This weekend I’m meeting with an acquaintance who intends to write a book, and who is looking for insight, information, and advice on how to go about this. I’ve had a couple dozen meetings like this since I turned pro, and each time I do I try to think positive: this time the writer will listen to me and what I have to say. This time I won’t be giving advice to a brick wall.
I also know that chances are very good that at some point during the evening, my companion is going to build that wall between us, and I’ll end up talking to the brick.
The first question is (inevitably) an idea pitch. Who better to ask about the idea for a first book than someone who has sold forty-three of them in ten years? And so I will listen to what amounts to a bad knock-off of some outrageously successful bestseller, an angsty memoir, or a muddled and entangled heap of Far Too Many Way Cool Things that will only become a coherent novel by divine intervention.
This is not the time when one gives a brutally honest opinion. What sounds like terrible fanfic to me is the blazing like an inferno in this writer’s heart. I will nod and be polite and keep my smartass observations to myself . . . for the time being.
Once the writer has made the pitch, then it’s either a how-to Q&A and/or a grilling about the money. Very few people actually know how to go about the nuts and bolts of writing a novel, and when they’ve got a hot idea, that’s what they think about all the time. They do not go to the library and check out books on how to write. They don’t plot or plan. At best they sit down at the keyboard and just start writing until they’re exhausted, and then they edit whatever they have written for a week or a month or a year until they work up the nerve to call me for the meeting.
No one seems to have any idea how much money the average professional writer in the U.S. makes. They never believe me when I tell them it’s about six thousand dollars. What about that girl who wrote Twilight? they demand. She made fifty million last year! And my idea for my book is far superior to hers.
This is when brutal honesty is a good idea, and I usually pull out a royalty statement to show them exactly how much money a successful author like me makes (alas, not millions.) I explain percentages, royalties, agent commissions, taxes and overhead. By the time I’m finished the faint of heart (about 50%) have already changed their minds about a career in publishing.
But denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, so every other writer I meet with will insist they will be different (and hey, who am I to argue with that? They just might be the next Stephenie.) So we agree to set aside talking about the money, and move on to the clandestine part of the conversation, aka what’s the secret handshake?
The assumption: I made the Times list, so of course I know all the secret handshakes. Hell, I probably invented a few. So what do I know that I can tell them to do that will whisk them off to fame, fortune, and a top twenty bestseller?
They never want to hear that answer, but I give it to them anyway: write the best damn book you can. If the readers love it, they will catapult you to Bookstore Stardom, right up there with Ms. Meyer. Assuming you can sell the book to a publisher, get the right amount of publicity and distribution, hit the market at exactly the right moment and deliver the most exciting book of the year while competing with two hundred thousand other writers who are trying to do the exact same thing.
At this point they think I’m making fun of them, or holding out on them, or both. They usually observe how stingy I am to keep all the lovely insider info I have to myself. Or they insist I can trust them with the truth, as if I need to be coerced into spilling the beans. Occasionally I’ve been tempted to make up a secret handshake simply to keep them busy, something like “Write only during the nights of a full moon” or “Have your manuscript blessed by a priest on a high holy day, and then say a rosary every night until the offers start pouring in.” But that’s cold, and cruel, especially because a few of them will actually believe it and do it.
Instead, I go back to their idea, and carefully analyze it. If it’s a knock-off, I ask them why they love Tolkien or Heinlein or whoever so much, and then start guiding them away from the knock-off and into the strange and often frightening territory of coming up with their own ideas. Love Middle Earth? What other kind of alternative allegorical reality would you like to create? Jazzed by Starship Troopers? What sort of fantastic future do you envision, or would you like to live in?
Sometimes they don’t resist the guidance, and let their imaginations run with a fresh idea, and by the time we’re done mapping it out they’ve forgotten all about Lord of the Wings or Super Dooper Sunshine Troopers or whatever knock-off they were thinking of writing. Other times they stick to their original idea like a bur on a cashmere sock, and there is no persuading them away from it.
I think the thorniest of idea thickets to navigate through are the angsty memoir ideas. No one wants to hear that all they suffered through their extended, painful divorce is not going to set the publishing world on fire. It’s like saying “Your pain just doesn’t count, pal.” Coaxing them to see their life differently is also practically impossible; people carry their life wounds around like emotional security blankets made of horse-hair; no matter hot, prickly or uncomfortable they make them feel, they are precious to them. Most will never let them go, so to suggest to them that they aren’t worth writing about is the same as kicking them in the teeth of their soul.
But no matter what they want to write, I will talk to them, and try to enlighten, inform and guide as much as I can. I do believe anyone can be a writer, and if a little encouragement and guidance from me can help add a bright new voice to the next generation of writers, I’m happy to offer it. To date thirty-eight writers whom I’ve helped with guidance, advice and/or encouragement in some way or another have made it into print. Three of them have written books that have hit the Times. I keep a special shelf of all their novels in my book room, and every time I wonder if these meetings are worth it, I look at that shelf and smile.
Now if I can just convince this one that we all don’t make fifty million dollars a year . . .
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The money myth is unbelievably persistent. It was a sad day for me the day I did the math and realized even if I made a six figure deal I’d probably actually have 25K a year to live on, but it’s much better to plan based on reality. Keep your expenses low if you want to do this for the long haul. (Writers of America, there is cheap housing in Michigan!)
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One thing I do now during the talks I give at schools is to break down the money for the kids who are interested in a writing career, and point out alternative sources of income from things like freelancing and ghosting and such. They’re always disappointed to find out that most young authors don’t hit it big like Christopher Paolini, but it also doesn’t discourage them to know they might have to work a day job. I think kids are more realistic than most adults that way.
Back when I worked corporate I took a couple of business trips to Michigan, and I really liked the people there. Interesting characters everywhere. Mackinac Island is also one of my favorite places in the world (and not just for the fudge.)
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Not everyone has a friend in the business. At least she has you to ask for advice. And that’s good fortune indeed.
I really wish someone had told me when I started that luck has as much to do with getting a publishing deal as does talent.
…Nah. I probably wouldn’t have believed them.
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I wish I had made the effort to find out more about publishing before I accepted my first offer, Maria. But then if I knew then what I know now, would I have signed? Probably not.
Luck is such a huge factor in a writer’s career that I think it’s always in play in some form or another. Maybe we should all carry shamrocks and rabbit feet.
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Sometimes I think the best advice I could give somebody who wants to write is…
RUN AWAY SCREAMING! QUICK!
But then again, if somebody had told me that, I wouldn’t have listened. People have some many false assumptions about what it is to be a writer…being a writer includes some much more than writing, and if all you want to do is write, well…be prepared.
Sad thing is…most of the advice? Those are the lessons that tend to stick best AFTER you’ve experienced it.
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But then again, if somebody had told me that, I wouldn’t have listened.
I know I wouldn’t have believed any realistic info about the people in publishing and especially my colleagues. As an aspiring novelist I worshipped professional writers from afar. I was convinced they’d be exactly like their books. All. Of. Them.
Fortunately a few of them are, or I think my whole writing universe would have collapsed.
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I’m very careful about giving advice outside of typical writer settings. Learned this the hard way.
I was at a party with friends when the host said, “I’ve been writing, will you read over a couple of pages and let me know what you think?” I said what I always do: “Are you looking for an honest, tough opinion or do you just want me to read it?” Him: “Oh, an honest opinion, absolutely.” So I read it and told him what he had was a promising synopsis, but he needed to show not tell, add description, flesh out his character, etc.
We returned to the party and someone asked, “What did she say?” He said, “She said it sucked, just like I knew she would.”
I was like, Oh, f*** you. So I don’t read anything for anyone anymore unless I know the person is serious.
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At least he didn’t say, “She just said that because she’s jealous of my talent.” Had a few of those over the years. And he didn’t cry. I can’t deal with the weepers anymore.
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Heck, if I had the chance to sit down with you, I’d listen to every word and take it seriously. Of course, I’ve been reading your blogs, forum posts, online chats, etc. for a while now and I KNOW you know what you’re talking about.
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Geez, Rob, I think we’ve known each other now like, what, seven or eight years? If you didn’t listen, I’d have to thump you.
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Dang, I think it has been that long. I feel old now.
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You should be on my side. I remember when you started college, young man.
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Lynn, I’m thrilled you like Michigan! If you ever come back this way, I’d love to have lunch with you. I love it here, but Charlene is right. If you have any money at all, now is the time to buy here. One in every ten homes in the state (as an average) are in some stage of foreclosure. *sigh*
But I digress…
I don’t want to make tons of money at writing. I have no false assumptions. Is it wrong of me to simply want to write because I love it and sure, I’d love to see my name on the cover of a novel as the author? But I want to do it the…*right way* isn’t exactly the term I’m looking for, but no, I don’t want to do it by self-publishing. I want it to happen because one agent saw some worth in me, believed in me enough to take that chance.
Too bad that you run up against so many brick walls. It’s a tough business to break into and so many people automatically expect to write the book, though they’ve never written a thing, send it in to who knows who, and everyone will love it.
Reality is a tough thing to accept. I think it’s awesome you even take the time to try and get those who ask, to see it. Obviously, you’ve succeeded at times. What a gift to give someone.
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Is it wrong of me to simply want to write because I love it and sure, I’d love to see my name on the cover of a novel as the author? But I want to do it the…*right way* isn’t exactly the term I’m looking for, but no, I don’t want to do it by self-publishing. I want it to happen because one agent saw some worth in me, believed in me enough to take that chance.
Everyone has their own definition of how to do this the way that suits them (and there is no right or wrong unless by doing so you fall for the lies of the scammers out there.) You have to start off as you mean to go on, and make your peace with the compromises that you’re willing (or unwilling) to make.
I could have taken a much easier path a few years ago, and made three times the money I’m making now, but that direction would have required me to do something against my ethics. Money will never be as important to me as my integrity and self-respect.
I think you’re on the right track, Theo — trust your instincts.
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P.S. If I ever do make it over to Michigan again, we’ll definitely have to get together for tea and shop talk.
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You’ve got a deal! Maybe we can do high tea at the Cotswold Cottage at Greenfield Village. If you haven’t been, you’d love it.
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Sounds like a plan.
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I had a conversation something like this with an acquaintance who ‘has a really hot idea!’ I took the time to explain to him that his idea, which he’s spent 2 hours of time on would take me 9-12 months to write into a novel, and likely another 2-5 years to get published for an advance of most likely 5000. So no, I wouldn’t like to write it for him and split the profits… (splitting would cut my 3-4 dollars an hour down to 1-2!). That conversation seemed to deflate him. His idea isn’t bad either, just kind of generic supernatural thriller. Maybe he’ll write it (I suggested that…).
The myth is persistent because people always hear about the big deals.
Of course, I’ve done a ton of research into writing and publishing and I *still* write… does that make me crazy? Maybe
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The myth is persistent because people always hear about the big deals.
Exactly. The big deals are mostly all they ever hear about, too.
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Wow, Lynn. It’s awesome that you meet with first time writers like that. Painful, too, but down right awesome. If we lived closer, I would enjoy sitting down with you over coffee or tea and talking “the biz” or history or how to avoid “the biggest mistake.”
Long ago, a dear writer friend of mine honestly explained to me that published did not equal money. But, published can equal touching someone else’s life, if only for a brief moment of escape. That is the reason I write.
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If we lived closer, I would enjoy sitting down with you over coffee or tea and talking “the biz” or history or how to avoid “the biggest mistake.”
That would be fun. I’d love to hear how you’re making out with the Neo.
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And you claim you’re not a teacher.
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Oh, no, you called me the T word (cough, hack.)
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Ha!! I just said Twitter yesterday if we had known then what we know now *shakes head*
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I can see me running away from that first contract offer, easy. Lol.
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Makes me wish I lived in Florida! I don’t suppose you could meet me at Disney World when we vacay in December? LOL
(It never fails to amaze me NOT that people are so disillusioned, but that they’re so vocal about it. If I believed the money myth, met someone like you in person, and you corrected me, or what have you in the situation you outlined, I can’t imagine having the audacity to try and correct you, you know?)
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At least your friend seems to have the idea that some work may be required to write the Grand Opus.
Don’t you just love it when someone says:
“Why don’t I tell you my BRILLIANT idea for a book, you write it (because I don’t have the time/patience/drive/skill/je ne sais quoi), and we’ll split the millions we’re going to make? I’ll get the bigger portion of money, of course, as it’s my idea.”
I tell ‘em:
“No thanks. Ideas are ten a penny. But have a story/book idea of mine for free. You take that idea and run with it, write it, but here’s the rub: because it’s my idea, I get 50% of any money you earn. And if I don’t like it when you’re done, you can’t utilise it. It could mean that you’ve wasted every evening typing for a year to complete it, but them’s the rules, sure as eggs is eggs.”
Seriously, Ms Viehl, you must have the patience of a saint.