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Terry Teachout on the arts in New York City

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Archives for September 8, 2004

TT: Advice to young authors

September 8, 2004 by Terry Teachout

Supermaud linked this morning to “The Education of Stacy Sullivan,” Gal Beckerman’s story in the current issue of the Columbia Journalism Review about a journalist who wrote a book about Kosovo, then was astonished that it didn’t become an overnight best seller.

Actually, that’s just my jaundiced take. Here’s Maud’s, which is a lot more fair:

Beckerman chronicles the many obstacles faced by journalist and debut author Stacy Sullivan in publishing and promoting Be Not Afraid, for You Have Sons in America, her nonfiction book. Sullivan’s story is familiar to me, mirroring those I’ve heard even from seasoned and extremely well-regarded novelists. The upshot: unless your book is seen as bestseller material, you’re on your own.

Editors no longer edit. The art department doesn’t care whether the exploding grenades on the proposed cover undermine the themes of your book. And your publicist is not going to lift even a pinky to help you, especially not if he or she is also responsible for promoting books written by star authors like, say, David Sedaris (or even, as in Sullivan’s case, Newt Gingrich).

All true, at least for the most part–but is it news? Not to me, or to anyone who’s published a book in the past quarter-century or so. Poor Stacy Sullivan, on the other hand, seems to have been shocked beyond words by the facts of publishing life. Says Beckerman:

By the end of last year, the book was out of [Sullivan’s] hands and in print, at an initial run of 5,000 copies. By this point, she had long abandoned the illusion that her publisher cared about her book’s fate. “It’s your book,” Sullivan now tells herself. “It’s not your agent’s, your editor’s, or your publisher’s. It’s your baby and you have to nurture it.”

Well, duh!

Allow a cynical old author with several books under his belt to offer a more realistic perspective on the way things work:

• Publishing is a business. It always was. It always will be. No reasonable publisher will buy your book save with the reasonable expectation of selling enough copies to earn back your advance, plus enough profit to keep the wheels turning. Hence the chief function of an agent is to get your editor to give you an advance large enough to make the bean counters feel they have a stake in the book’s success. The larger the advance, the more seriously your book will be taken by everyone involved in its publication. If you don’t get a good advance, it means the publisher doesn’t expect the book to sell well, and won’t act accordingly–and there’s nothing you can do about it. (Stacy Sullivan got $35,000, a dead giveaway that St. Martin’s had only modest expectations for her book.)

• In my experience, Maxwell Perkins-style editing is a thing of the past. That’s fine with me. If you aren’t capable of writing a book that’s publishable in the version you submit to the publisher, you’re not a professional. I’m not talking about copyediting, the painstaking clean-up job in which a line editor makes sure your whiches and thats are all in the right places. That kind of editing is very much alive and well. All my books have been copyedited scrupulously, and they’re the better for it. But don’t assume that some magic-fingered editor is going to make your book a bestseller by rewriting it. Clean up your own mess. If you don’t trust yourself, ask a trusted colleague for advice. Then do your own editing, based on that advice. Write the book you want to see in print.

• The art departments of major publishing houses are busy with lots of books besides yours. Left to their own devices, they may or may not produce a relevant, attention-getting dust jacket. So roll up your sleeves and involve yourself in the process of designing your book. Get to know the designer. Don’t be a nuisance, but be clear and straightforward about what you think might be appropriate in the way of possible cover images. And don’t wait until the last minute: make sure you’re in the loop from start to finish. In my experience, you’ll be listened to, so long as you appear to know what you’re talking about. Arbitrary, whimsical advice will be ignored. Intelligent, informed suggestions will be heard and heeded, not just about the cover but about every aspect of the book’s design, right down to the choice of typeface. I’m neither rich nor famous, but all my books look exactly the way I wanted them to–or better.

• According to Gal Beckerman, publishers like “presentable” authors. That’s true–but you don’t have to have great hair in order to impress them. You do, however, have to be able to talk concisely and intelligently about your book under pressure (i.e., on a live radio broadcast). You also have to know how to give effective speeches and readings.

For road-tested advice on how not to sound like an idiot when talking about your book, go here.

• In-house book publicists are a mixed bag. I’ve had great ones and lousy ones. But no matter how smart or committed they are, they can’t work miracles. If you’re an unknown first-time author, they won’t be able to do much for you, no matter how hard they try. If you got a five-thousand-dollar advance, they won’t try very hard.

You can, of course, hire an outside publicist, and sometimes that helps–but be realistic about your prospects. Stacy Sullivan’s book is called Be Not Afraid for You Have Sons in America: How a Brooklyn Roofer Helped Lure the U.S. into the Kosovo War. Do you really think a publicist could have gotten her on TV?

• Print advertisements don’t sell books. (Neither do fancy book parties.) They make nervous authors feel better. Unless you’re famous, your publisher won’t spring for an ad until after your book is selling. Live with it.

• The effects of book reviews on sales are unknown. They don’t hurt (assuming the reviews are good), but there are lots of other ways to sell a book. If you’re reading these words, for instance, you already know that the blogosphere has started to become a significant factor in the marketing of midlist books. Take advantage of it. Well before the publication date, register www.yourname.com, get a blog up and running, and use it to publicize your book.

• Don’t worry about the New York Times Book Review. It’s nice to be reviewed there and nicer still to get a good review, but far from necessary. I’ve never gotten a favorable full-length review from the Times Book Review for any of my books–and I’ve been writing for them for years! Be that as it may, I continue to crank out books, and publishers continue to publish them, so I must be doing something right.

I close with the Prime Directive of Writing a Book. Print it out, frame it, and place it in a prominent spot on your desk:

• Anyone who writes a serious book with the expectation of making a lot of money and/or becoming famous is a fool. If you can’t afford to write a book in your spare time for its own sake, you’re in the wrong business.

TT: Eleven things I learned on my vacation

September 8, 2004 by Terry Teachout

• Never look at great art for more than an hour at a time. After that, your eyes go numb. When that happens, take a lunch break.

• One museum a day is enough.

• Bring twice as many CDs and half as many books as you think you’ll need.

• Unless you’re driving an expensive car, don’t bother listening to classical music—the road noise will drown out the quiet parts.

• When staying at a bed-and-breakfast, don’t eat all of the first course, no matter how good it is. (If you do, you won’t be able to finish the entrée, which is usually even better.)


• Once you’ve spent three consecutive nights at B&Bs, spend the fourth at a roadside motel. You’ll appreciate the contrast—both ways.


• In Pennsylvania, all roads are under construction at all times.

• Anyone more than casually interested in Frank Lloyd Wright should invest in a copy of William Allin Storrer’s The Architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright: A Complete Catalog. This compact catalogue raisonné contains illustrated entries for all 433 pieces of “built work” by Wright, plus road maps showing how to find them. The maps are legible and accurate—I can vouch for them. In addition, they clearly indicate which buildings can be viewed from “publicly accessible property” (i.e., they can be seen from the street).

• When visiting a medium-sized city, make a point of dining at the museum café. Not only is the food good, but you can also eavesdrop on the staff—and the donors.

• If you’re driving, either wear a long-sleeved shirt or put sunscreen on your left arm.

• Bring your own pillow. You’ll sleep better.

TT: Almanac

September 8, 2004 by Terry Teachout

“Whether you like it or not, when you’re sixty-two you’re fulfilled.”


Burt Lancaster (quoted in Kate Buford, Burt Lancaster: An American Life)

TT: I couldn’t have put it better

September 8, 2004 by Terry Teachout

From I Want Media:

Q:

OGIC: Wait just one minute

September 8, 2004 by Terry Teachout

I’ve just read the Columbia Journalism Review piece that first Maud, and then Terry, linked to today. I’m left with mixed feelings. I don’t doubt that certain factors make the process of publishing a book today regrettably frustrating for most authors, and unsuccessful for many: the sheer volume of books being published and, of course, book publishers’ pesky need to make money. I sympathize with Stacy Sullivan’s plight, but I’m not certain she’s the ideal poster child for suffering midlist writers. Her situation as described in Gal Beckerman’s article seems to a considerable degree self-created.


You see, there’s this little thing in publishing called a contract. When signed, it confers obligations on both parties. The most important obligations of the author are (a) timely delivery of the manuscript and (b) delivery of a satisfactory manuscript. For most publishers, “satisfactory” will mean publishable, at the very least, but probably a sight better. If either of these basic obligations isn’t met (and they often aren’t), a publisher may renege on a contract (but they seldom do).


It’s well known that deadline extensions are handed out by book publishers like peanuts by flight attendants. It’s relatively rare for a book to be cancelled for late delivery; if one is, there’s a good chance the publisher has some underlying motive. For instance, if you’re an author whose acquiring editor has left your publishing house, you’d best be damn sure to meet your deadline, and in style. The staunchest thing standing between a missed deadline and a cancellation is the house’s investment in the book, which most commonly means the personal investment of the editor, i.e., the person who took it upon herself to jump through x number of hoops in order to persuade skeptical bosses to part with their investors’ money in return for the mere promise of a book. In general, that person no more wants to see the book cancelled than the author does, and so most authors are on safe ground counting on extensions. As an editor, however, one might understandably hope to know earlier than a month before deadline–this is when Sullivan “realized” that she wouldn’t be able to complete more than half of her manuscript–that an extension is needed.


The other pertinent thing to say about deadlines is that precisely those functions of a publishing house that can help a book find its audience, and that Sullivan found wanting at St. Martin’s–marketing and publicity, cover art and book design–are sensitive to them. Many of these departments start their work on a book far ahead of publication and rely on firm production schedules and season lists. It’s no small deal when a book drops off a list and gets pushed back to the next season.


But, as I said, late delivery is both the most common and most forgivable of contractual breaches in the book publishing business. Delivery of a satisfactory manuscript can be another story. Again, one is usually on pretty safe ground here, since it can be difficult for a publisher to legally prove that a manuscript is so subjective a thing as “unsatisfactory.” A really good, pugnacious agent can pretty readily cow an editor into gritting his teeth and publishing the thing, unless it’s an all-out total disaster. But guess what? If you miss your deadline and deliver something unsatisfactory–let alone unpublishable, as Sullivan readily admits the 600-page rough draft she delivered two years after her original deadline was–the publisher can walk away scot-free. Think “unpublishable” is too strong a word for what Sullivan turned in? She doesn’t; she pulled it out of production (a really big deal, like pulling up the rail in front of a freight train gathering steam) in order to get it into the shape in which she should have delivered it in the first place.


At the publishing house that used to employ me, we once received a manuscript several months late, and we weren’t happy with it. It was by no means unpublishable–in fact, it was a political-personal autobiography that was soon published by another house in much the same form and that now, many years after the fact, is selling like hotcakes. But it was not what the proposal had led us to expect, not the book we wanted to publish, and the missed deadline gave us the out we needed without our having to address the thorny question of what’s “satisfactory.” So from a certain perspective you could argue that St. Martin’s bent over backward for Sullivan. She left several doors open for them to duck out of, but they paid her advance and published a book whose fortunes, it is compellingly argued here, were already hobbled by its untimeliness. It seems audacious of her to complain about the publisher’s lackluster efforts on behalf of a book she delivered two years late, 100% too long, and in a rough enough state that she didn’t want it out in the world with her name on it. She admits she was “naive,” but nowhere in the CJR piece does she seem at all abashed by how unseriously she appears to have taken her promises to St. Martin’s. Well, there’s naive, and then there’s unprofessional.

Terry Teachout

Terry Teachout, who writes this blog, is the drama critic of The Wall Street Journal and the critic-at-large of Commentary. In addition to his Wall Street Journal drama column and his monthly essays … [Read More...]

About

About “About Last Night”

This is a blog about the arts in New York City and the rest of America, written by Terry Teachout. Terry is a critic, biographer, playwright, director, librettist, recovering musician, and inveterate blogger. In addition to theater, he writes here and elsewhere about all of the other arts--books, … [Read More...]

About My Plays and Opera Libretti

Billy and Me, my second play, received its world premiere on December 8, 2017, at Palm Beach Dramaworks in West Palm Beach, Fla. Satchmo at the Waldorf, my first play, closed off Broadway at the Westside Theatre on June 29, 2014, after 18 previews and 136 performances. That production was directed … [Read More...]

About My Podcast

Peter Marks, Elisabeth Vincentelli, and I are the panelists on “Three on the Aisle,” a bimonthly podcast from New York about theater in America. … [Read More...]

About My Books

My latest book is Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington, published in 2013 by Gotham Books in the U.S. and the Robson Press in England and now available in paperback. I have also written biographies of Louis Armstrong, George Balanchine, and H.L. Mencken, as well as a volume of my collected essays called A … [Read More...]

The Long Goodbye

To read all three installments of "The Long Goodbye," a multi-part posting about the experience of watching a parent die, go here. … [Read More...]

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