Do independent authors sell?
Generally, no.
For one thing, bookshops will refuse to stock them. This is not because bookshops are mean and cynical; it’s because there are insane numbers of self-published books out there, and many of them are self-published because authors were either not good enough or not marketable enough for major publishers.
If you owned a bookshop (one of the ones that hasn’t already financially collapsed), wouldn’t you want to pick the best written, best edited, most marketable books?
On the other hand, here is an article about some independent books that mostly did quite well. This presumably involved a LOT of promotion work over time by the authors.
For those who want comparison numbers, the average book published by a large Australian company gets an advance of $3000-$5000 for children or young adult books, or $5000-$10,000 for other novels. Unless the book is a success (sadly, that just doesn’t happen often – a “success” would be selling over a thousand books), this is the only money the author gets.
But it’s almost guaranteed to be more than a self-published or POD author gets. So be wise with your work.
Kill your darlings, and maim your friends
“Kill your darlings” is a great piece of writing advice from various people (including William Faulkner and Stephen King) recommending that you edit out all your most precious turns of phrase, and leave your work stronger.
“Maim your friends” is my personal advice on causing the maximum pain (and, just as importantly, danger of more pain) for your characters. (Sidebar: A couple of writers, like Robin Hobb, take it too far for me to ever re-read them. Most don’t take it far enough.) It hurts to do horrible things to characters you love – but it’s necessary. Plus, it pretty much comes along with the “godlike powers” thing that us writers like so much.
Here‘s one of Chuck Wendig’s delightfully rude and abrasive articles – this time on hurting your precious characters.
And here’s someone who’s an expert at killing and maiming:
Why your novel won’t get published (PG+)
My notes to this article read “LOL, fairly rude/graphic, and all true”. I’m a huge believer in a dose of realism every so often, so here it is: http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/01/10/why-your-novel-wont-get-published/
Here’s a bit:
Brutal honesty time:
That novel of yours isn’t likely to get published. The numbers just aren’t in your favor. Last I did a sweep of the Internet, it was home to 500,000,000 writers. Once you remove the wanna-be dilettantes, you still end up with 1,000,000 left. And they’re all fighting to have their manuscripts published.
And one more picture of Ana in a basket:
Halfway
. . . sort of. Today marks twenty weeks, which means that if Mini-Me appears on his/her due date (hah!) this pregnancy is half over. It also means that, should Mini-Me decide to appear this very afternoon, it’s not a miscarriage – it’s a premature birth. The reason for the distinction is that there is a chance (an EXTREMELY small chance) that a baby born this early would survive. That’s oddly comforting.
Also (you may have heard a hint of a rumour on the breeze about this) we find out the gender tomorrow (plus we’ll be reassured about the non-existence of a large variety of possible complications). By “we” I mean “CJ and I and various friends and relations”. I do promise to blog all next Wednesday – if not before. There will also be fresh Mini-Me pictures.
If you’re wanting gratuitous fat-belly shots (Mini-Me is now around 16cm from head to bum), just scroll down to the entries from yesterday and the day before. In the meantime, here’s some gratuitous cuteness from last night:
Last night I became concerned that I’ve felt only the occasional movement from Mini-Me – and I’d done a preliminary midday weigh-in yesterday that seemed to indicate I’d gained over two kilos (rapid weight gain can be a sign of something medically wrong – or it could mean I needed to drastically cut down on my chocolate). I had trouble going to sleep.
Sidebar: You know you’ve married well when you confess to your partner that you spent the last of the grocery money on a giant block of chocolate loaded with toffee-coated cashews and hazelnuts – and he says, “Oh good. I want our child to be eating nuts.”
Pregnancy is infamous for giving a girl peculiar dreams, and ondansetron/zofran has been giving me nightmares most nights. And so it was that I dreamt I accidentally went to a chemist for my ultrasound. All the various tests were done on my urine (“Does Mini-Me have spina bifida? Pee in this cup. Is Mini-Me a Rodent of Unusual Size? Pee in this cup.”) by incompetent and much-distracted trainees.
The final test – the one about gender – was fobbed off onto an extremely irritating child who desperately wanted some attention. So he took me on several epic mountain hikes, during one of which a friend of his fell off an especially treacherous cliff and was decapitated. This further delayed my stupid test, and I swear that kid was pleased.
I finally promised to play a game if he’d do the test first. I peed in a rather dirty plastic cup and he showed me the results sheet, which was gleefully flashing through possible options. Finally the whole thing lit up. . . and it was pink. It was a girl!
At this point my mother showed up and we fled the scene, shouting a cheerful goodbye to the abandoned brat. As we left, the severed head of the fallen hiker was making small talk with two others about the correct first aid procedure for decapitation (so THAT’S all right).
The End.
Kids, don’t do drugs.
I got up and weighed myself, and discovered I’d gained precisely half a kilo – the exact recommended amount. (I’m actually still more than two kilos lighter than I was at the beginning of the pregnancy.)
Then I crawled back into bed, and something under the donna poked me suddenly in the stomach – so suddenly and so distinctly that I yelped aloud (my first thought was, “Tentacle monster hidng under the covers! Aieee!”).
It was Mini-Me, of course.
Which doesn’t necessarily mean there WEREN’T tentacles involved. I assume that’s one of the things they check for at the 20-week ultrasound.
Are writing courses worthwhile?
This Huffington Post article (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/brian-joseph-davis/mfa-programs-_b_929183.html – links aren’t working today) argues that they are.
In my opinion, the most important pieces of information writers should get from such courses are:
Spelling and grammar (don’t laugh; it’s necessary)
The ability to follow submission instructions (so, so necessary)
Industry manners – eg don’t ever reply to a rejection
Some realism about (a) How long things take (b) How much writers earn, and (c) How few unpublished novels ever get published.
In my (reasonably limited) experience, none of these are taught in writing courses. But some other useful things are. Perhaps more importantly, you meet other writerly types, and may end up with a decent critique group.
Pictured: not a decent critique group.
It’s not about the money. . . or is it?
I’ve said about a million times that if you don’t enjoy writing for the sake of writing – don’t write.
Crime pays more often than writing does, and I’m willing to bet there are more millionaire fraudsters than there are millionaire writers.
On the other hand. . .
If you want to get published, you need to actually connect both with individual readers (ie you need to make sense, and to CONVEY all that emotion in your imagination) and with the market (ie you need to obey certain conventions, such as a 60,000-80,000 word length in young adult books).
Lynn Price of the Behler Blog talks a bit about the difference between “writing for the love” and “lazy writing” here.
Speaking of lazy, I keep telling Ana that leaving muddy pawprints on my notes does not constitute co-writing. It doesn’t seem to bother her.
The dreaded semicolon. . . of DOOOOOOOM!!!
The semicolon has been known to divide loving families into shouting melees, and to send careers down in flames. It is the most contentious and passion-inducing piece of punctuation – and the most addictive.
How NOT to use a semicolon:
1. Frequently. I once had an editor add more than a dozen semicolons to a single page of a story (and there weren’t any lists). When I politely pointed out that he’d let his punctuation run away with him, he took another look and soon apologised profusely. My peeps, don’t let over-semicoloning happen to you!
2. To show off. This is particularly true in academia, where the person marking you has been scarred by both #1 and #3. Between Year 11 and the end of university (which was heavy on English courses) I discovered that a significant number of teachers and lecturers were so passionately opposed to semicolons – any semicolons – that they would mark essays more harshly if a single semicolon was spotted lurking (correctly or otherwise) in the text. For this reason, I did not use semicolons in essays for six years. I honestly recommend you do the same.
3. Incorrectly. If in doubt, use a comma. It will be correct.
Moving on, here is a simple tutorial on semicolons, with pretty pretty pictures to help you through the strain of intellectual effort on a Saturday morning. Enjoy.
And here is Ana. . . lurking like a semicolon gone bad:
Turtle Publishing
No, it’s not a hip new publishing company – it’s a comment on the industry. Now sometimes publishers are slow because they simply can’t make up their minds (one of my books has been with a major Australian publisher for two and a half years, and that’s way beyond normal). But most of the time there is a complicated process from slushpile to (hopefully) acquisitions meeting to (hopefully) bookshops.
American agent Rachelle Gardner talks about it a little here.
Personally, I’d consider six months a normal wait for a yes/no response (for either the opening chapters or the full book), and one year a standard acceptance-to-publication schedule.
While you wait to hear back, here’s a picture of a cat:
How not to begin your book
Here and here are two articles on book openings that are way, WAY overdone. Ooh! And here‘s another.
I’m guilty of a prologue or two, and the very first book of my children’s trilogy opens with the character waking up. But none of my characters ever, ever look in a mirror and describe what they see. Ugh!
And here’s a pretty (perturbed) kitty for this week:
Overdone movie tropes
John Scalzi has his own blog, and also writes a film critic column. This one is so funny I had to link to it. Here’s my favourite of his five tropes:
4. The very special youngster. This is more often the domain of fantasy (hello, Harry Potter!) but it was given a science fictional run-through this year with I Am Number Four, and of course Star Wars trotted out Luke, whiny as he was. These run down a checklist. Orphaned? Of course! Having special powers waiting to be unlocked? Yes, indeed! Found and trained (and protected) by a wise mentor? How could it be otherwise? Hunted by the forces of evil? That goes without saying. When this very special youngster shows up, we know where he’s going. Best to leave him in hiding.
Read the whole article here.
Your kitty pic of the week:
Felicity Banks 