In the fall, I consulted with freelance, technical and creative writer, Michelle Goodman about publishing with regional presses. By way of thank you, she arranged for two other writers to join her in an email conversation with me about themselves, their writing, and their publishing. We all benefited from the conversation, and I share it with WIR readers for its first-hand accounts and camaraderie arising from the sharing of experience and information about what we as writers need and confront.

I hope that reading this email conversation, you’ll immerse yourself in what it feels like when writers get together to check out how it is for others on our side of the desk. Writing careers are self-made with lots of twists and turns, decisions and personal viewpoints about how to create the path. When we talk to one another we pick up information and perceptions for the route we might take.

If reading this email thread sparks questions or comments, please send them to me using the comment form you get by clicking at the end of the article or email me at sbender@writingitreal.com. You can also post them on the WIR community page (once you log in, click on the WIR you see in the purple bar on the home page), and you may find your questions may lead to more discussion threads with other subscribers. Feel free to put your email address in the post if you’d like to hear directly from others.

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Michelle started our conversation:

Hi Sheila,

I think between the three of us, Alle and Lisa and I represent a variety of milestones that newer authors experience: Lisa recently completed a non-fiction book, Alle’s shopping a couple of books around with an agent, and I recently ghostwrote a book and am about to sign a contract to write a how-to business/careers title for a small publisher.

Michelle

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From Sheila:

Hi Michelle, Alle and Lisa,

Thank you ahead of time for participating in our soon-to-be public email conversation. I look forward to learning more about each of you. I am curious to know what you would add to Michelle’s descriptions of your positions vis-à-vis publishing.

 Perhaps you have answers to questions like these: How have you gone about looking for agents or decided against using one, and what else in your careers (and lives) has helped you with your books (or distracted you)? What is your process for working on your manuscripts?

Please feel free to use our conversation to ask other questions, too.

Sheila

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Lisa, who just finished a nonfiction book, responded:

Hi Sheila, Alle and Michelle,

Thanks for including me in this thread discussion. As it happens, I’m just back from a meeting about editing a guidebook as a work-for-hire job, which is a whole other oyster. I’ll be curious to see if writing books on a work-for-hire basis comes up here.
First, a little about me. I’ve been a writer and editor for nearly 20 years. After college, I attended the NYU Publishing Institute, and ended up writing direct mail for CARE and then working as a production editor for a book production company. Eventually, I moved to Westchester, where I was a reporter and editor for a group of community weekly papers. I also helped to launch a quickly-defunct monthly magazine for Westchester. That’s where I got my trench training. Once newspaper work had worn me down to a nub, I moved to Maine, where I helped edit, fact check and ghostwrite a memoir for an old climber that was published in 1995. I lived in a woodstove-heated cabin on his property for two bone-chilling winters. While there, I wrote fiction and applied to MFA programs. I ended up at University of Washington, where I got my masters degree in fiction and taught creative writing for three years. In order to earn my bread (such as it is), I returned to my roots as a staff editor/nonfiction writer for several local publications—Tacoma City Paper, Seattle Magazine, Seattle Bride, Northwest Table—and then as editor-in-chief for a group of in-flight magazines based in Seattle. When the in-flight company moved to Reno, about four years ago, I went freelance. I’ve cobbled together a living through the combination of magazine freelance and contract gigs as an editor for custom publications and one website. I write for local publications and a couple national magazines about homes, politics and dogs–a random but satisfying niche.

Earlier this year, I was on a panel of UW MFA alumni, and the first question was: What did you do after your first novel or collection of poetry was published, i.e., how did you tackle book number two? I wanted to crawl under the table. My answer was simple. In the course of eight years, I hadn’t written a lick of fiction, and I was nowhere near having a novel published. I didn’t have much to add to the conversation after that. But a week later, I signed a contract to write a nonfiction book about, of all things, backyard fireplaces (Backyard Blaze). The idea was the pet project of the editorial director at Sasquatch Books (a regional publisher in Seattle). He found me based on the recommendation one of my regular editors. In many ways, it felt like signing up to write a very long article. All I was required to do was write a two-page proposal, based on an outline provided by my editor. Once this was accepted by the powers at the publisher, I signed what I think is a fairly boilerplate contract and was off and running. I am currently reviewing the galleys. The book publishes in April 2006.

I didn’t have a lot of time to write the book. It was only 25,000 words and I had about three months to write it. Unfortunately, I didn’t start right away because I had three magazine stories to get out of the way first. In the end, I wrote the book in about seven weeks. It was all I did during this time, and still I worked almost constantly. I consider myself a slow writer, so discovering I could produce this much was a breakthrough for me. That said, my subject was not particularly demanding in terms of research or presentation.

One of the things I liked about book writing was the saturation approach. With articles, I’m usually juggling several different topics at one time. With this project, I could plumb a single subject, which made the research, writing and the free-associating much easier.

I submitted preliminary versions of the chapters, as they were complete—six chapters in all—for immediate feedback. This was a big help for me since I was working with a new editor. I was most concerned about tone, which in a lifestyle/culture book like mine is all-important.

The process of editing has been surprisingly easy. As a former editor, I tend to self-edit a lot. It’s why I’m slow. In general, I don’t face much rewriting or revising. That said, I had expected to have to do more work on the second round. I might even say I missed the input. Of course, if I had been asked to do a lot of revising, I’d probably be complaining about that now. Instead, I reviewed the copyeditor’s draft, and made additions and changes at that stage. I was happy to see that the copy edits saved me from some embarrassing errors.

All in all it’s been a positive experience that has me excited about more bookwork, especially if I can land a topic about which I am passionate. My editor at Sasquatch is very supportive and wants to see a new proposal from me, which I hope to pull together soon.

Meanwhile, I have also been working with a book production editor here in town. A former small publishing house editor, she works on her own—almost like an editor/agent. During the last year, I wrote several creative nonfiction essays as a favor to and a collaboration with a photographer friend for a book of her photos. The production editor edited the essays and pulled together a proposal that she shopped around in NY and elsewhere this summer. Editors loved the copy and the photos, but our topic was deemed too much of a weeper. Since then, she has asked me to be the writer for at least one other book proposal, which was unfortunately also rejected. I think something will come of this relationship. What has surprised me is that working on spec has earned the editor’s confidence and the desire to work with me on future projects. I’m not sure it’s something I’d recommend, but it could turn out well.

The reason I mention this is because I’d like to hear what you think about the role of production editors as compared to agents. I’m guessing different situations require different approaches.

Lisa

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Sheila offered her thoughts:

Hi Lisa,

I think that having someone on the inside promoting your work and connecting you with other incoming projects is a wonderful thing. I am sure in publishing, as you know from your studies, people in the industry talk to one another. My first book came to the attention of a Warner acquiring editor because a friend of a friend of mine was the editor’s intern. Still, when I got an agent to represent the book, things moved more quickly. The editor told the agent the changes and additions she wanted to see in the manuscript before she would consider it, and the agent told my co-writer and me. We developed the manuscript further using this information and the agent was happy to take it back to the editor who accepted it.

I would think that having an agent and letting her know about the production editor’s work on your behalf would be helpful to getting the agent in the door with your work. In addition, knowing that you have an agent that is shopping your work to many editors might make the editors the agent talks to take notice in a different way than if the production editor alone doing the proposing.

Because I am addressing the acquisition of books, this might be a good place for me to provide a resource about book contracts, as Michelle had asked a few questions about contracts previous to our email discussion, and a resource came across my email this morning: “Negotiating Your Book Contract: 20 ‘Must’ Topics to Talk About (Part One)” by Brenda Warneka, J.D., C.P.A.

Warneka says:

“Even if you have an agent, you need to understand the issues, so that you know what you are agreeing to when you sign on the dotted line [to avoid] unexpected or unfair consequences.”

– and –

“Each book publisher has a standard publishing contract. The extent of the modifications you can negotiate will depend upon how eager the publisher is to sign you up. Unless you are a big-name author, larger publishers may allow you only limited changes. Smaller publishers may be more willing to work with you. If the publisher will not make a change you request in the contract, you must decide if you can live with it as it is, or whether the refusal to make the change is a ‘deal breaker’ that will cause you to walk away from the agreement.”

It’s always a delight to talk about what to do after a publisher wants the book!

Sheila

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Alle, who is shopping novels, joined in:

Hi, Sheila, Lisa, and Michelle,

Lisa, I really enjoyed reading your answers. Here’s my crack at it:

2005 has been the year of the book deal that didn’t happen. I got very close to an anthology with a small press (no agent) and was seriously considered by a bigwig Hollywood agency for a book/movie deal for my novel. Both deals came about the same way: I really work the contacts. At this point, it feels close to useless to send work over the transom. Certainly, chances of acceptance are worse if you don’t send at all then if send into the slush pile, but not by much. So I spend a lot of time meeting agents and editors (at publishing houses and at literary journals). I meet them largely through a series I run at the literary nonprofit Hugo House. The InPrint series is a monthly forum designed to connect writers to agents, publishers and publishing industry experts through guest presentations and informal discussion that often include one-on-one agent/editor consultations. It takes a lot of time on my part to put together a panel a month, but the pay-off is equally great. When I send work, be it an essay to a lit. mag. or a book project to an agent, nine times out of ten, it is read quickly. This may seem odd to the commercial writer, but for a literary wrier, knowing that someone actually READ your submission is vastly more satisfying than the average response: nothing for seven months. And then: “Dear Writer. No Thanks.” Quickly hearing “no” enables me to put Plan B into effect, and when you actually get accepted, woo-hoo! I live for the day I can say “woo-hoo” about a book.

I do have to say that I do believe it is possible to submit over the transom and get a deal. In 1998,and again in late 2000, I sent out different versions of the same novel strictly over the transom. In 1998, newbie that I was, I was sort of shocked to discover that big New York agencies actually read the slush. Who knew? About 40% wanted to see the whole novel based on reading my cover letter and the first three chapters. When no one signed me, I re-wrote. When I sent again in 2000, I started with the nine agents that had rejected to book but asked me to re-submit if I re-wrote. One of them signed me. She sent the manuscript out, didn’t sell it, and dropped me, leaving my manuscript in the most undesirable position of having been turned down by 25 big houses with no agent to champion it at a smaller house. Of course, no new agent would take on such a project. Interestingly enough, this is the same novel that was almost represented by the Hollywood firm. To give myself credit, after an initial stunned period following being dropped by the agent, there has never been a time that my novel has not been submitted to an agent or a small press, unless I was re-working it.

Why all the fuss about working with an agent? It still seems possible to publish through a small or specialty press without using an agent, but these days, a lot of small presses have massive slush piles, or flat out won’t read unsolicited manuscripts. The big, NYC houses have not read the slush for years. They rely on agents for that.

About distractions: this folds into my thinking about doing books for hire — which I have to say is a great way to get a book deal without being rejected eight million times. However, back in the day when I freelanced, the articles that were assigned to me invariably turned out fine. Workman-like, competent. They never sucked, but nothing leapt from my soul to the page. Taking what seems to be a digression: during the first sending-out period of my novel, the then head of HarperCollins Children’s imprint read it. She didn’t want that book, but thought I had a great voice for young adult books. She asked me to write something YA for her. I spent over a year struggling with different starts — one of the reasons it took me three years to re-write the novel that I truly cared about — only to come to the conclusion that I am not a YA writer. I have a huge amount of respect for YA; in fact, I credit what wasn’t even called YA when I was reading it — the Harriet the Spy books, the Little Women books, the Joan Aiken books — for making me a writer. I am simply not a YA writer. Back I went to my writing, even more convinced that I had to write what I wanted to write, and face the reality that my grand work might not ever get published.

If a writer does take this track, she has to be someone for whom the writing itself is (almost) satisfying enough. Determining if you are this kind of writer, for the sake of generalities, let’s just say more literary-oriented than commercial, can save you a lot of wasted years. You know: write what you want, sell later. And if you want to make your money writing, accept that you will end up doing some work for the money or the credit. Neither is right. It either is you or isn’t you.

My process is pretty simple (if not always easy): instead of talking about writing and thinking about writing, and wanting to write, I put my buns in a chair and my fingers on the keyboard. Then I revise, many, many times. Then I have several people read what I have written, and revise. Then I revise some more. Generally, I revise about a hundred times, start to finish, before I send out. With a book manuscript, this can take years. Oh, well.

The question I hear most from writers at InPrint is: “How do I start? How do I know who to send to? How do I know which agent/literary magazine is the best?” A writing buddy asked me that very thing when I signed with the agent who didn’t sell my novel. I didn’t have the answer then — the agent’s primary quality being that she said yes — and I don’t have it now. I know a little more than I used to, that’s all. That doesn’t seem to be enough for a lot of the writers I meet. Perhaps because of the hyper-pace of the age we live in, coupled with the expectation that everyone expects if not deserves fame, wealth and recognition, there seems to be little patience for earning anything, for paying your dues, or even doing a little bit of research. To be fair, it is hard to think of publishing as a difficult field in which to succeed when morons get books deals and best-sellers seem to require nothing more than covers featuring high heels and pink martinis. But for a career writer (and us wannabees), a lot is required.

Alle

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From Lisa:

Alle,

How great to read about your experiences—so on the opposite end of the spectrum from my own. I admire your tenacity and integrity. In a way, fear of the sort of rejection you describe is probably part of what keeps me out of the fiction game. The idea of writing for years without publishing seems too harsh. I’ve been spoiled by regular publication and assignments. And yet, I know I have lost something. When I was writing fiction regularly, I remember realizing that the act of creating fiction was a way of being in the world. It enriched my life. I found I made connections between life experiences—images, events, sensations—that I might not otherwise make. A news report about a child found alone in a boat and the smell of a banana peel in my trashcan would come together on the page or in my head in way that doesn’t happen for me now. Metaphors aren’t an everyday pleasure anymore. I know it probably sounds a little romantic, and is off the topic a bit, but switching from one sort of writing to the other has made a very real difference for me—and not for the better. And I wanted to raise this idea about how writing has repercussions that go far beyond whether you are published or not.

Lisa

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From Alle:

Hi Lisa,

Thanks so much for your response. In reading your initial thoughts, it was very clear to me that you were taking pretty much the opposite path than I have chosen, and I did my best to convey what I feel: that yours is a valid choice, a respectable choice, a sensible choice, a more practical choice, and in all likelihood, the more profitable choice. A small part of me probably wishes I had it in me to make that choice, just like I wish I had it in me to write a really good YA novel, because I certainly have a better chance of publishing either of those projects. I suppose it is a bit of a cop out to say, “Oh, I am just so arty, I have to follow my bliss,” color of your parachute, and what have you. The truth is, it is a choice. If I had decided, ok, I want to make my money off my writing and that’s the way it’s going to be, I know enough about my dedication and marketing savvy and tenacity, to know there is very good chance that I would have a much better platform/resume than I do; which comes mightily into play when you’re trying to get an agent behind a book.

So I don’t have that platform/resume. I have a completed novel and a sense of peace in the artistic endeavor column. And the fat lady ain’t sung yet. At the very least, on my tombstone, it will read, “Here lies Alle Hall. She went down trying.” Growing up, one of my driving fears was the idea that I would become one of those people who finds their lives happened to them. I don’t have that fear anymore. It won’t. I just might not succeed, that’s all.

This line: “Metaphors aren’t an everyday pleasure anymore.” Lovely.

Alle

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And Michelle tells about her writing career, including ghostwriting and a new contract for a nonfiction project:

Hi Everyone,

Thanks for all the detail, Lisa and Alle. It was very interesting indeed to hear the differences in how we all work, what we work on, and the choices we struggle with at almost every turn. And it raises some heartbreaking issues for me as well, this need to write creatively vs. the desire to publish now (I like to think of this as my immediate gratification gene, the same one that impels me to consume mass quantities of baked goods while on tight deadlines). I very much want to talk about writing creatively, possibly in an unpublished vacuum, vs. writing to assignments for guaranteed publication. But I’ll get to that in a bit. I also think, from what you’ve both written, we’ve all done a smashing job of working our publishing contacts at events/conferences, through local networks/connections, or through our other gigs. I know for me, this has made a huge difference. To know what editors are looking for to fill their upcoming publishing calendars/seasons — even if I’m not it — rather than submitting into the void has been extremely educational. I think it has only helped me get to the point where I can maybe seal that sometimes mythical-seeming book deal once and for all. I admire the persistence and resilience in you both, as well. I recently told a friend who said she was impressed by my motivation that tenacity has to be a significant percentage in many a writer in this crazy publishing game, perhaps even more than half.

OK, but back to me… First off, the not-so-quick bio details. Quick recap of the last 20 years of my life, in relation to the publishing world:

Journalism major, creative writing minor. Worked as a newspaper reporter for 1.5 years; decided that the city council beat was a snooze, at best. Worked as a publicist at an NYC book publishing house for 1.5 years; decided that the job was decent, albeit crappy paying, but hated NY living (despite having grown up in NJ) and loathed getting up early and commuting. Moved to the west coast in 1992 and haven’t had a staff job since. I’ve been a freelance writer/editor/proofreader/publicist, a part-timer, an on-site contractor (fancy word for an editorial temp), and a host of other hodgepodge things ever since, mainly working from my home. Since 1997, I’d say my freelance writing/editing career has sustained me full-time and I was able to jettison the supplemental part-time gigs and lesser freelance work that I didn’t really enjoy (proofreading, PR). My bread-and-butter freelance clients are mainly book publishers who hire me to copyedit book manuscripts and high-tech conglomerates that hire me to write or edit web articles and marketing copy. Occasionally, I take an on-site 3- to 12-month contract at a software behemoth, but only when I’m really in debt or have lofty financial goals (like last year, when I wanted to save money to buy a house). But that’s just what I do to keep a roof overhead…

To satisfy my creative itch, I’ve written articles and humor essays — on spec, on assignment, and just when I felt like it — on dating, sex, the single life, dogs, neuroses, work, freelancing, scratching one’s creative itch, and more. Clips include the Seattle Times, Salon, San Francisco Bay Guardian, Bust, Bitch, Bark, Black Table, a couple book anthologies, a couple in-flight magazines, and a handful of websites that tanked in the dotcom bust. The list of publications that have rejected me is even more impressive, dare I say. I used to think I wrote fiction; I’ve since come to realize I write creative, highly exaggerated non-fiction that I hope will elicit at least six chuckles from readers per piece. I know the line between fiction and non is a fine one, but I think I fall more comfortably into creative non-fiction, at least, at this point in my life.

Because I am a one-income household (my dog doesn’t contribute much, other than much-needed comic relief), I regularly work about 25 to 40 hours a week on client projects, occasionally more, depending on how the ebbs and flows are going during any given month. And I struggle with wanting to write creatively all the time, but my humor pieces just aren’t yielding much, if any, income. Yet… So I cram that writing into weird pre-dawn and post-midnight hours, weekends, ebbs in my client schedule, holidays, vacations, submission deadline weeks, etc. etc. It’s a small percentage of all the writing I do, and I sincerely hope I can continue to increase it with every passing year.

Book publishing: Well, here’s where I’m almost ashamed to admit all my rejection, but I realize it’s the norm for a wannabee first-time author like me. And I have to think that all the experience I’ve gained in my other writing endeavors can only help serve me when that golden deal does finally arrive. First foray into book publishing was writing a how-to freelance guide with another freelance veteran in the nineties. Three agents and about five-dozen no-thank-you’s from publishers later, we finally shelved the dang thing for the time being and moved on to other projects. I kept in touch with agent #3 for a while, and she asked me to write a proposal for a chick-lit-ish non-fiction series for a big-name publisher who needed a writer for such a thing. They liked my proposal and started throwing out advance figures, only to decide to not make a formal offer after all. Agent and I eventually parted ways. I also struck up relationships with a couple of smaller regional presses and pitched a book anthology or two to one of them (another no-go) and I don’t know how many boutiquey gift book titles to another (you guessed it; more misses). I must have about 10 full-length or mini book proposals on my hard drive; at least I learned how to write a book proposal. At least, I hope. I suppose it could be argued it’s my cruddy proposals that didn’t land me any of these deals.

Needless to say, I began to get book fever, I think, the way you get house fever when you’re trying to desperately to find a house you can afford and stand to sink all your money into. I mean, I started to think, “Why the hell am I pitching jokey little gift books on the latest pheasant hunting or bikini waxing trends? This isn’t really the kind of writing I want to do. Is it really worth my name on the cover?” On the one hand, I’d have to argue that the experience and resume booster and contacts you make certainly can’t hurt. Plus, short little gift books aren’t necessarily as intensive to research and write; you can almost think of them as a paying client gig that’s just a heck of a lot more fun to work on than, say, a white paper on Windows XP. So if I was asked to do one of these and had the time in my schedule, I certainly wouldn’t turn it down. (I just don’t want to research and write proposals on spec any more, at least not this month.) In fact, during my season of “book fever,” I was asked to write a pop-up book on sex positions for a decent sum of money and leapt at the offer. Unfortunately, the company making the offer was a book packager and they didn’t get the gig, so neither did I. Around the same time, I was also asked to write a proposal on a very fun pop culture trend, but that didn’t go anywhere either. At one point, I had so many proposals and boutique book leads, it was almost like having multiple magazine pitches or lit journal submissions out. Friends were joking that it was only a matter of time before I lost my first-book virginity.

Just when I’d decided — because, really I didn’t have any other choice; no one was biting — I was content to be publication celibate a while longer, content to stop writing proposals on spec and go back to my piddly little commercial freelance and occasional clip-gathering life, a publisher asked me to write a non-fiction book proposal based on an article I’d written for a national magazine. Here I would argue for the power of the platform and the collection of clips. The article was on a topic I’ve always championed and been thrilled to write about, and the publisher was a small press I admired very much (they came highly recommended by a friend, too), so I was happy to do the book proposal. And happy to work with the publisher on a couple revisions of the proposed outline and book structure. The contract isn’t in my hands, but we did negotiate terms and I hear it’s coming later this month. And I have to start writing any day now. So I think, even though I got a bit off track for a while with all my book fever, the book I’ll be most happy to say is my first has arrived… This leads me to a whole host of other questions/issues I’d love to discuss, but first I’d like to address the work-for-hire thing that Lisa brought up some more:

During my season of book fever, I was asked to ghostwrite a boutique book for an independent press I had done some copyediting for. While fun, I’m not sure I would do this again — unless the money was too, too good to pass up. I felt like the eternal bridesmaid of book publishing, if you know what I mean. Still, this project gave me an even better idea of how to structure a book manuscript, negotiate a book contract (I highly recommend signing up with the National Writer’s Union or Author’s Guild to take advantage of their free — to members, anyway — contract advisor services), not to mention which hours of day are my most productive for book-writing (I was working 40 hours a week for clients while doing this project). I also learned a few things about collaboration projects for which you’re “assigned” your collaboration partners. If I had to do it again, I’d make the contract even stronger. The authors were very busy, and I was at the mercy of their schedules, which was absolute murder on mine, being that I was working full-time on other projects then. I wound up doing much of the work on this project late into many an evening and throughout several gorgeous summer weekends. I should say that I took this project because I thought it would be a good way to get my foot in the door of something, I’m not sure what, the good graces of that publisher, perhaps. It really wasn’t much of a resume booster after all, though maybe in a year I’ll feel differently.

In relation to securing my own book deal, the issues I grappled with the most were:

– My advance isn’t enough to live off, of course, so I plan to keep working through the book writing process. I’ll have to reduce my commercial freelance hours and not work on any articles or shorter creative pieces. But I’m still scared about how this juggling act will go. I know tons of people do it. I’m just pretty challenged in the time management department and want to make sure that I leave my freshest, most creative hours for the book. I’m thinking of working on the book writing a couple hours each morning, then doing my half or 3/4 day of client work, and saving book interviews/research till the end of the day whenever possible, since I can be slightly less fresh for those pieces of the project. Also I’m thinking of not working Fridays for clients, unless there’s a meeting I have to attend. I just hope I can stick with this. If I didn’t have to switch between client work and the book manuscript, it wouldn’t be an issue. It would be fun, and I may even stand a chance of seeing my friends and boyfriend before 2007 that way.

– Even more than the small advance, something I weighed heavily when deciding whether to do this book was taking myself out of the creative writing game (or the pitching/writing of shorter pieces — essays, articles, stories, etc.) during the nine months I will spend writing the book manuscript. I felt like I was at a writing-career crossroads, but I decided that ultimately, this experience of writing a book-length manuscript on one of my favorite non-fiction topics would serve me well, possibly lead to some better article-writing gigs after the fact, some cool speaking gigs, etc. And that having a book under my belt, creative or otherwise, would only be a bonus when approaching publishers later on with that collection of humor essays that I HAVE YET TO EVEN FINISH WRITING. Another reason I decided to go for this book project. I wasn’t completely immersed in writing that magical book of Sedaris-esque essays/stories anyway (I could find a million drawers to rearrange and personal emails to write instead any day off of the week), so surely I could put it on hold another two to three seasons while banging out my non-fiction book. Knowing the way I work, getting slightly derailed from my creative writing goals will put me more on track to working towards them once I’ve finished this book assignment that’s sitting in my lap, if that makes any sense. Plus, I’d like to think that some of the magazine assignments and classes the non-fiction book could lead to will help me get away from some of the more technical commercial work I’ve been doing for my income (and am perpetually meaning to move away from).

– Since I was agentless, how could I make sense of the giant contract the publisher had sent me to read and negotiate? I contacted the National Writer’s Union and just about everyone I knew who I thought might know a lit lawyer who might, out of the kindness of their heart, help me decipher the thing. An entertainment attorney friend of the family, who I’m told normally charges hundreds per hour, took pity on me and walked me through the process, as did an NWU advisor. The result was that I got a very decent education in book contract lingo, but I think I scared off the publisher by asking for the moon, based on the lawyer’s and NWU’s recommendations. Still, we worked it all out and are best friends forever again, but I can’t help but wonder what would have been an appropriate array of rights, royalties, and legal buffers to ask for. I realize this varies from book to book, publisher to publisher, author to author, but if anyone has any input, feel free to jump in.

OK, I think I’ve said enough for one evening. If I’ve overlooked a topic you wanted to talk about, just say the word. I can go on and on again later.

Take care,
Michelle

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And we will, next week.