When I typed the final word of my first novel, I expected a publisher to appear at my shoulder, clapping and whistling, to grab the last sheet out of the printer and sprint off with it, pausing only to hand me an immense cheque. I figured I would then have a few days to prepare my acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize for Literature.
Seven years - and many novels - later, I’m still waiting. The vanity press no longer seems so vain. I have a hard drive full of hope, and a small collection of mildly positive rejection letters pinned over my computer to inspire me in my solitary pursuit.
I know there are published books out there - I’ve seen ’em! - and that they once were mere manuscripts, but how does one turn that base metal into gold?
My usual method has been to have a crisis of confidence and start lowing like a cow about maybe it’s not meant to be, maybe I’m not a real writer, and fall into a little depression. Last year, I gave it up for four months, but then the cravings got too bad, and I had to start writing again. This was cause to celebrate: whatever may happen, I am indeed a writer, I decided.
Then, a few months later, I had a grisly epiphany: ok, I am a writer, but what if I’m a crap writer? Burning with desire, but extinguished on the talent front? I decided it was time to find out.
The first thing to do is a little research. Check out the local publishers – the Nova Scotia Writers’ Federation is a good place to find them – and see who has published books like yours (after humbling yourself sufficiently to concede that there are indeed books like yours out there).
As Robert Humble, who runs the Halifax-based Norwood Publishing says, “I don’t publish non-fiction, so don’t send me non-fiction. I don’t publish poetry, so don’t send me poetry. ”
And while you may have global ambitions, act locally.
“It’s difficult to break into a big publishing house like Random or Penguin,” says Humble. “It is easier if a (smaller) house sets its sites on a limited run to get the writer a foot in the door.”
Once you’ve narrowed it down to a few likely candidates, do up a sparkling cover letter saying who you are and what your book is about, accompanied by the first few chapters. I know, I know, sending your manuscript into the world feels a bit like giving birth to a child, giving the baby a little pat on the back, and sending him across Magazine Hill at rush-hour, but you’ve got to do it.
Put this in an envelope to mail to your chosen publishers.
Then, take it out of the envelope.
Look at it again. Become a successful Lady Macbeth and scrub it till all the spots come out. You may have spent five years writing the thing, but the editor probably won’t give over equal time to reading it.
Lesley Choyce says you’ve maybe got five minutes – make it count. “That first page, the absolute first sentence, that is the make or break thing. A lot of editors may not get past the first page.”
He should know: in addition to running Pottersfield Press, he has had 65 of his own books published. 65. I am awed: so now, when you finish a book, the publisher just snatches it out of your printer and you prepare your speeches?
No, he sighs. “Now they say, ‘You’ve published too many books.’”
Coveting the problems of others, I wander along to Vagrant Press, an offshoot of Nimbus that specializes in literary fiction rooted in Atlantic Canada. I think this could be The One. I get butterflies as I sit down with Sandra McIntyre, the managing editor. So, I ask casually, pretending to be a disinterested journalist and not a slightly desperate novelist, what does Vagrant want?
“We look for contemporary writing, something with a really fresh, new feel,” says Sandra. They are especially fond of books set in Atlantic Canada.
The regional slant works two ways, she explains.
“People are really hungry for stories about Atlantic Canada. For people who live here, they want stories that reflect their lives, and for people who come here visiting, they can take something away, a bit of the experience, away with them. It’s another marketing tool we can use to differentiate our books from all the others out there.”
And standing out is key. Gesturing to the piles of unread manuscript wobbling all around her office, she reassures her suitors. “All these piles are things I should have read ages ago. If you’re waiting for a letter from Sandra, she’s reading as fast as she can!”
Now, my eyes firmly on the glory, I meet with a Published Novelist. That seems to deserve capitals. I learn that getting the thumbs up from the publisher is just the start of things.
Allan Donaldson’s Maclean is a lovely little book - sort of a readable Ulysses - published by Vagrant.
He submitted the novel in March 2004, and managed to wait a full three months before asking them if they liked it (this is the recommended procedure, by the way). They did, and it rolled off the printers in April 2005. The major launch was at Word on the Street in September.
It was reviewed positively in the Globe & Mail, and short-listed for the Writers Trust Fiction Prize.
And that’s when the hard work began.
“I did a reading under appalling circumstances,” he says of its WOTS launch. “There were no proper spaces, just sheets hung, so you were reading in the midst of a great hubbub outside.”
He followed this up with a reading with fellow Vagrant author Leslie Crew. On a boat.
“We were bouncing around on a boat in the Atlantic, which had taken a lot of these people out to look at puffins.” He pauses, remembering that happy day. “Not ideal circumstances,” he decides.
From there it was a circuit of smaller readings, an all-expenses trip to Toronto to be wined and dined by the Writers Trust people, and doing pesky promotional stuff with journalists.
Despite his beautiful writing, he still considers himself an amateur, and he says his experience of getting published was more than he ever expected. Now, it’s back to the computer: another novel needs to be born.
Typing this up, I found the following, from my interview with Lesley Choyce, underlined five times and circled thrice.
“It’s a mean business,” he says of the book industry. “Yet, amazing things happen. There’s this hope that you’ll produce a wonderful book that will be meaningful to a person’s life. That’s the dream.”
I find a piece of tape, and hang his words above my computer.
First published in the Halifax Daily News on April 1, 2007.