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How to Find a Literary Agent for Your Book

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This post is one of the most popular at my site and is regularly updated.

In today’s market, probably 80 percent of books published by New York houses get sold by literary agents. Agents are experts in the publishing industry and represent the interests of their author-clients. They have inside contacts with specific publishers and know which editors are most likely to buy a particular work. Perhaps most important, agents can secure the best possible book deal for you, negotiate a fair contract, protect your rights, ensure you are paid accurately and fairly, and run interference when necessary between you and the publisher.

The best agents are career-long advisers and managers.

Traditionally, agents get paid only when they sell your work, and they receive a 15 percent commission on everything you get paid (your advance and royalties). It is best to avoid agents who charge fees other than the standard 15 percent.

Do you need a literary agent?

It depends on what you’re selling. If you want to be published by one of the major New York houses (e.g., Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, Macmillan), then you more or less need to have one—and want one on your side.

If you’re writing for a niche market (e.g., vintage automobiles) or wrote an academic or literary work, then you might not need an agent. Agents are motivated to take on clients based on the size of the advance they think they can get. If your project doesn’t command a decent advance, then you may not be worth an agent’s time, and you’ll have to sell the project on your own.

There are different levels of commercial viability: some books are “big” books, suitable for Big Five traditional publishers (e.g., Penguin Random House, HarperCollins), while others are “quiet” books, suitable for mid-size and small presses. The most important thing to remember is that not every book is cut out to be published by a New York house, or even represented by an agent; most writers have a difficult time being honest with themselves about their work’s potential. Here are some rules of thumb about what types of books are suitable for a Big Five traditional publisher:

Genre or mainstream fiction, including romance, erotica, mystery/crime, thriller, science fiction, fantasy, young adult, new adult
Nonfiction books that would get shelved in your average Barnes & Noble or independent bookstore—which requires a strong hook or concept and author platform. Usually a New York publisher won’t sign a nonfiction book unless it anticipates selling 10,000 to 20,000 copies minimum.

To better understand what sells, buy a month-long subscription to PublishersMarketplace.com and study the deals that get announced. It’s a quick education in what commercial publishing looks like.

Also, check out Manuscript Wish List, where agents/editors specifically spell out what they’re looking for. It’ll keep you up on trends.

If your work doesn’t look like a good candidate for a New York house, don’t despair. There are many mid-size houses, independent publishers, small presses, university presses, regional presses, and digital-only publishers who might be thrilled to have your work. You just need to find them.

How to find literary agents

When writers ask me “Can you find me a literary agent?” they don’t realize it’s kind of like asking me “Can you find me the right spouse?” This is a research process and decision that is best conducted by you. I think you’ll understand why by the end of this post.

PublishersMarketplace.com is the best place to research literary agents; not only do many agents have member pages there, but you can search the publishing deals database by genre, category, and/or keyword to pinpoint the best agents for your work. Some other resources to consider:

AgentQuery.com. About 1,000 agent listings and an excellent community/resource for any writer going through the query process.

QueryTracker.net. About 200 publisher listings and 1,000 agent listings.

WritersMarket.com. About 400 to 600 agent listings. $5.99/month subscription fee.

The Guide to Literary Agents blog is also an excellent resource for news and views related to literary agents.

Some writers really dislike conducting this market research. While I think writers should undertake this task for themselves, if you prefer to hire someone to find appropriate agents for you to submit to, try Grad Student Freelancers.

What you should submit to a literary agent

If you write fiction, the agent will want to see the full manuscript (assuming you’re an unpublished or unproven fiction writer). If you write nonfiction, the marketability of your idea and your platform often matter as much as the writing, if not more so. You have to prepare a book proposal that’s essentially a business plan arguing why your book will sell in the current market.

You should finish (and polish) your manuscript or book proposal before submitting. I meet many writers who are very excited about having a story idea, but unless you’re in a situation where the timing is absolutely critical, finish the work first—and be confident that you’re submitting your best work. One of the biggest mistakes new writers make is rushing to get published when there’s no reason to rush. Do not expect the agent to help you to the finish line on your manuscript. While some agents may be open to such editorial work, you’ll get a much better response if you submit a manuscript or proposal that you can see no further way to improve.

Okay, let’s assume you’re ready. Every agent has unique requirements for submitting your materials. The most common materials you’ll be asked for:

Query letter. This is a one-page pitch letter that gives a brief description of your work. Here’s how to write a query for a novel. Here’s another post on writing a query for a nonfiction book.

Novel synopsis. This is a brief summary (usually no more than one or two pages) of your story, from beginning to end. It must reveal the ending. Here’s how to write one.


Nonfiction book proposal. These are complex documents, usually twenty to thirty pages in length (minimum). For more explanation, see my comprehensive post. 


Novel proposal. This usually refers to your query letter, a synopsis, and perhaps the first chapter. There is not an industry-standard definition of what a novel proposal is.

Sample chapters. When sending sample chapters from your novel or memoir, start from the beginning of the manuscript. (Don’t select a middle chapter, even if you think it’s your best.) For nonfiction, usually any chapter is acceptable.

Important: Almost no agent accepts full manuscripts on first contact. This is what “no unsolicited materials” means when you read submission guidelines. However, almost all agents will accept a one-page query letter unless their guidelines state otherwise. (If they do not accept queries, that means they are a completely closed market.)

After you send out queries, you’ll get a mix of responses, including:

No response at all, which means it’s a rejection. Don’t sweat it—this is normal. Move on.
A request for a partial manuscript and possibly a synopsis.
A request for the full manuscript.

If you receive no requests for the manuscript or book proposal, then there might be something wrong with your query. If you succeed in getting your material requested, but then get rejected, there may be a weakness in the manuscript or proposal.

How to choose the best literary agent for you

1. What’s her sales track record? This is usually the number-one sign of whether you have a good agent. Evaluate her client list and the publishers she has recently sold to. Are the publishers she sells to the types of publishers you consider appropriate for your work? Are the advances her clients command in the “good” range for you? Keep in mind these factors can be somewhat subjective and are also based on your genre/category and your own sense of author identity.

Bottom line, ensure that your agent has experience and success in representing the type of work you’re trying to sell. Most agents will list current clients on their site, or you can find agent-publisher deals reported at PublishersMarketplace (subscription required).

A note about new agents: Sometimes it’s easier to get represented by a new agent who is trying to build a roster of clients. If you’re a new author with a potentially small deal who wouldn’t interest an established agent, then a new and “hungry” agent can work out just as well. Even if an agent’s track record is still developing, take a look at her previous experience in publishing. For example, was she formerly an editor? Or consider the experience and reputation of the agency she is associated with. If she’s working at a solid agency with a track record, and/or has a long work history with the New York houses, these are good signs. Just make sure she hasn’t been trying to develop her list for a very long time.

2. Does her communication inspire confidence? If an agent treats you professionally, that’s a good sign. Timeless signs of professionalism in agents: they get back to you in a timely manner, they communicate clearly and respectfully, their business operations aren’t cloaked in secrecy, they treat you as a business partner.

Unfortunately, the biggest complaint I hear from agented but unpublished writers is they can’t get a response from their agent any longer—or there’s poor communication about the status of the project. A good agent doesn’t leave her clients in the dark for extended periods and will offer clarity about each stage of the process—no loose ends, no vague reports.

That said: I have observed some unpublished writers who seem to be very demanding and have expectations outside the norm. What does demanding look like? Expecting to call your agent at any time and have a discussion, expecting daily contact, or expecting near-instant response. Remember: agents work for free until your book is sold. Their most immediate responses go to their established clients—the ones bringing in the revenue.

3. What’s her level of enthusiasm? Do you get the feeling that the agent genuinely believes in you and your work? While agents are certainly interested in a sale, they’re also interested in projects that excite them and clients whose long-term careers they feel proud to represent and help manage.

While it’s not possible to put a quantitative measure on enthusiasm, think of it this way: your agent is going to be handling your publisher contracts, negotiations, and other financial matters (including payment to you) for the life of your work. You need to trust and respect her. She champions your cause to the publisher throughout the life of the book’s publication and resolves conflicts. You’re entering into a meaningful business partnership, and fit is important.

What to expect from a good literary agent


A good agent will have a conversation with you about any rejections he receives from publishers. If your agent has a good relationship with the editors/publishers he’s querying, then he’ll be receiving meaningful feedback that he can share with you. You can then discuss how your book or the proposal could be repositioned to sell. However, his time or energy might be exhausted if he believes the project would take far more work and retooling to make a sale that’s not worth his time. Or, he might not believe you’re willing to reposition the book.

Don’t assume that your agent isn’t good enough if your book didn’t sell. But agents should have an open and frank discussion with you about the rejections received. You also have a right to know what publishers were queried, especially after a long period of time has passed. You may also ask for the rejection letters, though your agent is under no obligation to provide you with the specific contact information of editors and publishers.

Did the agent help you improve your query, pitch, and/or proposal? A good agent will improve the query/proposal package. There might be a handful of authors who can put together a crackerjack proposal, but they are few. An agent should be ensuring the pitch or proposal is primed for success, and this almost always requires at least one round of feedback and revision.

Your agent MUST know his way around a book contract. A good agent understands where to ask for more money or rights, and knows if a client is getting the best deal possible. (If an agent passes you a publisher’s boilerplate contract to sign with no changes, you may be in big trouble.) Many authors like to have an agent who is an “attack dog,” but primarily an agent needs to understand how to protect your rights (by changing or inserting the right contract language) and prevent you from signing an unfair or substandard agreement. Agents know the industry norms, when those norms are changing, and when to push for more. However, they also understand that not everything is about money—sometimes it’s better to partner with a publisher offering a smaller advance. A great agent advises you on the pros and cons of the deals you’re offered.

A great agent is an author’s business manager, mentor, and cheerleader. Agents are also there to hold your hand when things go wrong with the editor or publisher. They prop you up when you’re down, they celebrate your successes publicly, they look for opportunities you might not see, and they attend to your financial best interests as well as your big-picture career growth.

People in the industry should recognize the name of your agent. If you can’t find any online mention or reference to your agent, and he’s not a member of the Association of Authors’ Representatives (AAR), that’s a red flag. Check his track record carefully. See who he’s sold to and how recently. One thing you needn’t worry about too much is the size of the agency; this doesn’t necessarily correlate with the quality of the agent or the size of the deal you can expect.

Are all agents created equally?

Yes and no. As industry consultant Mike Shatzkin points out, there are potentially hundreds of agents capable of selling any particular book. What tends to be most important is chemistry between agent and author, and the agent being invested in the author and her work. Shatzkin says,

The same agent is not equally good for every book they might represent. Enthusiasm matters. Happening to have strong connections with three editors who would just love this particular book matters. Having belief that [you] can be groomed into a prolific author over time would matter. In other words, the agent who made the most deals for the most dollars last year might not make a better deal for [you] and this book than somebody who had done half as well.

For more excellent information on how to tell a good agent from a not-so-good agent, check out Writer Beware on Literary Agents (or, go straight to the section on Amateur Agents).

Final Note

If you’d like an in-depth guide on getting published, consider my book on the topic: Publishing 101: A First-Time Author’s Guide. 

How to Write From a Child’s Perspective—But for Adult Readers

If you’ve ever tried to write children’s literature, you probably found that it’s just as hard as writing for adults, even if the work is typically shorter. Plus there’s the added challenge of understanding and writing about the challenges faced by kids today, which can be different than those you faced twenty, thirty, or forty more years ago. (For those curious about writing for youth, here’s a great post on YA writing.)

But what if you want to write from a child’s perspective for adults? In the latest Glimmer Train bulletin, novelist Sophie Chen Keller offers an incisive look at what’s different about it:

Theme played an important role. I explored topical social issues, like gentrification, homelessness, immigration and alternative family structures, and raised questions around losing, searching and finding—on being human, on living. I relied on symbolism and imagery to imbue simple or childlike elements with depth of meaning. And finally, while the narrator is a child, he is surrounded by adults who are dealing with adult problems and situations; their stories of loss and longing are the beating heart of the book. Their stories are the anchor to this world as we set sail for the golden days of childhood we lost.

Read Keller’s entire insightful essay.

For more writing advice, check out other essays in Glimmer Train:

The Long First Draft by Andrew Porter

Cutting out the Bad Bits by Will Boast

The Political Lives of Characters by Siamak Vossoughi

Ethics & the Literary Agent: What Rights Do Authors Have?

Today’s guest post is a literary agent Q&A by Sangeeta Mehta (@sangeeta_editor), a former acquiring editor of children’s books at Little, Brown and Simon & Schuster, who runs her own editorial services company.

By definition, literary agents are writers’ representatives. They work for writers, negotiating offers from publishers until their client deems them acceptable. But in today’s complex agent-author relationship, many writers feel that they aren’t in the position to negotiate with their agent, partly because they don’t understand the publishing landscape as well as their agent does, but also because they are wary of coming across as difficult or demanding.

Although it’s becoming more common for writers to change agents several times during the course of their careers, most would prefer to stay with one agent. But are writers really in the position to speak up if they feel that an agent isn’t honoring their obligations, contractual or otherwise? If they do speak up, what are the consequences? I asked Mary C. Moore of Kimberley Cameron & Associates and DongWon Song of Morhaim Literary.

SANGEETA MEHTA: When it comes to queries, some agents have a “no response means no” policy. From the agent’s point of view this is understandable, as sending out declines takes time away from their existing clients. But many writers feel that they deserve some sort of answer within a reasonable amount of time, especially those who have researched the agent and followed the agent’s submissions guidelines. Would you advise these writers to query only those agents whose policy is to respond?

Mary C. Moore: The submission response time is an issue that needs to be addressed by the writing community. It’s become impossible for agents to keep up. I get 12-15 submissions a day. And I’ve heard higher numbers from bigger agencies. Pre-internet, a writer had to invest time and a little money in submitting via snail mail. Now it’s just a click of a button. I would love it if literary agencies could follow in lit magazines’ footsteps and start charging a nominal fee to submit, i.e. a dollar per submission, about the cost of a snail mail sub. At least a writer would pause and consider if they really do want to submit to that particular agent, and the money could be used to pay submission readers. In return the writer would be guaranteed a timely response. But the AAR would need to be convinced.

In the meantime I understand those “no response means no” agents. To respond to every query (as is policy at our agency) we have to either respond daily (impossible), set aside a whole day or weekend to work through the submissions that have piled up (at the cost of our non-work lives), use a slush reader (who often does it for free), or close down to submissions. Plus we ourselves aren’t paid during the hours it takes to respond to submissions. Believe me, most of us feel the weight of the slush pile like a yoke, and although we want to be as supportive and responsive to everyone, it’s impossible. So in actuality, those agencies that have the “no response means no” are giving your submissions a fresh look, as they don’t have to worry about responding to 50 emails after yours.

DongWon Song: If an agent’s policy is “no response means no” then you don’t really have a lot of options if you haven’t heard back in the allotted time frame. That said, and my colleagues will probably kill me for pointing this out, if an agent doesn’t respond and they consider that a “no,” then an email confirming it’s a pass can’t very well do more harm. It’s possible if your nudge is irritating they’ll remember that in the future, but a polite check-in seems reasonable. I wouldn’t hold your breath for a response, though.

But plenty of good agents don’t respond to all queries. I wouldn’t consider this an indicator of whether or not you should submit.

Most agents don’t provide feedback on a query letter or the first few pages of a manuscript, as this isn’t part of an agent’s job. Also, there’s always the possibility of an angry response or some other kind of backlash. If a writer really is open to feedback, however, how can they communicate this? By indicating this in their query letter, though at the risk of sounding unprofessional? By very politely responding to a pass letter and requesting a line or two of feedback?

MCM: We don’t normally give feedback because there just isn’t enough time. On the rare occasion we do, it’s because we saw potential and want that writer to think of us in their next submission. Angry responses and backlash don’t faze us. We get those often in response to the form rejections anyway—they are deleted and the writer blocked.

We assume a submitting writer is open to feedback (if you’re not, you shouldn’t be trying to get traditionally published!), so please do not indicate so in your query or respond to a pass requesting a line or two of feedback. Those requests only serve to make us feel pressured, and we have enough pressure from the 200+ queries after yours. It’s not unprofessional, it just makes you appear naive as to how the publishing industry works. Those responses are also deleted (although the writer is not blocked).

I like to use a 3-tiered form rejection system.

Your basic rejection (most common),
The concept has market potential but the writing is too rough, or
The writer is skilled but I subjectively didn’t connect with it.

This system is the best I can do to personalize feedback.

DWS: This one is tough and there’s not a lot a querying author can do to indicate that they’re open to feedback or not. In most cases, we’ve all been burned by sharing some thoughts, which leads either to a poor reception or an assumption of a greater connection than the spirit in which the feedback was offered.

That said, if I feel like I have a specific, actionable editorial thought that’s worth sharing with the writer I will generally do so. It’s rare that I have something that concrete when passing on a manuscript and I’m not requesting a resubmit, but if I do I’ll share it.

I generally don’t look to see if the author has indicated that they’re open to feedback or not. If you’re reaching out to me to work with you, I assume you’re interested in what I think. If that’s not the case, then deleting my email unread harms neither me nor the writer.

If a writer receives a request to revise & resubmit (R&R) from an agent, they usually must wait several months for the agent to make a decision. Again, this is understandable, as reviewing a full manuscript is very time consuming for the agent. But if an agent doesn’t respond in the promised amount of time (assuming such a promise is made), and since no actual agreement has been signed, do you think writers should be able to freely send out their manuscript to other agents?

MCM: What you are referring to is an exclusive. When an agent sends an R&R, they want first shot at the revision, as it’s their notes the writer is incorporating. However, it should be established before the writer begins the revision how long an exclusive read the agent gets. Between two to six weeks is a fairly standard time frame. If the agent is unable to read the manuscript in the agreed upon time, then the writer is free to submit elsewhere. Both parties should be clear about the rules of their exclusive agreement and communication is key. If an agent has invested the time in an R&R, they will very much want to be updated on its status.

Important to note: an R&R is a lengthy editorial letter or phone call in which the agent requests major developmental edits encompassing plot, pace, character arcs, world-building etc. It is not a quick personal note as to why the agent has passed on your submission. Those brief personal rejections just mean the agent saw potential in your writing, but they probably do not want to see the same manuscript again.

DWS: Absolutely. That said, it would behoove said writer to communicate that intent to the agent with enough time for the agent to respond. I don’t consider an R&R a permanent exclusive. I don’t think it’s inappropriate for a writer to ask about expectations on timing on a resubmission. While I wouldn’t consider that a concrete exclusivity window, establishing some sense of a time frame is helpful to all parties. Once that has been exceeded, I don’t think I could be mad about that writer sending the work out, so long as I was notified ahead of time.

Before signing with an agent, is there a way for a writer to gauge how dedicated the agent will be to their current book project, and to their writing career as a whole? For example, is it appropriate to ask how many publishers the agent plans to submit their project to, and what happens if it doesn’t sell? Or more personal questions about if the agent plans to remain in the field for the foreseeable future, or if agenting is their main, full-time job? Could such questions backfire for the writer and potentially encourage the agent to lose interest? 

MCM: Rather than ask the agent a ton of awkward questions that you’re only going to get positive spin answers on, it’s better to do research to gauge how an agent works. If you do get an offer, ask if you can reach out to their other clients on social media, in particular the ones that are yet to be published or still early in their careers, and get their take. And you should have done research on their agency itself before submitting, e.g., does it have a long history in the business? If it’s newer, who is the founder and what is their experience?

It’s pretty hard to get an agent to lose interest from a few questions. We expect to be interviewed as well, and it always surprises me when the author has zero questions (you know who you are, current clients)—although maybe try not to come across as distrustful or like you’re grilling them. That could turn us off. Clients who are unreasonably demanding and/or confrontational can be difficult to partner with.

DWS: I approach signing a client as a long-term commitment. Ideally an author-agent relationship is one that persists over the course of your mutual careers. This can be decades. So, of course you should enter into such a relationship with open eyes. I tell prospective clients to ask me the most uncomfortable questions they can think of.

An agent is a business partner. If you want to have a long-lasting and mutually beneficial relationship, you should discuss what happens in the hard moments up front, because the life of any writer is full of difficult decisions, setbacks, and challenging moments. You deserve to know what kind of agent you’ll have in those moments. If you need someone to hold your hand, make sure that’s the agent you’re signing with. If you want to be left alone to figure things out, then make sure that’s what you’re getting.

Remember, just because someone offers rep doesn’t mean you have to say yes. An agent represents you. An agent works for you. It’s your career. It’s your life. It’s your work. Don’t let a bad partner ruin that.

Sometimes an agent-author agreement is signed right away, but the agent will ask their client to revise before submitting the book project out to publishers. If, upon seeing the revision, the agent still doesn’t think the work is ready, and the writer doesn’t think she can continue to revise or write a new book, is there no choice but to end the agreement? What’s the best course of action for the writer if the agent wants to part ways, but the writer doesn’t?

MCM: I ALWAYS have my clients do at least one revision. This is a given with most agents, so expect it and iron out that your visions align before signing the contract. And honestly, if the agent wants to part ways, it’s in the author’s best interest to agree. Cut ties and spend the time finding a new agent who shares your vision.

DWS: Again, an agent is someone who should want to work with you and someone who believes in your work. If they’re not committed to your career over the long term, you should seriously think about whether or not this is the person who’s going to get you to where you want to go.

Now, that said, if what the agent is really saying is that this isn’t the project to go out with right now, or this project isn’t salvageable, then maybe you should listen to them. As an agent, I don’t sign a book, I sign a writer. Sometimes that means telling a writer to trunk a novel that’s not ready or not right for the market. Sometimes that means finding a different angle to approach the industry than the one that got my attention.

A writer can always terminate their relationship with their agent, especially if they sense that the agent may be violating the AAR’s Canon of Ethics. But if a writer were to report their agent to an organization like the AAR, wouldn’t they be limiting their chances of finding new representation? Risk being ostracized from the industry? 

MCM: Hmm. This is a provocative question. It’s true, the publishing industry is fairly small. The AAR has around 400 agents, and I’ve heard the number of legit but not certified agents is around 1,500. Every agent has a few or more horror stories of writers behaving badly, so the instinct is to believe the agent. However, if the writer has conducted themselves professionally and not ranted about it on social media or tried to smear the agent, but simply terminated their agreement and reported the issue, they shouldn’t have trouble finding someone new. And because it such a small community, most of us have heard whispers if not shouts about those types of agents, so we’re usually aware of who they are. We don’t like “schmagents” any more than writers do.

DWS: Not really. We all want the bad eggs out of the industry. Too many writers already aren’t inclined to trust agents, so if someone really is violating the code of ethics, we all have a vested interest in that being dealt with. It’s possible that the agent’s friends might not be inclined to take you on, but at the end of the day, it’s not a uniform market. While one or two agents might take notice in a bad way, most won’t have any attachment to the situation.

It’s not a big industry, but it’s also not one that is run with any kind of top-down architecture. Frankly, agents in particular are an ornery bunch so if someone tried to tell us to blacklist someone, many would take them on purely out of spite.

No one agent, or really anyone in publishing, can break your career. Anyone who is telling you so is using abusive tactics to control your behavior. Your agent works for you. If they’re failing you, you not only have the right to fire them and find someone who does a better job, you might want to consider if others should be made aware of that particular agent’s practices.

Aside from quality of writing and salability in today’s market, what factors do you take into consideration when making an offer of representation to a writer? Do you think that the success of an author-agent relationship is based more on trust than anything else? How do you know if you can trust the writer, and vice versa?

MCM: Maybe I’m nitpicking definitions here, but trust isn’t the word I’d use, rather respect. Mutual respect is the most important first factor, as it’s easy to establish and maintain if both parties are professional. Trust comes later. Usually I can spot an unprofessional type from hints in the initial query, but if not, and I’m looking to request the full or offer representation, I research the author online extensively. I find those long forgotten blog-posts about hating publishing gatekeepers or rants about submissions on forums. I check out their social media and what kind of persona they have online. Do they pick fights? Make troll comments? Are they quick to jump into mobs? Constantly complaining? I’m all for passion—as artists we thrive on it—but I need to know you can wrangle it to have respectful relationship with the community at large—i.e. your potential reader audience—and me. And vice versa! An agent must respect their client as a professional, or they shouldn’t offer them representation.

DWS: I have a rubric that sometimes I draw out as a triangle, but really it’s three factors. You need to be good at the craft of writing. You need to be good at marketing and promotion. And you need to be good at being a professional (good at communication, collaboration, deadlines, etc). Generally, you need to be really good at least two of the three.

Now, you can succeed by being really great at just one — pretty sure everyone is thinking of at least one example right now— but if I find someone who’s got all three, it’s an immediate yes for me.

The success of that relationship depends on a lot of factors and there are lots of reasons author/agent relationships end. Most of the time it’s for good reasons that make sense. Sometimes it’s a dramatic, gossip-worthy blowout, but the vast majority of the time it’s because either things weren’t working out financially, they just weren’t getting along, or their tastes and interests drifted apart.

Trust is paramount, though, and is something that needs to be earned and maintained. Clear communication is extremely important. I go out of my way, possibly too far, to disclose biases I might have and the relationships that are factoring into any decision we might be making as a team.

Do you have any other advice to writers who sense that there is an imbalance of power between them and their potential or current agent but are afraid to speak up? As an industry, what do you think we can all do for writers to help them feel more comfortable and reassured that agents really are their advocates? 

MCM: The reality? Although we are in this for the love of books, agents only make money when their clients make money. We HAVE to be advocates, because that’s what makes us successful. It doesn’t make sense to sign a project and then ignore the author, no matter the agent’s personality. Reading and editing said manuscript, researching the potential client, phone calls, networking with the right editors, pitching the project, all take time. Time unpaid. Hopefully it’s an investment to secure future commission, but not always. So if a writer is sensing distance from their agent, it’s likely because the agent has realized the time-investment is not going to pay out, and out of necessity they must move on to other projects.

It is important to realize however that “other projects” can come from the same client. Preferably so, considering the aforementioned time investment. I like to discuss a client’s next project as soon as we go out on submission with their previous one, so they will be off writing as I’m out shopping their work. There can be months of no communication during this time. But we both know that the other is working, moving toward a common goal.

My advice is: always be working on the next project(s). This will help you to stop obsessing about whatever your agent is doing for you. It will keep the conversation going as you’ll be pitching them ideas—which will in turn reveal if it makes sense to stay together in the foreseeable future if they like/dislike your pitches. And that will hopefully show you that your agent is your partner, not boss, and that you and you alone are in control of your career.

DWS: Communication is the bedrock of a successful author/agent relationship. If you don’t feel like you can talk to your agent, then you need to seriously consider why that is. In most cases it’s in your head. Those of us in this business can often be anxious, shy, and awkward. I mean, at the root of every publishing professional and writer is someone who liked to sit in quiet rooms with a book, right?

But if you do reach out and you’re still not getting the support you feel you need, then you need to consider if this is the right agent for you. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re a bad agent. It may just mean you have different communication styles and needs.

Agent/author is about fit as much as it is about quality or talent. There are more agents out there and it can be scary to leave yours when you feel like you worked so hard to get there, but you’ll be better served in the long run to find someone who gets you.

I think as an industry we need to be a lot more open about what authors should expect from agents and talk more about failure without shaming either party. Agents can be defensive as a group, but I hope we can get to a place where we can talk more openly about our practices and make sure we’re taking care of the community as a whole.

Mary C. Moore (@Mary_C_Moore) has been with Kimberley Cameron & Associates since 2012. She represents all fiction genres from middle grade to adult. Currently obsessing about finding a female-driven and authored super epic adult fantasy. Find out more at marycmoore.com and kimberleycameron.com.

DongWon Song ‪(@dongwon) represents science fiction and fantasy for adult, young adult, and middle grade readers as well as select nonfiction. He was formerly an editor at Orbit and a product manager for the ebook startup Zola Books. He’s an adjunct instructor in the publishing program at Portland State University. Learn more at www.morhaimliterary.com and www.dongwonsong.com.

Is It Too Late to Start Writing After 50?

Today’s guest post is by author and physician executive Julie Rosenberg.

I have always wanted to write a book.

I grew up with a father who was an English professor and a high school principal. He stressed four things to his two daughters:

Learn to stand on your own two feet.
Pursue a career that you love and don’t let others dissuade you.
Choose to meet the obstacles that you will face head-on.
Learn to read, write, and speak well. He told us these abilities would serve us in all situations and in any career.

I have come to recognize in the intervening years that he was absolutely right.

By fourth grade, I was a passionate reader. I would wake before dawn and sit at the kitchen table, devouring Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie series and the Nancy Drew series. As I grew older, I started writing some short stories of my own. In high school, I loved taking English classes. I wrote (and re-wrote) paper after paper to make them better. It was grueling work—particularly since I attended high school prior to the widespread availability and use of computers and so all of my papers were typewritten. Still, I had always excelled at and enjoyed science as well and, by graduation, I knew that I would pursue a career in medicine.

Although I had to make sacrifices to pursue a medical career—including putting aside any immediate literary aspirations— I have never regretted my decision to become a physician. This choice has given me great opportunities to serve patients in a variety of ways for the past 25 years. And it turned out that language and writing have actually been a central part of my career in medicine. In the past, health consumers had to rely primarily on their physicians in order to receive health-related information, but now 21st-century patients can access health information with just the tap of a button. Writing has allowed me to translate medical information and scientific research into clear health messages and, by so doing, I have been able to empower patients to make more informed decisions regarding their healthcare decisions.

Today, I am over age 50 with a full-time career in a demanding corporate role. It may seem to some like far from the ideal time to write a book. In fact, several family members and friends told me that I was nothing short of crazy when I mentioned my book idea. The wider literary world is so focused on the up and comers, with the National Book Foundation recognizing “5 Under 35” and the New York Public Library’s selecting their “Young Lions.” And yet, I believe—and I’m living proof myself—that one can have a very successful writing career later in life. I also believe that doing something new later in one’s career helps to keep you young.

My forthcoming book is the result of the observations and learnings from my life in corporate America as a physician executive working in global roles and my years as a yoga practitioner and instructor. It is the culmination of many years of observation, an assimilation of information and professional experience. I would not have been able to write it earlier in my life.

Setting about a writing career later in life is a different process than it is for those just beginning a career. I am fortunate to be considered successful by most standards, as I have a medical degree and good business acumen, and I have climbed the corporate ladder to a high-ranking role in a male-dominated business environment. As a writer, I am starting from scratch. I have been building my social network from the ground up (I was not previously a regular user of any social media forum) and working to get the attention of influential people to whom I may be viewed as “just” a first-time author. I lecture regularly to large groups, and I have been a keynote speaker for corporations, patient forums, and premier health spas. Now, in support of my book, I am faced with the task of asking independent bookstores to schedule events for an unknown author without any kind of sales track record. It has not been easy to start again in this way; it has been a humbling experience, to say the least. But I have been gratified by the support of many wonderful people in a variety of disciplines along this journey. In addition, I have learned to speak a new language—that of publishing!

I am also better prepared for this journey than my younger self may have been. The depth of my experiences—both personally and professionally—have informed my world view and, with it, my writing. The sum of my experiences and expertise allowed me to see the societal need for the book that I wanted to write and the platform that I planned to create. Given my business experiences, l found myself reasonably well-equipped to handle the challenges of the business of publishing. I have always been bold, and I learned at an early age to ask for what I want. In my corporate career, I learned when to push back if I get a “no” and to shoot for the moon.

These instincts have served me well in terms of getting information about my book out there to the wider world. Most of all, writing the book has had rewards that I never would have experienced had I not written it. Even pre-publication, I have been overwhelmed by the incredible early endorsements and praise I’ve gotten and by the feedback I’ve received from my blogging and my introduction to communities that have supported me and the book. It’s an encouraging glimpse at the positive impact that my new book will have in helping people to enhance their lives and maintain good health and well-being in these times of busyness and uncertainty. I’ve found a new sense of purpose in my life, and a way to pay it forward by helping people to lead their best lives. I view my book as “preventive medicine” for everyone.

In the words of Henry Ford, “Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young. The greatest thing in life is to keep your mind young.” So keep learning. Take a risk. Try something new. Believe in yourself. Think positively. Think about what all the wisdom of your years makes you uniquely positioned to write about.

And, most of all, don’t use age as an excuse. It’s not your age, it’s your story and your message that are important to your readers.

5 Things I’m Not Doing to Launch My Book—Plus What I’m Doing Instead

Today’s guest post is by author Deanna Cabinian (@DeannaCabinian).

The gist of all marketing advice for authors essentially boils down to: try everything and see what works. I’ve tried a lot of tactics over the last year toone lov market my debut YA novel One Night and now that I’m launching One Love, my second novel, there are some efforts I’m not going to spend any time on.

1. I’m not cold emailing bloggers.

I wasted so much time on this when I launched One Night. I emailed countless bloggers and received very little response. We’re talking like two responses out of 100 emails sent. Talk about time not well spent.

With One Love I am only contacting bloggers who I’ve developed a relationship with over the last year via social media or who I found via Book Razor, a company that combs through blogger and reviewer profiles to create a list of readers who will probably enjoy your book. I tried Book Razor’s cheapest package to see if I could get more people to read and review One Night. I received responses the same day from several bloggers. By using the list I’ve built over the last year, it is a much more effective use of my time.

2. I’m not paying for trade reviews.

With One Night I purchased sponsored reviews from Portland Book Review and Midwest Book Review. Because it was my first book I felt I needed some industry blurb to help me market my book. Here’s the thing, though: I can’t prove that either of these reviews led to a purchase. And as a consumer, I can say that a trade review has never been a huge factor for me when it comes to deciding what books to read. They might pique my interest, but there are plenty of books that review publications like that I don’t and vice versa. For my second novel I’ll be using blurbs from the blog contacts mentioned above.

3. I’m not accepting any and all event opportunities.

As an independent author it’s tempting to accept every publicity option available because few venues are willing to have us. But after doing several events I’ve learned that single author book signings are generally a waste of time. If you analyze the number of books sold versus the time and effort you put into it, the ratio is not a good one. Instead I am only doing multi-author events, events with guaranteed foot traffic (such as festivals and farmers markets), or speaking opportunities that have a built-in audience (for example, school visits).

4. I won’t be spending much time on Facebook.

I know this works for some authors, but for me it has been a bust. I received a handful of likes from an ad campaign I ran (the intended goal was email signups). I find it frustrating that few people see my posts and I get little engagement. I much prefer Instagram where my posts have a 5-6% engagement rate. That might sound low, but when I compare it to other channels, it blows them away. Plus, readers have shared photos of One Night on Instagram, something that has never happened on other networks.

5. I’m not focusing on library outreach.

With my first book a goal of mine was seeing it in libraries. I made calls to local libraries, but most went unanswered. I knew the odds of libraries ordering my book were low, so the next thing I tried was visiting every library within a 15-mile radius. I introduced myself to teen librarians and offered to donate a copy of my book. Some accepted it, others said they had to read it first to make sure it met their standards, and some insisted that there was a glut of donations and they simply could not accept another free book. While I made one or two good connections and my novel is available in a few libraries, I considered this to be a time waster. For my next book I am focusing on online efforts as much as possible.

What book launch strategies have you found success with? What did you do differently with your second book? Let us know in the comments.

How and Why to Edit an Anthology: Addressing the Naysayers

Today’s guest post is by Margot Kahn, who is co-editor, together with Kelly McMasters, of This Is the Place: Women Writing About Home (Seal/Hachette).

Two years ago, a friend and I signed a contract to edit an anthology. Criticism for the book started pouring in before the ink was even dry. It was not for the nature of its content or the quality of the writing that we took the hits; it was for the form. Anthologies don’t sell well. The writing is uneven. People don’t like reading collections. These were the words of the naysayers, and there were many. “Don’t do it,” my friend’s agent said to her without pretense. “Editing an anthology is a heroic amount of work for very little payoff.” We began to think that anthology was a dirty word, and not in a good way.

To be fair, the naysayers weren’t all wrong. Two-thirds of the people we asked to contribute to the collection turned us down, some with encouragement, some with silence, and other still with unsatisfying explanations. (Maria Semple: “Anthologies just aren’t my thing.”) Of the writing that did come in, it was uneven. Younger, little-known writers sent us finely honed gems and established writers—writers with powerhouse agents and award-winning books—sent us essays that needed many revisions. And while I wouldn’t call the work a “heroic” effort, I would say it’s been consuming. I haven’t written much of my own work in the past year, and neither has my co-editor. But the book we have created—this anthology—has turned me into an ardent advocate for the form.

Maybe the word anthology sounds too much like an intro-level college course to be alluring, and for anyone who took ninth-grade English it may forever trigger terrors of the old doorstop Norton. But the basic idea of the anthology is grand: a curated collection where each work plays off the ones beside it to produce a swirling, thought-provoking mix of many voices. Liken it to visual art and the idea becomes commonplace: if a short story collection is an exhibit of one artist’s work, an anthology is most every other room in the museum—a presentation of works by various artists in engaging, enlightening juxtaposition.

Last year, Jesmyn Ward’s The Fire This Time was a “surprise New York Times bestseller.” Why should it be a surprise that a beautifully conceived collection of excellent writers writing on a topic at once timely and historic, of universal and imperative concern, should reach a wide audience? To its credit, the word anthology didn’t appear on this book’s front cover. But perhaps most importantly, and unlike most other anthologies, reviewers weren’t afraid to give it some coverage. Maybe this will be the beginning of a new-found interest on behalf of acquiring editors, writers and readers. In the hopes of advancing the case a step or two further, I’ll take our naysayers’ issues and address them in turn.

“People don’t like reading collections.”

Stop now and imagine the most interesting dinner party you’ve ever been to: each guest is beguilingly beautiful, fascinating, and unique, and every one of them lends something to the conversation. This should be the experience of reading a great anthology. Perhaps more to the point: Attention spans are short. If reading a novel is like watching a movie, which hardly anyone does anymore, reading a collection is akin to watching a 30-minute episode (insert your current Netlix/Amazon Prime/HBO series obsession here). Any collection of episode-length writing should be an easy sell.

More importantly, an anthology has the power to bring a diverse group of voices together. The anthology can expose readers to voices they might not otherwise have found, and it can raise up young or disenfranchised voices alongside the “big name” writers who lend their voices to the cause. Further, the anthology has the ability to reveal trends, themes, and conflict from multiple perspectives, either in a singular moment or over time, and to capture the zeitgeist in a way that any single-authored work cannot.

“The writing is uneven from one piece to the next.”

It would be a simple thing to find a number of stories, essays or poems that hew to a theme and bundle them together into a book. But this should not be the goal of the anthology, nor should it be the norm by which all are judged. Just as a collection of short stories is crafted and curated by an individual author (and, it should be noted, these are often uneven, too), an anthology can be a thoughtful work of collage. It’s the editor’s job to make sure that pieces are of consistent quality, as much as possible.

That said, any collection of diverse voices will by its very nature vary—likely by a wider margin than for a single author—from piece to piece. This should be embraced. When we look for ways in which to understand the divergent and often divisive perspectives of others, there’s no better book form than the anthology. This is the town hall bound in pages, to be held and reflected upon.

“Anthologies don’t sell.”

Blanket proclamations on the salability of any given genre elicit my most exasperated argument. At the end of the day, editors and booksellers report that there is little surety about which books will be break-out bestsellers, which authors will have sure-fire careers, or what the next literary trend will be. But any book that’s not given sufficient attention from its editor, publisher, and author will languish, and the bulk of this work falls mostly to authors.

In this respect, anthologies may, in fact, be harder to sell. Advances are small, editors are often working simultaneously on other projects, contributors who are minimally paid will have little stake in the sales of the book, and branding a collective group is probably harder than a single author/personality. The onus falls to the anthology editor to both prepare for a marketing campaign and to create amongst her contributors a worthwhile network that encourages everyone’s participation in taking the book to market.

Considering all of the above, I would offer the following pieces of practical advice for writers and editors considering taking on an anthology of their own:

Sign with the right press. This almost goes without saying for any project, but perhaps particularly for an anthology because the reputation of your press will make an impact on writers you solicit who don’t know you personally. More than a few times we heard from unknown writers that they were honored to submit to our collection, even though they didn’t know us, because they thought highly of our imprint. And since the book will be a hard enough sell as it is, be sure your press is behind you. For a collection of Native American stories, for example, a university press with a Native American studies department might be the perfect fit; for our collection of women’s voices, we chose a press that’s been devoted to publishing women writers for more than 40 years.

Cast a wide call and leave yourself plenty of time. Writers are busy and scattered creatures. They are often away on assignment or residency, or working on their own deadline. Some writers will say yes and then have a baby or move to a new city or take a new job. Your top wish list of contributors will soon be whittled down considerably if you don’t have much flexibility in your timeline. Furthermore, gathering diverse voices takes time, especially if your network is limited. Reach out through organizations like Cave Canem, Kundiman and LAMBDA, but also ask the people who turn you down for recommendations. In our case, Celeste Ng was too busy with Little Fires Everywhere but suggested we try Naomi Jackson and Hasanthika Sirisena, Daisy Hernandez recommended Jennifer De Leon, and so on.

Count your pennies carefully and know your price. We took a risk and paid out the entirety of our advance to our contributors. The reprint rate of two contributors who we desperately wanted set the bar, and from there we decided to pay everyone an equal wage. This decision may prove foolish on our part, as we’ll need to earn back our advance and then some before we get paid, but we firmly believe in paying writers for their work. Other jobs have kept us afloat in the meantime.

Be organized. Editing an anthology is half editing and half program management. If you are using original work as opposed to reprints, you will spend at least as much time emailing, negotiating contracts, keeping track of contributors’ mailing addresses, updating bios, writing checks, and attending to other paperwork as you will actually editing. If you’re using reprinted material, virtually all your work time will be paperwork. Keep a spreadsheet of your contributors with all the details you’ll need: their contact information and that of their agent, whether or not you’ve received their contract and if there were any changes made to it, where their contribution is in the editing process. And photocopy or scan all contracts before sending to the publisher in case they get lost. (A friend told me about losing the ability to sell foreign rights to her anthology when her publisher couldn’t find the contributor contracts—they’d fallen behind someone’s desk and were found years too late).

Know what you’re willing to fight for. Your publisher is going to want to hold first serial rights to every piece in your anthology, but any writer with a serious agent will not let them get away with that. Before you get into negotiations, know where you stand: Are you going to fight for the rights of your writers, or stand with your publisher?

Prepare to have some hard conversations. If you’re commissioning new work, chances are good that you’ll ask some writer friends, colleagues, even your literary heroes, to be a part of your book. And chances are that you’ll have to turn one or more of them down. The work may wind up being not quite what you expected, or it might overlap too closely with another contributor’s work, or a piece may get hung up in legal review and jeopardize your whole production schedule. This was, without a doubt, the most challenging part of our process. But this isn’t a solo show; it’s a symphony.

Prepare to be the face of the book, its lead champion, publicist, and marketer. While selecting contributors with great networks isn’t a terrible idea, the onus of promoting an anthology will fall to you, the editor. If the purpose of your anthology is to give yourself a bridge between personal projects or put another notch on your tenure resume, the marketing needn’t be much of an issue. If, however, you want your book to have some exposure, you will want to make time for marketing. For me, promoting the work of 29 diverse voices is both a joy and, as one of our contributors noted, a form of activism. Be realistic about your time and priorities before you commit to the process.

How I Used Writing to Survive (Or: Writing Despite Illness)

Photo credit: tvdflickr via Visual Hunt / CC BY

Today’s guest post is by author Audrey Berger Welz.

I started writing seriously after being diagnosed with early onset Parkinson’s. Now was the time to do it, or quit talking about it. I began with children’s books, starting with the story I had been promising myself to write, Pepperoni Moon, which was about the power of love, and two stray cats.

I thought it would be easy writing a picture book. I was very proud of myself when I finished this cute and clever 3,000-word story until I discovered that the maximum word count had to be no more than 1,500 words but 500 would be better. I never imagined it would be so difficult to tell a good story with so few words.

I attended workshops and slowly learned more about the art of writing and about the business of publishing. It kept me occupied and focused on something other than my illness. I kept going, and each time I did, something new came out and I would share that with my husband and friends. And then came Emily and Bess—where it really began.

Although my life was happy and good, I couldn’t deny my disease all together. I was trying to get adjusted to medicines, walking was not as easy, but still, I was able to do it on my own without a walker or wheelchair. Then there was typing. My hands would lock up and get stuck on keys and I would regularly type six S’s and seven A’s. But I remained determined.

Mind you that before all this, I taught yoga. However, I believe the universe has had something much larger in store for me, and now I believe it more than ever—such as learning how to face adversity with love, and understanding the power and role creativity can play in keeping our soul strong. We think it’s all about the body, but it’s not. A strong, creative elastic soul is equally important when it comes down to survival.

I began singing to my husband every night and writing every day. I became obsessed. I couldn’t allow myself to get dragged down. Simple was not in my vocabulary and depression was something I couldn’t afford. I told my doctor her job was to worry and mine was to have a good life. I forged my way with humor, dignity, heart, and spirit, and with a lot of patience and help from my loved ones and friends. But I always kept in mind that people are more inclined to visit someone with a happy spirit then someone who is depressed, so I fought to stay on the side of productive, creative and happy.

I co-found a workshop called Sing For Your Health for people with Parkinson’s Disease, and I continued with Emily and Bess, the story of two elephants in captivity who happened to be members of the Circus of the Queens.

Music and writing added joy not only to my life, but my husband’s, too. I started giving home concerts in our apartment with my guitar friend, Hendrik. They were a big success. I was invited to participate on a panel with my neurologist at a Michael J. Fox / Davis Phinney Foundation event about people living well with PD. And I became a Parkinson’s karaoke queen, dragging my husband to karaoke clubs as part of my physical therapy routine.

I was very proud of how I was dealing with this disease. Emily and Bess melded into the Circus of the Queens after my husband had asked me who the queens were and I couldn’t come up with an answer. It also slowly became a full-blown adult novel and it grew and grew as I wrote and rewrote until I fell in love with my own pages. Then in just a second my world changed. Like a tsunami crashing its way to shore with all the force and destruction it could muster, an undiagnosed aneurism exploded in a major abdominal artery as my novel was nearing completion.

“Your wife is very sick, very sick,” they told my husband. Truthfully they expected I had about twenty minutes of life left in me, but I surprised them. I lived! They went in and operated, again, and again, and again—four major surgeries in two weeks. I was put into a medically induced coma for close to three weeks, and was on feeding tubes for about a month. Later I was told that I had had less than a one percent chance of survival.

Yet I held onto my dreams. I hadn’t quite finished my novel and was oh so close. I hadn’t held my book in my hands, so I could not die. Plus I had yet to introduce my muse, Donatella, to the world.

While in my coma I saw my novel written out word for word. It was in a triangle surrounded by a circle and encompassed by a square. I used it to draw out every ounce of strength in me. Even though I couldn’t move, talk, and could barely see, I would recite passages in my head trying to communicate with the doctors that I was the same girl who had written this beautiful book. Though now disabled, my brain was intact, and I wanted to live. I was worth saving and I needed to hold my finished novel as a book, in my hands.

If I told you all that I’ve gone through to survive you’d never believe me. My charts even had the claims manager from my health insurance company crying. I had to console her.

I was in hospitals and rehab centers for five and a half months. I almost forgot what our apartment looked liked and couldn’t imagine an evening of normalcy with my husband. Two years later I am still teaching myself to walk, but I am out in the world once again dragging my husband to karaoke clubs where I sing Etta James and Amy Winehouse, Patsy Cline, Otis Redding and others. I’m back at Sing For Your Health and taking water aerobics. I finished my novel one finger at a time. And after numerous rejections and almost as many revisions, I got signed by Rare Bird Books. I’m now a published debut author, a title I love and wear with pride—and writing a sequel called Circus of the Queens: The Shadow of Lillya. My muse, Donatella, is quite happy that her story is available to the world.

When I was in the emergency room of the hospital in horrible pain, a nurse was filling out a form and asked my husband what I did for a living. To simplify things he told her I was unemployed. But even in that state I would not allow that to be the answer. My husband says that I bolted up from the gurney and told the nurse, “No I am not. I am an author. I wrote a book.”

If I had died those would have been my last words. But I survived and my husband says that through all of this, my writing and Circus of the Queens saved us and sustained us by adding joy and happiness to our home daily, making us laugh, making us cry, but leaving us always with a smile, because that’s what the power of imagination can do.

Why Pursue Traditional Publishing? (Are There Enough Good Reasons?)

Photo credit: Phillie Casablanca via Visualhunt / CC BY

Today’s guest post is by author Kristen Tsetsi, who is a regular contributor to this site through the 5 On series.

I had beyond-exciting fantasy plans for my latest novel, The Age of the Child, and first among them was that it would not be self-published.

I’ve self-published before. My first novel, Pretty Much True, received agent praise but no takers. As it was explained over the phone by one praising, but non-taking, agent—and by another who said essentially the same thing in a very nice email—the book was literary and I was an unknown. “So hard to market in this climate,” they said. It was because of the agents’ praise that I felt safe to self-publish.

I didn’t try for an agent with my second novel, The Year of Dan Palace, because I’d been disillusioned about the traditional publishing business. (More on that later.) Between the disillusionment period and the completion of The Age of the Child, however, four long years had passed. I’d forgotten the turmoil and was ready to try again.

The fantasy evolved as I wrote and rewrote my query: The book would, first, be Published (capital “P”). It would, consequently, see limitless success. It would make lists. Lists. It would be reviewed in People magazine and the New York Times. One day, I’d wake up to an email from my Editor (capital “E”) telling me—in much the same way Richard Bach found out about the success of Jonathan Livingston Seagull—that The Age of the Child was selling out. Readers were going crazy for it. I was, in fact, rich!

It would be made into a movie. (Of course.)

These are all normal fantasies, I’m sure. But I only really believed one of them. I really, truly believed The Age of the Child would be Published. Not only was it timely, but it wasn’t overtly literary—nor was it likely to be misconstrued as esoteric (as Pretty Much True often was).

“If this one doesn’t make it,” I told my husband over cold beers on a hot summer deck, “then I don’t know what I can write that will.”

If this one doesn’t make it, I told him, I might be unmanageably devastated for a little while.

“Making it,” even just once, was mandatory.

I was first introduced to what it meant to have the “right” approval in an undergraduate literature class. The instructor was discussing the difference between literary and commercial fiction, and I remember that I was annoyed by what I perceived as her high snobbery of elevating one style of fiction over another. (If Nathaniel Hawthorne’s heavy-handed symbolism was “literary,” I thought, I’d take commercial. I’ve since learned that in addition to a complex algorithm measuring sparseness, inventiveness of style, and the plot-to-character ratio, in what way breasts are described—and how long the author has been dead—has much to do with whether fiction qualifies as “literary.”)

The need for the “right” approval was further implied in creative writing workshops. Let me say first that I found the MFA program to be incredibly valuable, personally. While I don’t think any MFA program—no matter where in the Midwest it is located—entitles a writer to bragging rights, I do think it can be helpful for those who might otherwise lack the motivation to write something to completion. Paying tuition for time to do nothing but write can be inspiring. It’s also creatively energizing to sit in a room full of other writers who like to talk about writing. On a more professional level, the workshop environment introduces writers to critiques and criticisms alike and (ideally) trains them to know which comments to apply and which to ignore, and to seriously consider them all. But there’s also an underlying nod to the value of being Published.

Since workshops center around the short story, one’s target (should one desire to Publish) should be a literary journal (print!). It wasn’t stated, but understood. Just as it was understood, but not stated, that for anyone who hoped to have a novel read by the public, Publishing was the goal. Not self-publishing.

We didn’t discuss self-publishing. Virginia Woolf wasn’t “self-published”; she, with her husband, “created a publishing press.” (Cool then, not cool now. Or maybe only cool if you’re Virginia Woolf.)

Which is why I really, really wanted The Age of the Child to be Published: so I could say, “See?” and pop my collar. “I’m legit. I’m validated.”

While sending out queries, I continued to entertain post-publication fantasies. However, they were increasingly overshadowed by nightmares. Nightmares made possible by real-life stories shared online by writers who’d had nightmare experiences in Publishing.

Russell Rowland,* author of Fifty-Six Counties, posted on his (public) Facebook page:

Fourteen years ago […] I listened to the advice of an editor and agent and turned down a very nice offer from Harpercollins for my second novel. The editor said he thought he could get me a better deal once the book was finished. […] My editor left before I finished the new book, and the new editor, who had no idea who I was, rejected the novel.[…] I finally got another chance to send [HarperCollins] a new novel […].I’ve been a nervous wreck wondering whether I will finally have a chance to redeem myself.

Friday I learned that no, I will not have that opportunity. […] I still feel incredibly fortunate to have five books published. And I will find a home for this one as well. But with a few exceptions, most of us are scrambling around like street urchins trying to find a few scraps. And eventually you realize that it’s probably what keeps you going. It’s motivation. But it’s sometimes hard on the old heart.

Essayist, journalist, and literary critic Anjali Enjeti writes in “Why I’m Still Trying to Get a Book Deal After 10 Years” (The Atlantic):

[A]fter 16 years of writing books and 10 years of failing to find a publisher, why do I keep trying? I ask myself this every day. […] Some of my resolve to get published stems from my ego. […] Another part of me craves having a visceral connection to an audience; it’s isolating to keep these stories to myself, to experience them alone. […]

Enjeti addresses the possibility of self-publishing, which she says:

… can be a popular and accessible option for writers who wish to bypass the traditional route altogether. But while there are some wild success stories in self-publishing […] I’ve yet to meet an author who felt their self-published literary novel or memoir generated enough sales to make up for the amount of time and money spent marketing them.

Enjeti goes on to tell the stories of other writers who have Publishing stories of woe:

Contributing Poets & Writers editor Michael Bourne, whose “second book got him an agent, who then couldn’t sell the work to a publisher.” She quotes Bourne as saying, “I’m fairly confident my work will get published eventually, but if it doesn’t, it won’t kill me. I’m still going to write.”
Retired pediatrician Bettye Kearse, whose acquiring editor was fired after sending her a publishing contract for her nonfiction book. “That experience was the worst, to get so close, then to end up with nothing,” Kearse is quoted as saying.

In an interview I conducted with Cruel, Beautiful World author Caroline Leavitt, I asked her why she’d said she would put a (hypothetically) rejected manuscript in a drawer with so many options available.

“Because a lot of wonderful books sit in drawers,” she replied.

Too many good writers attempt or navigate the traditional route, and then give up on their books completely if, for example, the hard-to-find accepting agent quits, or the hard-to-find accepting editor at a publishing house leaves his or her job, killing the deal. “It’ll never happen for me, I guess,” the writers think, and they bury—forever!—the perfectly good manuscript in a computer, the file name an epitaph reading, “Traditional or Death.” I feel genuinely sad for the readers who might never get the opportunity to enjoy what each of those writers has to offer.

It also makes me feel anxious, rather than hopeful, to read a writer’s success story about finding a publisher after five, ten, fifteen years of trying. Do you know what can happen to a person in ten years? Death. And no one will read you if you die before you release your writing. That, I can tell you. Believe me.

I wondered after sending another query letter, was I so desperate for professional validation (not a motivating factor I’m assigning to anyone but myself) that I would wait a decade for someone to decide the timing was right, or that I’d finally written something they could connect with on a personal level and market easily?

There were other things to consider besides lifelong rejection or death-before-potential-acceptance. I could get an agent, and the agent could want me to change the novel into something completely different to make it more “marketable.”

I received a request like this from an agent I once had, the push to “write for the Editor” vs. “write the best story you can write”—not always the same if you have a strong, personal vision—which killed my writing mojo for two years while I was lost in a writer-identity crisis so powerful I almost gave up writing completely. This led to the self-publication of Dan Palace.

Another nightmare: I’d get a publisher, but they’d design a cover I hated (something pink).

I thought about the reasons I’d written The Age of the Child. Well, one reason, really. To reach readers. I thought about the above authors who would let their hard work—which they know is “good enough” according to the industry because someone in that industry said, “Yes, I’ll represent/publish you”—sit unread in a drawer.

I got angry. Why should I, why should any experienced writer, as Rowland so vividly painted it, scramble around “like street urchins trying to find a few scraps”?

Well, because.

“Self-publishing is for literary heroes and literary hacks alike, and probably always will be,” reads one Poets & Writers article on self-publishing.

“Hacks.”

This is not a word you see used in conversations about those who are Published. Isn’t the assessment—“for literary heroes and literary hacks”—also true of traditional publishing, though? (Tell me you haven’t read a Published book that made your eyes a little screwy.)

The same P&W article asserts, “Dreams of fame and fortune are the trademark of a writer ill prepared to self-publish.”

Well, okay, but are they not also the trademark of a writer ill prepared to Publish? Of the thousands of books in any Barnes & Noble, aren’t ten—maybe twenty—of the authors rich and famous thanks to the publication of their novels? (A former instructor of mine published with Little, Brown. He’s a beautiful writer. You probably haven’t heard of him.)

With all that in mind, I continued sending queries. I still really wanted to check that “Published” box just once. I also continued to ask myself, “But WHY?”

Published or self-published doesn’t determine the value of the writing, after all. The text of The Martian didn’t go from “Oy, nothin’ but crap from some hack thumbin’ his nose at the system!” as a self-published novel to “Genius! The writing is tremendous, truly tremendous, I say,” once it was Published.

“What about the marketing and money and future potential?” you ask.

That I’d make a living off the book was unlikely, because who knows what goes viral and why? That I’d get out of doing my own marketing was also unlikely.

Still, I sent more queries.

Then, one day, I learned of a novel publishing next year that uses as its catalyst a scenario similar to my own catalyst. I was pretty sure that as vastly different as our stories and characters are, no agent, no publisher would accept my novel as it was, considering that scenario similarity.

It was over. I would have to self-publish. Again.

After thirty seconds of swearing, I discovered I wasn’t devastated.

I was excited.

Within a day, I’d chosen my book cover. It has a little bit of purple, but no pink.

* Russell Rowland has since shared on Facebook, “I have two finished novels, and thankfully I have kind, generous, talented friends in the world of ‘small’ publishing who are willing to help me get them out into the world.”

How to Self-Publish in France

Today’s guest post is by translator Laure Valentin (@LValentin_trad).

Since 2011, more books have been translated in France than in any other country. In fact, one out of every six books in France has been translated from a foreign language. Among these works, three out of five books were translated from English. Here’s how to win over new readers in this booming market.

Find a Translator

This is undoubtedly the most important step in foreign publication, and it mustn’t be taken lightly. You are going to be entrusting your text, your creation, to someone who will then interpret it for your future readers. The translator has to capture your style and reproduce it as faithfully as possible in your target language. It’s often said that “to translate is to betray,” but it is possible to find the appropriate voice. In searching for a translator, you have several options.

Translation agencies are generally expensive because they take a significant margin of the profits. They primarily specialize in business, technical or legal translation. There are also many websites that will help you get in direct contact with translators.

General websites for freelancers: Upwork, Guru, Fiver

Translators only: Translators Café, Translators Base, Proz

Here are a few criteria to take into consideration when making a decision.

Language

If you’re publishing in France, your translator’s first language should be French, but it’s worth noting there are some differences between the dialect of French spoken in France, Belgium, Switzerland and, in particular, Quebec. These are typically subtle differences that don’t impede understanding, but when it comes to dialogue, slang and cultural variations, these differences become extremely important.

It’s also important to consider the translator’s specialization. Your translator should have prior experience in literary translation. Ask for references and a list of their previously translated works.

Budget

The Association des Traducteurs Littéraires de France (Literary Translators Association of France) suggests a rate of 0.06 € to 0.08 € ($0.07 to $0.09) per word. When receiving quotes, I suggest asking for a rate per word. This will be the most precise manner of estimating cost (rather than pages), and it should include your work’s back cover copy. With that being said, prices will certainly vary. Translating a collection of poetry will be significantly more expensive than translating a children’s book.

Translators offering very low rates are often suspect. Nevertheless, you mustn’t base your decision solely on the translator’s rates and references. This is where a test translation comes into play, explained later.

If you want to experiment with translation but lack sufficient funds to do so, there are also sites which connect translators and authors under a contract where the translator receives a share of the translation’s royalties. Babelcube is an example of such a site. The major advantage of such a contract is that it’s free. The downside is that you have to surrender a share of your royalties with no guarantee of return. Furthermore, the quality of the translation can be very unpredictable.

Translation Test

Giving your translator a test translation is vital, even if you’ve found a translator who seems to suit your needs. Request that your candidate complete a free translation of an extract from your book (3 pages maximum). Next, find a few francophone readers to carefully look over the text and provide feedback. If you don’t know any francophone people, try turning to French associations at nearby universities or within your local community. It’s also possible to find French readers who would be happy to give you their opinion on Scribay, a reading and file-sharing website.

Contract

Once you’ve found a translator and established conditions for the translation (rates, deadlines), it is strongly advised that you sign a contract that is legally enforceable in the US or France.

Some details to include in the contract are confidentiality clauses, dispute settlements and specification of the translation as a “work made for hire,” as defined in the Copyright Law of the United States. The latter serves to recognize the author as the sole proprietor of rights pertaining to his or her work. In France, the Code de la propriété intellectuelle (Intellectual Property Code) gives the translator the same legal status as the work’s author. As a result, the translator is able, depending on circumstances, to choose between a lump-sum payment or a percentage of the translated work’s sales.

To ensure that the contract is airtight and legally enforceable, it is strongly advised that you consult with an attorney who specializes in copyright law (Pascal Reynaud, for example).

In my opinion, in accordance with the laws of both countries, it is much more practical for both parties of the self-publishing translation agreement to settle on a fixed, lump-sum payment with no percentage of the translated work’s final sales being guaranteed to the translator.

Author Kim Richardson offers this advice: “Having a book translated in other languages is rewarding, but it also has its challenges. It’s important to be able to read the translation (or have it checked), in order to know exactly what you’re getting. I found all my translators through Upwork, the global freelancing platform. You post a translating job and wait for translators to bid. Once you get a few, you can check their scores/reviews on the site from prior jobs. If you don’t speak the language you’re interested in translating, you really have to rely on the ratings and hope that they are honest. I have to say that I’ve had my share of bad experiences with finding the right translator for different languages. Not all translators can translate a writer’s voice into another language. I think it’s really a leap of faith. Now I know that careful review of your applicants’ profiles and credentials is crucial. And when you find the right translator, you stick with them!”

Editing the Translation

Once the translator has delivered his or her work, it still needs to be edited. This step is optional, but highly suggested. There are many editing programs available which can assist with this process, such as ProLexis, Le Robert Correcteur or even Antidote. There is a strong possibility that your translator has already used these programs as tools in his or her initial translation.

You can also find editors on the same freelancing sites mentioned above. Some author services companies (which we will discuss in a moment) also offer this service.

Lastly, your translator may be accustomed to submitting his or her translation for editing, and as a result, they may be able to refer you to some of their frequently consulted partners.

Publication

Since you already know the ins and outs of self-publishing in your country, I won’t share advice about formatting and cover art, but keep in mind that in France, just like everywhere else in the world, an attractive cover and stylish page layouts are essential.

Publishing platforms in France are essentially identical to those used in the United States. Some of the foremost platforms include Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP), CreateSpace, iBooks Author, Kobo Writing Life, and so on. However, author Sarina Bowen says, “In French, Amazon is not as dominant as it is in German and English. To publish only to Amazon is to miss out on venues like iBooks and FNAC digital which do well in French.”

Many author services companies can also assist you with these steps. They offer a range of paid services with numerous packages and rates. Some may offer service-based fees and/or flat-rate packages including several different services. Bookelis is one of the most comprehensive (learn more about all of their services).

Other examples include Librinova, Books on Demand, Edilivre, and IdBoox. Take the time to request quotes and necessary information from several of these companies before making an informed decision and choosing the service which best meets your needs. If you don’t speak French, don’t panic. There is a useful tool that you can use for these communications (as you can imagine, this is one of the rare times I will praise this program): Google Translate. As imperfect as it is, it will help you understand what services these companies offer, and just as importantly, it can help you read French reviews of your translated work.

Promotion

Your book has been translated and published through various platforms. Now you must make your book known to your future readers. First, consider adding a summary of your book to cataloguing and sharing sites, such as Goodreads, Babelio, Booknode and Livraddict.

Among the author services companies previously mentioned, most will help you promote your works and will suggest that you create presentation pages for your book on French social networks. They can give you important, personalized marketing advice to help direct you toward pertinent bloggers and influencers. This is particularly useful for getting your foot in the door. You can also call on your translator to translate an email you can send to French language bloggers and influencers (Booktube, NetGuide, HelloCoton, SimplemenPro) who you’d like to have read your book. Author Lena Walker says, “The comments on Amazon are extremely important. Literary prizes, such as the IndéAwards, helped me gain visibility. Social networking, blog reviews and prize competitions allowed me to develop a community.”

Author Charlotte Orcival says, “In January 2017, I published a third work which immediately became a Top 100 Seller through Amazon France. It stayed in the Top 10 for several weeks before ultimately being contracted by HarperCollins France. The publishing house subsequently rereleased the book. I think that the main reason I found such success was the relationships I developed with literary bloggers and influencers on social networking. Finding people who will read my work, like my work and support my work has been the cornerstone of my empirical strategy. That’s honestly the biggest piece of advice I could give you. To find people like this, there are two very active Facebook groups that allow authors to get in touch with reviewers. I asked these two communities if they were ready and willing to read new authors and discover new books from the United States and elsewhere in the world….I’m sure you’re wondering (as I was) about the potential language barrier that might prevent these conversations, but to my surprise, some of the reviewers explained to me that it doesn’t bother them to speak English with authors (though it may be imperfect), as long as they can read their books in French. These two groups are: Les blogueurs qui lisent les indés (Bloggers who read indies) and Auteurs cherchent avis, chronique ou bêta-lecture (authors seeking opinions, reviews or beta-reading).”

Bienvenue en France!

The Angsty Relationship Between Writing and Sales

Today’s guest post is by writer and editor Andi Cumbo-Floyd (@andilit), excerpted from her recently released Love Letters to Writers.

Here’s what I wish could happen:

I write a book or schedule a retreat or offer a service.
The world comes storming to my gates to buy, attend, or work with me.

Here’s what actually happens:

I write a book, schedule a retreat, or office a service.
Crickets have the stage.
I decide to promote that book, retreat, or service.
I feel angsty and wish I didn’t have to promote my work. I do it anyway.
A few people unsubscribe or maybe whine about “self-promotion.”
I feel bad.
I keep promoting.

I have an uneasy relationship with sales, partially because I really do wish I could just do this work for free—or barter. I’m always up for a barter especially if it involves angora rabbits. But I also have an uneasy relationship with sales because I came to writing through academic means, and academics still live, oddly, with an idea of meritocracy as the way people get recognition for what they do.

In the academic model, you get degrees, you publish articles that (sadly) almost no one reads, and you get a job that you can never lose. Most of the world does not work this way. In fact, most of the world is not a meritocracy at all. It’s … well, pick your metaphor—battlefield, dog fight, chaotic mass of swirl. For me, I like to see the world as a field of wildflowers. (Stick with me. I’m not going to go too hippie dippy.)

My teacher Sharman Apt Russell wrote a book called An Obsession with Butterflies. (It’s a great book, by the way.) She began writing that book with a single question: what does a butterfly see when it enters a meadow full of wildflowers? That image is one that I hold dear because I put myself in the place of the butterfly. I fly into that field, and I see the colors and shapes of all those flowers, and I have to choose to start somewhere, right?

The world, then, on my good days, is like that field of wild flowers. We put our books, retreats, services, and courses up and make them as pretty as we can. We choose a color scheme, a petal shape, a height of the stalk, and we set them out in the world for people to see. And we let our flower flag fly. (Love mixing idioms, I do.)

That’s all sales is—putting your work out into the world so that people know it’s there and can choose if it they want. If they don’t want, then they can—and should—say NO. It’s not fair to them if we don’t give their butterfly selves the choice to see our work, and we can’t blame them for not picking our flower if we don’t get it out in the field where they can see it.

Now, that’s not to say we need to be doing sales all the time or even most of the time. That’s like pushing our flower into the beds of our friends’ houses. Instead, we share, but in moderation. Here are my three guidelines for sales:

25% sales; 75% helpful stuff that is about other people. I share other people’s content, review their books, post helpful links, share tips, post funny pictures of cows.

Sell to the people who care. I do my best not to flood my general FB or Twitter feeds with sales stuff because the people I know there already know I have books out and can get them when they want. I do post a little in those spaces, but more like 10% instead of 25% of the time.

Try not to take it personally. I lost a bunch of folks from a mailing list when I sent a sales email. That does hurt—I won’t lie—but when I get some perspective, I just realize they are not my people. AND I believe firmly that grown-ups should say NO to what they don’t want. So I’m glad they’re gone … mostly. But not in a mean way. You know what I mean, right?

So take this from me. . . it’s really okay to promote your own work, even if people tell you it’s not. You are proud of what you write, teach, provide. Put it out in the world. Let your flowers rise up toward the sun. Let them glow with pollen and fill us all with delight. (Okay, I’m slipping into hippie-dippie love child land, so I’ll stop.)

But really, don’t be afraid to sell. Just be responsible and courteous. It’s that simple.

For more, check out Andi’s Love Letters to Writers.