Behind closed doors

January 29, 2010

My cyber buddy, Pelotard [not his real name, for Pete's sake. His mother really does love him. I think] tossed out a rhetorical comment that caught me by the funny bone:

I have no first hand experience of what goes on when a submission is opened

Well. At Casa de Behler, the beagle collects all the mail. She’s running some sort of bribery ring that affords her chauffeur service to the post office box. One of her minions, a saucy Poodle with a serious romantic streak, lugs the bag of goodies into the limo, and they motor back to Casa de Behler.

Thus begins the par-tay. The beagle cranks up a few pitchers of margaritas, chips and salsa, and we begin to rip open the envelopes. We play a collection of old Three Dog Night songs and swing from the chandelier while reading each submission out loud. In Spanish.

Others we pin up on a dart board and take a whack at finding the imaginary bull’s eye. The rest are used as place mats at our company picnics.

Why the theatrics? Because we don’t accept mailed submissions. They must be emailed! Har har.

Thus ends this installment of what happens behind closed doors.

5 Comments | editors acting silly, what happens behind closed doors | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

“Client’s disease”

January 29, 2010

My buddy Lauren over at BiblioBuffet sent me a link to a fabulous blog post [thanks, toots!], and I could kiss her square on the lips. I said I could, I didn’t say I would.

This blog post will never be mistaken for zen.calm. It’s a kick in the pants reality check that discusses the realities of writing, which is…

No one wants to read your shit.

Now I didn’t say that, author Steven Pressfield said it. And you know what? He’s right. But he isn’t saying it the way you think. What Steven is saying is that just because you love your story doesn’t mean everyone wants to drop everything, put their lives on hold just so they can read your brilliant collections of verbs and nouns.

I encounter this a lot. I read pages and wonder if the authors ever considered that just because they love their writing others will as well.  Steven calls it Client’s Disease, and he hits the nail on the head. The marketplace, in general, doesn’t give a rat’s patootie about the new thang on the block.

It’s not because the marketplace is filled with creeps who live to crush authors’ hearts. Heck, that’s our job. The marketplace has a bajillion choices placed before them, and there is no reason why they should care about you. It’s your job to make them care.

Steven writes:

When you understand that nobody wants to read your shit, your mind becomes powerfully concentrated. You begin to understand that writing/reading is, above all, a transaction. The reader donates his time and attention, which are supremely valuable commodities. In return, you the writer, must give him something worthy of his gift to you.

This means that it’s the author’s job to constantly ask:

“Am I boring my reader?”

Steven, most importantly, demands that the writer jump outside of his own ego because it’s the readers who make the author successful. Not the other way around.

Go. Read. Learn.

That is all.

7 Comments | Steven Pressfield, writing, writing advice | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

Interview with Lynn Price

January 28, 2010

You have no idea how that title makes me squidge. I’m so used to promoting my authors, and I feel all brag-y head-puffery when it comes to anything I’ve done. But what the hell, we’re in the biz to sell books, right?

Eve Harvey of Vulpes Libris did the honors, and I couldn’t be happier if I were twins. Many thanks, Eve, you’re a peach. Here’s the interview.

6 Comments | interview, Vulpes Libris | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

Etiquette – hands in lap, napkin daintily applied to corners of the mouth

January 27, 2010

Agents and editors don’t mean to make mistakes. Really. We don’t wake up and think, “Whose life will I toy with today? Whose dreams can I crush this week?” It makes no sense to muck about causing trouble. Heck, I have a beagle who can do that with her eyes closed. The idea is to be the very best we can be.

But we’re human. Cow flatulence happens. So what is the proper way that you, the author, can deal with a muck up? Grace.

In this day and age, everyone has an instant audience for complaints via the internet:

“I hate my cover art!”
“They screwed up the editing on my book!”
“My agent isn’t doing diddley squat selling my book!”
“Why did my agent sell my book to that publisher?? I’m Random House material, dontcha know?”

And so it goes out into the cyber world for everyone to see. They end up as discussions on writers’ boards where sides are taken and, like gang warfare, shots are fired from both sides. The issues are thrown under a microscope and analyzed like mutating cells until the discussion finally dies out for want of another outrage elsewhere.

There are advantages to things being openly discussed, but I must question the wisdom of taking personal dissatisfaction to a public forum.

As an example of doing things right, I have great admiration for Jaclyn Dolamore’s handling of her cover art for Magic Under the Glass. Rather than lead the charge with torches held high and bloodlust wheezing in every breath, she kept her napkin daintily to her mouth. This is a classy woman who’s focused on her writing career – not the cover of a single book. If I could afford her, I’d so work with her.

Ya look kinda foolish

When a problem arises – and face it, they will arise – you must decide what is the smartest thing for you and your career.  Do you look your cover and run to your nearest writers’ board to complain, or do you put your napkin daintily to your mouth and remain circumspect? “No comment, thank you.” Do you speak with your editor to see if something can’t be changed?

Charging to a writers’ board or blog with your hair on fire makes you look like a bullet that’s been stuffed with too much gunpowder. Canyoubelievewhatiditostheyare???? you bleat in a fit of outrage. Of course, you’re hoping to garner lots of tea and sympathy, and you may very well get it.

But what does that outrage get you in the long run? First off, your publisher is going to see it/hear about it/get wind of it. Think that will make them feel all goosey lovey about you?

Or how about if, Cosmic Muffin forbid, your contract is canceled – for whatever reason. Yes, it hurts. But do you scream from the top of the mountain that your agent or editor is the most vile sack of yak spit, or do you daintily apply your napkin to the corners of your mouth because you are more concerned about looking like a loose cannon that editors and agents will avoid?

And think about it; does your agent or editor talk about you publicly when you screw up? No, because it’s un-pro-fess-ional.

It’s not that agents and editors are necessarily frightened of the bad press because everyone knows deals go south and mistakes happen. It’s YOU – your future – that you need to be concerned about. If an agent or editor happens to stumble across your posts, they may beat feet in the opposite direction.

Ardent defense

If you’re insanely happy with your agent of editor, it’s natural to want to come to their defense.

“Your editor wears Army boots and smells like elderberries.”
“Does not!”
“Does too. And what’s more, she picks her nose in public.”
“Does not!”
“Does to!”
“Well just you wait. When I’m a famous author, I’ll come back here and scream nyah, nyah! to you losers.”

Oh dear. This is just all kinds of embarrassing. Not only do you make yourself look foolish, but your ardent defense looks sock puppet-y.

It’s the newbies who do this sort of thing. They’re drunk-high on the idea of being represented or published, and they can’t stand the idea of seeing any kind of negative scrutiny – no matter how minor it may be. So they run in like a mama bear on crack and say some really ignorant things.

The fallout of ardent, blind defense goes something like this: “What kind of agent/editor would work with a brainless twit like that?”  The author has unintentionally made people wonder about the agent or editor’s intelligence of their choices. In short, they make themselves and their agents/editors look equally stupid. So that ardent defense becomes a serious backfire.

I know a few agents who forbid their clients to reply to any message boards or blog about any issues. The idea of keeping your hands in your lap and your napkin daintily applied to the corners of your mouth is this: your agent or editor is perfectly able to defend themselves if they feel the need for it. It is not your job to be their champion or their primary detractor. Let their reputations speak for themselves. They don’t need or want your help. If they do, they’re idiots.

Moral: If you’re unhappy, consider the impact you’ll have on your own career by voicing your displeasure in a public forum [and I'm not talking scams here].

If you’re deliriously happy, consider the impact you’ll have on your own career and the reputation of your agent or editor by giving the impression that you need to fight their battles. Both of these options often leave a jelly stain on one’s mouth. Hence, the dainty napkin.

Editorial Anonymous has a great post that relates to this.

9 Comments | soap box | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

Reviews – “They just don’t get me!”

January 27, 2010

“Did you see this?” my friend barked while waving the magazine around in the air, nearly spilling her wine in my lap.

“Get as mad as you want, dearie, but take it easy on the wine. It’s expensive,” I replied while moving her glass out of  the strike zone. Man, I hate it when it’s my turn to buy. Somehow the wine always gets dumped everywhere else other than down our throats.

“Forget the wine. Did you see the review of my book? The bastards trashed me. I’ll be lucky to sell a single book after what those illiterate wheezebags did to me.”

I had seen the review. Indeed, it was less than laudatory. Now I was at a crossroads. Do I play the supportive friend and join her in planning a sacrificial burning of the trade magazine’s edifice at midnight, or do I stay true to my opinions in an effort to teach her something valuable about reviews?

She took a deep breath. I held mine. Don’t say it, don’t say it… “They just don’t get me!”

Arrrgghhh! Beagle, my vapors! STAT!

Ego is as ego does

Book reviews are nothing more than public critiques. They are sometimes warped by social standing [as in, "who's your publisher, baby?], politics ["Your views suck"], and pure snobbery ["You're sooo not cool enough to get a good review out of me. Besides, I'm in a bad mood, and tag, you're it"].

But at the end of the day, they are still crits – just like you get from your beta readers, writer groups, and friends. It’s very hard for writers to put themselves out there. They’ve dug deep into their creative souls and brought forth the contents that were churning within.  Reviews carry a lot of weight behind their names, so they can be quite influential to sales. It’s natural to worry.

“Is it good enough?”
“Did I bore you?”
“Would you buy the book?”

Crits, however, are private. Reviews are out there for The Great Cosmic Muffin and everyone to read. There are no dark corners in which to hide from a sucky review.

Consider the unthinkable

But rather than hiding in embarrassment or spilling perfectly good wine in a fit of puffed up outrage, there is one thing to consider: was the review correct?

In my friend’s case, it was. The reviewer had, in fact, nailed every one of the minuses that I’d tried to show her during her final rewrite before she submitted it to her editor [big conglomerate publisher]. She ignored my suggestions, saying I didn’t get her story. Huh?

I detest this kind of brush off, yet I hear it all the time. If I or any other reviewer have concerns about a story’s structure, it is rarely because I/we don’t get it.

Furthermore, this comment implies that the onus is on the reader’s shoulders to understand your brilliance. And you know what? That thar be arr-o-gant. It’s like when I tell the beagle she misfiled the stack of papers. Again. She simply snorts and tells me she’s instituting a new filing system and it’s my job to figure it out. I’d fire her, but she always sweetens the pot by having a frosty pitcher of margaritas on hand to soften the blow. Authors don’t have that option.

The reader invests in you, the writer. They forked over the bucks to buy your book and took time out of their day/night to read it. Therefore, it’s your job to give them the very best you have to offer. It’s an unspoken contract, and that means that you listen to those who have read your book. To insult the reader or reviewer by stating they don’t get you means that you are completely innocent in this reader/writer relationship. I can’t think of anything more damaging to one’s writing future than to not pay attention to her readers whether it’s Jane Reader or a Library Journal reviewer.

Payback is a biatch

In my friend’s case, her editor shot the book out with barely a whisper [which my friend interpreted as a testimony of her brilliance]. So what her editor giveth, the reviewer taketh away. And now my friend was a pile of raging hormones [she's preggers], which only served to feed the fuel of her outrage.

“Darling,” I said gently, “did it occur to you that maybe the review brings out some valid points?”

A look of indignation crossed her face, suggesting that I had three heads and not one of them contained a brain. Le sigh. What a dilemma. Do I stick to my guns of honesty or do I commiserate?

Get outta your own way, baby!

The long and short of it is this: sitting back and saying “You just don’t get me” will never make you a better writer. It may very well be that the reviewer is a sodding pile of donkey droppings, but a smart writer NEVER dismisses anything. A smart writer considers the review to see if their comments apply. This requires a modicum of dispassionate objectivity. It’s easy to take offense, but it’s a lot harder to tell the ego to take a powder so you can consider the ways to improve your contract to your readers.

As for my friend… I lied like a cheap rug. After all, it’s her turn to buy lunch next time.

————–

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!! You are the very best, and I love you dearly.

9 Comments | book review, grow up | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

Tacky schmacky

January 25, 2010

This is a blog. This means that thoughts and ideas pour out of my head faster than my fingers can work. There are many times  I blog when I’m under time constraints, woefully under-caffienated, or exhausted.

Despite my balancing act between work and holding on to what little sanity I have, this blog is about sharing publishing information through the prism of an overworked, underpaid editor. It’s my hope that my genteel readership would forgive scant grammatical or spelling errors in the spirit of, “hey, the old broad is doing the best she can with the precious few free minutes her day allows.”

That’s not to say that I don’t aspire to perfection. Given that I’m an editor, I absolutely quake at the thought of making a mistake. But I’m human and often have one foot out the door or a nose buried in someone’s manuscript. And what really chaps my hide are the drive-by editors who feel the need to alert me to the fact that I misspelled a word.

Do you types go around to all the agent and editor blogs and point out their mistakes? For sure we all make them from time to time. And yes, I’m sure their faces blush just as mine does. But I don’t believe that my transgressions are so heinous as to diminish my message. I have one particular irritant who has commented on many of my posts for the sole purpose of alerting me of my boo-boos. Good gawd.

For those of you so inclined, kindly back off. It’s tacky and rude. Relax. Get a life. Take a Midol. Go walk the dog – I believe the beagle’s bladder is nearing capacity. Enjoy the information that you won’t find anyplace else, that’s being given FOR FREE, and written on my own time.

Except you, Mom. You are the Great Editor of All, and I always bow before your greatness.

16 Comments | rant | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

More head-bangy stuff

January 25, 2010

Okay, so we all know queries are considered professional correspondence, right? Well, maybe not everyone…

Salutations:

It’s a reeeeally bad idea to get cutesy. I drink the blood of authors for a quick pick-me-up, so cutesy does not work with me. E-ver. Here is my latest sampling of cutesy:

hi there..{waving at you}

My name is never mentioned. I feel the vein pulsing wildly in my forehead as the shock of sugar overload settles in my pancreas with the force of monkey incisors. A diabetic coma isn’t far behind.

The Body:

That professional demeanor? Yah, it’s important to maintain it throughout the body of your query.

I don’t wanna waste any of your time.

“Wanna”? “WANNA”??? Mooom, make this go away. Ouch. Very, very ouch.

I haven’t found anyone to publish my book yet, I feel stuck, and want to keep moving if you’re aren’t interested.

Subliminal message – “I went through my A list and am on to my B list. Tag, you’re it.” This is the kind of fuzzy, warm message that jump-starts my shriveled, blackened heart. [do not hook me up to a lie detector right now]

In closing:

I confess that I really don’t know the ends and outs of having a publisher, have no idea what this will cost me, do have some money set aside for the book, but I do know FOR SURE that I want to publish.

Extra latte, double crunch fudge espresso ouch. Not only do I grace her B list, but I’m now a vanity press. This is not a B list, it’s off the reservation bad form. “Ends and outs?“ Fingernails on chalkboard. Bleeding eyes. Exploded spleen.

Thanks so much and I really do apologize for wasting your time if at this point you feel I have. really.

Oh good gracious. Beagle, call in the Confidence Transplant Team. STAT!

Signature:

{waving bye}

It is unsigned. Had it not been for her email address, I wouldn’t have known who this came from.

Really. I just cannot make this stuff up.

Moral: If you want to shoot your own foot, then get a gun permit and purchase the weapon of your choosing. I prefer not to have to chew it off your leg. I will even donate the bullets.

7 Comments | authors behaving badly, head bangy, query | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

“Sayyy, who was that masked editor?”

January 24, 2010

Her steely blue eyes flashed in the morning sun. She worked the blade of hay planted in the corner of her mouth as she holstered her red pen, still bloody and dripping.

“H-how can I ever thank you?” the young author said, trying to gather the courage to look the mysterious editor in the eye. “My POV switches would have surely gotten me killed back there. And the run-on sentences? Why, I think I saw the mortician carving my name on a coffin.”

“Think nothing of it,” the editor said in a gravely voice, reminiscent of a chick version of Clint Eastwood.

She readjusted her hat and reached for her trusty horse, Dangling Modifier, and swung into the saddle in a graceful leap. “Come on, beagle,” she rasped down to a freckled beagle wearing designer chaps, rakish pink books, and a bolero. “We have other towns to travel to and authors to help.”

As the editor, horse, and beagle made their way into the sunset, the author asked the gathering crowd, “Who was that masked editor?”

“Lynn Behler,” was the reverent reply.

The author’s reply carried on the wind, and the masked editor turned around in her saddle. “PRICE!” she yelled. “Dagnubbit, I get that all the time! It ain’t Behler – that’s the name of the publishing company. My name is Lynn PRICE!“

The author looked around at the crowd. “Touchy broad, ain’t she?”

7 Comments | My name is Price | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

I didn’t pay her. Honest

January 23, 2010

I had a nice surprise awaiting my Google search thingie – a lovely review of Tackle Box by Lyndsey Rose Davis. I appreciate these reviews far more than the trade reviews because they come directly from those I hope to aid in their future success. Thank you so much, Lyndsey.

Go.

Read.

Buy.

3 Comments | Tackle Box | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

Sniff

January 22, 2010

I never understood it when Mom and Dad sniffed a wee bit when we had to leave after spending a fabo weekend at their house. After all, they lead busy lives jaunting around here and there. How could they possibly miss us?

And then The Daughter left for school up in San Francisco. I didn’t mourn her being gone when we delivered her to her condo back in August because I was so excited for her and all the new adventures she’d have. But somewhere between then and now, I had a mental shift. I actually cried when I dropped her off at the airport today. I did it right before New Year’s too, when she left for a week to be with friends up in San Francisco. God! That is so unlike me.

But her semester break meant seeing one of my bestest buddies – and appreciating the fact that she’d become one of my bestest buddies.

See, not counting the dogs, we’re the only chicks in the joint. Everyone else has a deep voice and a large Adam’s apple. We be mates, The Daughter and I. We ran errands together, got our hairs cut together, went shopping, and ate Taco Bell together. She even corrupted me with Say Yes to the Dress and What Not to Wear.  She finds pure hilarity at my shame.

It’s odd, but this brings my own buddy buddy with Mom full circle. I get it. Mom and I always have so much fun together, and I can now see with different eyes how she enjoys that girl-thang just like I enjoy with The Daughter. We be mates, Mom and I. I feel like the Twinkie in the middle of Mom and The Daughter.

And today, watching her roll her luggage toward the gate, I also understood the lump in Mom and Dad’s throat when we leave. The Daughter has closed a chapter in her book, and she’ll never be the high school girl who sat on the phone and drove me nuts with her messy room. She’s a beautiful 23-year-old embarking on a whole new adventure. She’s left the nest with a piece of my heart packed in her bags. Like Mom and Dad, The Hubby and I will have to eat her up in short snatches of time. And get lumps in our own throats.

As busy as I am, and as much as I love my life, why does some part of me feel left behind? As much as I miss her, I am so lucky to have the opportunity to love my kids, my hubby, and my parents to the point of getting all weepy-like. Godspeed, Daughter.

12 Comments | off the reservation | Permalink
Posted by lynnpricewrites

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