Write That Book Already!: The Tough Love You Need To Get Published Now (13 page)

Editorial Director (or Chief Editor):
Oversees the editorial staff; the editorial director is often the person who runs the meeting.

Acquiring Editor:
Sifts through proposals and determines which will be of greatest interest to the imprint, and ultimately, the reader. The editor is the person your agent shows your book proposal to; he may or may not want to have a conversation with you before presenting your proposal to the board. In addition to acquiring manuscripts, editors help their authors seek endorsements, get excerpts published, advocate for the authors in-house, and—oh yeah—edit their books, though at some publishing companies there is a second editor who does the actual editing.

Marketing Director:
Oversees the development of materials designed to help the sales force get orders from retailers, including catalogue copy, cover design, in-store displays, advertising, online presence, giveaways and promotions, outreach to organizations, and mailings. A good marketing department will spark consumers’ interest to the point that they actually go out and buy the darned book. So basically, marketing means doing whatever it takes to get as many books as possible into—and then out of—the stores, and into readers’ hands.

Publicity Director:
Works with the marketing department to get the word out about new books. Publicists coordinate campaigns that include review submissions, book tours, author events, speaking engagements, online presence, and media interviews. They are generally even more overworked than other people in publishing.

Sales Director:
Guides a team of sales representatives in distributing your book to booksellers. Sales reps are the direct liaison to retailers and wholesalers. They are out on the frontlines selling to their accounts, and in most companies their opinions are very influential, because they have their finger on the pulse, or in the pie. They have their finger somewhere.

Art Director:
Oversees all art for the publisher, most notably the cover design.

Obviously, this lineup varies greatly from company to company and division to division. For instance, if you’re dealing with a tiny publisher there may be only one or two people playing all these roles. At a giant company, there may be twenty or more people in the room. Some may limit attendance to a few key people; others may be more democratic.

THE DRAMA UNFOLDS

There will probably be more than one proposal on the agenda, and poor Barry Samuels will have to sit there pretending to be interested while a young editorial assistant named Rebecca Tweak pitches her first proposal ever—a coffee-table-sized collection of photographs of butter-sculpture busts of American presidents, by the former executive chef of a cruise line. She really believes in this book, and has researched the market and competition titles, but her voice shakes with nerves as she begins her pitch.

“This butter be good,” murmurs Mort Meyer, the marketing director, to a cute publicist he’s been flirting with all week.

“Fat chance,” she giggles. But they both listen politely as Rebecca Tweak completes her pitch.

Strong opinions are expressed in the editorial board meeting, since this is everyone’s big chance to weigh in on an important decision—to publish or not to publish. This meeting is one of the arenas in which the publishing house affirms or alters the character of its list, and at times a proposal may lead to a heated discussion of the company’s identity and the kind of books it needs to acquire. These discussions influence the decisions made at editorial board; but what many people don’t know is that a great proposal (like yours) can influence this ongoing process as well.

After a series of rapid-fire questions from the marketing and publicity directors, along with some grilling about financial projections and reminders of the high cost of publishing photo books from the publisher, Tom Slammit (who had a fight with his wife that morning and is in a cranky mood to begin with), a decision is made to pass on
Churning to Be President: Profiles in Butter
. Rebecca runs from the conference room in tears, as a few less sensitive colleagues whisper jokes about “churning a profit” and her “butter failure.”

Next up is another nonfiction proposal, presented by Mimi Bigones, a far more experienced editor, who specializes in self-help titles.
Videology
promotes the idea that—not unlike the concept of astrology—human beings’ personalities and preferences are affected by the shows aired on TV at the moment of their birth.

“So,” says Bigones, “if you were born during
I Love Lucy
, you might end up spending your life cooking up harebrained schemes and trying to get onstage at the Copacabana; if you were born during
The Sopranos
—well, you get the idea.”

Bigones’ pitch is brief and perfunctory; when no one in the room responds with enthusiasm she all but admits that she is presenting this book as a favor to the agent, an important player and a lifelong friend, and agrees that it may not be a good fit for the list. She doesn’t seem at all ruffled when the book is declined in a matter of minutes. After the meeting ends, she’ll immediately place a call to the agent.

“I really went to the wall for
Videology,
” Bigones will say, “but we got shot down by Marketing. They just didn’t get it. Hey—want to do lunch next Tuesday?”

Now it’s Barry Samuels’s turn. He clears his throat, adjusts his bifocals, and explains why
When the Sparrow Cries Wolf
is worth publishing. Armed with facts about America’s bird-watching-club demographics, he goes to bat for your book. Samuels answers sales director Jane Hankie’s questions with a list of retail outlets that cater to bird lovers (provided by the agent, who got it from you), in addition to bookstores specializing in mystery books. He eases the concerns of the marketing and publicity team with an e-mail printout expressing interest from the producer of a national radio show (Ethel Bluestocking makes a point of maintaining contacts in the media), and he seduces the publisher with promises of endorsements from three bestselling authors who love bird watching. Samuels knows this because he is in a bird-watching club with David Sedaris, Joyce Carol Oates, and Toni Morrison.

A heated discussion ensues about your book. Tom, the publisher, still cranky after his difficult morning, isn’t sure he wants to take a risk on an unknown author. Marketing director Mort Meyer, an avid mystery reader, longs to beef up this part of the fiction list. He nudges the sales director, with whom he’s had a long, private discussion before the meeting.

“Oh!” Jane says, remembering her cue, “I think this one will fly right off the shelves.” Everyone in the room groans, but the mood is lightened.

“I think it’s a fresh idea, with a lot of potential. I don’t even care about bird watching, but I thought the writing was awesome,” says Tina Frisque, one of the publicists. Sometimes they actually do talk about the quality of the writing in these meetings.

“I don’t know, I didn’t think it was that strong,” says Mimi Bigones, who is always competing with Barry Samuels. “It just didn’t sing to me. We’d be going head-to-head with some heavy-hitters on the other spring lists. Elmore Leonard has a new one coming out, John Lescroart, Lisa Scottoline . . . and that Agatha Christie anthology . . . .”

“Isn’t Agatha Christie dead?” asks Tina Frisque, looking puzzled.

“Yes, honey,” replies Leo Palma-Cortes, the art director, “but that doesn’t stop Penguin from crankin’ out new editions of her books.”

“There’s no better author than a famous dead one,” grumbles Tom Slammit, sending a shudder through Barry Samuels. The publisher seems to be in a bad mood, and one way or another, he has to be on board if Samuels is going to acquire the book.

“You’ve got a good point—dead authors don’t whine!” Veronica Pickle, the publicity director, chuckles.

“I don’t know about this,” Slammit continues, as he starts checking e-mail on his BlackBerry. “Who the hell cares about bird watching anyway?”

“Sedaris does,” Barry Samuels reminds him. “Look at all these.” He pulls out a sheaf of papers, printouts of websites for bird watchers. “And Joyce writes a bird-watching blog that gets 2,000 hits a day. You put that together with all of our avid mystery readers, and you’ve got a sure-fire hit on your hands.”

Samuels realizes his reasoning may be a little shaky, but he really wants this one, and he can feel it slipping away, especially when Mimi Bigones raises another concern.

“The title doesn’t work for me,” she declares. “It’s too long. No one will remember it. You need something with more pizzazz.”

“What do you mean by ‘pizzazz,’ Mimi?” Samuels asks, suddenly feeling tired.

“Oh, I don’t know.
Maid for Murder
or something.”

“How about
Bird on a Wire
?” asks Jane Hankie.

“
Swallow This
?” suggests Leo Palma-Cortes.

The discussion of alternative titles, sales track of similar books, and the merits of the manuscript itself continues for about twenty minutes, until finally Tom Slammit comes around, just enough.

He’s still isn’t really convinced, but the e-mail he just read from
his
boss contained a mandate from Unimax corporate headquarters to beef up the list by acquiring more titles, and fast. A pretty good writer with an original idea and a completed fiction manuscript could be a valuable commodity, especially since this author isn’t in a position to ask for a large advance, even with the legendary Edith Bluestocking representing the property.

“All right, it sounds like some of you really want to do this, but I’m not so sure. If you’re going to make me give a hoot about a bunch of bird watchers, I want more sex—and somebody better die right off the bat,” Tom Slammit declares.

Barry Samuels sees his chance.

“How about if we ask for a rewrite on the opening chapter, going in the direction Tom is suggesting,” he says.

THE PHONE CALL

The meeting is adjourned, and Barry Samuels goes off to deliver the verdict, which isn’t really a verdict at all, to Edith Bluestocking. Edith, in turn, calls you.

“Are you okay?” Edith asks. She says this because you started hyperventilating the moment you heard your agent’s voice on the phone.

“Sure, I’m fine,” you gasp. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Edith says, “there’s good news, but not the news you wanted to hear. Ballpoint is interested, but they want to see a rewrite of the first chapter. They want you to bump up the love interest and have a little more excitement right at the start—preferably in the form of a murder.”

You are devastated. You considered your opening chapter to be a masterpiece. Like Mozart, you felt you had everything in its place, just right. However, this is a moment when you need to decide—are you willing to let go of your opinion and submit to the desire of the mysterious, faceless publishing house?

Of course you are. You are a rookie author and you want to get published.

“Actually,” says Edith Bluestocking, “if Barry Samuels goes for the rewrite you’ll be in excellent hands. He’s a very good editor, and your book will be the better for it. And Leo Palma-Cortes is the best art director in the business. It’s bound to look gorgeous, too.”

You thank Edith and say your goodbyes. Then you make a pot of coffee, turn on your computer, and try to think of someone to kill, preferably in the middle of having hot sex, in the first chapter.

BOTTOM LINE

Whether or not a manuscript gets accepted can depend on the trends in the marketplace, corporate directives (at a big publisher), the publisher’s mission, goals, and financial considerations, your agent’s connections, and other factors beyond your control. Your job: be a pro and do the best job you can on the part of the process that’s within your control. Then say a prayer to the gods of Talent, Luck, and Timing, and hope for the best.

There’s been a rumor going around for a while now that the venerable old publishing model of an acquiring editor actually editing your book has gone the way of the typewriter and the record player. As with all rumors, there is some element of truth to this, but from what we’ve experienced there are still a lot of editors out there who are willing to roll up their sleeves, sharpen their pencils, and get to work on your manuscript.