The Slow Build Of Relief

Two-thirds of the way through a first revision of a 60,000 word novel is a good moment to consider what the next next step will be.

The next next step is publishing.

In preparation, during those moments when I really do not feel the drive to revise, I’ve been trudging through the dirty, crowded trenches of an old and changing industry, studying their wounded, the newly enlisted, and the heroic, all the time wondering what the trick to the success stories really is.

After reading thousands, even tens of thousands of comments on relevant Linked In groups, dropping into twitterverse to take the temperature of writers and literary agents (the writers are hopeful but cold with fear of seeing their work die an anonymous death before it even gets a good long first public breath; the agents drink a lot of coffee and don’t appear to know much more about best practices for bestseller success than I do, or if they do, they aren’t telling), and more blogs than I can recall, I stumbled across a formidable insight:

Success is all about the novel you are writing.

I pondered this for some time, while visions of chickens and eggs danced in my head.

Could there be a more annoying or cryptic insight?

Probably.

Really, it’s annoying because it doesn’t tell you how to achieve success as a novelist, except to write the kind of novel people want to read, and then to write more, because people will want to read more by the same writer rather than taking the time and risk of being disappointed by a new author. Kind of like staying with that boyfriend or girlfriend, not because you are madly in love with them, but because it’s a good, familiar, satisfying relationship. Why test the waters elsewhere, right? Since I fit more into the adventurous category when it comes to reading, frequently in the library picking up a book by an author I’ve never heard of, this conservative approach is a reality check.

It’s cryptic, because success can only come after a novel has been published and discovered, which essentially means after it has been deemed successful and worthy of being discovered and reprinted. (Chicken and egg, anyone?) At least the first part (chicken?) is easy, since publishing is possible with a click-and-upload to Amazon or other self e-publishing sites. Discovery, however, is a bit more greasy (the egg?), or so I thought while reading all those thousands of comments about how best to be discovered through promotion.

Discoverability hinges on potential readers finding your book because they want to read your work. I know, I know, new authors are in trouble now, but read on. These greasy notion finds traction in two fundamental ideas, best expressed by Kristine Kathryn Rusch at kriswrites.com.

At her site I came across a post that finally destroyed an author-promotion myth social-media aficionados and book publicists and even big publishing houses will spin, the one that sings the song of promote promote promote ’til you’re gasping, then promote more; and the other great hit, where it’s all about who you know, that grand dame editor or power publisher or lusty literary agent.

Promote or connect, and watch your book sales soar.

Or, not. What sells books is WORD OF MOUTH from trusted sources, mostly friends.

Not kidding. After reading nearly 10,000 comments on a couple of threads about best social media tactics for book promotion, and afterwards slightly down and wishing I’d spent that time working through a thorny chapter instead, I felt relieved to read this statistically-supported insight at kriswrites.com:

Even though traditional publishers have long known that word of mouth sells books, it’s not in their business model to encourage it. They don’t have time for a slow build.

Because time is money, and no one in business can afford the cost of waiting, especially not in an industry scrambling to recoup their investment within six months of book launch, and adapt and survive in a changing marketplace.

It does take time for a book to be found, to be read, to be loved, to be recommended, to be discovered, to be cherished, and it takes much more time for that to happen than it does to write what will be discovered, read, loved, recommended, championed, and so on. An expensive publicity campaign can increase discoverability but it can’t buy the kind of love that gives life to a good novel for decades to come. When this is understood, every rejection letter from a publishing gatekeeper begins to make sense: no one in this business can predict the success of a newcomer, but all bets are on for the tenth or twentieth novel by a bestseller.

Newcomers (never before published writers) are the biggest risk a publisher will take. For newcomers, the build will be slow, whatever publishing road is taken. It takes time to find a literary agent, for him or her to sell the work to the appropriate publishing house, for it to develop a marketing plan that gives the work a six-month chance before letting it flounder in obscurity.

Even if a literary agent jumps on the manuscript and flips it to a publisher within a week of sending your query, it can take months to prepare for the market. It isn’t unusual for a couple of years to pass between author query and published book in a store. Few are aware of this slow build phase prior to publication.

The question no one can answer with any confidence (and few bother to ask this way) is can independent digital publishing achieve similar or better sales inside the traditional publishing time-frame. What is certain is that the author has to develop his or her own word-of-mouth marketing plan; has to become an authorpreneur (what a horrid sounding neologism).

To risk chasing after a literary agent, and waiting for how many rejection letters before acceptance drops by, or to risk self-publishing and doing the marketing and promotions work all by one’s lonesome, being patient with the process, which is best? Either way, if the novel is to be successful at all, it has to merit the test of all this time that passes between writing and publishing, and being discovered and read and passed on. A novel must have staying power, as much as its author (add stamina to this), and the longer its staying power, the higher the chances it will help pay the rent, or mortgage.

This basically signals that the best investment and expense for any writer is writing, writing the kind of books you would want to read as many times as it takes to revise and polish; writing the kind of book that prepares a writer to stand tall in the public arena and ignore the fickle taste-makers and critics; writing the kind of book that makes avid readers want more (and then being certain there is more to give).

Self-publishing, however, means cutting into this limited time dedicated to writing and exchanging some of it for promotion (as well as editing, market research, sourcing book cover artists, learning how to format for digital publication, etc.). This is the only real drawback I can imagine when assessing which publishing road looks better. The traditional one has the advantage of teams of people working to help the author get the book to market.

Remembering the slow build insight is a way to ground this choice, at least when considering how much time will be spent on promotion. Understanding (thank you Rusch) that time spent on twittering and blogging in the name of promoting a novel might only account for 15% of that novel’s success means spending more than 15% of your work time promoting is a waste of energy.

This is what currently goes through my mind, this and the very real possibility that few will discover my protagonist and be charmed or interested enough to find out how it all ends, to recommend it to friends and family (the word-of-mouth part of a book’s success).

Yet, part of feeling satisfied in life, in my experiences, has been learning to recognize where exactly I have agency, meaning identifying what is within the realm of my actual control. Within my control is writing, well enough to merit the investment of time and energy of those who will choose to read my writing. What I write may never be literary greatness, and that is fine. Just like I cannot make others like me, I cannot make them read and enjoy what I write. Those who will, great, and this is perhaps an even more important insight than the slow build one.

What becomes clear after weeks of searching for professional and informed answers is that when and if someone comes looking for more of my work, in the off-chance that this could happen, then it’s best I be ready and have more to offer.

Which means I best be writing.

What a relief.

(The verdict on courting rejection by literary agent or rejection by self-publishing obscurity is still out. I’ll revisit that question when revision number two is underway, because the decision may be based on a personal productivity commitment. I highly recommend you read in full the page I link to above, including the comments.)

One final thought, though: why are we less patient with authors, compared to filmmakers? Why do we more easily return to someone, like Wes Anderson, even if years pass between releases? I just heard he has a new film coming out and I am swooning! Moonrise Kingdom looks like another fabulous Anderson story.