I apologize for being late with my blog, as I have been hit with a particularly severe gastrointestinal flu bug, and am having a hard time recovering.

I am on day five now, and am not sure it is ever going to stop, although the doctors assure me it will “run its course.”

I can only hope.

Thanks for bearing with me.

Everything you really need to know about the publishing business can be learned from a garage sale.

I know. Crazy. But trust me, it’s true. (I am beginning to suspect that there is a whole tao of garage sales just begging to be written.)

As some of you may remember, a couple of weeks ago, my house was the site of a garage sale, hosted by my son and daughter-in-law. It ended up going exceptionally well, surprisingly. And as they were collecting junk and pricing it and displaying it and handling the crowd, I suddenly realized I finally had a parallel to explain the whole publishing business to non-writing family members and/or friends who were in the first stages of writing, pre-publication.  And so I offer you: the tao of publishing.

1) It’s not personal.

When you’re selecting items for a garage sale, you have look past the personal value of an item, the sentimental value, and use an objective eye to decide if that item will sell. Something with a deeply personal meaning–a diary page, one ballerina shoe, that swizzle stick (bent) left over from that time you and your best friend had that thing happen in that bar in that other state that you’ve never told anyone about… those things aren’t going to make sense out of context and to a marketplace. They may be vastly important to you; doesn’t mean they’re going to sell.

Sure, you’ve written the novel, and you want people to have a personal response to it, because then you’ll know you’ve hooked them. But a personal response does not replace market reality. An agent, an editor, a publisher… these people are not rejecting a manuscript out of some elitist judgment (usually, unless you are writing them idiotic letters, like a recent one posted over on Janet Reid’s excellent blog) or some nefarious plot to drive writers crazy. Publishing professionals want to make a sale. The agent wants to sell to the editor, who has to sell it to the marketing department and the publisher, who has to believe that there are enough people out there in book-land who will plunk down money for this property. They’ve got to weigh how many people will resonate with this project and they’ve got to be objective about its value as they’re making that decision because their goal is not “to make you feel good about being a writer” and not to “support art” but is almost always to “make a profit.” Which leads to:

2) Big ticket items draw people in.

When we advertised for this garage sale, we named the big items we knew would draw people in: electronics, furniture, exercise equipment, collectibles, a canoe. We didn’t bother to mention the used books (which all sold), the glassware (all sold), the dolls (ditto), the purses (ditto), the shoes (surprised the hell out of me, but ditto). 

We charged a little more for the name brand items than we did similar stuff–even though the quality of the latter was the same as the former. People will pay more for the brand name stuff… but, while they were there, they inevitably picked up some other item and bought it, too. Almost all of the browsers ended up taking something home, and I suspect that the majority of time, it wasn’t the item they’d originally shown up to see. 

Bestselling authors are that draw in the bookstores: they get the people in the door. They get paid more because the publisher knows people will likely pick up their book, but they also get paid more because the publisher knows that if they’re on a shelf, the customer will stop and probably browse that shelf and, very possibly, pick up something else. When you start out, your book is possibly that “something else.” 

3) Group similar things on the same table.

This seems pretty simple: put like things together. Someone looking for the Minnie Mouse collectibles may buy more than one, so put them all in one place so they can find them. One guy came early and bought every Cabbage Patch doll we had (ten) and then started buying boy-type-toys. Someone else snapped up all of the hot-wheels. Things which were similar to these items were put on the same table, or near enough by, so that they caught the customer’s attention.

Publishers want to know what your book is so they’ll know where they can put it in the bookstore. This is why you don’t list six genres in your query letter: it’s sort of a space fantasy with a love story and comedic elements as the characters solve a mystery is going to get you an instant rejection. They won’t know where to put it, and if they don’t know, they won’t know how to market it, and if they don’t know how to market it, they don’t know how to let customers know where to find it, or that it exists at all. You’ve just made their job ten times harder, and frankly, there are a lot more books out there that will make their lives easier. What would you do when presented with two books of equal writing skill, but one was easily marketable and the other one wasn’t? You’d buy the one you knew how to sell. If you didn’t, and you didn’t frequently enough, you would be one of the publishers who are now going under.

But…but... I can hear you arguing, odd, cross-genre stuff sells.

Yes, it does. Generally, though, there’s some way of marketing that book–or at least, the publisher believes there is when they take on the project. I am the first to admit: weird shit sells. We sold a porthole table for $200. I know, you’re scratching your head, aren’t you? I have been scratching my head for 15 years. A long time ago, my husband dragged home a porthole–the kind you see on actual ships–that he had “rescued” from the scrap yard. No, I don’t know why. Yes, I asked. The only real answer I got was, “because it was cool,” and I suspect that it was because it was a challenge. He then (because he is crazy) made a round table and embedded the porthole so that it functioned (again, he’s crazy) and fixed it so that it could be opened (which meant you couldn’t really put anything on the table, except on the tiny perimeter, but you had to be careful if you did that, because as soon as you opened the porthole, the swinging motion generally knocked off whatever you’d put there). You could put a display inside the porthole (because, and I don’t know why, it had a glass backside and yes, I thought that made no sense). He then epoxied the table top in black, but the legs were a very light oak. Ugliest table ever. I was so relieved when he agreed to sell it. Until he put $200.

Now I ask you, what is the likelihood that someone is going to saunter over to a $200 table made of a porthole and think, “gee, that’s what I need to spend this week’s paycheck on?” I knew I was going to be stuck with that damned table ’til I died. And then my neighbor (who is, not surprisingly, crazy) came over to see what all we had for sale, and he fell in love with the porthole. I would’ve carried it to his house for free, but when he tried to haggle my husband down, my husband refused. And the neighbor bought it anyway. 

So the rule is, weird shit sells, but you cannot count on it. You cannot hope that there is always going to be a porthole-buying-nut who lives close enough to your porthole table, who for some reason, doesn’t have enough portholes in his life and feels like he cannot go home until he owns yours. So, even if you do have a porthole table to sell, you need to be able to do what my husband did–find its unique selling feature: it was antique. And an antique porthole table becomes, apparently, an entirely different thing. (Hell if I know.) Point is, if your book is not easily categorizable, figure out what is it that makes its uniqueness marketable.

4) Pricing is determined by what the market will bear

Now, that may seem self-evident, but it’s tricky and can make you want to plant your head in your desk when you see things sell too fast (could’ve gotten more!) or too slow (oops, priced it too high, better lower it). Years and years (and years) ago, I had one garage sale–an estate sale of my great-great aunt’s property. I had about a dozen hand-made quilts we were going sell. I’d kept the prettiest ones for family heirlooms, but the rest… shrug. Didn’t expect to get $20 apiece for them. I was hanging them on the makeshift clothesline about an hour before the announced time of the sale, and a man pulled up in my drive, made a beeline for the quilts and asked me how much I wanted for them. I eyed him and thought, “He’s here at six a.m., asking me for these things, didn’t even look at anything else. He’s a collector.” Then I said, “$125 each.” He said, “I’ll give you $100 each.” Sold. I was pretty proud of myself. He took ten of the twelve, and later that afternoon, a lady asked me how much for the quilts. I’d forgotten them in the flurry of the day, and I think I must’ve looked at her blankly. She offered $200 each. She lamented that I didn’t have more–she would’ve bought the entire batch at that price per quilt. 

That was (I am not even going to tell you how many) years ago. Today, even factoring in inflation, I could not have gotten $50 each. 

While we were pricing things for this garage sale, we had to take into account several factors: it was after Christmas (therefore, we’d missed the “must find a gift item that looks expensive but didn’t cost much” rush), it’s a bad economy (everyone’s saving their money to spend on necessities, none of which we really had at the garage sale), and it was likely to rain the second day, which meant even die-hard garage salers wouldn’t come back the second day to scoop up the “must get rid of it” last minute pricing you can normally do at the end of a sale. By keeping these things in mind, we priced everything to move.

The publishing corollary is that everything has its time. Advances are going to be lower while the market adjusts to the steep drop off in sales and everyone panics. Something that a year ago might’ve fetched a $100K advance might not get a $25K advance now. Publishers are looking for ways to make a book work for this market–which might mean that you don’t get the hardcover format because it’s so expensive and they’re not selling very well. It’s not about prestige, it’s about survival, and it’s smart to look at what works for the consumer. I suspect there’s going to be a bigger push over this next year for downloads–publicity and marketing–because there’s next to no delivery costs–there’s no warehousing, no shipping, no returns. In addition, trends will determine price–something that shows up when a trend is just heating up is probably going to get a bit higher advance than something that shows up after the trend seems to have peaked or the market is glutted. It’s not personal, it’s not about what you, as a person, are worth. It’s what the market will bear. It’s probably the most difficult thing to remember.

5) Reputation helps.

We managed to pull a lot of people into our sale very early in the day because our neighborhood is considered a hot spot. (We didn’t really know that, but there have been a lot of successful garage sales out here… part of it is there are lots of families here, so the sales usually have a big variety of items). We got ‘em in through a reputation we hadn’t quite earned yet. We kept ‘em (and made a bunch of sales) because we delivered: we had a lot of merchandise cheaply priced and people kept complimenting us on what a great, organized sale we had. Lots of people said we should have another. (Over my dead body.) But at least it worked for them.

Blurbs are the same thing–the publishing business is hoping that blurbs (or reviews) up your reputation from that of “who?” to “oh, we should give them a try.” It won’t work, though, if you don’t deliver.

6) Some things are beyond your control.

The first day, we had a ton of people and huge sales. The second day, it rained. Stormed. I think we had two people show up, and one sale for the whole day. We had, luckily, made enough money the day before to have made it worthwhile, but it almost hadn’t gone that way–we had almost opted to only have the sale for Sunday, not both days. Luckily, my daughter-in-law is a lot smarter than I am and she insisted we have it both days “in case of bad weather.” 

You can’t help a bad economy. You can’t help if a sales rep doesn’t “get” your book. You can’t help if a hurricane shows up the day your book is supposed to be delivered. You can’t help a snowstorm, or a national tragedy. You really cannot help the decisions made in-house–these are beyond your control. You made the thing and handed them the thing–they have to sell it. Now, you might be able to nudge a few people, but the parallel would’ve been me putting out a few fliers in the neighborhood. Sure, I can self-promote and that may help to a certain degree, but if the publisher doesn’t promote my book on a national level and my book’s not available on a national level, no amount of me flogging it locally is going to increase my numbers high enough, fast enough, to make a big dent in “sell-through.” If the sale were going on over a long period of time (years), word-of-mouth might spread and bigger and bigger crowds would show up–like some of those big “annual” garage sales held by entire towns, or held near (Camden?) Texas every second Saturday… but for the short-term, I can’t do it all by myself. I can’t control everything. 

Sometimes, the wisest thing is to sell what you can, look at the rest, realize it is what it is (maybe it’s a practice novel, maybe it’s your third practice novel), and move on. 

7) There’s always stuff left over.

It will surprise you what doesn’t sell. You’ll be convinced certain items are going to fly off the tables–maybe because it was a popular item when you bought it new, or it’s in great condition now (and at such a cheap price), or it’s just so cool, of course people are going to want it. You’re going to have stuff that fills a niche and you know for a fact people are looking for that type of niche item, and yet, when the day is done, there will be stuff left on your table, picked over, and you’ll wonder why. Did you price it too high? Did you not put it in a prominent enough place? Did you put it next to something that overshadowed it?

Who the hell knows?

In publishing, it’s a “best guess” business. People are trying to gauge what everyone’s going to want in the future based off what they wanted in the past. Except as humans, we don’t want to have the same exact experience day in and day out for the rest of our lives–we want something new. Different. Maybe not too different. Predicting that is not an exact science. And if you happen to send in a space-alien-time-travel-love-story right after the editor just had to remainder a rather large order of her previous space-alien-time-travel-love-stories, she’s probably not going to be able to convince a publisher to take a chance on yours. If she just had a significant other who was rather space-alien-like dump her for a younger, hotter similarly-looking-space-alien-tart, then she may be turned off space alien love stories for months, and no matter how good yours was, it didn’t stand a chance. Someone else, somewhere else, may snap it up. The things that did not sell at my garage sale? We donated to the Battered Women’s Shelter, and you know what they’re going to do? Sell those items in their stores. They figure someone, eventually, will buy the stuff. Who knows, they could be right.

Which circles back around to rule number one: it’s not personal. 

Okay, those are the big parallels… are there others I’ve missed? 

It’s no secret that in nearly every format—print, audio, electronic distribution, and film—authors are usually shoved to the back of the line when it comes time to distribute the revenue generated from their work.

But times just might be a-changin’—

Recently, Elaine English, an attorney and literary agent based in Washington D.C. circulated news that offers writers a glimmer of hope. Here’s an excerpt of what she had to say—

Google’s announcement, back in 2004, that it intended to digitize all the books in the world had the industry virtually apoplectic. Google had started had started with digitized books that were clearly in the public domain. It then began negotiations with publishers to license rights to new titles as they were issued. But the most controversial component was the Google Library Project, where Google launched its efforts to scan the entire collection of certain university libraries whether the titles were covered by valid copyrights or not. Google’s position was that fair use protected both its scanning of the book as well as the maintenance of an electronic copy so long as it was used primarily for searching and indexing purposes.

Google intends to post a preliminary list of books that it has scanned, and notices will be mailed to rights holders on or after January 5, 2009. Authors affected by the settlement will have until May 5, 2009 to opt out of the class of covered authors (i.e. preserving individual rights to sue Google). The settlement also proposes a deadline of April 5, 2011 for requests to have individual works deleted from the database. A hearing is currently scheduled for June 11, 2009 when the court is expected to rule on the fairness of the settlement.

To see details of how the settlement will work, go to www.googlebooksettlement.com.

I’ll be keeping a close eye on this one!

To sheath or not to sheath, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler to stop the story and bag the boy, thus allowing characters to exhibit traits of intelligence and responsibility…or to suffer the slings and arrows of readers and reviewers who believe that a latex-free ride is a ticket to the wall for the novel in their hands.

To show or not to show, that is the quandary. Whether ’tis acceptable to take the reader on the ultimate fantasy that circumvents all things awkward and abrasive, thus whisking her away to that great big Calgon bath in the sky… or forever risk the taint of TSTL.

Every one of us who include detailed love scenes in our books face the condom question. Do we describe the tearing and wearing in every single love scene, or do we let “Trojan Understood” stand as an implication of the act? If we ignore the condom completely, without so much as reference in dialogue, does that become an indelible character trait (stupid, lazy, careless, selfish, unheroic) or can the reader accept that this is a fantasy with a happy ending and no fear of STD or unwanted pregnancy? Is the condom too much fact in our fiction, or does the author have a moral responsibility to address the issue of intelligent, safe sex in every single love scene?

I do not have the answers to any of these questions, but good heavens there are strong opinions about this! Recently, all three books in the latest Bullet Catcher trilogy were featured in a “bulk” review on my favorite form of on-line crack the popular web site Dear Author. In my opinion, DA reviewer Janet did an outstanding job of presenting a thoughtful overview of the trilogy, dissecting the individual stories, and analyzing the complexities and subtleties of the characters. Like any fair review, she didn’t love everything, and one of her sticking points was that of the love scenes throughout the trilogy did not always include mention of the condom.

No doubt about it, in the half dozen or more love scenes across those three books, I ran the gamut from including the condom, to implying that the condom was worn, to ignoring it completely, to insisting on withdrawal because the raincoat hadn’t made it into the shower love scene. Moments after the review was posted, the site ran one of its fabulous instapolls on the subject that included a lively discussion thread with no less than 168 comments on the subject of condom usage in the romance novel.

Poll results were surprising, at least to me. An overwhelming majority (72%) of nearly 400 (yes, four hundred – there are a lot of us on DA crack) readers actively look for the condom and are disappointed when it isn’t included. I voted with the 28% who felt the mention of the condom could ruin the fantasy, but as a writer, I certainly took note of how important this is to readers.

The issue, for me, is not whether or not to include the condom but how to keep both sides of the readership happy. And should we? I deeply respect those who feel that a heroine who has condom-free sex has crossed the line from daring to dumb and deserves if not death, then a DNF on the book. (Although I believe most of those readers do agree that if there is a specific plot point supporting this action — i.e. she’s trying to get pregnant — then it’s okay.) I also respect the reader who cringes in disappointment when the foil packet is introduced because it yanks her from romance to realism and, to her, it’s no different than showing the characters taking a quick post-coital trip to the bathroom. She knows it happened, but would rather not read the gory details.

The only answer is to let the scene and character dictate the condom decision. In the vast majority of the love scenes I’ve written, a condom is mentioned, sometimes joked about, occasionally fumbled over, and the search for one has actually changed the course of a story. But I admit, there have been scenes where I’ve opted to let fantasy rule over common sense. In Then You Hide, there is a love scene that takes place in the shallow waters of the Caribbean. I did not have the characters take a condom into the water, or climb out of the waves to suit up for sex. They just go for it. Did I lose a reader or two over that? Perhaps, but I really hope not. Personally, I loved the momentum and spontaneity of that scene, and it felt right to let those two characters (one who is notably impulsive) frolic unprotected. There are other love scenes in the trilogy where I don’t mention the condom, but it’s there in my mental image. I don’t describe every touch or sigh or hip undulation, either, otherwise the love scenes would be twenty-five pages long. In the final love scene in the trilogy there is no condom, and the hero specifically asks “Aren’t we forgetting something?” but the answer is no. (Baby Bullet Catcher is on the way.)

The fact is, we can’t please every reader, though God knows we want to. At some point, it has to come down to how we want to tell the story. I can assure you, for this writer, it is not a cavalier decision. I’d love to hear how the MSW community feels about this, too. Writers, how do you address the condom conundrum? Readers, how do you feel when the writer makes a choice that goes against your personal beliefs?

Sorry to be so late. I’ve actually been thinking about my blog post since my last blog post, but I’m so behind with work right now that I really couldn’t spare even a teeny bit of time to write a blog post. I’m sorry. I suck.

I’m a “pantser” writer. I have no outline, no synopsis, no clue of what my story is going to be until I’m writing it. Sometimes, I can’t even see farther ahead than the end of the scene, let alone the next chapter. There are times when the going is tortuous because my brain is spinning like a hamster on a wheel. It’s getting a workout, but it’s not going anywhere. When that happens, it’s pure misery. I can lose precious time if too many days go by and I’m still lost in the woods.

But then there are the times when a plan comes together. Wondrous moments when an avenue will appear that is so phenomenally perfect I wish I would have thought of it, so I could feel clever. It might sound silly to say “I wish I would have thought of it,” because clearly I did, right? It popped up in my brain, didn’t it? But I’m not sure I can claim credit for something that smacks me between the eyes like a 2 x 4.

I have friends who swear it’s my subconscious at work. That while I’m feeling like my brain is skipping like a broken record (did I just totally date myself by making that analogy?), it’s actually playing with the puzzle pieces to put the picture together. I suppose that’s the most logical explanation, but wow… seriously, sometimes an idea will emerge that pulls together threads I laid out books ago! Sometimes the bow I can make out of it is such a perfect bow that it looks like I must have planned the whole thing all along. When a reviewer says “brilliantly plotted” or “complex and intriguing plot” or “In the hands of a less talented author, such a busy plot may have become difficult to follow,” I can’t help but wonder what they’d say if they knew I didn’t plan it that way? That it was all some crazy fluke that happened when I wasn’t looking?

But, regardless, I soooo love it when it happens. The feeling of discovery and delight is like opening a present that you couldn’t be more happy with. I get so excited, almost giddy. It’s one of the reasons why I stay a pantser instead of trying to plot. Yeah, the brain-dead times are horrible. But those golden nuggets in the muddy bottom make it all worth it. Too bad I can’t take credit for finding them…