Martin Wagner gives writers a pretty good snappie of the state of publishing vis รก vis agents in a recent edition of the Guardian.
Some snips from the snappie:
"Visions of piles of unsolicited 'slush' should be enough to turn off most
self-respecting writers—divided into two categories according to one
agent I spoke to: one of typescripts to be rejected straight away, and
another of typescripts to be rejected a little later."
"The undiscovered writer is the acceptable victim of a system which,
ironically, works for everyone concerned except for the very people
who are its lifeblood."
***
I know, there are writers among my readership who will roll their eyes at the notion that I'm not being very encouraging. Isn't this whole writing life already filled with enough downers? they would ask. Do you really have to shine a spotlight on the bad news?
Yes and yes.
Part of the reason why so many writers fail to see their work into print has to do with things they can exercise some control over (like, ahem, writing well and behaving like a professional in every communication).
Many writers complain about the downers of rejection; as an editor, I have sent out thousands of rejections myself, but a majority of the bulk of them were for writing that wasn't even close to being good enough. That's an editor's downer, by the way. We want to find diamonds, not pyrite. Our days are fatigued by not-ready-for-primetime writing. So are our eyes.
Still other writers achieve a moderate amount of success publishing individual pieces, but run up against road blocks when they advance to the book-length project or dip their toe into a different pond (say, moving from journalism to fiction). And they are surprised by this new struggle. Why? Do they think that they have nothing more to learn? That once they have a few credits, the writing will get easier? That their previous work is qualification enough? That they don't have to earn it every single time?
The thing is, they do need to earn it. Every piece is different, and it must be at least as good as the last piece. Every composition must have its own legs. Welcome to the hard work of the writing life.
I hear complaints frequently from authors who have one or two books already under their belts who are ready to quit writing. Why? Because, what, it's too hard?
When has it ever been possible to write a decent book without laboring over it? Dang, even the crappiest pulp fiction is hard to write. So how is it that these otherwise blessed writers have gotten this far without realizing they had a long row to hoe ahead of them? Did they not work hard before? Did they just get lucky? Or are they just learning as they go, only now they are realizing how much bigger the publishing world is than they originally thought, how much harder it is to have a writing life in the 21st century, where books are commodities and the idea of literature is fast losing cultural currency?
So, yes, let's be real about this business, folks. Especially those of us who write short forms (poetry, short fiction) and/or otherwise so-called "noncommercial" work. It's all hard work, even for those who are excellent writers and who know how to behave professionally in all their various communications. Even for those who choose self-publishing. Especially, perhaps, for those who choose self-publishing.
A writer's life is not an easy life, nor will it get easier over time. The sooner we all accept this fact, the easier it will be for us to jump in and try to learn all we can about the business end of publishing. Otherwise, what is the point of working so hard at something that will ultimately belong to the realm of therapy and hobbies?
Yes, I mean that in the pejorative. I don't need therapy, and I already have hobbies. I don't write to keep myself busy. Neither should you, so if you are, think about doing something else, and let the writers who really want it move forward three spaces on the game board.
***
Related: I sat in on a workshop addressing production and publicity schedules following the acceptance of a manuscript at the PNBA convention held in town recently.
Having worked for a publishing house myself both in production and editorial, I'm already aware of the numbers of departments and people and stages that any manuscript must go through to become the book everyone wants it to be.
But sitting there in what ended up being a packed house, I was startled to realize that, among my closest writing peers, I would venture that only 2-5% of them have any idea what happens after their book-length work is accepted, and of those 2-5%, most of them are publishing their work in very small literary presses where one person is managing almost all of the tasks that a big house provides. This is not the same reality as commercial publishing. The print runs are smaller. The promotional budget is nonexistent. The advances, the percentages, do not reflect the bigger picture of American commercial publishing.
Me, I'm a supporter of the small press and I actively seek out work that isn't on the bestseller list, including short story collections, work in translation and the like, because I prefer the raw, risk-taking, mind-blowing experiments performed there over the polished, homogenous predictables that end up populating bookstore displays and end up in the hands of book groups run by people who don't really care about the words, not when there's a great dessert and neighborhood gossip to be had instead.
But the small press, God love it, struggles to rise out of the realm of obscurity.
Obscurity isn't much of a step up from being unpublished, is it? Or is it?
Shouldn't we want for more than 200 copies of our own book handsold out of the trunks of our cars? Shouldn't we want for a decent wage for all the time we took away from our family to put words on the page? Is it vulgar to want for more than the prestige of being published? I mean, anyone can be published these days. POD and vanity will get you where you need to go, if that's all that matters.
But I've seen some pretty horrible self-published work, which has made up my mind on that topic. I'd rather not be published at all than put out horrible work.
Publishing work that is obscure and perhaps only appealing to the other people in my writing workshop is only slightly better.
I don't think it's wrong to want for more. A check that does more than cover my promotional expenses. Some acknowledgment outside my circles of family and friends. An actual book review from someone I don't know.
Which is why I think it high time that writing programs add more classes addressing the architecture and process of publishing. Be realistic. Talk economics. Highlight trends. Release the statistics. All of them, inspiring and dismal.
I think that writers who aren't in writing programs can master the topic independently. There are ways to do it. Regional bookselling association conventions, trade journals, real live work at a publishing house, research on the web. Anything to show them just what kind of hole they are writing themselves into. It doesn't have to be a black hole, but it will be if writers don't know what to expect after the acceptance letter comes for them.
I'm startled because I hear this all the time from writers, that they truly think their work is done when the manuscript is accepted. That good writing is enough.
Not only is it not enough, but without some interest in looking beyond the acceptance letter, I can't imagine writers ever being able to develop a career that will last more than one or two titles.
I have more titles in me than fingers and toes. I don't want to stop at one or two. Do you?
***
So you want to be published? You want to get an agent? Write until you just can't make your manuscript any better. Then learn everything you can about the commercial publishing world, and hang on to your seat. Even if you find a solid track for your work, you're in for a bumpy ride.