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.

Writing a Second Novel (or Third or Fourth) is Notoriously Difficult

Second novel, third novel, fourth novel, the process is the same.

A client calls and says, “I have an idea, let me share it with you.”

Tell me first about the main character in your novel, I prompt.

“He’s a very ordinary man.” “She has no family, her parents are dead and she never married.” “He doesn’t have any interests, that’s the idea; by the end of the book, he’ll know what he’s interested in.” “She doesn’t have a career, that’s the point; she’s going to figure out what it is.” “I’m a serious writer, there is no plot structure.”

Tell me about the minor characters in this second novel, I suggest. It turns out there are a dozen of them. Each boasts a lengthy list of attributes of age and appearance and profession and the author tells me she can hear their accents and they’re funny.

“But they’re not really important,” the writer says. “It’s just that I can see them so clearly.”

Take a walk, I propose. Spend four days as your character. Really immerse yourself in the character profile. Pay your bills as that character. Eat lunch as that character. Exercise as that character. Write me a letter from that character. Tell me why and how that character knows all those minor characters.

It’s a miracle. Always. It turns out that those minor characters are very important to the story structure. It may turn out that one of them is actually the story’s chief character. We find that this protagonist has a rich and complex life and that the writer somehow has always known that. None of the material has been wasted. It’s just that this is how some writers work: that the main character has to remain in the shadows until the world around him solidifies.

Query Letters that Worked

Before you get started on the first of fifty drafts of your cover letter, I urge you to look at publishers’ catalogues (which are issued about four months before a book is published and are used by sales reps to pitch their company’s titles to booksellers). Hachette makes those and all their various imprints available online.

I’ve seen a lot of query letters that worked by adopting this method. Generally, each book gets a page in the publisher’s catalogue, and all houses use the same general formula/template: The first sentence is the hook or the handle or the one-minute elevator pitch. The next paragraph highlights the story itself. The third paragraph describes the book’s competition, its comparable books. The fourth paragraph tells you about the author and her credentials. Off to the sides of the main text, you’ll generally see quotes or reviews.

Draft your query letter as if it’s catalogue copy.  Of course the letter will sound clunky and artificial at first, but you’ll be able to smooth it out.

If you’re not getting agent responses to your current query letter, try this approach. I’ve seen a lot of query letters that worked this way.

A Primer on Audio Rights

When an agent makes a deal to sell your book to a publisher, you’ll likely be elated (and will have a few common author questions). You’ll delight to tell your friends that they’ll soon see your work at their local bookstore, between brightly colored covers emblazoned with a respected publisher’s colophon.

What you won’t be thinking about until later are the subsidiary rights: sales that can be made to bookclubs, audio publishers, foreign publishers and movie/television producers. There are all sorts of ways that a book can earn money for a publisher and an author.

Right now, audio publishers are acquiring audio rights aggressively. They want everything: bestsellers and romances and science fiction and mysteries and nonfiction and backlist and kid’s books. They are building audio empires and their advances can equal or surpass those of your print publishers.

There are a couple of major book publishers who now insist on acquiring audio rights along with print rights, and that insistence can be a factor in where your agent thinks you should be published. Agents always want you to retain audio rights (for separate sale to an audio publisher) and may choose to sell your book to a house that will let them.

The publishers who retain audio rights pay royalties if they publish the book under their own audio division. If they license the rights to an outside audio publisher, you’ll receive a 50% share of the advance and of any royalties. The big downside to a print-and-audio deal with a print publisher is that the publisher will own those audio rights for as long as your book is in print or for the term of copyright — generally your lifetime plus 70 years.

If your agent sells your audio rights separately, generally your audio contract will run for a defined term of license much shorter than the term of copyright, often no more than eight or ten years. After that term, the audio rights revert to you.

These days, authors may end up having a relationship with their audio publisher who may choose, for instance, to send you to the American Library Association. Or authors may become friendly with the narrator of their books; readers will tell you that they loved “listening” to your book. And even if your book was published long ago, there’s a chance that it can find a new life in audio.

Should I Hire a Publicist?

Another of the popular author questions. In general, no, it’s probably not a good idea. At least for (most) fiction. Publicists can do fabulous things for authors. But now that so few newspapers or major media review books and, instead, digital media has blossomed as the prime engine for publicizing books, it really doesn’t make sense to take a good portion of your advance and hire a publicist who will come in five months before pub date and do all the things that an in-house team — who will be meeting and planning your book’s strategy together — will do.

If you’ve written several books, it might make sense to hire an assistant rather than a publicist. That assistant can work out a promotion plan for you that rolls out year-round. She (or he) can help you with social media, with Twitter, and with getting out an e-mail newsletter to fans and bookstores. An in-house publicist can invest about six weeks getting out the word on your book. After that, it’s time for her to move on to other projects.

Authors of nonfiction (and historical fiction) should discuss the value of a publicist with their agents and editors. Certainly there are a lot of practical ways that a dedicated publicist may make a significant difference for nonfiction titles. But unless there are good reasons to conclude that your publisher doesn’t have sufficient manpower and/or enthusiasm to promote your book, it’s probably best to stick with your publisher’s team.

Whatever you decide to do, decide early! Don’t hire a publicist two months out from publication. Start looking for someone seven or eight months earlier.

The Snowflake Method

A few years ago, a friend used “the snowflake method” to plot out her first novel. Her book was admirably tight and her characters had a depth and complexity that is rare in a first novel.

Since then I’ve sent many writers to this site:
http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/articles/snowflake-method/

And many have been inspired by it. I don’t know if they’re systematically following the program, but they’re getting something useful out of it.

I take on a lot of debut fiction. By the time it lands on my desktop, every chapter and page of these books has been long worked on to build a compelling tale with full-featured characters. If all goes right, the book gets sold and the publisher and readers want more…soon. So then comes the contract for the second novel. Or for the fifth. And the author must start anew. Maybe the writer has an idea, has settled on a few characters and so he starts to work. I can see trouble ahead. And that would be the vast middle of the story, the Sahara Desert called plot.

Eventually the writer will figure out how to make it all work — even without my help. But there will be so many drafts, so many restarts…and inevitably it turns out that a new character needs to be introduced. Or that the stakes aren’t high enough. And this is where the snowflake method shows its stuff.

It’s kind of the opposite of the Marie Kondo plan. In other words, the author isn’t confronting a messy house that needs to be cleaned out. The problem instead is the inherent scantiness of beginnings. And the author’s fear that her idea spigot has been turned off elicits panic, not inspiration. It’s always scary: Is there any guarantee that the urgent twists and turns and engaging characters will return?

The snowflake method is methodical; it ploddingly explains that building a potent story is not about inspiration. It’s about asking one question, listening to the answer and then offering up another idea. It alleviates many authors’ anxiety to think of plotting as a skill like any other. The craft has rules, it can be learned, and it’s not about brilliance. It’s about thinking characters and a story through and giving yourself enough time that an unexpected twist or turn can emerge.