Thursday, December 16, 2010

There Are No Publishing Oracles




To all struggling writers everywhere (and I know you're out there), here is a little story that should give you hope. On December 16, 1901, Beatrix Potter published The Tale of Peter Rabbit. She had been turned down by half-a-dozen publishers, so she paid for the first edition of this classic herself. Her illustrations were in black and white and she had 250 copies printed, which she either gave away or sold at a half-penny each. She set the price so low because, as she said, "little rabbits cannot afford to spend six shillings." It only took a couple of weeks for Peter to find a following and by the end of the year, Beatrix Potter had a major deal with a publisher for an initial printing of 8,000 copies. Today, 40 million copies have been sold in dozens of languages. That first little half-penny edition sells for about $70,000.

The moral of this short tale: Publishers are not omniscient and they make mistakes - lots of mistakes. If you believe in your work, don't give up. Just think if Beatrix Potter had allowed the skepticism (and chauvinism) of publishers discourage her! I can't imagine a world without Peter Rabbit or Jemima Puddleduck. And remember, J.K. Rowling got rejected many times, too.

These are the little stories I use to remind myself every time I get a rejection for my own work. Publishers - and agents - are not oracles. Believe in yourself, keep writing, keep submitting and keep working to get better and better. Collect those rejections; they are the purple hearts of the publishing wars.

And when you do get published, send me a copy and I'll review it and hype it and do everything I can to drive sales. Yes, I am still a bookseller at heart.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Famous for Being Famous

Here in the United States of America, we don't have kings or queens, or princes and princesses, so we have created our own kind of royalty, and sometimes it gets downright embarrassing, especially when it involves those people who are famous for nothing more than being famous. We anoint them and praise them--and make them rich. I'm ranting about this because Christine O'Donnell of Tea Party fame in Delaware just got a nice book deal. Like Sarah Palin, she will be in the spotlight for her wacky opinions and because she's famous--and this book deal will just make her more famous. And so it goes (if you get that literary reference, comment on this blog and share--the author who used that phrase would probably have a hard time getting published today).

In the meantime, there are legions of talented, even gifted, writers out there who can't get an agent, much less a book deal. And you know who the real losers are? You and me, because we'll never have the joy of reading many of those writers. Publishers spend millions to sign up a single so-called writer, not because they recognize talent when they see it but because that person has a high profile and will sell books, no matter how good or bad they are. It has nothing to do with writing ability or talent and everything to do with the bottom line. I wouldn't get so worked up if publishers took the millions they make off these books and used it to cultivate emerging writers, but they don't. They just start looking for the next celebrity figure they can enlist to churn out a couple of hundred pages of drivel that the unsuspecting will rush out to buy.

Oh, listen to me! All worked up today!

The thing is that the millions these famous non-writers (and most of them require a ghostwriter or book doctor) get could be spent instead on nurturing and supporting the people with genuine gifts. But because the cult of celebrity has taken over, we'll never see those writers in print. Maybe someday the pendulum will swing back, and we'll once again have publishers and editors who want to be known for their commitment to literature, to exquisite prose and to originality--or maybe not.

I fear the latter. Maybe what we can do to stop this is stop buying the books in this particular genre - if it even deserves to be called a 'genre.'

So on this cold, bright day I am venting for just a minute. Is anybody listening? Does anybody care?