ever even came up in my initial agent query and the subsequent conversations over contract. So it was no more of a boost to my career than a stranger offering the same information would have been, in the end.

So what happened once I got an agent? Well, we ran through a pretty heavy revision of the manuscript and discussed markets. This was somewhat complicated by differing software programs and geographical distance; to this date I still have not met my agent face-to-face. Once we ironed out the software issues, completed revisions, and picked out the top markets, we created query letters and a synopsis, refined the first three chapters, and decided on a final mailing list. Then I sat back and waited for word, chewed my nails, and tried to keep busy with other projects; not difficult, as I had the notion for the entire series already sketching out in my head. I wrote short stories, essays, articles, book reviews, and nibbled away at the next novels in the series; checked my email obsessively (a habit which I still, sadly, retain), and prayed like crazy.

Rejections came in, one after the other. I wailed and whined and went back to writing to keep my mind off the rejections. At last, when a more than reasonable time had passed for all responses to be in (one market, if I recall, never did answer the query; it was ‘under consideration’ for over a year before I finally gave up), I told my agent to pull the manuscript and we’d revise it again before sending out a second round.

I hacked and slashed and tightened and whipped that manuscript into absolutely amazingly good shape. It dropped from 180,000 words to 140,000 words, and I strained to cut more but couldn’t find anything else to trim. And we sent it out again, this time as part of a dual offer; by then I’d finished the second book in the series, which weighed in around 90,000 words after the editing/revisions cycle completed. We hoped that would show I was ”serious”, that publishers would see I was really dedicated to writing.

Again, rejections began to come in. I attended to the next book in the series and largely ignored the rejections this time; I was too busy fighting the monster. Where the second book flew out of me and I felt like I was leaping off a cliff and discovering wings every day I wrote, the third book was a wrenching, gut-punching fight to get out. It’s still resting on the shelf, in fact, because I can’t face the revisions I need to make to it yet. I suspect it’s going to need completely gutted and redone, and that will really just annoy the snot out of me.

Then came a startling email: You have an offer. One of the publishers had expressed interest, not just in the book, but in the whole projected 5-book series! Yes, I screamed. And I cried. And I bounced around like a maniac, went out to a fancy place to celebrate, came back home, looked up the publisher’s website again . . . and started worrying.

Oh, god, I thought. Small press, just starting out, what am I doing, even considering this? Are they a vanity press? Am I just getting sucked into self-publishing? Is this a scam? Would they publish your average fifth-grader?

For the next week, I scoured the internet for any complaints about the publisher, contacted other authors for their opinion on the publisher and the offered contract, even spoke to my-brother-the-lawyer for advice. (He works in criminal law, so he couldn’t help much, unfortunately). Finally I started calling local lawyers to get advice on the offered contract, and had the following conversation about six times:

“Hi, I’m looking for a lawyer who works with contracts.”

“Oh, yes, we do that here.”

“Great! I have this book contract–”

“Uhm, wait, we don’t handle publishing contract law. Sorry.”

At last, a bright and cheerful voice assured me that yes, of course they handled book contracts, and set up an appointment for a free consultation. Then came my next worry– as you can probably tell, I’m a worrier. If they gave out medals for anxiety, I might just have a shot at the gold. I began to worry about the lawyer herself. What kind of a name is “Bambi” for a lawyer? I fretted. Is this going to be some blonde Barbie bimbo? Again, I went online and searched carefully for any complaints about the law firm. Nothing but stellar reports; I relaxed and went to the appointment with steadier nerves.

(To my everlasting amusement, Bambi is indeed blonde, but the other two terms, thankfully, do not apply.)

Bambi Faivre Walters and her staff impressed the hell out of me; we agreed on a price and a goal for the contract: I told them all I wanted was to make sure I wouldn’t get screwed by the terms; I was frightened of being scammed into a self-publishing setup. I even asked them, since the lawyer handling the actual contract revisions had publishing industry experience, if they thought the contract and company “legit”; their reassuring answers calmed me down considerably.  Once they finished their suggestions and revisions, I sent my agent the new version, we agreed on a couple other changes, and off it went to the publisher.

Wrangling the contract into a final compromise form took about a week longer. Let me note here that my laywer did a really good job; the standard “boilerplate” contract, which the publisher and her associates had proofread ever-so-carefully, still had some serious errors and loopholes. And the publisher was quite grateful to have these issues pointed out, and willing to change them, so I feel my money was definitely well spent. 

During the “ok, this is final, let’s sign this puppy” stage we wound up yanking and reworking two or three sections of the contract at the last minute, until everyone was happy. Then we had to write press releases and bio blurbs, work up a list of which names I wanted review requests sent out to, and of course another overall revision of the manuscript to make the publisher — and me — happy. Or two. Or three. I lose count how many times I’ve said “just one more quick look-through” and wound up with substantial revisions — after signing the contract, mind you.

As I speak, the publisher and I are going through the “final” revision, chapter by chapter, line by line, and I’m astounded at how much better the book has become. Looking back to the version I submitted to my agent initially, I absolutely cannot believe the difference; I’m stunned that I even got my foot in the door anywhere, given the improvements to the original. I will always be humbly grateful to Judith Bruni of Leslie Rivers International for giving me that chance, and for bearing with my amateur’s anxiety over the plodding pace of the publishing industry.

Barbara Friend Ish of Mercury Retrograde Press is a terrific editor and hard worker who really believes in what she’s doing but hasn’t forgotten how to have fun at the same time. Her standards are high; I see less errors in the books MRx puts out than in some of the “big name” publishers. For example, there is a series of “coffeehouse mysteries” under the Berkley label which I love reading, but I regularly wince over some inexcusable spelling mistakes.

As far as the quality of the books coming out of MRx, I have now read three of the books published by this press, multiple short stories by the authors, and have been trusted with draft versions of two novels-in-progress; I love them all and consider myself incredibly lucky to have fallen in with such good company. These folks are really serious about writing, and about doing it for a living; one of them, Edward Morris, announces the publication of a new short story almost weekly. John Adcox is working on novels that run into the 300,000 word range; they are amazingly compelling, even at that size, and as well written as anything I’ve seen come out of Tor, Berkley, or whatever your favorite big press is. Zachary Steele is just . . . well, I could go on, but the point is, these guys aren’t fifth-graders. They’re all great writers, and if I had been given their books to review before signing with the same publisher I’d have given a glowing recommendation to every one. So my worries about the “legitimacy” of this press have been solidly and thoroughly laid to rest.

Now, back to that second question. One of the most disappointing things, to me, about the success of having gotten in the door with a “real”, albeit small, publishing house, is how many people are suddenly notably friendlier. I almost dislike announcing, at times, that I have a novel coming out, because I mainly see one of three reactions:  ”Fantasy? Oh, like Harry Potter?” or “Oh, really? How exciting. You know, I’m working on a novel/screenplay/book of poems/memoir myself. . . .”  Less common, but always amusing, is “What’s the publisher’s name? . . . What? You’re kidding. . . .” (Here’s an explanation of why they chose that name.)

I’ve developed a slightly fixed stare and regretful head-shake combination in response to the first; I tend to laugh at the third; the second, however, is harder to deal with. Because, god, I was there not so long ago; although I like to think I was never so tacky as to push my writing aspirations into someone else’s celebratory parade, I probably have  committed that annoying little sin. But beginning writers are hungry, and there’s a time when we’re just good enough at our craft to be ravenous; we will grab anyone even remotely connected with successful publishing and chew their ear off until beaten away with a padded bat. We all pass through that stage, however good our intentions; the lucky ones catch hold of themselves after a nibble and back away before real damage is done.

The unlucky ones . . . well, let’s just say writers of any skill level probably shouldn’t drink heavily at a convention of any sort. It has way too much potential for long-term humiliation, because all convention regulars love to gossip. And they have memories like the proverbial elephants. . . .

Ah, but I’m wandering off the point again. (Surprise!)

Back to the question of whether I can provide an introduction/recommendation to my agent or publisher, and my emphatic no response. Here’s why: about ninety-nine percent of the folks who ask me that aren’t ready yet. Those who are ready to get published generally are deeply involved in their own research to find the best agent and publisher for themselves, and don’t need to ask me for help. Some know what they’re talking about, are only asking for advice, and phrase it as such; “Do you recommend I try them” as opposed to “Can you recommend me to them”. Big difference.

And some tiny, tiny point of a percentage have work I’ve already read, decided I love, and have already passed their name along to my agent and publisher as “watch list” folks, with a note to grab them if those writers ever submit a query. (Mind you, I don’t tell said writers I’ve done so. That would take away all the fun of chewing one’s nails after sending a query letter. And besides, I certainly can’t guarantee my agent or publisher will love their work the way I do!)

I don’t know if this post has a particular “point”; if anything, I’m attempting to tell up-and-coming writers to slow down, learn patience, do your own research, find a good lawyer, and remember to laugh as often as possible. And keep writing, no matter how many rejections you get; it will pay off in the end. And don’t be afraid; that was probably the biggest mistake, and the one which caused me the most stress. Yea, truly there be monsters in these waters; but there’s also a whole line of life rafts to climb into. This blog, and my web site, offer as many really good, reputable, non-leaky boats to get you where you’re going as I can find. Use them.

Until next post; keep laughing, keep reading, and keep writing!