What (and How Long) It Takes to be Traditionally Published
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Views from the Midlist is our ongoing new series of articles from award-winning and bestselling author Chris Humphreys. Chris has published eighteen books over his two decade career, with such illustrious houses as Doubleday, Knopf and Orion. But the fact is that traditional publishing just isn’t what it used to be – even for the midlisters who have found success within the system. Views from the Midlist is a monthly feature in which Chris pulls the curtain back on his experiences in traditional publishing, his adventures in indie publishing, and the craft of writing.
Those of you who have read my previous posts will remember something I keep talking about: how the industry has changed in the 20+ years I have been a part of it. Today, I wish to talk about how much longer it now takes for a book to be published within the traditional publishing system.
I’ll spare you the actual starting point of publishing a book—the writer’s angst of: “Why don’t I have any ideas? How does one even begin? Maybe I should vacuum the living room again? Oh wait, is that an idea?” Finding an idea and nailing it down could be the subject of another post entirely. But let’s assume that I do have an idea—how long will it be before that idea has been turned into a book that people are actually reading?
For this post, I’m going to walk you through the stages of traditional publishing one by one. In that trad world—as opposed to the indie world where you have the whole book written—for an established author, the journey of publishing a book usually starts with the idea. So here’s the journey of my last traditional deal from the pitch on.
For context—and please excuse the trumpet blowing—I am a fairly successful author if success is measured in sales, awards, reviews, fans, and invitations. I won the Arthur Ellis for Best Crime Novel in Canada (for Plague). I have been Guest of Honour (or as the Americans insist on spelling it, “Honor”) at three major writing conferences. I was a headliner at the Istanbul Book Fair. I have been translated into a dozen languages and have sold, at a rough estimate, about half a million copies. Not Stephen King perhaps, but I am not unknown. So, it came as a bit of a shock to me just how many hoops I had to jump through to land my latest trad deal. And not with a new publisher. With my old publisher, Hachette, with whom I’d already published eight novels.
Okay, fine: I’d jumped ship for three books. (The metaphor is especially apt when combined with the old adage “changing publishers is like changing deck chairs on the Titanic”.) I’d been tempted to jump by the lovely people at Doubleday in Toronto. After enough vacuuming, I came up with the ideas for Plague and Fire, and then later for Chasing the Wind. They did well—in Canada. Best sellers, great reviews, Plague winning the prize. But it had been a double deal with Random House in London, and they…did not do so well with them. (A little matter of failing to get any press or books in stores, but that’s a matter for another post/rant.)
I should begin by saying that, unlike many indie authors, I already had an agent. Coming from an acting background, I always knew how important they can be and (as talked about in a previous post) got one before I got my first publishing deal. Though one can submit to a publisher directly, your manuscript is going to be placed atop the infamous slush pile (I expect this is now called the slush folder since almost all submissions are electronic these days). A few pages may get read, usually by an intern, sometime in the next year.
A good agent already knows the market, i.e., what is being bought. (Indeed, my current excellent agent was the man who suggested I start writing epic fantasy as it was easier to sell than historical fiction at the time.) A good agent will know which editor is looking for your type of material; for, in the traditional system, it is the acquiring editor who takes you on and signs you. A good agent also has a reputation that an editor pays attention to. Editors know that a good agent will not waste their time with poor or inappropriate material because reputation is so important—a tarnished reputation makes it harder to pitch next time. (I keep using the word “good” because, alas, there are some not-so-good agents out there who will suck the life force from your work. And anyone who asks for money to represent you, please avoid.) A good agent won't take you on unless they feel you have talent. You learn to trust their advice and their judgement. As do the editors. Of course, editors get pitched all the time by good agents, and can only take on as many as his/her list can handle in a year. Something in your work must catch their eye and enthusiasm.
Back to my recent experience. When my agent and I decided to go back to Hachette, the problems began. We quickly discovered that it did not matter how many books I’d published with Hachette previously, nor how many they’d sold. What mattered was that my most recent book—the one poorly published by Random House UK—had not sold enough copies.
I was caught in that trap. Forget the sales, prizes, and views. I was only as good as my most recent book’s sales.
This big change cascaded into others.
Change 1: Pitching for the deal
It was never quite true that I could write a three sentence synopsis on a napkin over a boozy lunch with an editor and get a contract. But I rarely needed to write much. I mean, they knew I could write, right? A few pages of a treatment, sometimes (but not always) one chapter to show I had the style down and there you go: a contract that paid me a living wage for a year. But not this time. This time I wrote a twenty-page pitch. Then I wrote three full chapters. Then the editor edited them, I re-wrote them, and he asked for three more. I wrote those. Edit. Rewrite. Finally, after about eight months of to and fro—eight months of unpaid work, mind—I got the offer. (More on that below.)
Change 2: Writing the book
At this point, I’ve written a quarter of the book for free—and that directly affects my style of writing. I am what the Americans call ‘a pantser.’ I write, like I’d fly if I flew, by the seat of my pants. I have some ideas for characters and plot but I know that, for me, it is in the act of writing itself that the book unfolds. This change in pitching meant I had to commit to story arcs and characters I hadn’t fully explored. It worked out fine in the end. Smoke in the Glass is a good book. But I must say I resented having to change my work-style to land a deal.
Change 3: The terms of the deal
In the good old days, once the editor had agreed that your pitch was wonderful, they would then take it into the acquisitions meeting. There he or she pitched it to senior management, sales, and marketing. Then, once approval was won, they would go back to my agent having decided what the financial offer should be. But that was the good old days. Now Sales (note the capitalization) runs the show. Remember that trap I mentioned above? Yes, my last book, (with a different house) hadn’t sold well. So now, though my editor wins approval for an offer, the figure is determined not by them but by Sales. And so the publisher offers me a quarter of my last trad contract and, effectively, one tenth of minimum wage.
(Oh dear! I am aware that the above is a bit of a diatribe. May I just say that the editors and publishers I have worked with have been, without exception, wonderful, smart people who care deeply and passionately for authors and books, and work so hard for them; however, like so many these days, they are more limited in what they can do. Caught in the remorseless machine that values immediate, obvious profit above everything else.)
Anyway, now, at last, I am professionally engaged to write the book. What happens next?
Leaving aside the above-described pitching process, the journey from signing the contract through the writing of the rest of the book to all the subsequent work of publishing—substantive editing, copy editing, design etc.—all takes on average about eighteen months. (It may take longer depending on when your publishing house wishes the book to appear. To battle it out on the Christmas list with the heavyweights or to shiver alone in the icy winds of February?) For the front-list authors who provide so much of a house’s revenue, that process might be shortened. They are the “book a year club” and usually writers of thriller series. Though, the better known you get, the more you can dictate your terms—and take your time (Hilary Mantel and Donna Tartt: Ten years? Really?).
Now, as for creative control? In my experience, where you do have the ultimate say is in the writing, and that has always been true. Of course smart people have opinions and will express them and you’d be a fool to disregard informed input. But “It’s your book” should be what any editor tells you, and they should mean it. Their job is to clarify your vision, not impose theirs. Now, this may be slightly different today than it was twenty years ago. Publishers are more risk averse. But as far as I know, the truth still holds: it’s your book. If you have a giant disagreement with your editor over something, in the end your point of view wins. (I have had that level of disagreement over a point maybe twice in eighteen books. I won…though now I am not totally sure if I was right on either point!) As for other creative aspects, like design? Well, editors generally accept that you know your book better than anyone, including themselves. So if your opinions, gently expressed, seem valid, they will listen, and pass them onto marketing and sales and, sometimes, change things accordingly. You have no veto on cover design, for example, but over the years I have had an appreciable influence on how my books should look. I got the publisher to completely change the paperback cover of Vlad. I even appeared as the eponymous hero in one of my books. (Check out the man in the red coat on Jack Absolute!)
All in all, the traditional publishing journey is a long one, and getting longer, if my recent experience of pitching is anything to go by. Being able to dictate your speed of production is certainly one of the attractions of the indie world—just so long as my indie editor stops me appearing on the cover of my next book in my red swimming trunks. Now that’s advice I’ll listen to.
