Being Your Own Worst Enemy

I wrote this post a month or so ago, but some things I have read on my various email loops and heard while I was in Reno made me feel like resurrecting it today. Meanwhile, I have less than 10k words left to finishing my book. Woo hoo!
~Diana, in her Lucky brand Easy Rider perfect jeans…

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I preface this post with a disclaimer: there are many paths into the publishing world, and even more paths once inside. None is intrinsically more or less worthy than another. My post addresses those unhappy with their path. If you are happy with your career, then I am happy for you.

My agent posted a very thought-provoking essay on her blog yesterday. Thought-provoking for me at least. It reminded me once again how well-suited we are for one another. As I ran down her list of “things your agent does” I realized that I expected each one of those things for my 15% and that she had provided them in spades (well, except for the mutant cover. but I assume she would if the need arose). I ticked off each point, and reflected upon how much I wanted that service in my writing career. Upon reading the blog post, a friend who is going through a more difficult time in her writing career reflected that the post reminded her what she should be expecting from an agent.

And then I read the comments that the post had generated, specifically the following:

Thank you once again for the informative post! You describe such undreamed-of events that I’m uncontrollably jealous of your clients. I can attest to the truth of your statement that manuscripts sent in by unknowns, even when they’re solicited on the basis of a good query/partial, can languish for over a year (try TWO years) and are then usually just packed up and sent back. Two agents who had exclusives on my work (one a ChickLit novel and one a mystery) for over a year finally e-mailed me back last month to say that “We’re sure that by now you have found an agent, and we wish you luck in your future endeavors.” The ChickLit genre is very “of the moment,” and if I don’t sell it fairly soon, the market will veer away…::snip::

What is it that Ann Landers used to say? No one can take advantage of you without your permission? Good lesson to learn, writers. Sadly, I hear stories like this every day. The truth of the matter is, this business is hard enough and filled with enough wait times, vagaries, missed oppurtunities, frauds, scams, pitfalls, wrong turns, bad terms and cloudy advice to add to it ourselves. And yet, every days, I hear of writers being their own worst enemy.

* He said if I hired this book doctor it would sell big…
* I knew the terms weren’t good but hell, it was a contract…
* She promised me they’d buy the book, so I pulled it everywhere else…
* She said she had connections in Hollywood…
* He wouldn’t tell me where he’d sent the manuscript, or who had rejected it…
* They’ve had the option/exclusive submission for two years…

These are horror stories the likes of which probably keep both Stephen King and Dean Koontz up nights, shivering in their hundred-dollar pjs. Come on, people! Be your own advocate! (By the way, I agree with Knight that it’s best to have an agent be your bulldog, so that you don’t come across like a diva. If he/she is doing all your arguing and demanding, you and your editor just get to have happy little conversations about whether or not the body should be found at the end of chapter three or the beginning of chapter four, and what oh what to do about that semicolon on page 53. When I want to talk book, I talk to my editor. when I want to talk contract and career-strategy, I talk to my agent). But even if you don’t have an agent, that doesn’t mean that you should let the industry walk all over you.

Here are a few rules to live by:
1. If an option specifies a time period, give them that time period, and then remind them that it’s up. If you don’t get a pretty immediate response, pull the submission.
2. Never give anyone an exclusive for longer than 6-8 weeks. Period. Check up with them at the end of their exclusive, and remind them that it *is* at an end.
3. Find out what the going rate is at that house for a work of your type (not impossible in this day and age of google, publisher’s marketplace, Show Me the Money, and others), and negotiate for it.
4. If someone is claiming connections/sales/experience, *verify* it (see above for some ways to do so). The chances that an agency website will actually proclaim that they are Dan Brown and Nora Robert’s agent without being so is pretty slim. They’d get caught and have their asses kicked in cyber-seconds. Harder to pin down are those agencies that claim sales but don’t list clients or specifics. When you get an offer, get some names of clients and contact them. If they like their agent (or even if they don’t) they’re usually happy to talk about it.
5. Be professional in all things. That doesn’t just mean that you should use business form in the letter and not talk about how much your Great-Aunt Sarah liked your book. It also means that if you get a form rejection, you don’t take it personally and/or fire off a nasty response about the editor/agent’s mother and her choice of footwear. It also means that if your agent, — who is your employee — is ignoring you, you call them and require answers, that if your editor has forgotten you and your option manuscript exist, you stand up for yourself and ask her about your future place in that company.
6. Don’t be desperate.
7. Don’t be desperate.
8. Don’t be desperate.
9. DON’T BE DESPERATE.
10. Above all, DON’T BE DESPERATE!!!

Scammers can smell desperation on you like a shark can smell blood. Editors and agents sense it, and steer clear. After all, if you were an editor or agent, would you want a writer who came limping to their doors, hat in hand, begging for a few pitiful scraps of attention, or a professional writer who is aware of her worth (not egotistical, but confident) who presents her book as a worthwhile and marketable project? Hmmm, let’s think.

My critique partner Cheryl says that as women, we are often raised to think of our work as less valuable, and are hesitant to ask for or fight for the things that we want. I surround myself with strong women, so I wouldn’t have believed it true if I hadn’t spent the last few years watching it happen in this business. If you can’t be your own advocate, then the best agent in the world isn’t going to be able to drum into your head how you should be treated. Editors, no matter how nice they are, work for the publisher, not you. If they suspect that you’ll take a pittance, that’s what they’ll give you.

This is a very hard, if not straight-up impossible business. Sailor Boy reminds me on a bi-weekly basis that no one actually gets to be a novelist (I think he wants to make sure that our apartment doors remain intact). The industry comes with built-in disappointments and despair. When you write novel after novel, and are met with rejection after rejection, it becomes difficult to believe. After a while, you’ll cling to anyone or anything that can validate all the time you’ve spent, and the belief you’ve had. It’s a relief. But I’m telling you, folks. Don’t give in to the desperation. You’re worth more than that.