Solidly mid-list. That’s how an agent described my work a few days ago in her very flattering letter telling me that she wasn’t interested in representing me to sell my next novel. She also said many of the things I’ve become accustomed to hearing about my work—that the writing is lovely, that it beautifully captures the dynamics of its small Montana community. But all those nice things were followed not by an ‘and,’ but by a ‘but.’ The same ‘but’ that I’ve been hearing a lot lately, which is that this book is too quiet to be a breakout novel.
And it may sound strange, but I was grateful that she was the first to acknowledge something I’ve suspected for years now but haven’t heard outright from anyone. That I have somehow become a ‘mid-list’ writer. And what that means is that I am likely to have a better chance of making the Red Sox pitching rotation than of finding representation. Okay, I’m exaggerating. Slightly.
The signs were all there. The sales of all my books since my first novel have been mediocre at best. I have not been able to break in with a major publisher again since novel number one. I’ve been reviewed by some smaller publications and newspapers, but nothing like In Open Spaces, which was reviewed in Publisher’s Weekly and the New York Times, made the San Francisco Chronicle’s bestseller list, and was named on a couple of ‘best of’ lists for 2002.
And then there are the other signs—those that come from your fellow writers, and which for me are the most painful. People who were eager to read your first book say nothing about the new one. They promote other people’s books on their blogs or their Facebook pages, with glowing reviews, but for you it’s a resounding silence. And you don’t know whether that silence means that they haven’t read it, or they read it and think that you’ve lost it. But you don’t ask. You will not ask, because that would put them in the awkward position of having to say ‘I loved it’ when they don’t mean it. Except for a few devoted friends, you are in exile among your own kind, and there are few things that make someone feel more alone.
So what happened? How did I get here? That’s really the mystery of this whole business, this amazing adventure we call writing.
It’s embarrassing to look back on how naïve and/or foolish I was when In Open Spaces came out. It started with a bang, with a starred review in Publisher’s Weekly. And for the next couple of years, everything seemed ridiculously easy. Every time I turned around, there was another piece of good news, whether it was a gig as Writer-in-Residence at St. Mary’s College, or an invitation to appear on another panel, radio interviews, the list kept growing. It was translated into French! I was convinced that this was how it was going to be for the rest of my career. Maybe the most embarrassing thing, thinking back on that time, is wondering how many people I ignored who were in the position I find myself in now. How many really nice, talented writers tried to talk to me about how hard it was, and I did NOT want to hear it. I was afraid, as we all tend to be, that it might be contagious. I’m sure I thought to myself that they were just not trying hard enough, or—here’s the worst reality a writer can possibly imagine—they aren’t as good as they think they are.
I know that I am at least partially to blame for the way my career turned. There were missteps along the way. The most significant mistake was in the process of trying to sell novel number two. In Open Spaces was originally sold to William Morrow, in 1999, when they were still a separate entity. But a year later, about the time we finished editing, Morrow was swallowed up by HarperCollins, my editor was among those who lost their jobs, and for a while (two and a half years, actually), my book got lost in the sea of books that a merger produces. There was a period where they weren’t sure it would be published. There was an even longer period where I heard absolutely nothing, which was worse. It had taken me eight years from the time I wrote this book to find a publisher, so on some days, the thought of waiting another year or two wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But there were other days when it felt like a horrible joke.
Thankfully, after being assigned to five different editors, all of whom left the company, a junior editor was willing to take it on, and it came out in 2002, three and a half years after I signed the contract. But she too left the company, a month before it was released. I would imagine that Harper was surprised at the modest success of In Open Spaces considering it didn’t have anyone pushing it in-house. But I was eventually assigned to another editor to negotiate the second novel. He was a big fan of the first, so I was sure I was in good hands. I wasn’t worried at all.
Because it had taken so long to sell In Open Spaces, I had another novel (actually, three) that were finished, and I had also begun a sequel to In Open Spaces. So I sent him one of the finished novels, and was surprised that he wasn’t thrilled with it; he thought the fact that it was a complete departure from the first would disrupt my momentum. This was the first small indication that things might not be as smooth and easy as I expected. But he was very happy to find out that a sequel was in the works, and asked me to send along what I had, which was only a couple of early chapters. A few weeks later, he contacted my agent with an offer. A very good offer. Five times the advance I got for my first novel. Today I would take that offer without a second’s hesitation. But basking in the success of my first novel, and prompted by a suggestion from my agent, we arranged to meet with my editor, and we discussed the possibility that he might get me a better offer once the novel was finished. The idea of getting more was too appealing to pass up. So I officially declined their offer, with a wink and a nudge to my editor.
And I did what writers are supposed to do. I went to work, and close to a year later, I was nearly finished with the first draft of The Watershed Years. What happened next is so predictable I can’t believe it never even occurred to me at the time. When I contacted my editor to tell him the new novel was nearly finished, he had some bad news. He was leaving the company. They gave the finished novel to a different editor, who was not interested.
That’s where everything turned. My agent was not able to find another publisher, and it was another five years before I found one on my own. In the ten years since In Open Spaces came out, I have published two novels, both to publishers I found myself, and I was fortunate enough to co-edit an anthology with Lynn Stegner, daughter-in-law of one of my heroes. The advance I received for my second novel was one fifth what I received for my first. The advance I received for my third novel was one one-hundredth what I received for my second novel. It was not six figures, or five, or four, or even three. It was a two-figure advance. And I was happy to get it! That’s how far things have fallen.
The hardest part about being a mid-list writer is that people assume, because you have several books out there, that you don’t have to worry about whether your next book will get published. People are constantly asking me for advice about how to find an agent, or whether I will recommend them to a publisher. I often don’t have the heart to tell them that I’m looking for an agent myself, which is a whole ‘nother story. People assume that if you’ve published three novels, publishers are eager to have you join their stable. It makes it difficult to find a sympathetic ear for this dilemma. Because there are so many people who would give anything to be where I am. Even among writers who are in the same position, it can become a painful topic. It’s almost as if we share an overwhelming fear that talking about it will perpetuate it. That the perception will permanently solidify the reality. And none of us wants that. It reminds me a little of my homesteading ancestors. In talking to people who grew up during the pioneering days, one common theme is that no one is comfortable talking about how hard it was. Because everyone was in the same boat. Nobody wants to be known as a complainer. It’s even uncomfortable writing this down, honestly.
It may seem to the outside world that having any books published at all should be satisfying enough. And there are moments when that’s true. But overall, I can assure you that’s not enough. At least not for me. Because from the beginning, my goal has been to become a better writer. All I ever wanted was to form a relationship with an agent that would give me some kind of consistent progress in becoming a better writer and building my career. Good reviews, and I have had more than my share, only validate the hunger for a day or two. Letters from people who love my work are better, but again, those only keep me going for a few days at most. In the end, it will always come down to whether or not someone is out there waiting to read the next thing I write. Someone who believes that I still have something to offer.
So where does this leave me now, today, without an agent or a publisher, with two finished novels waiting patiently in folders on my computer, and a third well underway. Not to mention the memoir. Well, it’s simple, really. And also incredibly clichéd. But what writers always need to do in the end is to write. There have been many many times during these years that the rejections have battered my confidence to the point where I’ve considered giving it up. Every time I get my royalty statements, which come every six months, my resolve gets tested in ways that sometimes take weeks to overcome. But the desire to write, it seems, is a sickness for which there is no cure. Except writing.
If I were the only one going through this, I would know it was me. I would know that I really am one of those people who think they’re better than they are. But I know so many writers, many very good writers, who are struggling with this same situation. So the question becomes when did experience become a detriment to getting published? When did it turn from “You have a solid track record, so we’ll definitely give your next book a look” to “You’ve had your day in the sun, and you didn’t generate enough sales, so it’s time to give others a chance.” It’s not hard to understand in some ways. Who would publishers rather deal with, someone who has enough experience that they want to make sure things get done right, or someone who’s so grateful to be published that they’ll agree to anything? I get that.
But here’s the other thing that keeps me and other writers going and probably always will. This woman, who I’m sure came into the publishing business for the same reason everyone does, because she loves books, doesn’t know anything. That is not a slam, or a criticism, it is a simple fact. Every agent I’ve ever dealt with (well, okay, with one exception) has been incredibly respectful, articulate, encouraging, and sympathetic to what it’s like to be in our shoes. But they will also be the first to admit that they don’t have a clue what is going to take the book world by storm. It’s not hard to identify bad books. But the number of good books that get published increases a little every year with the advent and growing ease of self-publishing. And the thing that distinguishes 50 Shades of Grey from every other bodice-ripping romance novel is a complete mystery to everyone. Until it gets out there and we get a chance to see what kind of groundswell happens, or doesn’t happen, none of us knows what the fate of our next book will be. The odds will never be in my favor, but there will always be that small percentage of a chance that my small stream of words will wriggle its way into that narrow crevice and break out into the world like a fucking typhoon. And because I have that completely irrational, often unearned ego that all writers need to keep going, I’m always preparing for that ride.
***
19 responses
Thank you for your amazing candor on the arduous tasks that consume all writers and bibliophiles. I have not read your work but can’t wait to begin your novels in hopes of starting a ripple in your search for the typhoon. Dr.S, thestinky.com
Thank you for being so honest. It couldn’t have been easy to write this, and I feel I have gained something from having read it. I’m a writer, mostly poetry, but I just finished the second draft of my novel. I was naive to all things you just pointed out. I was worried about how my book would be received by those I know…I didn’t even think of what will happen if I’m lucky enough to have it published. Preach on, sir.
I don’t think “. . .because you love books.” is right in the first place. It’s cuz you love reading, or writing, or words. And you put too much faith in other people. Some are okay, but some of them suck. Especially at the humanity thing.
Great, honest essay, painful because it’s so familiar, but also consoling because it’s so familiar.
wow. what a brutal, yet wholly truthful look inside your own mind, your ego and the harsh reality of the publishing world today. Thank you for sharing it. I’ve read it 3 times now….carry on!
cheers
Liz
Great article. Super brave and touching.
Your essay makes me reconsider something I thought I was sure of. My last book was my best. It was also my most award-winning and best reviewed. By necessity (I shopped it for eight years, unsuccessfully) it was self-published. I have thought I’d leverage the success of “Anything Worth Doing” to get back into mainstream publishing, in order to save myself the time suck and hassle of managing distribution and sales. It suddenly occurs to me, thanks to you, that the time suck and hassle of finding representation, then a publisher, then doing the editor-go-round, then trying to fund the book tour on the $1 to $2 per copy royalty that authors generally get isn’t exactly easier. Maybe being “solidly midlist” is the best argument there is for self-publishing high quality work that, in theory at least, could find a mainstream home.
Painful to read because so familiar. Been there, done that. the particulars are different of course. For me, my nightmare experiences with Bantam Books and Atheneum (Macmillan) AND a supposedly topnotch agent finished me forever with mainstream publishers. If I ever publish again, it will be independently, and I truly don’t understand why you don’t mention this as an option for you, and if you’ve considered it and decided it’s not for you, why. For me, though, the prospect of going through what it takes to get an independently published book noticed is all but prohibitive; maybe that’s why you don’t seem to be considering it.
On my part, I’m still wrestling with that. I have a pretty black view of the state of publishing today, both traditionally and independently.
Scary, downright scary, but your honesty is so appealing and despite that, despite recognizing the brutal honesty here, I am having trouble believing that you–can it be true?–are in this spot. Please say it’s not so…
Your story is sad, but it is also a learning experience. We publish our books for a wide variety of complex reasons. I don’t know yours. I do know that none can be accomplished as long as the books are in folders on your computer.
Run, don’t walk to self-publishing. Truly, you don’t need those heartless people in big publishing. Everything you need to learn about taking charge of your own writing career is on the web. Best of luck.
I survived the midlist in New York for 20 years– which people kept telling me wasn’t possible. I went through five publishers and four pen names. I sold over a million copies of one series at Random House and got dumped.
When I got the rights back to those books four years ago, I looked at my wife and said “I just got my retirement.” Not that I’ll ever retire. But those nine books now earn me more in a month than my first advance. I have over 60 books published and I own the rights to all but three, which were NY Times bestselling collaborations. I sell more books on my own in one day than those three are sold in 6 months by the big NY Publisher.
Why? Because no one cares more about the book than the author. And no one else is in charge of an author’s career.
Since forming Cool Gus four years ago, things have been so much better. Being in control of my own career is great. But it’s not easy. I work two jobs– author and publisher. I have to produce. But I write for a living. A pretty nice living. That is the power of the Internet and the eBook.
I’ve been writing for a living for a quarter century. Any time I saw an author who thought they had it made, I knew their career was over. I don’t have it made now. I’m constantly trying new things, even looking at the form of the novel quite differently. I publish other authors. I’ve had 34 audiobooks produced via ACX. I’ll be at BEA next month representing my own company.
The reality is that an author needs to be more than just a writer. We have to be entrepreneurs. It’s understandable some people don’t want to do that; or don’t have an inclination to do it. We find that’s the author we end up working with– but even then, a key is they have to understand how the publishing landscape has changed so dramatically. The sense I get out of NY is the Big 5 have weathered digital and things are good to go. Nothing can be further from reality. Big changes are coming and we all have to adapt and even try to get ahead of the changes.
I believe it’s the best time ever to be a writer. But it isn’t easy.
Wow. You so exactly describe my situation. Several published books, a life as a writer and teacher of writing, but harder and harder to find a publisher even though I feel I have only improved as a writer. Yes, my books are probably quiet rather than loud. One publisher said he was looking for something snappier. I titled my next manuscript Snappy, out of adolescent spitefulness. It kept me going until I finished, and now that book, Presto! is out seeking a publisher. I have always felt that it is my job to write, and with fewer takers I am amazed at how necessary it remains for me. A friend talked me into self-publishing my latest, You Again. Still trying to decide what I think of the experience.
http://burnsmar.blogspot.ca/2014/01/self-publishing-self-awareness.html
Thank you everyone for your comments. It has been truly inspiring how many people have responded to this. Bob Mayer, your story is especially heartening.
Thank you so much for this. Actually what your story reminds me of is the many stubborn artists through history whose gifts were recognized only after their death (example: Van Gogh). I sincerely hope you experience the typhoon WHILE YOU’RE ALIVE. Regardless, I honor your stubbornness, which is SUCH an important predictor of excellence.
At Readercon in the 90s I heard this story from a writer who’d published 10 excellent novels, each of which sold 100,000. Her publisher suggested she bring out a book using a different name; she could put “writing as” in teensy print so her usual readers could find her but the new name (and a racy hardback cover) would allow the sales rep to push the chains to order several million. Aaaand this was back when the old system was sort of “working” (irony intentional); at that time a book could make serious money only by appealing to people who don’t usually read books.
Count me as another person who plans to read some of your work and is inspired by Cool Gus’ “hybrid author” model.
One chance is more than most of us get.
But good luck.
Why don’t you publish via Amazon? The publishing companies are not your readers. You write well. You know you do. Publish the work!
” … wondering how many people I ignored who were in the position I find myself in now. How many really nice, talented writers tried to talk to me?” – Reading this, part of me wants to judge you for getting exactly what you deserve, thinking you were probably (possibly?) even more insufferable than this sentence suggests. But having been churned through the economies of what passes for lit in this country, and been supportive of others — then not gotten that in return — maybe you’re just typical, and misreading your lack of engagement, gratitude and entitlement in a way that’s just, basically, American. You had yours, why bother with anyone else? Time and again, we see this play out: how many people did Jennifer Egan promised blurbs while touring with “A Visit from the Geek Squad,” goosing her sales and then failing to follow through on? Putting aside your fundamental lack of humility, what you speak to is a “literary” version our approach to everything ie., that we’re not connected, that we don’t affect others, that coming from fear (<<< your real problem — 'contagious'? I know it was the 1999 and the 20th century but your magical thinking seems more cued to the 17th) and cowardliness is never the path. The primary value of this essay is as a cautionary tale: of the past, certainly, but its (possible) prescience. Good to hear things have turned for you, but absent more fundamental shifts in your world view towards generosity towards others, you'll get / take, and find yourself in the same position again.
“But the desire to write, it seems, is a sickness for which there is no cure. Except writing.”
I am a visual artist, and this article really spoke to my experience trying to get my artwork out there. I often times feel like I’m making all of this work and it goes nowhere, except into a big black pit. I wonder every day why I do this to myself. Most of the time, it sucks to be an artist, but despite the constant rejection that I have to tolerate, I can’t stop myself.Thank you so much for your honesty, this is one of the best articles I’ve read in a very long time. People are so quick to make themselves look happy and creative on the outside, they rarely address how insanely difficult it is to be creative.
I’m seeing articles that say midlist authors should go with e-books and direct publishing. Apparently the midlist is no longer profitable for traditional publishers.
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