Writers in the Storm

David Teague and Marisa de los Santos

Before we partnered to co-author “Saving Lucas Biggs” and the forthcoming “Connect The Stars,” we worked in far-flung parts of the literary universe. Marisa began as a poet, with the volume “From the Bones Out,” and eventually moved into literary fiction with such novels as “Love Walked In” and “The Precious One.” David initially attempted adult novels, found publishing success only after migrating to picture books, and then continued roaming until he found himself working with Marisa in the realm of middle-grade fiction.

Our writer friends sometimes ask if all this genre-crossing ever got difficult or confusing, which is an excellent question, because in the literary world, the concept of niche looms large in the eyes of agents, publishers, reviewers, and readers, and there’s a reason bookstores have all those sections. So it’s important to know where your book fits.

As it turns out though, in looking back at our writing process, we cannot remember ever saying the words “middle-grade” to each other while we were composing, and we never consciously asked “Is this vocabulary/sentence structure/point of view/narrative voice/plot development too difficult/too simple for our genre?” These questions didn’t come up at our initial lunch meeting, during which we traded stories we wanted to tell until we found two we could weave together, they didn’t come up when each of us created the narrator who would relate our half of the plot, and they didn’t come up when we imagined the conflicts our characters would face or the language they would use. When we wrote our middle-grades books, all we had to go on was the sound of our narrator’s voices: a thirteen-year-old boy named Josh and a thirteen-year-old girl named Margaret.

And so neither of us, as we wrote, worried about avoiding overly complex vocabulary, excessively complicated moral questions, or even disproportionate violence on a scene-by-scene, sentence-by-sentence, or word-by-word basis. We found it more helpful simply to listen to our thirteen-year-olds talk and to write down what they said.

This strategy enabled us to do a few things, we think.

One, our approach allowed us to use a tool most writers are innately familiar with, point-of-view, to negotiate terrain that is somewhat more unfamiliar: commercial publishing genres. In essence, we solved the problem of figuring out what it’s appropriate to say to sophisticated pre-adolescents by creating a couple and then letting them talk.

Two, our approach enabled us to capture material in our genre that stretched our writing abilities, and perhaps stretched the genre a bit, too. Bad things happen to our narrators. Margaret’s father is sentenced to death by a crooked judge for a crime he didn’t commit. Josh’s community is attacked by machine-gunners during a miner’s strike. The task of figuring out how to write these situations one appropriate word, one suitable impression, one acceptable reaction at a time would have been beyond us. But the fact is, some thirteen-year-olds do face huge injustices and awful violence, and they survive, and often thrive. So once we were able to place these challenges within the perspectives of such children, we were able to integrate them into the plot of our middle-grade book.

Three, our point-of-view-driven approach enabled us to relax. There is enough to fret about while writing fiction without also having to agonize over whether or not “equilibrium” is an appropriate vocabulary word for a thirteen-year-old. (Hint: it is. Read chapter three of “Saving Lucas Biggs” to find out why).

These observations might not be totally helpful for writers whose characters are vastly different in age or experience from their audiences. In other words, it might be more trouble than it’s worth to spend your time trying to imagine how to write a picture-book biography of Emily Dickinson in the voice of a six-year-old. But what we’ve found is this: it’s not hard to remember what it was like to be six, or thirteen, or nineteen, and rather than to consciously parse words, sentences, and scenes to decide whether they fit in the genre at hand, it’s more organic, natural, and enjoyable to inhabit the story and let the “rules” take care of themselves.

All of which raises a question we’re curious about.  By focusing on the narrators of our stories, we were able to devote more thought to storytelling than to genre constraints, but doing so also directed our attention away from the question of audience more than a bit.  How do other writers feel about this trade-off?

About David and Marisa
Marisa de los Santos has published three New York Times bestselling novels for adults, Love Walked In, Belong to Me, and Falling Together. Her fourth book, The Precious One, comes out in March. David Teague is the author of the picture book Franklin’s Big Dreams and the forthcoming The Red Hat. The middle-grades novel  Saving Lucas Biggs is their first joint venture, and their second collaboration, Connect the Stars, will appear in September 2015.  Married for over twenty years, Marisa and David live with their two children, Charles and Annabel, in Wilmington, Delaware.

You can find them online at: https://www.facebook.com/dteagueauthor and https://www.facebook.com/marisa.delossantos.writer

Kate Moretti

Whenever I hear people discussing paths to publication, I have to admit, my ears perk up. Generally, there two buckets: Traditional versus Indie. Traditional typically means publishing through one of the Big 5 or their imprints with an agent. Indie is mostly regarded as self-publishing. But there’s a third, lesser explored option: the small publisher.

When I first wrote Thought I Knew You, I had no idea what to do next. I found a brand new small press, Red Adept Publishing, on a writer’s website forum. I never queried an agent, never submitted my manuscript to another publisher at all. I thought getting it published would be a lark – how fun! My mom could read it in real book form! Truly, I never expected a yes.

I often reflect on the “decisions” I’ve made almost serendipitously, and feel enormously lucky. People have asked me: do you ever wonder what would have happened if you’d chosen a different path? If you’d queried an agent three years ago? Do you regret it?

No. A resounding no.

I’m not in any position to preach what anyone else should do. Like most things, publishing isn’t a one size fits all endeavor, and the manner in which you put your words into the world should feel like a home. I’ve found great comfort in the small press world because:

1. The size of the pond

No matter how you slice it, a debut author is small fish in a big pond. An ocean is a more apt metaphor. In traditional publishing, it’s very easy for a debut author with an average $5K advance to get lost. An editor retires, a marketing rep drops the ball. I’m not saying it’s inevitable, I’m just saying it happens. In a good small publisher, the business owner is rarely more than a phone call away. A real live person is invested in the company, literally and figuratively. They operate like a small business. They need successful books in order to thrive, and the success or failure of one novel has an impact. They put out (maybe) a book a month.

I know I can call my publisher at any time of the day and my questions get answered. If I have a reasonable request (like a price point discussion), I know it will be treated carefully. Will I always get my way? No, not always. But also, not infrequently. It’s a bit more collaborative and the playing field is more even than with a large publisher.

2. The 1:1 Attention During Editing

Most of the time, a debut is the first, tentative steps into the world of ohmygodpeoplewillreadthis. I don’t think I’m alone in saying that my first (and second) drafts of my manuscript were overwritten. I waved my hand. I blinked my eyes. Veteran writers know that I waved and I blinked work just fine. Editors know this. Unless you’ve had a thorough edit from someone you do not know, you are probably also suffering from a tiny bit of newbie-itis throughout your manuscript. With a good small publisher, your editor is not bogged down with making deals and is focused on your book. They are typically not strapped as thin as editors in the Big 5. My novel was content edited, line edited, copy edited, and proofread (at least 3 times). I had an open dialogue with my editor about content issues, brainstorming sessions and even a few Skype sessions. The process was thorough, exhaustive, and rewarding. Not to mention, I learned more in those sessions than I would have reading any craft book or even taking classes.

Conversely, if you procure editing services to self-publish your novel, the temptation always exists to ignore their suggestions and claim creative control. Good editing should hurt. It should make you mad. It should be frustrating as hell. That’s how you know it’s working.

3. Higher royalty rates than Big 5

Most small publishers offer a higher royalty rate on print and ebooks than the legacy publishers. The industry standard for larger publishers is 25% net on ebooks and 10-15% on print, depending on distribution, contract, publisher and third-party clauses. For small publishers, the royalty rates typically jump anywhere from 35%-65% (with most being in the 50% range). While most offer very low advances ($1-2K), if at all (I did not get an advance), the good months can make up for that over time.

4. Quick(er) Turnaround

If a publisher tells you they can take you from submitted draft to finish product in a month, you should probably run. Editing, proofreading, art and formatting take time. Cutting any of these short impacts the quality of the product you’re going to put out there. That being said, a small publisher can work significantly faster than a large one, while still maintaining quality. Both my books came out within a year of submission.

5. Bearing the financial burden

When comparing a small publisher versus self-publishing, the advantage to small publishing is that they bear most of the financial burden. They pay for formatting (~$500), editing (~$500), marketing (~$500), cover art ($400)… these costs add up (obviously these are estimates based on what I’ve seen and do not speak to all available price points). An business-savvy author will track of their expenses and develop a plan to get each book into the black. Listen, I don’t think I’ll offend anyone by saying it: we’re creative. A LOT (not all) of creative people are not so good at… keeping track of things (says the girl with a pen clipped to her shirt and a pen in her hair). With a small publisher, you’re allowed to focus on the writing. It’s a freeing privilege.

Like anything else, there are great and not-so-great small presses, make sure to thoroughly vet your options. Contact other authors, ask for referrals, get your contracts reviewed by a publishing lawyer.

There are many reasons why people choose small press. To some, it’s a viable option because they’ve been querying a long time with no luck, but believe in their work. Some are writing in a niche genre that won’t garner wide readership and is viewed as “not salable” by agents and larger publishers. Or maybe they want their books into the world and don’t want to wait two years to do it. Some people find the alternative of self-publishing to be too labor intensive and just want to write. Whatever the reasons, small press is just one of many options, but might hold some appeal for anyone just starting out.

What about you? Have you considered an alternative publication path?

About Kate

Kate Moretti is the New York Times Bestselling author of the women’s fiction novel, Thought I Knew You. Her second novel Binds That Tie was released in March 2014. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, two kids, and a dog. She’s worked in the pharmaceutical industry for ten years as a scientist, and has been an avid fiction reader her entire life.

She enjoys traveling and cooking, although with two kids, a day job, and writing, she doesn’t get to do those things as much as she’d like. Her lifelong dream is to buy an old house with a secret passageway.

Www.facebook.com/katemorettiwriter
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by Kathryn Craft

Turning Whine Into Gold

Today, on Memorial Day, we remember those who trained, risked the fight, and died so that we Americans can express ourselves fully and pursue our dreams without fearing the high stakes that claimed them. Sustaining a writing career requires a similar singularity of purpose. When all is said and done, will you be memorialized as someone who stayed on course, or as someone who was distracted from her life’s true purpose because she had one envious eye on the competition?

Envy is one of the many ways authors can create their own problems once they attain their goal of publication. Your painful climb is behind you—at long last you have scrabbled onto the public platform, where you can connect with your readers! You want to revel in your success. But truth is, you’ve gotten comfortable with the level of disappointment you suffered on the climb. Could anything truly good be at work in your life? Your new platform starts to wobble—or is that your ego?—and rather than reinforce it, your eye strays to the greater strength you perceive in that other author’s platform.

You want what she has. And that all-too-familiar disappointment returns.

That other author in your publishing house was sent on tour. Who’d she sleep with? You heard his advance was bigger. He thinks everything of his is bigger. And that one got into the New York Times, wasn’t your publicist supposed to get you into the Times?

Suddenly you are no longer flirting with the green-eyed monster. You’ve become the monster.

Avert your eyes

Trust that your hard work will attract its own opportunity. Allowing yourself to become distracted by someone else’s career can make a potential opportunity in your own path, at first glance, look deceptively like an obstacle.

I know this because I have a pair of green eyes of my own.

One day, a month or so before release, The Far End of Happy received a bad Goodreads review. No need to look it up, I’ll summarize: the reader “hated” my three point-of-view women. Consumed by fear that my book had missed its mark, all I could see was the success I thought everyone else was having.

Luckily a friend was able to lend perspective without laughing out loud. Her alternate assumption was that I had triggered something in this reviewer that she didn’t want to face. After all, “hate” suggests a lot more energy expenditure than “disinterest.” She said, “Kathryn, if you wanted to be popular, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be writing about the biggest taboos in our culture—the sanctity of marriage, the sanctity of the mother-daughter relationship, our perceptions about our own bodies, suicide…”

I was the one who started to laugh, because she made me feel exactly like a ninth grader. Back then I never sought popularity either—I just felt bad that I didn’t attract it.

What my friend helped me realize is that my career is dead-on track. I am exactly where I aimed to be, and have controlled the quality of every aspect of my career that was mine to control, right down to which agent and publisher I chose to work with. I am doing my work—not Jennifer Weiner’s or Sophie Kinsella’s or Janet Evanovich’s.

With my attention again fully focused on my own path, I now see that my legacy will incite conversation about tough truths and events that challenge our need to sustain hope—and I will find that hope. Commercial success or no, I will have led the life of my choosing and reaped the soul benefits of doing so. When you’ve lost someone to suicide as I have, you know how crucial it is to devote your energy to your true path instead of squandering it on sustaining life as an impostor.

Think “colleagues” not “competitors”

Envy destroys; networking empowers. Stay grounded in the truth that there is no single way to grow a successful career. Fortify yourself for your journey by fully appreciating what rewards come your way, and dredge up the generosity to congratulate other authors for theirs. Competitors will keep secrets; colleagues are more likely to share how they got that tour or hit that list or got the publicity you coveted.

Instead of being memorialized as a firework that burst onto the publishing scene but then fell into multi-colored pieces that scattered hither and yon, you will be memorialized as a blazing star whose afterburn lingers in your one true color.

Anyone want to fess up as to what makes you envious? Better yet, if you’ve identified your true path—the type of book that’s always you, no matter the genre—please share!

About Kathryn

Kathryn Craft is the author of two novels from Sourcebooks: The Art of Falling, and The Far End of Happy.

Her work as a developmental editor at Writing-Partner.com, specializing in storytelling structure and writing craft, follows a nineteen-year career as a dance critic. Long a leader in the southeastern Pennsylvania writing scene, she hosts lakeside writing retreats for women in northern New York State, leads workshops, and speaks often about writing.

Kathryn lives with her husband in Bucks County, PA.

Twitter: @kcraftwriter
FB: KathrynCraftAuthor