"Many potential authors find the whole process of trying to get published intimidating," Jeremy says. "Or was that just me? Whatever, most of the process can be summarised in a relatively few key points. Whilst nothing can guarantee sucess, omitting any of these points is certain to guarantee failure." There you have it. So pay attention. 1. COMPOSE The first thing you really must do is write something. This may seem like superfluous advice, but you'd be surprised how many potential careers get stalled before they've even started due to failure to carry out this vital step. How many times have you heard the refrain, "When I get round to writing my novel/autobiography/Ibiza travelogue . . ." The proliferation of the personal computer has been a godsend for authors everywhere; for none more so than this curious sub-species of pre-writers. For years they've had to rely on the slippery phenomenon of free time, which has an unfortunate tendency to fall into their laps unexpectedly due to early retirement, redundancy, invalidity, insomnia and so forth. The personal computer (i.e. the lack thereof) is entirely within the pre-writer's control and therefore makes an infinitely more reliable excuse. THESE PEOPLE WILL NEVER GET PUBLISHED. Don't fall into the same trap - write something! 2. DISPOSE Assuming that you have retired/resigned/developed insomnia and acquired a computer/typewriter/pad and pen, and have finally got round to writing something, you are ready to move on to the next phase. Like the first phase, this is of absolutely critical importance, but even more often neglected by budding authors. Having completed the final draft of your novel, polished and perfected over many months or even years of toil, you should type or print a fair copy, using double spacing and wide margins, with the title of the work and your name and address shown clearly on the covering page, place it inside a large envelope or Jiffy bag, and deposit the whole package in the nearest bin. Believe me, this is the easiest way, and will save you months of agonised waiting and a fortune in postage. The bin is it's ultimate destination, so you might as well cut out the middle man. Because the fact is that your opus is crap. No, I don't need to read it; I just know it's crap, because all first full-length works are. If yours isn't, then you still might as well throw it away, because your future fortune clearly doesn't lie in books, but in some more worthwhile and profitable enterprise like reversing gravity or making rainforest grow in the Sahara. 3. RECOMPOSE Having wisely trashed that first manuscript, you are now ready to go back and write something good. This is the point at which many beginners brain themselves on that great glass ceiling known as "talent". The luckily self-aware retreat back down the ladder and get on with doing proper jobs. The ones who are embittered by the discovery that they have no talent become critics. (Some of these go on to become celebrities, and find they can get novels published without possessing any of that vital commodity, so that's all right then.) If by some freak of genetic fate you find you do have talent, then you should repeat step 2, omitting the part about the bin. 4. DISTRIBUTE Ring Lardner advised budding authors not to include return postage with their manuscripts - since publishers are only too keen for an excuse to send your work back, he even suggested that including your name and address is a bad idea; in fact, he argued, you should post your manuscript anonymously from a town some distance from where you live. Well, the good news is, things aren't quite as bad as that these days. Better options are available. Get yourself a copy of The Writer's Handbook and look in the section on Agents. (Don't approach publishers directly - they don't like it; they get resentful.) Having drawn up a list of literary agents, begin sending them sample chapters. Don't send to more than one or two agents at a time; or, if you do, put some work into disguising the fact. Personalise your covering letter. Agents are a bit like the universities of Oxford and Cambridge in this respect: they don't like to be applied to simultaneously. 5. DISTRACT Distract yourself, that is. Find some productive diversion (like a job) to keep you occupied during the one or two months each agent's response will take to reach you. You could beguile the time by memorising some elementary facts, such as the following: 1) Less that 2 per cent of unsolicited manuscripts received by agents show so much as the potential that publishable work might follow. 2) Nearly all agents have a standing policy of not taking on first-time authors, although all will be willing to look at your work, just in case it persuades them to change their minds (it almost certainly won't). 3) The average advance paid by publishers for novels is in the region of five thousand pounds, on a contract for TWO books. That's £2500 per book. (As an added diversion, divide this figure by the number of hours it took you to write.) 4) Approximately one-third to one-half of first novels actually taken on by literary agents never find a publisher. 6. REORIENTATE So, by a chain of miracles you don't dare scrutinise too closely (the sensation is a bit like vertigo), a good agent has offered you representation, and your novel has been snapped up by a publisher. You've signed the contract, and the first instalment of your substantial advance is nestled in your account (quite a bit of it being sucked up by the debts you've accrued along the way). You feel triumphant, vindicated, flattered. You attend meetings at which important people discuss you as though you were the greatest phenomenon ever. Now comes the moment for reorientation. You feel like you've climbed to the very peak of the mountain; begin to learn that in actual fact you've found yourself at the foot of another; steeper, higher, and much harder to climb. Because what your publisher won't tell you directly is that getting you established in the bookshops is going to make every struggle you've had so far seem like a breeze. What you hadn't realised until now is that, nowadays, the art of the bookseller revolves around finding reasons not to take books from publishers. 7. RECONSIDER Still want to be a writer? Ask me if I do - go on, I dare you. Well, surprising as it might seem, I wouldn't swap it for anything else. Copyright ©2002 Jeremy Dronfield | |
