Archive for February, 2010

Networking for writers

Wednesday, February 24th, 2010

Today’s inbox yields another question inspired by the article I wrote for the March/April 2010 issue of Writer’s Digest, “Lessons Learned from a Writer Turned Agent.”

In the comments section of my last post, Constance writes, I’ve been reading your great article in the latest WD and came upon something I wanted to ask you about. You say “…there’s no reason you can’t get to know whatever people you need to get to know…”   I write and illustrate children’s books, belong to the SCBWI and am about to attend my third SCBWI conference. So I know conferences are one way to get to know editors, but what else do you recommend? I sometimes friend editors on Facebook, though I do wonder if this is considered intrusive. I always read “no phone calls!” on web guidelines and other places, but do you recommend going against this advice? 

Most of us don’t start off knowing anyone who can help us get published.  We read books and blogs, join writers’ groups, attend conferences, and somehow eventually connect with the people who can make a difference in our careers.   What I mean when I say you can get to know the people you need to know is just that: with attention and effort, you can connect with that editor who likes your style or that agent who falls in love with your novel. 

But what does “with attention and effort” mean, exactly?

First, yes, I recommend against calling up editors and agents unless you already have an established relationship with them.  There is nothing more intrusive than a phone call (unless it’s someone showing up on your doorstep) and you can’t really establish a good rapport with an editor or agent you’ve just annoyed.  Plus, many agents and editors simply don’t answer their phones if they don’t recognize the name of the person who is calling (every one of us has had the off-putting experience of being ambushed by someone who just wants to ask us how they can get published).  If it’s hard to establish a good rapport with someone you’ve just annoyed, it’s impossible to establish one with their voice mail.

Personally, I am not a fan of Facebook, and don’t do much with it.  I know a lot of people prefer to keep their FB information and updates available strictly for their friends and family.  I’m on LinkedIn, which is where I connect with anyone I know professionally, and I would suggest that may be a less intrusive way to connect via these kinds of social media networks.  But friending editors and agents on FB or LinkedIn isn’t exactly what I’m getting at when I encourage writers to get to know the people they need to know to be successful in this business.

What I’m getting at is this: use the opportunities that arise in your life and your work to connect with members of the community of writers, editors and agents.  That’s all.

One of the simplest ways to do this is by pitch (query) letter.   I sold something like my first 17 books to publishers without having an agent.  All of the editors I sold to had never heard of me before.  (Once they’d acquired one of my books, though, we had a relationship, and they were more easily persuaded to publish another of my books.)  The publishing world has changed since I started writing books fifteen years ago, but the mundane pitch letter is still worth a lot more than most writers realize.  The pitch letter is the cornerstone of a lot of relationships. 

If your pitch letter ends up yielding a request for pages and eventually an offer, yay you.  More often, though, you get a form rejection, which is just discouraging.  But sometimes you spark an editor’s (or agent’s) interest, it’s just that this book isn’t the one.   That is a tremendous opportunity for you.  An editor who says, “not this book but maybe the next one” is one you need to treasure — and to send the next book to.  The agent who says, “this doesn’t quite work for me, but if you revise, I will look again,” is a treasure, too.  Don’t underestimate these kinds of exchanges.  Editors and agents don’t say these things lightly. It’s way easier to say, “thanks, but no thanks” and then not have any further hassle.  So I’m always amazed at the number of people I make encouraging noises at who then fall off the face of the earth.  

Now, not everyone who queries me is going to want to sign with me even if I make an offer,  and not everyone is going to want to revise the way I think their work needs to be revised, and so on.  But here’s the thing:  Someone who is interested in your work is a colleague to be cultivated, not ignored.  So don’t ignore signs of interest.  Build on them.

Like this writer.

Conferences, which Constance mentions in her question, are a good way of meeting editors and agents face-to-face, though it’s important to realize that most of the time you’re not going to get a publishing or representation offer from one of these events.  I also like good, professional writers’ groups (which may be more affordable than flying off to conferences), especially local chapters of well-established organizations.  You’re not necessarily going to meet an editor this way, but you’ll meet other writers, and maybe they’ll connect you with their editors, or let you know that a certain agent they know is looking for new clients, or what have you.  I met my current agent through a writer friend. 

Some of these groups are online, and that makes them even easier to join and “attend.”  Many of my clients are members of an online writers’ organization.  We got to know each other as colleagues and when I made the move to the Salkind Agency, several of them signed on with me.  The world of publishing is really fluid this way: editors become agents, writers become editors, etc.  You never know what the next step of someone’s career will be.  Being friendly and helpful with colleagues pays off not only in a warm fuzzy feeling, but it may actually boost your career.

Just as important as any of that, though, is being out there in the world, hanging out with writers and other creative types.  If you’re on Twitter, follow editors and agents.  Comment on agent’s blogs.  (I’m more likely to recognize Constance’s name now if it comes on a query letter, and that will probably translate to “oh, right, she had the good question on my blog; she is not an idiot” which is a good impression for me to have when I start reading a pitch letter.)  Start a blog of your own.  Have a website.  Make it easy for people to find out about you.

How have you connected with the important people in your writing career?

Following up

Monday, February 22nd, 2010
In the March/April 2010 issue of Writer’s Digest, I have an article on what I learned about writing (and publishing) from being an agent, even though I thought I knew pretty much all I needed to know before joining the Salkind Agency.  In the article, I mentioned that one thing I’d learned was that you shouldn’t take no response to mean no, even if an agency’s guidelines say, “If we don’t respond, we’re not interested.”  I didn’t say this because I like to irritate the agents who don’t respond to queries they’re not interested in, but because I’ve found that a great deal more e-mail goes astray than you’d think. 

In my inbox today:   “I never thought to follow up like you suggest in this month’s Writer’s Digest. Dare I go back after all this time to find out what happened or should I just move to the next on my list?”

The writer mentions that she has had some queries sitting at agencies for a while with no response.   So, yes, I would suggest sending a follow-up.  Before doing that, though, I would double-check and make sure that you actually sent a pitch — that is, a query letter outlining what your book is about, plus a few details about you.  I get a lot of e-mails from people asking me how to pitch me, or how to pitch someone else, or how to make it in the business without an agent, or whatever.  Things that aren’t actually pitches.  I respond to all pitches.  I’m hit-or-miss about anything that’s not a pitch.  So if you sent a pitch, and got no response after a reasonable amount of time (maybe a month or so), then following up is fine.   Don’t be a stalker, and do include your original pitch in your follow up.

The writer asks a second question — “or should I just move on?” — and my answer is “follow up AND just move on.”  When I was working in academia, I thought it was the slowest-moving business in the universe.  Ha.  Publishing is the slowest business in the universe.  Keep your queries out there and pitch more than one agent at a time (I always suggest about ten per batch so you can edit your letter if you get no interest.)  You need to keep moving or you’ll drown.

Making it work

Wednesday, February 17th, 2010

My daughter spent a couple of days in doctors’ offices last week, which, unfortunately, is a fact of her life.  This is always stressful for both of us, but one thing I never have to worry about is asking the boss for a day off work to attend to such matters (I freelance for the Salkind Agency, in case you were wondering how that worked.) 

 

One of the tremendous benefits of being a freelancer is the ability to make your work fit around your life instead of the other way around.  I’ve been a freelancer for about fifteen years, and during that time, I’ve occasionally wandered into the world of job ads.  (Every freelancer gets frustrated now and then and thinks the answer is a staff job.)  I read through the qualifications list, checking them off, and then I get to the “benefits” list and try to imagine making my life work with five days’ sick leave and a week’s vacation each year.

 

It is to laugh.  My life wouldn’t fit in those parameters.  It couldn’t. 

 

That isn’t to say that being a freelancer is easier than being a staffer (zeus knows it’s not).  Nor is it to say that people who have staff jobs have it easy, what with knowing how much their weekly paycheck is going to be.  Just that trying to make work and life fit together is a challenge for all of us, and it involves a lot of tradeoffs.  I don’t have to worry about asking my boss for time off, but I also don’t get paid vacation, or sick leave, or employer-provided health insurance.  Someone who has a staff job has to figure out how to care for the sick kid on the same day they’re supposed to close that big new account. 

 

Now add in creative pursuits (we’re up to work + life + creative pursuits) and no wonder people feel they can’t achieve their dreams.  It’s a lot of work and sometimes it’s just easier and more rewarding to turn on the television.  In the short-run, anyway.

 

The biggest help for me, in making it all fit together, is to do combine tasks as much as possible.  I schedule all my phone calls in the same couple of afternoons each week.  I answer all agency queries once a week in a big batch.  I run all my errands at the same time. I even schedule seeing my friends that way (I have been known to sit in the coffee shop for five hours, meeting with one friend after another.)

 

What’s your secret?    

What to ask a prospective agent

Monday, February 15th, 2010

In my inbox: I have an agent who is new interested in my manuscript.  Based on her existing clientele, I feel I have a good chance of sparking this woman’s attention. I also have a well-known agent sitting on a full of one and a partial of a second.

 

In the event that either one of them should contact me. . . especially the former. . . I don’t know what to ask her to help me make a decision.  Obviously if they both are interested in the same manuscript, I would probably go with the larger name and proven track record of sales.

 

But can you offer any guidance as to what I could ask, what I could look up, what I could possibly do, to decide if I would want to work with this new agent?  The way I see it, things could go one of two ways:  I take the chance and allow her to build a clientele (everyone has to start somewhere) and it works out.  Or, I take the chance, and next year I’m still waiting.

 

I’ve read where she has contacts [at major publishers].  Another client has gushed about her.  But how do I learn if this woman (who has no track record in the industry), really can get it done?

 

 

My thoughts:

With agents, having a bad agent is worse than having no agent at all.  By “bad” agent, I mean everything from a scam agent who takes your money and doesn’t do anything for you to a well-intentioned individual who just doesn’t have the contacts and industry-savvy to succeed. 

 

To rule out the scam agents, I would check out the Bewares and Background thread on absolutewrite.com, and the information at Preditors & Editors. Also check out Writer Beware.

 

 

Assuming that you only queried legit agents in the first place, you’ll want to make sure that your prospective agent can do the job.  If the agent is new, this is harder to judge because of a lack of track record.  (On the plus side, new agents are more open to taking on clients).  What’s important is that the agent has experience in the publishing industry and understands how it works. 

 

Good agents are often former acquisitions editors. Sometimes they’re former sales reps, and occasionally (like Neil Salkind and me), they’re book authors who’ve been in the business a long time and know something about it.  What you don’t want is someone who thinks that what works in another field (for example, used car sales) is going to work in publishing.  Someone whose experience in publishing is tangential (worked in a bookstore) or only with smaller publishers isn’t your best bet, either.  This is not an entry-level position.

 

A new agent at an established agency is a better risk to take than a new agent who sets up her own agency.  An established agency has connections in the publishing industry and can help the new agent through every aspect of recruiting clients to selling their books to negotiating their contracts and beyond.  This has been my experience at the Salkind Agency.

 

When deciding between a new agent and a more experienced agent, you’ll probably do better with the agent who has a record of sales in your genre – and I say this as a new agent with just a few sales under her belt.  Yes, if the choice comes down between me and someone who has sold two hundred books in your genre, pick the other agent.

 

However, I will add a few caveats.  Assuming that both agents are competent, then you really have to go with who is going to be a better fit for you.  It’s true that going with the more established agent who has a longer track record makes sense, but it’s also possible that your book wouldn’t get the attention it needs from someone who has lots of other clients who themselves have track records and are thus easier for the agent to sell. 

 

The only way you can get a handle on this is by having a conversation with the agent.  Ask what her process is, ask what her dream client is/does.  Think about what you need.  Do you need a lot of guidance, reassurance and hand-holding?  There is nothing wrong with that, but an agent who doesn’t have time for it isn’t going to be a good fit (which is not to say a new agent will have time for it and a more established agent won’t; that’s just a matter of personality and priorities). 

 

Questions you can ask: How would the agent pitch your book?  What is her pitching process?  Are you comfortable with it?  I have a friend whose agent said, “I want to pitch this as YA, is that okay?”  My friend had never considered her book as being YA, but when she thought about it, she realized that was an absolutely appropriate thing to do.  But if she’d hated the idea, she and the agent would have had a problem. 

 

Beyond that, I think you have to go with the agent who is most excited about your project and about representing you.  It’s a tough slog, especially these days, and you need a lot of enthusiasm to carry you through to the sale.  You need an agent who isn’t going to give up after the first five tries. 

 

One thing I always suggest is to ask for a few days to think about an offer of representation.  Then you can let anyone else who has a partial or full know you have an offer and let them make their move if they’re going to make it.  It also gives you some time to think of questions you didn’t think to ask and to check with colleagues to find out what they know.  You can also see about talking with other clients of the agent before signing on. That can be a good way to get a sense of what it’s like to work with an agent.

Yes, you can

Wednesday, February 10th, 2010

The other day, Jessica came home from school with exciting news.  “Someone is going to win a prize for their essay!” she told me, beyond thrilled.  I looked at her big smile, her shining brown eyes, and I knew exactly what she was thinking.  Someone was going to win a prize, and it might even be her.

 

But I know better.  I know she’ll never win a prize for writing the best essay, or the most persuasive one.  She’ll never win a prize for perfect attendance or the most improved record.  She’ll pass her classes, the way she always does, because her father and I work hard to support her efforts, because her teachers modify the requirements for her, because there’s no point in failing a child who is this far from normal.

 

But I don’t say anything like that to her.  “Wouldn’t that be great, honey?” is what I do say, though I wonder how deceitful it is to take that approach.  Would it be kinder, in the end, to tell her, “The rewards are for other children, not for you”?  To let her know the deck is stacked against her, and she hasn’t got a prayer?

 

This relates to writing in a roundabout way.  When I was younger, I was surrounded by people who assumed that I could never be a writer – I wasn’t smart enough, obviously, or talented enough, and I had no hope of ever becoming either of those things.  These people made no bones about telling me how ridiculous it was for me to even entertain the idea that I could earn my living with words.

 

I’m not the only one who has had to shed a lot of baggage in order to write for a living.  Our friends and families think they’re doing us some kind of favor when they explain how hard it is to succeed, how the deck is stacked against us, how we’re misguided, naive and arrogant to think we could ever do this thing that matters so much to us.  “Don’t give up your day job,” they say, as if we haven’t done the agonizing calculations time and again.

 

So here is my piece of advice.  Get rid of those people.  Surround yourself with the ones who say, “Wouldn’t that be great, honey?”  You already know about the deck, and how it is stacked.  What you don’t need is someone telling you that you haven’t got a prayer.  What you do need are people who will tell you, “I think you can do it,” even when they’re not sure you can.     

“Inspiration is for amateurs.”

Monday, February 8th, 2010

Or so says the artist Chuck Close.  And even though I spent half the morning staring out the coffee shop window, hoping the divine spark would fall out of the sky and land on my head so that I could figure out how to write the scene I’m working on in my newest novel, I absolutely agree with him.  

I have had entire books that seemed to spill out of my pen, inspired by whatever muse is in charge of such things, and I have had entire books that were pulled one drop of blood from my flesh after another, and while I like the “spill out of my pen” process better than “pull one drop of blood from my flesh after another,” on reading the works in question, you would have no idea which is which.  It’s not as if one process yields a better result than the other.   And you learn a great deal about the craft of writing from the tough slog of writing even when you don’t feel particularly inspired.  That’s why I have always believed it’s a mistake to think that you should wait for inspiration to strike before writing.

Does that mean you should force ideas before they’re ready?  No.  It just means that you should sit down every day and write — and not just write, but write with the purpose of making progress toward a goal: to finish an article, to polish an essay, to respond to a writing prompt, to draft a scene in your novel.

Words matter

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010

If, before this week, you had told me that I would one day agree with Sarah Palin on anything, I would have snorted hot tea up my nose and wondered what you were smoking. 

That was before Palin called out Rahm Emanuel, the White House chief of staff, for using the word “retarded” as a slur.  I am so sick of hearing this word used that way that I can only stand and applaud.  I am sick of the way we treat the cognitively impaired as second-class citizens, long after we’ve agreed that it is wrong when done on the basis of gender or race or creed.  But it’s still okay to use the word “retarded” as the ultimate insult, in the process disrespecting every human who has ever struggled with an imperfectly functioning brain.

I have heard the word retarded used to describe my daughter, and I always wince.  She is cognitively impaired because of a genetic disorder that damaged her brain before she was born.  There is nothing any of us could do about her condition.  To mock and scorn her for it is the cowardly act of a person with few redeeming qualities, one who must denigrate others in order to feel good about himself. 

Not too long ago, I asked colleagues on a writers’ board to stop using “retarded” when they meant “ignorant.”  One or two people told me they didn’t realize how offensive it was and apologized.  The others basically told me to go screw myself for asking them to grow up and use some judgment.  

This was disheartening, to say the least: if writers don’t accept that words matter, how can we expect anyone else in the world to?  Words do matter, and when you use ”retarded” as a slur, you are dismissing and dehumanizing my daughter.  And she, sir, is a finer human being than you and I could ever hope to be. 

If you could see how hard she works to learn a thing I can pick up on the first try, you would not be scornful.  You would stand in awe of her persistence and her dedication to knowledge.  If you could listen to her conversation, and hear how she assures everyone that they are beautiful and she loves them, you would see the depth of compassion she has for others.  She does not see the purpose of hurting and insulting people, even those she disagrees with.  If you could see the way she stands up to someone who loses his temper and tells him he reminds her of the Beast in Beauty and the Beast, you would admire her courage and her sense of self.  

You may call my daughter retarded, and if you mean it as a description, it is true; if you mean it as an insult, the slur is on you.  You are something far worse than retarded: you are ignorant, and know it, and can’t be bothered to educate yourself.  That, in my opinion, is the condition worthy of mockery and scorn.

Perfect practice

Monday, February 1st, 2010

Writers are often encouraged to get in the habit of writing every day, whether it’s a journal entry, a blog post, a response to a random writing prompt — or actual work on a work-in-progress.  The idea behind this is that by getting into a habit, you’ll accomplish something: you’ll become a better writer, you’ll finish that novel you’ve been working on, you’ll finally get the Pulitzer you should have been awarded years ago.

Like many tips for writers, there’s some truth to this: if you don’t actually write, then, you know, you can’t really be a writer.  And a lot of people complain they don’t have time to write when in fact they simply don’t make time to write — it’s not a priority so they don’t treat it as one.  If it is a priority, then you have to treat it like one, and thus you need to do it every day or some approximation thereof.

The only problem with this line of reasoning is that practice, even practicing every day, doesn’t make you better at anything.  I’ve read blogs by people who have been blogging for years, and they still don’t know the difference between it’s and its; others have never risen above turning out what could charitably be called workmanlike prose.

My first martial arts instructor used to say, repeatedly, “Practice doesn’t make perfect.  Perfect practice makes perfect.”  I’m not going to quibble over whether anyone can become perfect at anything, including martial arts, but the point is a valid one: if you practice a sloppy front kick ten thousand times, it’s still a sloppy front kick on the ten-thousandth-and-first try. 

I’m not saying that you need to make sure that every sentence you write is perfectly formed: that’s a sure road to writer’s block.   I am saying that if you hope to improve as a writer, you need to do more than simply put words on a page for a certain number of minutes or words per day.  Your practice has to include a component of assessment.  You need to figure out if you’re getting better, and where you continue to need improvement. 

I’m not saying you need, necessarily, to join a critique group (that’s a conversation for another time, because those groups can help you grow or strangle your growth, and lots of possibilities in between).  I’m saying you need to be able to tell if you’re getting better, over time.  This could mean submitting your work to editors (or agents) and seeing what happens.  It could mean taking a writing class at a nearby university. It could mean finding a mentor.  It could mean educating yourself on how to improve your writing, by reading books on writing or just reading books, period.  

In any case, it isn’t enough to simply put the words to the page and expect to improve.  Your practice has to include a component of judgment and assessment, though how you get that is up to you.