BE CAREFUL WHEN FALLING OUT OF PIGEON-HOLES

Excellent example of how not to hook a publisher in this insightful post over on Editorial Ass today. And for once, it's silly agent behaviour, not silly author behaviour. Please read and then return here for my piercing insights.

Clearly the agent in question was clueless. Or you could say that he was actually very clueful: he gave loads of clues but no actual answers.

Let's do some unpicking and see what we can learn. EA says that the category of your book is "perhaps THE most important question for an editor and his/her sales team." It's an important and possibly somewhat shocking lesson. There was you thinking it was your writing or even the story that was the most important. Of course it is, to you and your readers, but you and your readers will never see your book at all if the bookseller doesn't know where to put it.

See, booksellers have a simple system, which you may not like. They have it for a good reason: customers are simple souls who do not wish to look far to find a book. Customers think they know what they like, and don't want to be told otherwise, so they really need to know where they might find it. Fast. You might wish that a bookshop could be a glorious muddle of treasures just waiting to be found serendipitously, with a squeal of glee. "Oh, how wonderful! A part-monograph-part-travel-guide-part-poetry-collection-part-local-history-of-the-inner-hebrides! I normally read sci-fi but this sounds quite delightful." But what real readers want is the exact book that they want (even if they don't know what it is) just THERE, under the label that says "book that you want".

So, first thing to do when you pitch your book is to know what it is. This applies both to covering letters (see on-going competition) and to query letters; it certainly applies when the editor pitches your as yet uncontracted book to the sales/marketing team in the Acquisition Meeting; it also applies when you answer the casual question about your WIP: what's it about? Because before you say it's about a boy and a girl who get lost in the woods, you have to say it's a fairy tale about a boy and girl who get lost in the woods.

If you are innovative enough to have written a book that defies categorisation, be afraid. I did. I wrote a book called Blame My Brain. Now, luckily for me, I never had to pitch it to anyone as I already had a publisher and an agent and all that happened before commissioning was a conversation that went almost literally like this:

Chris (editor): Would you like to write some non-fiction?
Me: Yes.
C: What would you like to write about?
Me: The teenage brain.
C: Good idea.

That afternoon I drafted a one-page plan and wrote the intro, and about three days later she'd come up with an offer.

Yes, I know. You hate me. I don't blame you. But I did take a long, long, long time to get to the point of having an editor trust me that much.

BUT, when it came to the bookshops deciding how to shelve it, then the fun began. Clearly, there is no category in any bookshop called "teenage non-fiction". (There may occasionally be a tiny little bit of a tiny dark shelf very near the floor, and occasionally when there is, I'm on my own in it.) Luckily - understatement - for me, booksellers thought the idea was so strong that they went out of their way to find a place for it but I still can't confidently predict when I go into a bookshop whether I'll find it in teenage/YA fiction, kids' non-fiction, psychology, parenting, popular science, neuroscience, mental illness or Scottish. (I joke not). Yes, this has been a problem. The only reason it was such a commercial success is that we got fab review coverage everywhere and there was nothing else on the market ticking the same boxes (still isn't - yay!); so word of mouth and market position now means that it doesn't matter that no one knows where to shelve it and no one knows where to find it. Well, it matters a bit ...

Anyway, that sort of situation is rare.

So, consider your WIP carefully, lovingly and calculatingly. Which shelf will it go on in the shops? I'll mention this and talk more about it - if I remember - in my Edinburgh Book Festival talk on How To Make a Publisher Say Yes on Aug 19th. (I don't mean it's about how to make a publisher say yes on Aug 19th - I hope a publisher will say yes on many other days as well). And do remember that it will hardly ever go in two sections, much as perhaps it should.

If you write for young people, in which age section of a bookshop will readers find it? I'll talk about the difference between 10-12s and teenage in my talk on Aug 20th. Again, a book that 10-year-olds AND 13-year-olds will love, will not be found in both 9-12 and the teenage sections.

However, there's more to categorisation than what shelf it will go on. We (humankind) like to pigeon-hole things. It's often an unattractive and unhelpful habit. Pigeon-holes are places of safety and comfort, but they are restrictive because you can't easily see out of them. However, while readers continue to be human and want categories, we have to work with them. And, actually, it is helpful when it makes us analyse the elements of our book, to make sure it ticks the right boxes or follows the right rules for that particular category or genre.

So, as well as knowing what section in the shop our book will end up on, we need to know in more detail what sort of book it is, so that we can describe it better and give people (agent, then editor, then marketing, then bookseller, then reader) a clearer idea as to why they might like it. Now, many books don't sit neatly within one pigeon-hole. And that's fine. No one ever said you had to sit neatly in the pigeon-hole. You're allowed to sit on the edge with your legs hanging out - it's a tad dangerous if you've had a bit much to drink, but just be aware of the dangers of alcohol and other substances and you can dangle to your heart's content.

But, while you're allowing your sci-fi book to dabble in romance or your historical novel to veer into magical realism, consider your reader. Are there enough readers out there who will go with you on your strange journey? Is your book like something else (something else successful - and not SO alike that you end up being cited in an anti-plagiarism fracas)? Does it fit a pattern? Are there good reasons why it contains several genre elements? Have you really got the experience to handle more than one? Are you genre-hopping because you haven't got your act together or have you genuinely thought this through?

If your book is a mixture of too many (say, more than two) genres, you are likely to lose readers. You are also likely to show a potential agent or editor that you haven't a clue what you're doing. Now you may well have a clue: you may be about to set a completely new genre-busting target of astonishing, innovative brilliance**: but the first page of your submission is not the place to tell your potential agent/editor this. Allow him to discover your avant-garde brilliance through your writing, not by leaping at him shouting BOO. Remember: eccentric brilliance often looks like crass lunacy at first sight and first sight is often all you get, if you're not careful. Later, the two of you can work out how you're going to pitch your magic to Sales and Marketing, but it will not be by telling them that it's a mixture of eighteen genres and hard to categorise.

** Edited to add: Have just seen a fabulous post by the inimitable Lynn Price, describing the inexcusable ignorance of the author who thought he was writing "literary action/adventure" - go read.

In short:

When you write, first consider your reader.

When you pitch, first consider your bookseller.

When you get your contract, first consider yourself: in my case, buy shoes, chocolate and sparkly wine.

There's no chocolate in that picture, for obvious reasons.

A LITTLE PRESENT FOR YOU

Hah! that got your attention. No, really, there is a present for you herein.

Two happy things happened to me today. First, I'm proud to say that my 100th follower registered on this blog. (Welcome, Suzette - but you do realise that the rules say that you have to take part in an initiation ceremony? I will let you know what we want you to do, once we've all decided behind your back, OK? Ideas, anyone?)

I almost feel like the Pied Piper with all those followers, but fear not: I have not been paid by agents and publishers to rid their letter-boxes of all unpublished authors; nor am I going to lead you a merry dance into a mountainside and leave you there. Though still as crabbit as ever, I plan to stay with you for much longer, because you are very good company and because I am waiting to hear that you have found a publisher / agent / both and that you are on your way to success. Well, you are on your way to success, we know that, but let's speed it up a bit, hey?

And second, my lovely publishers, Walker Books, sent a seriously cool screensaver as a free download to pass around amongst my teenage readers, but there's no rule that says you have to be a teenager to enjoy nasty iridescent beetles crawling across your screen, so I thought I'd share it with you.

So, if you would like it and/or if you have any offspring / friends / relatives / pupils who would like to have the latest coolness for their computer, then here 'tis. (Unless you're a Mac user, in which case I do have the file but can't see what to do with it.)

I hope you're not going to go all middle-aged on me and say you can't work out how to put it on your computer. Basically, you open the link,**** click on the download button, the thing magically saunters onto your desktop and you select "install", whereupon it asks you a couple of simple questions; then you do nothing at all for a few minutes and then beetles start crawling and smoke appears. Failing that, ask a teenager.

(****Edited to add: Er. not so basic, actually. I have just discovered that this is a TEMPORARY link and will die on about May 6th, and from then the screensaver will be available on the Walker website at www.walker.co.uk)

If you're one of those people who thinks that everything should have an educational point (what management bods apparently now call a "learning") then you can store in your adulty/parenty/teachery brain that the book features a girl who gives away way too much about herself on a social networking site and that this screensaver is not un-akin to but a million times more attractive than what appears on her computer when she unwittingly accepts the attentions of an insect-obsessed stalker. So, if I were to give any kind of message in my books, which I so absolutely wouldn't, it would be Be Safe Online, Kids.

Otherwise and preferably, just enjoy the pretty beetles.

Either the marketing people at Walker were enjoying themselves way too much or else they must quite like me because they've also provided a "viral bug" (it's not as dangerous as it sounds) which you (or a tech-savvy teenager) can put on your (their) phone and send to ... er ... someone. I think you can just right-click the pic and copy it to your desktop, then onto your phone. Or blue-tooth it. I did it so it can't be beyond the bounds of middle-aged possibility.(EDITED to add - this is now a new one, and works better: yes, I know, it just looks blank now but put it on your phone and woah!)


And if you want to know the really clever bit: when you actually put it on your phone, it dances. Yes, really.

Anyway, it was a happy day, which quite made up for the shocking weather. I know this is Britain, and that I am in the Scottish part of it, but really.

SLOW DEATH BY COFFEE GRINDER

OK, I promised and here it is: my heart-warming story of staggering ineptitude. You need to understand that it is absolutely true, every bit of it, though I have changed names and locations to protect the innocent.

Before you read on, you need to understand three things:
1. Sophie, PR person extraordinaire and the star of my story, was wonderful and I really liked her. She battled with extreme conditions that were not her fault (sort of) and made me feel strangely (very strangely) relaxed. She was the bright spot in a terrible day. I would promote her if I was in power. I also want to emphasise that having directional confusion is very common amongst intelligent people (I should know) and I do not intend to cast aspersions on her undoubted talents and intelligence in other fields. Honestly, if I could afford a PR person, I would employ Sophie like a shot. I just wouldn’t ask her to drive me. By the way, Sophie works for a PR company, not my publishers. And my publishers are lovely too and this was not their fault either. Just so that's clear.

2. It may have been a terrible day, but no one died.

3. I have never written a book called Brainteasers. Nor do I plan to.

Anyway, to set the scene:
I was asked to do a charity (ie free) school event in a coffee shop somewhere not close to Glasgow. (Sensible readers are at this point asking “why?” As in “Why free? Why in a coffee shop? And why the hell did you say yes?” There is no answer to these questions.)

About a week before the event, a lucky school was told that if they took thirty ten-year-olds to a coffee-shop at a certain time, an unnamed author would read stories from her book "Brainteasers". And sign free copies of the book for them. When the school resorted to Google for more info, they were perplexed not to be able to find such a book in existence anywhere in the universe. Not surprisingly. Luckily, I cottoned onto the fact that there was a problem, and phoned the school, thus introducing myself and sorting things out. Kind of. Temporarily. We established, at least, that the book in question was actually called The Highwayman’s Curse.

I had almost pulled out of the event the day before, but was mollified by Sophie, the charity’s PR person. I was very impressed by Sophie’s ability to mollify me - she will go far. She even sent me flowers to apologise for distress caused - and that was BEFORE The Day From Salvador Dali-land.

So, Dali-Day arrives. Sophie is supposed to collect me at 8.30. At 8.30 Sophie phones and says she's "had a bit of trouble with the car" and will be "a bit" late. At 9.15 Sophie arrives. She then tells me that she won't be able to turn the car round in my very small cul-de-sac because she's dyslexic and doesn't know which way to turn the wheel when reversing. (I am very sympathetic to dyslexic people, having taught them for many years, and I understand the issues). So she asks me to help. I assume she means that I should stand outside the car directing her. Or maybe drive the car myself. Either of which would be fine. But she means me to sit in the passenger seat and show her which way to turn the wheel, with actions and WITHOUT using the words "left" or "right", because Sophie doesn't do left and right. (Nor do I, actually, but I decided not to tell her that, as one confused driver in a car facing the wrong way in a cul-de-sac is enough.)

We arrive at the venue late, (after we have tried to park in three places that are not carparks and Sophie has had the same issue with reversing without the concept of left and right). The café is full of journalists, hyper children, bemused customers, and a TV crew from Newsnight. Yes, Newsnight. (Note to non-UK people: this is a big deal in the UK.) Unfortunately, although the kids have permission to be photographed, they do not have permission to be filmed on moving film - which is different - and the Newsnight thing was too last minute to get permission sorted. The cameraman explains to us that paedophiles prefer moving pictures. Which is a charming thought and doesn’t help my stress levels. So they can’t be filmed and the Newsnight team is mightily miffed.

I am told to start the event, with no introduction, something which always bugs me but which is the least of my problems today. The event involves me delivering my words of wisdom at the top of my voice for an hour and a quarter to the kids, while journalists take pics and teachers and PR people run here and there trying and failing to organise filming permission, and while innocent customers carry on drinking and chatting loudly to drown my voice, and while milk frothing machines regularly spurt incredibly noisily and coffee grinding machines grind horribly, to the extent that occasionally I have to stop shouting and give up. I learn afterwards that the Newsnight people were desperate to film because they thought the event was perfect (for a comedy show, I assume), but they can't get permission so they eventually scarper.

The kids (who are incredibly lovely and lively - probably helped by the free coffees they are slurping) ask questions on and on and on and on, and on quite a bit more, and no one thinks to stop them when an hour is up. I am too polite to ask if we can please stop. Eventually a teacher asks if they could possibly go and catch their bus, I look at her as though she is my saviour, and she takes them away.

First, however, they are all given a copy of The Highwayman's Curse. Some of them bring them back three minutes later, complaining that the covers are upside down, which they are. I try to persuade them that this might make them valuable later on, but they look at me as though I am a con artist or an idiot. I am certainly one of these.

I ask Sophie if I could have a sandwich and a coffee or I will pass out. She agrees. She doesn’t eat much. Her stress must be internal. She will probably collapse once this is all over but meanwhile she is determined to smile. We then go back to the carpark. Luckily, I have remembered about Sophie being dyslexic and have taken note of where the car is so when she says, "Which way do you think the car is?" I know the answer and we find it quickly.

But ...

...the weird unlocking mechanism doesn’t work and we can't get in. It's a car from a car-share scheme and there are fancy electronic devices to scan. Sophie's scanning card doesn't work. If we don't get in soon, we are going to be late for an award ceremony I’m supposed to be at, which is about 40 mins drive away, and which I really do need to get to because I am on the shortlist, although I would much rather stick red-hot needles in my eyes and twist them a few times while inhaling chilli powder.

Sophie phones the car-share scheme head office, says she can't get in her car and asks if they have any suggestions. They suggest she puts the key in the lock. She does. It opens. We get in. The car won't start. Sophie phones the head office again and they say that four buttons have to be pressed simultaneously on a special gadget inside the glove compartment. This is physically impossible for one person to do but, between us, Sophie and I get four fingers on the right buttons and the car starts.

Sophie then refuses to trust Simon, the Satnav voice, even though Simon really does need to be obeyed, and we get hopelessly lost on the outskirts of the place that is not Glasgow. Actually, I have sympathy with her, as I don’t really trust Simon either, and he is asking us to go onto the motorway back to Edinburgh, but I have a sneaking feeling that he must be right - he sounds so very confident and Sophie doesn’t. Sophie is now on the hard shoulder as she debates whether to go onto the Edinburgh-bound motorway or not. We don’t. Simon is concerned and patiently tries to force us to turn round "as soon as safely possible". Several times. Eventually, after much argument and concern, during which I am convinced I hear his voice begin to panic even though I remind myself that he is only a machine, Simon tunes in to Sophie's dogged refusal and allows us to go a very stupid way sort of towards Glasgow, until I say that actually we must trust Simon and we get to the award ceremony with five minutes to spare.

Simon and I are by now complete wrecks and I really need a bit of TLC, (or even maybe a cup of tea - well, anything really), but somehow survive without anything until two hours later when my friends Lindsey and Kathryn rescue me and drive me home. I can only hope that Sophie managed to reverse out of the narrow street I left her in. She may still be there. Perhaps I should check.

This is the sort of day I should be paid for. A lot. But I shouldn’t complain: I did get a very nice tuna sandwich and a more than decent (though cold by the time I got to it) Christmas Special coffee. Highly recommended. But preferably drunk in peace and quiet. Or maybe in the company of Simon. He does sound very charming. And he would stop me from doing stupid things like saying yes.

THE ACQUISITIONS MEETING - AT LAST

It has not escaped my attention that this is supposed to be a serious, adviceful blog and that you are meant to be serious about getting published. Remember that burning desire bit? Hmm, well, I am disappointed in you. You are like schoolkids who think it's so funny to let their teacher go off at a completely self-indulgent tangent about turquoise boots and Klingons, instead of following the statutory curriculum. You'll get me sacked at this rate. So, today we are going to behave and we are going to discuss Acquisitions Meetings. "At last," I hear the swots in the front row mutter.

Also, my editor and agent both believe that I am working flat-out to meet the looming deadline from which my novel currently suffers. They will not be best pleased about yesterday's advice on Work Avoidance Strategies, ("WAS", as we call them, which even those of you at the back must know by now) so, for their benefit, I would like to point out that obviously I was working yesterday - all talk of WAS was merely artistic licence. Of course I don't vacuum behind the fridge, ever. I've never heard such a ridiculous idea. Nor would I be so stupid and time-wasting as to take a dead mouse to the vet - arranging for Pest Control to scour the house with sonic detectors occupied quite enough time, thank you very much.

So, the Acquisitions Meeting. This part of the process cannot be underestimated, ignored or wished away. Of course, it is not as important as writing the right book in the first place, but I believe that understanding it is a surprisingly crucial part of writing the right book. It is my guiding principle that if all authors understood exactly what goes on in and leading up to the AM, they would a) understand why a well-written and worthy/beautiful book may easily still be rejected and b) be better able to write, pitch and sell a book that won't be rejected.

In the old days, the process of acquiring your book was simple. An editor, wearing a tweed jacket and brown suede shoes and taking an old-fashioned attitude to personal hygiene, would read your manuscript over a glass of port at his club, be bowled over by the beauteousness of your prose / piercing insight into the life-cycle of the Lesser Galapagian monkfish, finish his dinner at the Groucho Club, totter to bed, totter out of it, make a quick phonecall to the office and tell them that he'd acquired a book and that he'd tootle along to tell them all about it once he'd finished a long lunch with his new best friend, the author. If a marketing department existed, which it probably didn't, the editor would never have met anyone in it, and if he did, he wouldn't talk to them because they would most likely pass the port the wrong way round the table.

Lest that paints an unfairly negative view of the old days, let me also properly point out that very often, especially in the more recent old days, an alternative process involved a passionate, inspirational and knowledgable editor (very often wearing turqoise boots, if a woman, or a red bow-tie, if a man - though these roles may perfectly easily be reversed or even combined without detriment to the acquisition process) falling deeply, madly, dippily in love with your book and being allowed to make the decision over a muesli breakfast, often to the benefit of all concerned.

Occasionally, but decreasingly so, the above still happens. But don't rely on it - the vast majority of publishing companies, whether large or small, now follow the process below (or at least something intrinsically similar), and you would do well to understand it absolutely. In fact, forget the above two paragraphs: they are the product of a nostalgic and over-caffeinated mind.

Also in fact: if a publishing company nowadays does not follow a similar procedure to the one I am about to describe, ask them exactly what it is that makes them so much wiser than everyone else. If they insist that they don't need to think about such unpleasant things as projected sales figures or marketing strategies, ask them about the sales figures and/or positive review coverage for their last six books. Then ask them what happened to the second books of each author. Remember: being published the first time may seem difficult but being published a second time on the back of a book that has done a passable impression of Lord Lucan is immeasurably more difficult. And much harder to explain to your friends, who will absolutely not understand. Remember: your friends think writing is easy. After all, everyone's got a book in them and you just happened to be lucky enough to have time to write it. (See Dealing With Taxi-drivers ...)

BEFORE THE ACQUISITIONS MEETING CAN HAPPEN
First, as ever, the editor must fall in love with your book, or at least be bowled over by its commercial potential. (Both would be nice, but let's not get too carried away.) The editor must also have an informed intuition that this is the right book for this publishing company and that he/she will be able to persuade marketing and sales departments that it will be easily marketed and sold.

Second, the editor will often pass the book/proposal to another editor for a second opinion. This may be a junior editor (if the editor is quite senior) or a senior one (if not).

Third, if the editor continues to be sure, having read your book probably twice and done some more informed intuition about marketing and sales, he/she begins to work out an acquisitions proposal, or something which may have a different name or be slightly less formal but essentially does the same job. (You can probably see already why the process of accepting/rejecting your book is rarely quick, unless your book is absolute rubbish, in which case you need only wait the amount of time it takes for the postman to deliver it back to you - once, a book of mine was returned to me 36 hours after I'd posted it, which almost defeats Einstein's special theory about the impossibility of anything travelling faster than the speed of light. I would have been impressed if I hadn't been so insulted.)

Fourth, the editor begins the difficult process of preparing the acquisitions proposal. This will have to be presented at the Acquisitions Meeting (henceforward AM in the pages of this blog). The proposal outlines things such as:

1. The book - why is it so good? Why does the ed love it/what does he/she feel about it? Unique selling point? Genre? Likely page length and actual word count? Price point? Timing of publication, to fit the publisher's existing plans? Likely print-run? Why right for this publisher? Gap in market? How does it fit on list (qv in Common Words You Should Know). Who is the readership?
   
2. The author - who? Publishing history? Marketable life-story? (Penniless single-mother writing wizard fantasy series in café with small daughter in buggy because can't afford heating bills has been done ...) Likely to be presentable to the public or better hidden away under the pretext of being related to Salinger /otherwise hermetic /possessing a tragic illness/life-story/prison-sentence?
   
3. Finance - what advance is needed/possible, based on all the above, incl likely sales figures? When might this be recouped? Costings at desired format/print-run etc.

Are you daunted? Do you feel sick? Are you saying, "Ah! Now I understand what I'm doing wrong and why they haven't said yes yet"? Because you should be all those things. And more. You should have hit the chocolate big-time and while I would never recommend over-indulgence in alcohol, I wouldn't blame you if you succumbed briefly.

Then, you should pick yourself up and say to yourself, "Well, if the editor has done all that in preparation for the AM, then surely my book now stands a great chance. She/he must really really like it, and that's hopeful, isn't it?"

You would be right, because now your book does stand a great chance. And yes, it is hopeful, or, to be more accurate, you are.

THE ACQUISITIONS MEETING
This is much more scary for the editor than it is for you. After all, you're at home twiddling your thumbs. (No, you're not - you're at home writing your next book. You are not indulging in any WAS, no, not at all.) But it is seriously scary for your editor, because he/she has already invested significant time in preparing the proposal and now has to run the gauntlet of those hard-faced, pointy-lapelled, French-polished people in Sales and Marketing (S&M?) who have MBAs and keep going on assertiveness courses when that's the last thing they need. (They often wear great boots, I have to say, because being more stylish than authors is part of the job spec. And not the hardest part, believe me.)

Remember, importantly, that at this stage the people in the pointy lapels have not read your book - the most they'll have seen is a synopsis and small sample, but often not that.

Essentially, the AM is simple: the editor presents the proposal, passionately, coherently, inspiringly. And there follows a conversation which may be very short (a good sign) or fairly long (not). Between them they have to answer three questions:

1. Can we spend thousands of pounds (in staff salaries, editorial input and redrafting, advance to the author, design, type-setting, printing, marketing), knowing that we won't get anything back for at least a year (if the book is already ready to be published) or maybe much more, on the basis that this editor thinks it's a good bet?
2. Is this the sort of book a book we can sell?
3. Is it sufficiently different from everything else on our List and yet sufficiently similar? (Is it right for our List?)

When they say yes, they are taking a gamble. It's an informed one but it's a gamble nevertheless. If they lose, they lose money but they also lose whatever book they could have taken if they didn't take this one, because they can't take all the good books that cross their desks. They are also taking a punt on you, the author, and hoping that you will be as good for them as they will be for you, and that there's every chance of a long career for you with them (unless this is a celebrity memoir we're talking about, in which case all common sense evaporates and gibbering lunacy enters left field.)

On the one hand, this is all too horrible to think about for you, the hopeful author. And exactly the same process applies to every single book, however many times its author has been published - though of course the published author stands a better chance, though only if previous publication has been successful .... Indeed, it is painful to think of your dreams being deconstructed in this way by strangers.

On the other hand, it should also be a source of comfort to you: because when you are rejected, it may not be anything to do with the quality of your writing. It may be that your book has fallen down for one of those many perfectly valid reasons. In which case, understanding the reasons can help you submit a publishable book in future. Getting to the AM is a huge hurdle and says a great deal about your potential. It doesn't say everything - "yes" would say everything - but it is genuinely important.

But we also have to end on a very sombre note: at some point you may have to force yourself face a gut-wrenching understanding - that it may be the case that you have not yet written the right book. You may have to start again. I will say that again, as it is something that we all have to consider sometimes (or if we don't, we should): you may have to start again. The next sentence comes with a health warning, for what I am about to say may shock you: it took me 21 years of rejection before I wrote the right book. Since that moment, yes, my life has changed beyond belief and I have had moments of joy that I only dreamt of, but much more important to me is not how my life has changed, but how much I have learnt.

If you take that very, very difficult decision to start a new book, and gently lay your previous efforts to rest with a few elegaic words, I can tell you one thing for certain: you will not regret it, for what you write next will be better. You may, like me, come to thank those publishers and agents who have decided not to unleash your writing on the undeserving public. Yet.

After such a serious and professional lesson, with admirably few tangential and self-indulgent diversions by me, and with you all listening so attentively, I think we all deserve coffee, chocolate, and pretty much anything else that activates the brain's reward centres.

Anyone for shopping?

ARE PUBLISHERS EVER WRONG?

Everyone is wrong sometimes. (Don't tell me about spritual leaders claiming a hotline to a higher being - we're talking ordinary people here, and publishers are as ordinary as the rest of us. In fact, sometimes being ordinary is what makes them publishers and not writers. Hold onto that thought.)

But, more interestingly and relevantly, define "wrong". You will all have heard many stories of famous authors/books who were rejected 99 times before going on to be massive. So, does this mean that all the publishers who rejected them were wrong?

You will also have heard of authors who were serially rejected, then self-published, and then were picked up by a publisher and given a contract. (Thanks, Nick Green, for your comment to that effect on another article, because it gives me a chance to make an important point, not that my other points are not important, of course.)

So, the implication is that those publishers were wrong. And they might have been, not being infallible etc, but I'd like you to consider some other possibilities. (And nearly all of these apply to agents, too.)

As I say, define "wrong". If by "wrong" you mean that they have missed making a load of money because they too would have made a huge success of this book, then no, not necessarily. If you mean that they ought to have said yes because any non-stupid publisher would have recognised the commercial merit of the book, and since they didn't they must be stupid, again, no, not necessarily.

In order to understand, consider the reasons why a publisher may validly and sensibly reject a book that goes on to be a success. Even a good book. Even occasionally a really really good book.

Good reasons why a publisher might reject a potentially commercially successful / critically acclaimed / classic book and not feel like blushing afterwards:

1. It's not the sort of book they publish and therefore they would not make a good job of it / wouldn't have the necessary marketing (eg) budget for it - different books do require different expertise. If they'd taken it on, we might never have heard of it.
   
2. They have filled their list for the next year (or whatever) and can't take on anything else and commit time and money to it in a time-scale acceptable to an agent/author who might be knocked down by a bus before the next possible publication date 25 years hence - publishers tend to have a very small number (depending on the size of the company) of "lead titles" each month, scheduled up to 18 months (or sometimes more) ahead. If they have their max of lead titles and your book is important enough to require it to be a lead title (or your agent wouldn't have it any other way), then they can't rightly commit to it and would be doing you a disservice in taking it. Publishers have to take on only the amount they can deal with well. Remember that a lot of their costs have to be paid long before they can expect any income, so budgets are an issue.
   
3. They are scheduled to publish another book which would be in competition with it. In some cases this might not be a problem but it easily could be.
4. The editor in question just personally doesn't love the book enough. As you will agree, everyone has different opinions about books, and you DO need an editor who loves yours. If she/he doesn't, she/he can't speak up for it at the acquisitions meeting (of which more another day) and it simply won't get taken on, even if another editor in another company might have loved it. It really is and MUST be largely personal choice. The same hugely applies to agents.
   
5. Some books that become huge commercial successes, are, in the humble opinion of yours truly, utter tripe, and have absolutely nothing about them that anyone who fulfilled the criteria of sanity and consciousness and wasn't drunk or stoned would ever detect.

Apart from that, yeah, publishers are sometimes "wrong" - in the sense that sometimes they say no when they should say yes and sometimes they say yes when they will wish they'd said no. But let's not get it into our heads that this whole business of saying which book is going to work or not could or should ever be an exact science. Luckily, it's a weird weird world out there, with beautifully unpredictable readers who can turn a dead-cert into a disappearing act or dress the Emperor in the most glittering new clothes.

For you, the poor author trying to deal with another rejection of what you must hope is a dead-cert, it is perhaps no consolation to be reminded that all that glitters is not sold.

All I can say is that perseverence is essential - so, do keep polishing your gold.

And by the way, over indulgence in metaphors is considered very bad style.

But you can start a sentence with "and". And "but". But you really shouldn't end an article totally off topic.