Chris’s view on modern publishing

APRIL 25TH 2011

I am presently watching “Top Gun”. When I think about the fact that it only gets 47% on Rotten Tomatoes, I feel like being sick. My reasoning for this outrage: the critics managed to miss both the sex scene with Kelly McGillis, and the bit where Goose dies. That’s criminal. They should all be locked up.

Of course, my opinions on this 80s classic (following conversation over 80s music. Ice-man: you’re still dangerous, but you can be my wing-man any time. Maverick: bullshit, you can be mine. Need I say more? And if you say “yes” then shut it and get off this site at once!) have very little to do with my views on publishing. Or do they? No, no, they don’t. I was going to be smart there, but it’s late and I really can’t be arsed.

But please do re-watch Top Gun. That’s all I’ll say about it, I promise.

So then. If you really want to know, which I am assuming you do, here are my views on modern publishing.

I’ve tried to get published numerous times, the first time in 2005. I sent my first manuscript off (the first 3 chapters, I mean) off only a year after seriously writing. Did it get rejected? Of course it did, and it deserved to be. In fact, looking back at that work it’s remarkable that the publishers and agents I sent out to actually bothered to expend the energy it took to getting it to the post-box. I should have waited, but I didn’t. But nevermind. The world is still turning and only a few brains have been damaged, so I’ll live with it.

This will sound really ridiculous, and if it doesn’t then alarm bells should certainly be ringing because you should think it is ridiculous, but I was quite gutted about those rejections. I can remember thinking they were a bunch of arse-holes, these people. They’d sent the work back without any kind of personal comment, and after all the work I’d put in, that just seemed mean.

But here’s the thing: publishing is a mean business. And it is very much a business, so don’t be expecting someone to take a chance on your work if they don’t think it’s going to sell. Without even meeting you I’m going to be bold and say that I very much doubt that you’re the kind of person who would gladly spend a lot of money on a car without even seeing it first. Yet that’s effectively what you’re asking a publisher to do when you send them your work. OK, to use a crap analogy theyget to test drive it for a few miles first to see if it handles like a Porsche or a piece of shit, but that’s not enough for them to decide if they want to own the thing. The only way they’ll know that is if they ask for the whole thing. Which they rarely do, because half the time their test drive is a piece of shit rolled in a piece of shit.

Sorry, but it is. And I know that because I know editors. And also because it only takes a few people to send in their first manuscripts to sink a rapidly depressed ship that is a publishers.

And you know what it’s like after you take a drive in the country. Everything stinks of shit. And that’s what it’s like being a publisher. You’re living in a country where oxygen has been replaced by the smell of manure.

I could go on about this, and say how there are loads more bad writers than good writers, but to be honest, I don’t know if that’s true. The simple fact is, though, that you have two choices nowadays that you didn’t have years ago. You can send your stuff out to publishers and wait for a long time, or you can do it yourself and take a punt.

One man who is an expert on taking this kind of punt is Joe Konrath. He probably doesn’t know or care as much about Top Gun as me, but in terms of independent publishing he wipes the floor with me and most people.

The problem, as has been said a million times before, is that now, with technology and publishing where it’s at, it’s very easy to do it yourself. So why bother waiting? It’s a good question, and one that every writer needs to ask him or herself.

Here is why I kept sending my work out to agents and publishers up until 6 months ago: I didn’t care about having my name on a book, or being famous, or even being a bit famous — I simply wanted to have readers. Not for vanity, but so I can sell a few books. I work as a freelance writer 5 – 7 days a week (sometimes it actually feels like 8 days, to be honest) and it’s bloody hard work. I’m not complaining about it. It’s a great life is freelancing. But if I can make a bit more money every day doing something I love, then why shouldn’t I? It makes sense to me and it should make equal sense to you.

The other reason I sent my work out to publishers, rather than publish it myself, was because I knew that I’d get an advance. That was attractive to me, seeing as I’d been struggling for some time with working a full-time job (and something pretty bloody miraculous is going to have to happen if I’m ever going to be able to afford my own house, with or without a partner).

What success did I have with sending my work out? I know you didn’t ask that but it’s tough, I am going to tell you: I had some success. For example, my non-fiction book about my time riding BMX (BMX Is Not Shit!) got immediate interest from two publishers. The first publisher hung onto it for 6 months before turning it down (I didn’t have any readers and they believed there was no market: and they were right. This was something I overlooked when writing my 450 page book) and the second were also interested right away but dropped out for the same reasons. At that point I was just frustrated. I sent it to 4 or 5 other publishers but the same feedback…well, came back. Looking back, I should have done my homework and I’d have saved myself a lot of hassle.

That said, I didn’t write that book or any book for money. I write books because I believe in the idea, and because I have to write them. Don’t even ponder what that means. I don’t even know: all I know is that while I am writing I am happy. Not always, actually, but I am nearly always satisfied, and generally speaking I don’t regret having spent copious hours all on my own.

I didn’t stop sending out queries after that book, I kept on writing and kept on going. My next novel also had some interest from a fairly big London publisher that I’d sent the BMX book to, but that was as far as it went. They declined graciously, saying that they thought it interesting and well-written, and that was that. Disappointing though it was, I moved on with sending it to more publishers, all of which declined, too.

By this point, some people might start to over-analyze: maybe I should stop, maybe I shouldn’t be a writer, maybe I just don’t have it. I didn’t. I’ve always thought that is complete bullshit. Riding BMX taught me that persistence is key above all else. The fact that nobody thinks your stuff will sell doesn’t mean they don’t actually like it. If you think of it like a business model, it makes more sense. It’s much more clear-cut that way. It’s easier to understand that it really is nothing personal. You just need to either keep going, or find a new way.

I wasn’t ready to find a new way after that book dived, so I wrote another one. This one was just for me, just for fun, and I had no intention of sending it off. It was an experiment — a way for me to explore a new direction without putting any pressure on myself.

And after a while I got another idea. Another idea wasn’t what I needed at the time — I had a fair bit of freelance writing work on and really didn’t need to spend more time at my computer doing my head in — but you can’t control that kind of thing. Sometimes you just have to go with it, and this time I was glad I did.

I wrote the original draft for The Number 3 Mystery Book in about 3 weeks. I wrote it full-time, every day, and crammed my other work in around it. It worked out very easily. I literally just woke up one night and the idea, the whole idea, came to me in about half an hour. I wrote the treatment for it in bed, and started it the following day with a vengeance.

I didn’t send it off right away. I planned to, because it had worked out so well, better than I’d ever expected, but I wanted to hold onto it for a while: experience — and looking foolish, which is another name for experience — told me that I was better off keeping hold of it for a while. The next time I saw it I’d probably want to change it a lot.

A month later I started putting ideas down for a new book. A longer book. Something experimentalfor younger readers that had a fantasy twist. The reason? I’ve never really got into fantasy books, and I wanted to see if I could write something that could hold my interest and attention.

Two months later I had another novel I was reasonably happy with. I still didn’t send either book off, as I wanted to get some feedback from my number 1 reader, Simone. Simone is a Sociologist and knows a thing or two about giving feedback. Also, she shares the same sense of humour I do, which is always helpful when you’re looking for someone to critique your work.

So Simone read it, very quickly, and sent her notes through. The feedback was mainly good, with some notes pertaining to the structure and the logic I had in place. Anyone who knows me know s that my Dyscalculia brain functions slightly differently than other people’s. Suffice to say that when it comes to every-day stuff, logic and structure are anything but its top priorities…

But anyway, it didn’t matter, the point was I now had 2 books. In my mind, I felt a bit more confident about sending out to agents now that I had fully-finished novels which I was quite confident in (as well as the previous ones, which at least made me look as though I was determined).

Another two months later, after the second newer novel had gone through another edit, out it went. I decided on 3 agents to send it to — 3 of the biggest London agents out there who took this kind of thing.

And something cool happened. The assistant to the  first agent on my list — first in terms of choice — wrote back saying she’d received the first 3 chapters safely and had sent it on to the agent. Something about that letter intrigued me. It was the way she’d replied asking me to keep them informed about the progress of the book with other agents (I’d been honest about it being a multiple submission in my query…and you need to be honest, because otherwise you could look very silly later on if you did get 2 offers) that was touching. I’d never received anything quite as kind as that before from a literary agent.

3 months went by. I heard nothing at all, chased up the agency, got a reply back that it was still being read. If you’re thinking that’s a long time, it’s not. 1 year is a long time. 3 months in the world of publishing is nothing.

When the agent got in touch, it was a rejection. The nicest rejection I’d ever had. She said that she thought it well-written and enjoyable but that they were much too busy with their existing clients to take my long novel and me on.

Weirdly, I wasn’t gutted. In fact, the next day I was happy. I’d received a positive letter from a literary agent, and that was enough for me.

So, you see, the publishing industry is not evil, and it does want new writers to have a chance. Some make it, some don’t. But don’t be bitter — there are different ways in and it’s a long road. If you can’t take the punches at the beginning of the fight, you’re going to eat some serious shit after a few rounds.

Now we arrive in time at 2 months ago. I was sitting around a lot, ill a lot with M.E., wondering what I was going to do. I still hadn’t heard from 1 agent on my list and it was getting disheartening.

Then, somehow, I stumbled across an article. I can’t remember which one it was, but it effectively said that digital publishing is good for the author, and traditional publishing is not as good. Of course, being a full-time writer I knew that it wasn’t as straightforward as this, but I decided to do some research anyway, to see just what the state of digital publishing was these days.

And I was surprised with what I found out. Too many things to write about here, but the point was that with digital publishing the author has control. Full control. Before this point I’d always thought of digital publishing as second choice — and I knew the Kindle was popular but I had no idea just how popular.

My perspective soon started to change. Instead of looking at books as something with 2 covers and pages, I started to think about books as information. The point being that digital publishing was a way of getting information to more people. Which was fine for me: I’ll choose getting my work out to more people over a material thing any day.

So that’s what it now comes down to for me. I just don’t see books the way I used to, and the fact that I now use my Kindle about equally as I read books means that I get it. What all the fuss is about, I mean.

Another thing I liked about digital books was getting books at a decent price. I don’t think anyone can argue that less than £1 for a proper-sized novel is outrageously good value for money.

There is the argument, of course, that lowe prices erode the publishing industry, and other such bullshit theory. I personally couldn’t care less about that — I just don’t understand how literally everyone in the world wants to save money in every way yet when it comes to saving money in books it’s considered wrong. With digital publishing you, the author, gets more money per book anyway. It’s traditional publishing where you the author loses out, and the publisher, with all their many books and control, wins.

And there were have it. It’s just my opinion, and you may well have a different one. But let’s not all get too upset about it. We’re all here for a short time. There’s room for everyone to get along, and it’s really up to you how you want the world to see your work.

Don’t forget that fact.