Brent
Hartinger's "Should I do Free Re-Writes?"
continuted from page 1...
But six months later, I had the exact same experience with another
editor. A year after that, it happened again. In each case, the editor
was very excited about the project, but had "just a few reservations"
before taking it to Acquisitions.
In each case, I slavishly made all of the editor's recommended changes.
And
in each case, I was turned down flat. I didn't even get the price of a
cup
of coffee for my efforts. (No, wait! Once when I was visiting New York,
one
of those editors did take me to a nice lunch.)
Sometimes the book actually did go to Acquisitions and was turned down
en masse. And sometimes the editor decided he just wasn't excited
enough
about the book to run the gauntlet of those increasingly brutal
modern-day
Acquisitions meetings (I once had an editor say to me, "We don't have
any
openings on our list right now for books with low sales
projections"--which
came as something of a shock to me, because I didn't project the sales
of
my book to be low!).
On one hand, I told myself, I should be flattered--and grateful. After
all, busy New York editors were taking the time to critique the work of
a little nobody like me. Other wannabe writers were paying hundreds of
dollars
to have manuscript doctors and editing services do something I was
getting
done for free. And while the suggestions of these editors were
hit-and-miss,
on the whole, they were definitely making my books better.
On the other hand, I still wasn't being published.
Over the years, at least two of my writing friends have come to me with
similar stories of initially enthusiastic editors who lost their
enthusiasm after a rewrite or two. And of my writer friends who are
published by a traditional publisher, I don't know any who got that way
by first doing an un-contracted re-write for an editor. Sure, it's
anecdotal, but these experiences must
mean something.
I have a friend in Los Angeles who makes a killing as a screenwriter. I
once mentioned to him my travails in the world of publishing.
"Ah!" he said. "The free re-write. Those editors are like Hollywood
producers who want you to work on a script, but they don't want to
actually pay you any money."
"No," I said. "This is different. These editors are doing me a favor."
"Oh?" said my friend. "What exactly are they giving you?"
I thought for a moment. "Editorial guidance."
"But they're not buying your books."
"No," I said, "but that's not always the editors' fault. Sometimes they
take my book to Acquisitions. It's the accountants who turn me down."
"But why would they buy your book?" my friend said. "It's tainted.
You're tainted. You're the writer who no one else wants to publish.
You're the
writer who works for free. You think that doesn't affect how they view
the
book?"
I shook my head. "That's Hollywood talk. It's different in the world of
publishing. It's not about buzz or image or hype. In New York, it's all
about the quality of the work."
"Uh huh," said my friend skeptically. "Listen, this has nothing
whatsoever to do with Hollywood. It has to do with human psychology.
People want to
work with winners. By agreeing to work for free, you're telling them
you're
a loser."
"But what else can I do?" I protested. "It's the editors who have all
the power!"
My friend released a very long sigh. "My friend, that attitude is so
pathetic. The editors aren't the ones with the power; you are. They're
not the ones who are writing all these terrific books; you are. You
can't see it, but they're treating you like dirt. And they're treating
you like dirt because you're letting them. You think they'd ever ask
Michael Cunningham to revise a book on spec? Of course not. You're not
being treated like a professional because you're not acting like a
professional. If you don't believe anything else I say today, remember
this: the most powerful word in the world is 'no.'"
Easy for him to say, I thought to myself. He'd just come from lunch
with Barbra Streisand.
I didn't believe a word my Hollywood friend said, not even the bit
about the most powerful word in the world being "no." New York
publishing was different from Hollywood. These editors were doing me a
favor by giving me their time and their editorial opinions. The things
he was telling me had nothing whatsoever to do with me.
| So I
carried on, doing more of what the "how-to" books said I needed to do
to
get published: free re-writes, groveling thank-you notes, front row
seats
at conferences and seminars--everything short of actual prostitution in
order
to help me grab the great brass ring that is novel publication by a New
York
house.
Then the day came when I received an offer to write a book on a
specific topic. The editor was passionate. Of course, she wasn't so
passionate that she was willing to pay me any money. No, it would be
entirely on spec. If she liked it, she'd take it to Acquisitions. If
they liked it, I'd get paid.
A year earlier, I would have done it for sure ("Gotta follow up every
lead! Gotta be home when opportunity knocks!"). But I'd had a
frustrating week. So for some reason, I listened to that editor and
said, firmly, "No."
My friend was right. Suddenly, I did feel pretty powerful.
Hell, I felt flippin' fantastic!
To my amazement, the world didn't end. In fact, shortly after that, in
2000, I met my current agent, Jennifer DeChiara, who took one look at
my
work and said without hesitation, "You're going to be a seven-figure
author
someday. And that's exactly how I'm going to pitch you to editors."
Since then, the book contracts haven't stopped rolling in. We're not at
seven-figures yet, but we are up into five, which ain't chopped
liver. Maybe my success since then--and my lack of success
before
that--was just a coincidence. But I think it had more to do with my
change in attitude.
I often think back on the words of my Hollywood friend. On one hand, I
can't stand those writers who are unable to accept honest, valid
criticism.
All the time, I hear authors bristle defensively whenever their work is
critiqued. I'm never surprised when their work is consistently stinky.
Every
book ever published either benefited from at least one top-to-bottom
revision,
or would have been a much better book had it received one. Maybe one of
the reasons I finally got an agent was because at least one of my
manuscripts
had received so much feedback from editors, and they'd helped me make
it
better.
I also think there's something to be said for paying your dues. Editors
don't always treat would-be authors like professionals; but then again,
a lot of would-be authors don't act, or write, like professionals. In
other words, busy New York editors really are doing some writers a
favor giving them time and attention. Hell, maybe the editor just wants
some reassurance about how the writer works before making a major
publishing commitment. One former editor recently told me that the
reason he sometimes encouraged novice writers to revise a potential
project was because he wanted to get a sense of how well they responded
to editorial guidance. It was like going out for coffee before
arranging an actual date.
That said, I also think there's a lot of truth to my Hollywood friend's
words. Attitude matters. Editors can sense how we view ourselves, and
our projects. And the other editors--and the accountants--at publishing
houses can sense how our editor views us.
So what's the upshot? How should an unpublished writer respond to an
editor who wants a free re-write? I wish I was as confident as my
Hollywood friend, and I could say, definitively, "Tell them 'no'!"
I can't say that. Apparently, some writers tell positive stories about
such offers--and that they feel these opportunities were an important
part
of the process that led them to becoming a professional writer. And no
matter
what choice a writer makes, I don't judge (I say, whatever gets you
onto
bookshelves!).
But if you do take such an offer, don't quit your day-job. No matter
how exciting it may feel, keep in mind what you're really being
offered: basically, diddly. Also keep in mind that the odds are very
much against it actually leading to publication. I also think it's
worth noting the power imbalance your acquiescence is creating between
you and that editor, and the toll
it will take on your own self-esteem. After all, I wrote everything
short
of a ransom note in order to get published, and nothing worked. Only
when
the reek of my own desperation began to dissipate did it finally start
happening for me.
BRENT HARTINGER
is a playwright
and
the author of four novels, all forthcoming from HarperCollins.
The first novel to be published is GEOGRAPHY
CLUB, about one teen's efforts to start a gay-straight
alliance at
his high school.
Explore the inner workings of his mind at "Brent's Brain," his website.
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