The publishing game

This week I sent, to a select group of UK publishers, what I believe to be the last submissions of my Alice manuscript - ever. There's actually a part of me (and like most parts of me these days, it's growing) that hopes these submissions will be rejected.

The selected publishers were the last three stragglers in the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook who are prepared to consider unagented submissions and who don't explicitly discourage either children's or fantasy or both. Why do I not continue to try via agents? Is it because I fear these modern day bouncers at the publishing club door will turn me away as unsuitably dressed or, for some equally trivial reason, not the sort of person they want to admit to their industry? Well it's partly that and partly down to a question of time. To have any chance of even modest success I believe my book launch should be timed to coincide with the release of Tim Burton's new Alice film.

I have severe doubts whether the lumbering dinosaur of a commercial publishing house is capable of moving sufficiently quickly to achieve that objective in the ten and a bit months remaining. Some of them, I understand, can take almost that long just to decide whether to take on a manuscript. Introduce the additional delay of going via an agent and the project is doomed.

I am also, like many writers today, becoming disillusioned with the whole publishing industry. The problem is right there, in that second word: "industry". It is a business so who can blame them, especially in these troubled times, for rating every incoming manuscript using the single selection criterion "how much money can I make out of this?". I would too if my livelihood depended on it. Unfortunately quality of manuscript and commercial viability don't necessarily go hand in hand - and I don't think that's just sour grapes.

It was brought home to me by my most encouraging and, simultaneously, most painful, rejection a few weeks back. A major UK publishing house wrote and told me they thought my book was an excellent pastiche, very well written, and of a genre very much in vogue at the moment. Despite all that, they felt unable to publish it because items of that nature, apparently, only sell well off the name of a celebrity author. Doesn't that just about say it all? It doesn't matter how good your product, if you've not got a name then you aren't going to get anywhere.

So how does anyone break into this closed shop? To be honest, I don't know. You've clearly got to be lucky, or know someone, and have a book which is more than merely good. It has to knock a reader off their seat but commercially. The reader, be they agent or publisher, needs to see pounds and dollars in front of their eyes either because your work hits whatever nerve is in vogue this (or, to be more accurate, next) year or because they see a constant stream of saleable merchandise from the same stable.

The losers in this game are those who's books are merely very good, those whose work isn't "commercial" for any reason and those who are likely to be one-book-wonders (no matter how brilliant that one book might be). The other losers are the reading public who might actually have liked the good-but-not-so-saleable, the books that don't happen to conform to whatever here-today-gone-tomorrow fad is flavour of the month.

So why am I almost hoping for rejection? Partly it's that time question again. If a commercial publisher were to take me on now, would the product get to market in time to catch the bow wave of publicity from the film? Quite likely not. I understand that, in the case of new or untried writers, the lion's share of the responsibility for publicising a book rests with the author rather than the publishing house. I'm none too sure how to achieve that without the film to lean on. Which is better, to be commercially published and shown to be a failure than never to have been published at all?

The other part is that I have convinced myself I actually want to have a go at publishing myself. It sounds like an adventure. If it all goes pear shaped then, at worst, I will have lost a few hundred quid. It's probably no more than, say, a golfer here in the South East would spend in a year on his hobby. The only drawback I can see is that moment when you admit to someone that you published it yourself. I have a feeling that, in some people's eyes, that's only one step up from child molesting, but that's their problem, not mine. If I sell a couple of dozen copies at least that's twenty-odd people (not too odd, I hope) who will read my work. If sales get into the hundreds I shall be ecstatic and into the thousands? Well let's not even go there. It would be like planning what to do after you win the lottery.

I even have this dream, if it all goes well, that I shall publish further titles and not necessarily all my own. I quite fancy the idea of becoming a publisher myself.

In the likely event that the latest submissions come to nothing, it is my intention to maintain a journal, in this blog, of my learning curve and the ups and downs on the path to self publishing my book. I plan to do it properly - getting my own ISBNs, illustrations, design etc. I certainly won't be investing in any of these £700+ DIY publishing packages. Anything that expensive would torpedo any chances of showing a modest profit.

If this an area of interest to you then please follow along for the ride. If you have already trodden this path before then your contributions and experiences would be welcome. Follow me on Twitter (WriterManUK) to keep posted on updates to this blog.

Read full article...

Cerrie Burnell

I was appalled to learn that some parents are apparently objecting to the BBC's decision to employ disabled presenter, Cerrie Burnell, to host programmes for young children.

Astonishingly, some parents are so psychologically disabled themselves that they cannot find a way to explain to their kids that, in nature, not everything turns out the same size, shape and colour - that people are natural things and, unfortunately, not everyone comes out absolutely perfect. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the children of these repressed parents are also psychologically damaged to the extent that they are frightened by the sight of Ms Burnell.

At last I understand how we managed to breed a generation of Eurocrats who believe in the value of straight cucumbers. I guess it's the same philosophy as objecting to organic apples because they're not all the same shape (incidentally, what do you call the other sort of apples - inorganic?).

Presumably these same parents would also be objecting if a disabled child were to join their offspring's nursery school or playgroup. Perhaps we should have more consideration for these unfortunate souls and pass legislation forcing all disabled people to stay at home, thus avoiding the possibility of scaring their sensitive sons and daughters.

Or maybe we should be doing the more sensible thing of seeking out these parents and gently persuading them not to have any more kids, or even to relinquish the ones they've already got, as they are clearly not up to the job of bringing them up.

Read full article...

Snow, snow. Quick, quick? No.

If there's one thing we Brits have never quite got our head around, it's the fact that, occasionally, at this time of year, white slippery stuff falls out of the sky. It always takes us by surprise.

I woke up this morning to find most of the south east covered with a thin, but very pretty, white blanket. It's like a Chrismas card which has come about six weeks too late.

The list of school closures on the local radio goes on for several minutes. It would probably be quicker to list those that are open. There is stationary traffic in the main road outside my house. In fact, there's stationery traffic too. I spotted a W H Smith's lorry. The busses and local trains aren't running.

I am in the fortunate(?) position of being able to walk to work so I feel smugly superior as I effortlessly overtake the traffic queued on the A329. On my journey I pass several groups of school children who have set off prematurely. My route takes me past a number of bus stops, and a local railway station, where stranded passengers are talking anxiously on their mobile phones, trying to let offices or loved ones know they are going to be several hours late.

A Danish lady phoned the local radio station this morning. When she was a child, growing up in Denmark, her school never closed because of snow.

'In Denmark,' she tells us, 'we have a special word for this kind of weather. We call it "winter".'

Read full article...

An open letter to manufacturers of hair care products

Picture this (not too vividly if you don't mind) - I'm standing in the shower, stripped of all my usual clothing including, significantly, my spectacles. I reach for one of your excellent hair care products. What is the most important information to me at this time?

Is it your branding? Much as you might like it to be, alas it is not. I already made the decision to purchase, several days ago, in the supermarket.

Is it that it's new and improved? Well, no. I was actually quite happy with the old formula, otherwise I wouldn't have bought your brand again. I do have an optimistic hope that if change it then it will be to improve it - although I accept it might just be a cost saving exercise.

Is it the fact that it contains ceramide B? If truth be told, I've never heard of ceramide B outside of your TV commercials and have only your word for it that it's any better for my hair than lard.

No. What I really want to know, more than anything else at this precise moment, is which of your identically styled bottles contains shampoo and which conditioner. Unfortunately, this information is consigned to a tiny font and is hidden somewhere near the bottom of the label.

Please spare a thought for your more myopic customers who all too frequently end up putting conditioner on unwashed hair. Let's have it nice and big and obvious - what's in the bottle.

Read full article...

Christmas Soaps

Did your household's Christmas festivities get brought to a shuddering halt by that scourge of the modern British family Christmas, the Christmas holiday soaps?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against Christmas TV on principle. It can help to fill the quiet periods or keep the children out of mischief. For those unfortunate enough to be on their own, it can be an invaluable public service.

A spot of light entertainment? Fine. You can even have it on in the background, if you must, whilst normal family life continues around it. A high profile film? Excellent idea. If it happens to hit a lull in the proceedings then the family can settle down to watch it together. If the party is in full swing, you can just let it go in the certain knowledge that it will be on again before too long. If you’re really keen you can always record it or rent it when the family have finally gone their separate ways.

Not so the soap. For those following any particular series, every episode is mandatory viewing lest some vital event be missed. The chances of anyone else wringing a crumb of entertainment from it are minimal. The witty one liners lose their sting, and the significance of those knowing looks evaporates, when you don’t even know who the characters are, who hates who (everyone hates someone in soap land) and what circumstances led to their current crises.

You can be assured, too, that every soap dweller's situation is one of perpetual crisis. Even during the supposedly happy festive season, practically everyone in soap land is thoroughly miserable. Perhaps this is supposed to make us ordinary folk feel more contented with our lot but, for the most part, it’s just plain depressing.

Recording the soaps isn’t an option because the episodes have to be watched in the correct order and in most cases there’s another one due along tomorrow. Once you start the recording game you’re into an ever increasing spiral of debt, like a painter on the Forth Bridge, desperately trying to catch up. Also, if it's for granny's benefit, you can bet your bottom dollar that she won't be able to play back whatever format of recording you use at home so you're committed to screening the lot before she leaves.

So, at the appointed hour, the TV has to go on and all other distractions must cease.

This Christmas Day was pretty typical, with back to back soaps monopolising many a living room from 6pm until 9:30 with just one, brief, half hour break. By the time that lot was all over, the magic must have evaporated in many households. "Quiet kids, Granny is trying to hear Coronation Street" is hardly conducive to the spirit of Christmas.

Most years I end up forced out of my own living room to do the washing up - an activity marginally more entertaining than Emmerdale. Come on ITV, don’t let the ratings war blind you to your obligations to British family life. BBC, we rely upon you to do what is right rather than what is commercial. Do you think we could possibly make next year a "soap-free" Christmas?

Read full article...