Mary Martin, Ph.D.

Yes, Editors Will Change Your Book

I received a hilarious e-mail from a friend whom I've been consulting during his process of writing his book and getting an agent and a publisher.

He has a great deal that includes a movie, a television series, and a bunch of money (like, hundreds of thousands of dollars), and this is is first book and he's not even a writer.

Here's the e-mail:

I received the editors edits yesterday. My book is now in a mostly unrecognizable form. What had been a low brow, puerile, jejune adventure in ******** is now a thoughtful, mature story of life passage.

I suppose this is normal, or is it?

Yes, in fact it is normal. And you can fight it if you want. You might even win a couple of battles. But the editor's job is to use your manuscript to create (recreate) the book that is the most marketable. A team of people (not including the editor, often) crafts the sometimes-new angle (or voice) of your book, and the editor's job, like the film editor's job, is to cut the product to fit the vision of the director (publisher).

Though many people would respond: How on earth can you complain about anything when you have a deal like that, imagine if there were things about your book that someone tinkered with. A lot of things. Things on every page.

I hope that someday you're in a position to even have the opportunity for such a problem.

The Outline: A Double-Edged Sword

I've been busy with several projects, including my daily blog, Animal Person, which unfortunately takes precedence. But I'm back on track and there's an issue important to two jobs I'm currently working on: a documentary and a book. The issue is that an outline can be your best friend or your worst enemy.

In documentary filmmaking and nonfiction book writing, you can begin working with what you want to say. Perhaps you already know what your topic and your thesis is. The outline process, then, is about listing evidence/research/details/statistics that explain your topic and support your thesis. Your work, then, is about finding that evidence and then writing it (or filming it) and editing it. And you end where you began: with your thesis that you've just proven or illustrated.

The problem with the outline is that, depending on who's using it, there might be a propensity to stick to the outline and thereby prevent other interesting information or angles from emerging, as the priority is sticking to the outline. This can easily result in a great product, but it can also result in a product that could have had more depth or character or complexity. It could have been far more intriguing.

There's an uncertainty and often an anxiety of flying without a net when you toss your outline completely or at least veer from it. But that's usually when things are beginning to get really interesting.

I won't say that disregarding your outline is something everyone can do and then create a different, better project in the end. But I do think it's something everyone should try, because the more you do it, the better you get at coping with the feelings of insecurity (and often terror) that accompany letting your story tell itself and not imposing yourself on it so much by directing its every twist and turn.

Please note that letting your story emerge always takes longer than deciding what your story is in advance (in my experience). And if you're hiring people to help you, it costs more if you're putting the decision making into the hands of editors (as then their job is technically development, as well). But it usually results in a richer end product, and that makes the uncertainty, the headaches and the extra expense worthwhile.

On Spacing After Closing Punctuation

I'm working on a manuscript for a person who has absolutely no reason to keep current on changes in style that have occurred since the advent of the computer. One of those changes is that there are no longer two spaces required after closing punctuation. In the days of the typewriter, the two spaces were actually necessary to improve readability. But with computer fonts, the space alloted for a, um space, is equivalent in width to that of an "m" (the widest letter), thereby making an extra space unnecessary.

Now, I recognize that the habit of putting two spaces after a period or question mark is a difficult one to break. Fortunately, one of the wonderful things about Microsoft Word (and probably other software), is that you can program it for one space after closing punctuation. Here's how (using Word 2008):

• Open a document, go to Tools and drop down to Spelling and Grammar. If there are no errors in the document, create one by, say, inserting "mmmm" anywhere. Now check Spelling and Grammar again.
• Click Options in the box that pops up, and another will pop up.
• Review the Spelling and Grammar options and make sure you agree with what has been chosen/checked.
• Click Settings . . .
• A new box appears called Grammar Settings. Double check what is already chosen under Grammar and style options.
• Then go to the Holy Grail below where you just were, under Require. The third item will say: Spaces required between sentences. Choose 1, click OK, and then click OK on the previous window, which will still be active.
• Fix the typo ("mmmm") and you're on your way!

Today's free advice is: Spend some time exploring the settings and the options available with Word. You might find shortcuts you didn't know existed as well as other helpful functions you've been doing by hand or avoiding because you didn't know they were possible.

Creating Your Own Book Intensive

The Book Intensive is my best-selling, yet most-expensive service. It's $3,000-$5,000 per day, and here's what happens:

• We start at about 9 am and end after dinner.
• We go for a walk in there somewhere or maybe do some yoga and/or meditate.
• And in between, I sit across from you and help you learn how to write your book (or article or chapter), sentence by sentence.

Now, if you don't want to do that, I can just either write your book for you or edit what you've written. But if you want to be the one to write your book, or you want to improve your writing, there's no substitute for having someone coach you in real time.

I'm in South Florida and I don't travel nearly as much as I used to. I used to have a huge carbon footprint, mostly from traveling, and I decided that was unacceptable. So there are fewer Book Intensives in my life these days. Maybe a total of 20 days over an entire year.

But who needs me?

You can create your own, do-it-yourself Book Intensive with a writing partner. If you each pick a project and swap days, you'll be providing one another with a service, cost free, that is likely to help you improve your writing.

And you don't even have to know all the rules and have perfect grammar because part of the process is looking up any questions that neither of you can answer. From usage to rules for reference notes to vocabulary (such as by enlisting the Visual Thesaurus), you learn together and become better at writing, editing and researching together. You challenge each other about your diction and syntax, and act as devil's advocate for each other.

Two heads really are better than one when you want to become a better writer.

Get Thee a Writing Partner

Nothing provides motivation to write (or revise) better than a looming deadline when your publisher has already paid you your advance.

However, for those of you whose deadlines are looming only in their minds, the resulting motivation may be, shall we say, less urgently experienced.

Accountability is of course a blessing and a curse, but when you want to get something done, if you create a system for accountability you dramatically increase the probability that you'll get it done.

Why?

Because you'll be mortified if you don't.

A writing partner who is currently writing something is ideal, as you can set goals together and your processes might be similar. I recommend weekly goals for, say, 90 days. You should speak or e-mail once a week, and report what you have done to your partner and even give them something to read and comment on (it hurts, I know). This way, you have someone to talk to about your writing and your struggles, and that someone can even give you feedback if you want it (sometimes you won't. Instead, you'll simply want a congratulations for doing what you were supposed to do.).

Not everyone is surrounded by writers, however. Or maybe the writers you know aren't people you'd feel comfortable going on a 90-day journey with. If that's the case, who in your life--whom you trust and wouldn't mind speaking with once a week--is either working on a project or hasn't started a project they've always dreamed of (i.e., their "someday" never arrived). Ask that person if he wants to get down to business and explain how you can help each other with your goals by being accountable to each other.

Create a spreadsheet with deadlines, actions to take, goals to be reached, and even your feelings during the process, for the entire 90 days (or maybe just 30 days--whatever time period works best for both of you). Make two copies: one for you and one for your partner. Once a week, talk about what you've done and how you felt. A regular set of topics will likely emerge in your conversations, which will end up being like therapy: who is supportive of your work, who resents the time you spend on it, where you get your best work done, when you get your best work done, how you feel about being accountable.

You might revise your schedule based on how things go during the first week or two. Many people find they were unrealistic when they created the schedule, not factoring in all of the vicissitudes of daily life that keep them from their plans.

Finally, remember to give yourself something wonderful upon reaching your goal. Do something fun with your partner--celebrate your accomplishments!

And then set some new goals and begin again . . .

On Bill Bryson's Dictionary for Writers and Editors

I just finished Bill Bryson's Dictionary for Writers and Editors, which, like his other books, is entertaining and helpful.

Reading it like a regular book (as opposed to a dictionary) isn't what I'd recommend, as if you spent hours at a time with it you could easily retain very little. What you'd come away with is: If I ever have a question about usage or spelling, I should consult Bill's book first.

With each letter (it is a dictionary, remember), you'll learn things you didn't know, clarify things you were fuzzy on, and realize some things you would've bet your net worth on are incorrect. There are also words, names and places you never heard of, and when you're finished reading at least you can say you've been introduced to them.

Here are some of my favorites:

• admit to is nearly always wrong. You admit a misdeed; you do not admit to it (5).
• aggravate. Strictly, means to make a bad situation worse. If you walk on a broken leg, you may aggravate the injury. People can never be aggravates, only circumstances (7).
• bereft. To be bereft of something is not to lack it but to be dispossessed of it, to lose it. A spinster is not bereft of a husband, but a widow is. (The word is the past participle of bereave.) (37)
• center around. Center indicates a point, and a point cannot encircle anything. Make it "center on" or "revolve around" (64).
• different. Often used unnecessarily, as in "It is found in more than 250 different types of plants." In such constructions it can nearly always be deleted without loss (96).
• effete does not mean effeminate and weak, as it is often used. It means exhausted and barren. An effete poet is not necessarily foppish, but rather someone whose creative impulses are spent (108).
• gamy. Not -ey (135).
• high jinks ( two words) is the usual spelling, though some dictionaries also accept hijinks. The derivation is unknown, but it is not related (or to be confused with) jinx as in bad luck. The word can be used as either singular or plural (159).
• if and when. Almost always unnecessary. Choose one or the other (170).
• jamb. Not jam. A doorpost or similar (183).
• lacy. Not -ey (197).
• major, as in a "major initiative," "major embarrassment," "major undertaking," and so on, remains a severely overworked words, and this brings a kind of tofu quality to much writing, giving it bulk but little additional flavor. Nearly always it is worth the effort of trying to think of a more precise or expressive term (214).
• nauseous is an adjective describing something that causes nausea ("a nauseous substance"). To feel sick is to be nauseated (237).
• originally is often needlessly inserted into sentences where it conveys no additional information, as here: "The plans were originally drawn up as long ago as 1972" (Observer) (250).
• replete is not merely full but overfull, stuffed (291).
• schadenfreude. (Ger.) Deriving pleasure from the misfortunes of others; pronounced shah-den-froy-duh (302).
• thinking to oneself, as in "I thought to myself: 'We're lost,'" is always tautological; there is no one else to whom one can think. Delete "to myself." Similarly vacuous is "in my mind" in constructions like "I could picture in my mind where the offices had been" (331).
• vocal cords. Not chords. Vocal cords are so called because of their shape and structure, not because of their tonal qualities (354).

I don't know about you, but I'm fairly good at eliminating excess verbiage when writing (because I usually edit), but when I read Bryson's book, I realize that my speech is a disaster!

What is "Voice?"

I've written a book about my experiences with animals who have died shortly after they've met my acquaintance. After over 100 animal deaths, and about the same number of animals who didn't die after meeting me, I came to certain conclusions about the place of animals in our lives. These conclusions are far from what mainstream Americans believe, and I understand that my book is a tough sell and needs someone with a unique set of traits to champion it.

One of those traits, unfortunately, is an appreciation of the macabre and a sense of humor and irony. And those come through in the "voice" of the book, which two agents have told me they found, shall we say, not to their liking.

Now, I can easily write something in a different voice, but I am a bit dark and twisted by nature. Furthermore, what the world doesn't need is another sweet book about a person whose relationship with a dog or cat makes them realize that there just might be something more to nonhumans than instincts and reflexes.

Voice is very subjective, and though there are many criticisms that you shouldn't take seriously, voice isn't one of them. Your voice is the personality--the person--behind the writing. And when someone doesn't like the voice of your writing they're sort of saying they don't like you--the way you present yourself in your work.

If you're a journalist, voice should be something no one notices, as you're reporting and your personality shouldn't be noticeable. But if you provide commentary--think Andy Rooney--people will react to what you say, but they might react more to how you say it. Your diction, syntax, tone, inflection and pauses tell your listener a lot about you and how you see the world. And the same is true of your writing.

If an agent or publisher doesn't like the voice of your work, it shouldn't be entirely surprising as you should choose agents and publishers wisely, based on whether they have appreciated writing or topics similar to yours in the past. If your work has a distinctive voice that you know isn't for everyone, here's my advice: Your topic is secondary to voice when you're searching for agents and publishers (unless you change the voice, which I can do with a rewrite of about a month, and it will be far more acceptable for most people, but that's not the book I want to write). For instance, though it's important to find someone who wants to read about animals, it's more important to find someone who appreciates quirky or dark voices.

What's the most distinguishing quality of your book? Is it the topic, the genre, the voice? Whatever it is, find someone who appreciates that quality, and assuming your writing is great, the rest should fall into place eventually.

On the Lack of "Fairness" in Publishing

A friend just received a $200,000 advance on a book that is about something timely and has a significant celebrity and beautiful-people component to it, and let's just say it's not what one might call serious literature (nor is it meant to be). Another friend commented on how "unfair" that was.

Here's my advice: If you think about the publishing business in terms of fairness, you'll drive yourself to fits of rage. Publishing is a business and, generally speaking, its goal is to profit from the sale of books (and rights and ancillary products, etc...). If a large mainstream publisher has a choice between signing an author with a sexy book that will appeal to enormous numbers of women (we are the ones buying most of the books), or a more artful book with a more narrow appeal, who do you think is getting a book deal?

Now, small and independent publishers often have missions that do not begin with: Make as much money and appeal to the most people as possible.

If your niche-y idea, well-written of course, is rejected by large publishers, that's probably because a large publisher isn't the right place for your book. If you want a huge publishing house to sign you, you have to offer it a huge publishing house-kind of book, including a great platform.

Do yourself a favor and eliminate the word "fair" from your vocabulary. Think instead in terms of matching your work with the right publisher and doing your part to demonstrate you have what it takes to work with that publisher.

Should You Go to BookExpo?

For those of you wondering whether you should go to BookExpo America from May 29-June in Los Angeles, here's my advice:

• Its location rotates each year, but the general time (May-June) is the same. Next year it'll be in Manhattan, then it will go on the road to Washington DC, and in 2011 it'll land in Las Vegas. If you are near LA this year or can easily get there, and you haven't yet finished your book, attending isn't necessary but will no doubt be helpful. If you go--whenever you go--attend the Writer's Conference, which is an all day conference and does NOT include admission to BookExpo. If you can do only one thing, go to the Writer's Conference.
• If your manuscript is complete and you have the ability to get to LA--and you don't yet have an agent--do whatever you can to get to BookExpo, and attend the Writer's Conference.
• If attending next year's Expo in Manhattan is easier for you and you're still writing, wait until next year.
• If your budget is large and going to LA this year isn't a big deal, even if you're not finished with your manuscript you should go.

I've taken clients to BookExpo who have no idea how publishing works to introduce them to publishers, editors and agents I know. While there, I walk through the seemingly endless rows of books and publishers with them to try to prevent them from getting overwhelmed, which is very, very easy.

There are always agents at the Writer's Conference, and there's always time allotted for attendees to pitch agents. However, I have yet to be able to pitch anything as time always runs out. So if you're going for that reason alone, you might need to get creative about how, when and where to pitch prospective agents. You need to be dedicated to tracking someone down to pitch them.

Finally, if it's possible to go to LA this year, before you make your decision look carefully through all of the information about this year's speakers and events. For some people involved in niche-y ventures, some years simply don't offer enough to make a $1,000 trip worthwhile. And if you're an entrepreneur, looking carefully into what's there for you this year is important in determining whether the cost and time involved in attending will outweigh the benefits.

On the Science of Calculating the Advance

A client of mine is in the wonderful position of having a bidding war on his hands. This means that his agent pitched his book to several publishers, all of whom are interested, and presumably his deal will go to the highest bidder.

What kind of advance are we talking about for a first-time author? How is it calculated?

I read a formula once but have never seen anything like it be able to explain any advance I've ever seen, so I won't print it here. I did find a great article in the New York Times from a year ago called "The Greatest Mystery: Making a Best Seller," by Shira Boss, that sums up what I've experienced over the last decade.

The advance payment to the author is often an estimate of the first year’s royalties, usually 10 percent to 15 percent of expected sales. The advance is a liability for the publisher because it is a fixed cost. It doesn’t have to be repaid by the author if it turns out to be an overestimate, which it usually is. But when earned royalties exceed the advance amount, the author is paid more.

Calculating the advance accurately would be a prized skill, but no editors claim to have a scientific handle on how a book will sell. Instead, they emphasize the role of intuition and say that while big unexpected losses and gains do happen, somehow it all works out.

But results are not spectacular, for an industry that had $34.6 billion in net revenue in 2005. Net profit margins hover in the mid-single digits for the $14 billion trade segment, which covers adult, juvenile and mass market titles, with an estimated 70 percent of titles in the red.

When it comes to advances and what might be a best seller, it's really all about being a good guesser. Several books I was not at all excited about ended up being best sellers, and the books of my favorite clients didn't do that well. I was frankly shocked that at least one best seller did so well, and doubly shocked that a certain timely book by an expert didn't do so well.

There are many variables at play, and the most anyone can do is do their best during each phase of the process and consult experts to help with the tasks that they don't have a lot of experience in. There are no guarantees, but completion of a book and getting it published is no small feat, and should be considered a significant achievement no matter what happens when the book hits the shelves.