Getting Started On Your Book Proposal

It takes just as much time to write a book proposal as it does to write the book.

Is that what you’re saying? 

Yes. It is.

You may be a journalist, an academic, an essayist or a novelist. You may have published your memoir, published books in various literary genres, or written a cookbook.

You may have read books on how to write a book proposal. (The one I’m most partial to is Susan Rabiner’s THINKING LIKE YOUR EDITOR.)

You may have jotted down your overview, dug up your bio, pulled together a chapter outline, or even used a proposal template.

But if you’re like most of the accomplished writers who come to me, you don’t have a three-sentence description of your book. Nor do you have a title.  And this means you don’t really know what your book is about. You are master of your subject matter, but you haven’t yet figured out what the story is.

Writing a book proposal can be daunting. Here’s how to get started:

Look at the nonfiction books on your shelf. Read their introductions. That introduction started its life as a long e-mail addressed to the literary agent. These intros read like a speech to a bunch of college students, don’t they? They open with a wry, personable, chatty story.

So write that e-mail. Go on and on, explain why you came up with this idea. Tell stories, give examples, describe how you gathered your story, describe the structure of your book, set down your credentials. Don’t censor yourself. If you over-edit yourself now, your voice will be strained and awkward. Your work will sound dry and tortuous. Have fun writing it, but don’t send it out.

Then, focus on the title and the subtitle. Look at the titles of books in your area.  See how they often have two or three words. Good hearty nouns. When I look at the title and subtitle of Jane Mayer’s DARK MONEY: The Hidden History of the Billionaires Behind the Rise of the Radical Right, I am consumed with envy.

You’re probably scared of the chapter outline aren’t you?  Imagine that you’re teaching a thirteen-week course in your subject. Each chapter is an hour long …. . Look at LORDS OF THE SEA: The Epic Story of the Athenian Navy and the Birth of Democracy by John R. Hale if you’re an historian.

Once you’ve completed these three steps, congratulations! You thought writing the sample chapters was going to be the difficult part, but it’s not nearly as difficult as book proposal you’ve just done.

Notes From a Practical Agent

There’s a dark shroud that occasionally unfurls to cloak a subdued conversation an author shares with me when his worries weigh heavily on him: “My publisher won’t want another book from me,” the author moans. “I’m out of ideas. I’m going to have to become a substitute teacher. I won’t be able to pay my rent. I will never, ever make it.”

These worries are not limited to new authors or writers with modest advances. As a literary fiction agent I find it’s more often an author with several books published, with contracts “in the bank,” with an audience of long-time readers. Yes, it’s more often these authors – who have enjoyed success – who panic. About halfway through the conversation, I say, “You’re catastrophizing again.”  And then I insist we examine each bit of evidence that has been presented to me: an editor who didn’t return their call, two negative Amazon book reviews, a (seemingly) curt e-mail from their publisher.

Time and again, what’s really happening is that a writer is stuck (but not in a writer’s block sort of way). Yes, a conversation is needed, but it’s not about readying his application for a job at Walmart. It’s about figuring out where the story begins…or what the book is really about…or changing the setting.

Writers catastrophize when they think they’re trapped. Stories aren’t “real,” but once you solve the problem of the story then the anxieties of paying the bills seems to evaporate, as well.

Notes from being a literary fiction agent: You can’t eliminate anxiety. Writers are narrative-driven folks, and writers feast on stories of failure. Such stories are dramatically satisfying but offer little more to the story writer. But bargain with yourself. Make an appointment with anxiety: between 3:00 and 4:00 PM is a good hour. After you’ve rolled around in the shroud, chop up an onion and make dinner.

What Makes Me Wary, What Makes Me Happy

What makes me wary:

* When a new writer looks me in the eye, holds my hand and says, “I really, really want to be a New York bestseller.”

*  When an author says, “My last agent just didn’t know anyone in Hollywood and didn’t know how to make my book into a movie.”

*  When a writer says, “I want to write in this genre type,” but then it turns out she’s never read the competition.

*  When a new writer proudly announces that she knows exactly which literary editors I should send her book to.

*  When a writer asks me if I’m interested in selling the new book in a series she is self-publishing.

What makes me happy:

*  When a writer says “I’ve written five books and had two agents. But here’s something new.”

*  When a writers says, “I like the books on your list.”

*  When a new writer says, “First, let me tell you the story.” And then the story is so spooky strong that I just want to listen to what he has to say.

*  When the first paragraph of a manuscript submission is just so strong that I immediately send it to my Kindle and then almost miss my train stop going home that night.

*  When I’m reading a manuscript and forget that I work in the publishing industry and then I snap back to reality and start to compose a submission list.