On Agents

“If you took that money outside and burned it, how bad would it hurt you financially? Would you be okay without it?”

I was on the phone with my dad. I was twenty-five and living in Illinois at the time. I’d sent a query – an actual physical letter with a SASE and everything – to the Scott Meredith Literary Agency, seeking representation for a novel I’d completed in graduate school, an absurdist fantasy called Y3000, about a computer that was literally God and the hapless man who’d been chosen as God’s “user.” They’d written me back to let me know they’d be happy to take a look at my novel – for a reading fee of $750.

This was 1989. There was no Internet to log onto and do a Google search for “literary agent reading fees.” I’d been reading Writer’s Digest religiously for a few years, but I didn’t remember the magazine saying much about reading fees. In general, they seemed frowned upon, but I’d also been reading Locus, in which one of Scott Meredith’s agents, Russell Galen, had a regular column. That certainly seemed like a stamp of approval for the agency to me. And a number of writers I’d heard of were represented by them. So, if the agency was legit (as the kids say these days), then their reading fee must be too, right? Still, I had a nagging feeling that this might be a scam. I had no friends with any publishing experience, so Dad, as usual, was my go-to guy. Hence the call.

I thought about his advice, even imagined physically burning a pile of money. My wife at the time and I lived in a small apartment, we didn’t have car payments, and more importantly, we didn’t have kids. She was finishing the internship for her doctorate, and we wouldn’t have to start paying on her student loans for a while. (I was lucky enough not to have needed any student loans.) Yeah, I told Dad, we could afford to lose $750.

“Then go for it,” Dad said.

So I did. I printed a copy of Y3000 on my dot matrix printer, tore off the perforations and separated the sheets, packed the print-out in a box, enclosed a check for $750, and headed for the post office. And then I waited and tried not to kick myself for wasting all that money.

A few months later, I received a letter from Scott Meredith himself, telling me how much they loved Y3000 and that they wanted to represent it. He promised his agency would “get right to work selling this wonderful whirligig of a novel.”

I have since learned that Meredith’s agency took on very few writers, and that my situation was something of an anomaly. Keep that in mind.

I’d made a huge leap on my way to becoming a professional writer, and I was ecstatic. I had a phone conversation with the specific agent I was assigned, and I asked all the right questions that Writer’s Digest said you should ask: “What’s your strategy for submitting my novel?” “How much, if any, feedback will you provide on my writing?” “Do you prefer to be contacted by phone or letter?” (Email wasn’t a standard method of communication yet), etc. The agent was a nice guy, we got along well enough, and I was looking forward to working with him. So he started submitting Y3000, and I started writing my next book.

A year passed. The agent remained enthusiastic about the book, despite the rejections it had received from publishers. After the second year passed without any publishers taking the bait, the agent’s enthusiasm waned. My contract with Scott Meredith was to remain in force for two years, after which time both parties would reassess the situation. If neither terminated the contract, it would continue for another two years. I didn’t hear anything from the agent as the two-year mark passed, but I decided that perhaps the Scott Meredith Company and I should part ways – especially since they were reluctant to look at the novels I’d written since Y3000. I called the agent, and he agreed that terminating our relationship “might be for the best.” He sounded almost relieved.

To say this was a letdown is an understatement. But I continued chugging along, writing stories and novels, and occasionally thinking about searching for a new agent. But after how things had turned out with Scott Meredith, I wasn’t in any hurry. When I finally decided that the time had come to begin my agent search anew, I researched like hell. Still no Internet, so I scoured writers’ magazines and writers’ market guides not only to identify likely prospects but to make sure I knew what I was doing this time. I queried a number of agents, and a few asked to see some chapters, but all ultimately passed. Then one day I received a phone call from an agent.

“Hi, this is [NAME WITHHELD]. How ya doin’? I’ve just read over the chapters you sent, and I’d like to take a look at the whole manuscript.”

Awesome!

“Our standard reading fee is $300 dollars.”

Less awesome. I told him I’d have to think about it.

 The agent said no problem, he understood. He was also a writer, and he told me to hit a bookstore and check out his work to make sure he was bonafide. (Again, no Internet, so I couldn’t simply do a Google search on him.) I told him I’d get back to him tomorrow, hung up, and headed for the bookstore. Sure enough, I did find one of his books, a paperback suspense thriller that – based on the cover and the copy on the back – looked like a rip-off of The Silence of the Lambs. I wasn’t exactly encouraged. I returned home and thought about it all night. By this point, I knew reading fees were bullshit, but I was still tempted. All the other agents I’d queried had passed. What if this guy was my last chance?

But in the end, I couldn’t do it. I called the agent back, and told him thanks but no thanks.

He paused. “Well, how about you send us half the book to read, and we’ll only charge you $150?”

I laughed and hung up.

A few more agent-less years passed. By this point I was living and teaching in Columbus, Ohio, and I’d had a few short stories published in small-press magazines. I’d begun attending science fiction conventions as a panelist, and I was working on learning how to promote myself and – far more importantly for me at this stage of my career – how to network. I was on a panel with a local writer, J. Calvin Pierce, whose humorous fantasy I admired. We got to talking after the panel, and he invited me to have lunch with him and another local writer, Dennis L. McKiernan. After the con, Jim invited me over to house to talk about writing, and the day we got together happened to be the day his writers’ group met. Jim asked if I’d like to come along that night. Not only was he in the group, but so was Dennis and Lois McMaster Bujold. Of COURSE I wanted to go!

Eventually, I became a full-fledged member of the group, and after workshopping a novel with them, Dennis offered to introduce me to his agent. This gentleman agreed to take a look at my novel, and I shipped it off to him. Dennis was enthusiastic about my book and felt confident his agent would take me on as a client. I wasn’t so certain, but I remained hopeful.

In my early twenties, I’d made a vow that if I hadn’t published a novel by my thirtieth birthday, I’d stop pursuing writing and put all my energy into some other field. (To those beginning writers reading this, making vows like this is idiotic: don’t do it.) On the morning of my thirtieth birthday, I was sitting around my apartment, depressed because I hadn’t sold a book yet. The phone rang, and it was Dennis’ agent, calling to say he wanted to represent me. The book I’d sent him was a fantasy adventure, and the agent said he liked it, in part, “because it was about people instead of place names.” It wasn’t a book contract with a publisher, but I figured it was close enough to fulfill the spirit – if not the letter – of my vow, and so I didn’t give up writing. (I’m sure the world breathed a collective sigh of relief.)

I worked with this agent for a total of eighteen years – just about as long as my marriage lasted. He was always responsive to emails and phone calls, and he was happy to spend time talking with me about whatever the current state of publishing was and how it was changing. And believe me, it changed a hell of lot during that time. There were a few things that bothered me, though. First off, he never found a publishing deal for me. Every book I sold, I did so because I made the contact with the publisher. My agent got me better contract terms – not to mention more money – than I would’ve on my own, so I didn’t feel ill-served. And even though I made the contacts, the editors often wanted to know if I had an agent, for they in effect used agents as first readers to vet manuscripts before asking to see them. Over the years, I was surprised learned that this situation – agents not finding deals, only negotiating them – wasn’t all that uncommon. It certainly begs the question why authors ultimately need agents, and it was a question I asked myself from time to time.

After a couple years of working together, my agent stopped letting me know where he was submitting my work and if he’d received any rejections for it. By this point, my wife and I had our first daughter, and I was too busy with life to fret about the lack of reportage from my agent. I figured he’d let me know when he got a sale. During this time, I sent him a couple books that, in retrospect, I’m not sure he ever submitted.

Things picked up for me novel-wise in my mid-thirties. I began selling books on proposals, so I didn’t have to write them unless a publisher had already agreed to publish them. This meant I no longer had to rely on my agent to find me deals. I could bring them to him and he could negotiate terms.

Things went on like this for years, and I was content enough. My second daughter had been born, and we’d moved to Dayton where I took a full-time tenure-track job teaching at a community college. Then I got divorced and moved back into an apartment for the first time in a decade. For a long time I was depressed, and even though I noticed that my agent was no longer as responsive as he had been, I didn’t care all that much. Then it began taking him so long to look over contracts that publishers started contacting me to find out what was going on.

Which brings us to 2012, the year my agent seemed to vanish off the face of the earth. I had four different contracts for him to negotiate, and months went by without any contact. When deadlines for these projects began closing in, I gave up on my agent and began contacting editors directly. Two of them had started negotiations with my agent only to have my agent cease contact. The other had never heard from my agent at all.

Fortunately, all the editors were understanding, and I was able to negotiate new deadlines, and I didn’t lose any of the contracts. I was worried that something bad may have happened to my agent or someone in his family, so I hit Google (yes, Virginia; by now there was an Internet) and tried to find out what, if anything, may have happened to him. I found nothing.

I’d worked with this agent for almost twenty years, but I couldn’t have an agent who was unresponsive and who’d nearly let four different deals – deals I’d brought to him – get away. So after some thought, I send him the following message, both as an email and a registered letter:

I've heard from four different editors that you haven't contacted or didn't follow up with after initial contact. I hope this is simply due to your being extremely busy and that you aren't going through any personal difficulties. However, at this point, months after I originally set up these deals on my own, I'm going to conduct negotiations with these editors myself.

I've enjoyed working with you over the last eighteen years – I've especially enjoyed our phone conversations and the lunch we had in NYC – but I think we've reached a point where it would be best if we ended our business relationship.

I truly appreciate everything you've done for me over the years, and I hope you take care.

I never received a reply. I still don’t know what happened, whether my agent lost interest in me, in his business, or whether he was having personal troubles. There’s a good chance I’ll never know.

So, halfway through 2012, I had a decision to make. Should I try to get another agent? After having published close to thirty novels, I was confident I could find someone to take me on. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was whether I needed an agent. Given the paradigm shift in publishing over the last few years, I had to ask myself if I even needed publishers anymore. Maybe now was the time to strike out into the brave new world of electronic self-publishing.

But there were still some good reasons for me to find a new agent. There are some publishers who refuse to take a look at unagented manuscripts, no matter who wrote them. And when talking to editors at conferences, at one point they almost always ask if you have an agent. Yes, you make the initial contact, but the editors want to know there’s someone they can work with who’ll act as a buffer between the two of you when it comes to business matters. But the real reason I decided I still needed an agent is because I’m not ready to jump into self-publishing. I’m too busy teaching and being a dad to give a damn about becoming a do-it-myselfer. Every editor I’ve worked with (with the exception of one) has helped make my books better. Publishers take care of cover art, copy-editing, and interior design. And although publishers don’t put a ton of money into publicizing most of their authors, they still do some publicity. Everything a publisher does for me – or more accurately, with me, since traditional publishing is a collaborative business relationship for mutual advantage and profit – is something I don’t have to do for myself. And the most precious commodity I have these days isn’t money; it’s time.

Besides, I worked damn hard to get where I am in the world of traditional publishing, and I want to see how much farther I can go before I become a do-it-myselfer (which one day very well may be the only way to go). I decided it was time to start the agent search again, for the first time in twenty years.

I attend a few science fiction conventions throughout the year, and in 2012 I went to Confluence in Pittsburgh for the first time (because they were kind enough to invite me). One morning, I was sharing a panel with Jonathan Maberry, a scholar and a gentleman if ere there was one. Jonathan sat down next to me and asked me how things were going. We chatted for a couple minutes, and then I told him about how things ended with my previous agent and that I was in the market for a new one.

“I can recommend a couple good ones to you if you want.”

Of course, I wanted.

In August I signed with one of the agents Jonathan recommended. I’d known of her for years, had friends who were clients of hers, and I liked what I heard about her. She knows publishing inside and out, has a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy, and works tirelessly for her clients. (I’m not saying her name only because she doesn’t take on many new clients at this stage in her career, and I don’t want her to be bombarded by queries from people saying, “Tim spoke highly of you on his blog!”) She also attends conventions to meet with her clients and with editors (something my last agent never did). She’s great at keeping the lines of communication open, and she gives good feedback on the proposals I’ve sent her. She’s done a great job negotiating contracts for me, too.

So what’s the moral of all this? I’m not sure there is one. If you're going the self-publishing route, you don’t need an agent, that’s for sure. But if you intend to tilt at the windmill that’s traditional publishing, it’s a good idea to consider getting an agent.

Here are some tips:

·         Make sure you’ve written the entire manuscript of the very best novel you’re capable of, one which is publishable in its current form. An agent can’t represent incomplete, unfinished, or unprofessional work. (Once you’ve published some novels, then you can start selling on proposals, but that’s not how you start out.)

·         Avoid fee-charging agents.

·         Avoid agents who, because of the changes to publishing, tell you they double as publishers and will publish your book if they can’t find anyone else to do it. This, not to put too fine a point on it, is horseshit. They have no incentive to sell your book elsewhere if they intend to publish it. You might as well self-publish the damn thing.

·         15% commission is still the standard. Agents earn their money by getting you more money and better contract terms.

·         Find an agent who will give you some feedback on your writing but who doesn’t pretend to be an editor and make you rewrite everything.

·         Find someone who’s willing to stay in reasonable contact (but don’t text them every five minutes to see if they’ve sold your book yet).

·         Try to find someone who’ll be upfront and honest with you about the bad as well as the good.

·         Find someone who believes in you and your work.

·         Find someone who wants to represent you, not just one novel of yours.

·         Find someone you feel is a good fit with your personality and style of working. If an agent doesn’t seem like a fit, move on and keep looking.

·         Don’t agent-hop every few months just because your book hasn’t sold to a publisher yet. Give your agent some time to do his or her thing.

·         Find agents through referrals from other writers, at conferences, by checking the dedications and acknowledgements pages in published books, through agent guides like Writer’s Digest and Jeff Herman put out every year, and by checking out the website of the Association of Author’s Representatives: http://aaronline.org/

·         Remember, there is no educational path, no training, no degree, and no certification for being an agent. Make sure to do your research before signing with anyone.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

My novel Ghost Town, written with Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson of the Ghost Hunters TV show, came out in fall. It’s the sequel to Ghost Trackers.

The Nekropolis Archives, an omnibus featuring my zombie P.I. Matt Richter, and containing the novels Nekropolis, Dead Streets, Dark War, and three short stories about Matt and company is still available.

My horror novels Like Death, The Harmony Society, and Beneath the Bones are still available, as is my Shirley Jackson Award-nominated novella The Men Upstairs.

My story “Thou Art God,” appears in the anthology Dark Faith: Invocations. “The Great Ocean of Truth” appears in the anthology Fear the Abyss from Post Mortem Press. Another story, “No More Shadows,” appears in Evil Jester Digest 2.

Linkage

Ghost Town: http://tinyurl.com/agonkg6

The Nekropolis Archives: http://tinyurl.com/a6jekht

Like Death: http://tinyurl.com/a6pmmty

The Harmony Society: http://tinyurl.com/bc858dq

Beneath the Bones: http://tinyurl.com/b2l9hda

The Men Upstairs: http://tinyurl.com/ah5w3uz

Dark Faith: Invocations: http://tinyurl.com/b4z5r7b

Fear the Abyss: http://tinyurl.com/avsrxh2

Evil Jester Digest Volume 2: http://tinyurl.com/bzznlm2

The L Word

"So, how do you like your nomination for the Snooty Award?"

My friend was teasing me about my Shirley Jackson Award nomination for my novella The Men Upstairs. (The awards were handed out in Readercon in July and, as I expected, the amazing Elizabeth Hand won in the novella category, and in case you're wondering if the cliche is true, yes, it is an honor just to be nominated.) The Shirley Jackson Awards were created to recognize, as the organization's website says, "outstanding achievement in the literature of psychological suspense, horror, and the dark fantastic." Notice the L word -- Literature -- right there in the description.

I don't remember what I told my friend, who's won numerous awards for his own writing, but his playful question got me thinking. When I discuss literature with my college students, I often differentiate between literature with a small L and Literature with a capital L. I ask them what's the difference between the two. "There is no difference," someone will invariably say. "Anything that's written is Literature." "What about the list of ingredient on the side of a cereal box?" I counter. "What about the STOP on a stop sign?" Someone else will then say, "It's Literature if it has a deeper meaning." I then reply, "What about someone who can barely write a coherent sentence, can't spell, can't punctuate, but has a profound thought or insight to communicate? Is what he or she writes Literature?" Silence, head scratching, and more than a few frustrated looks follow.

"Literature" probably has as many definitions as there are people to define it, and of course, as an artistic term, precise definition is impossible and -- more importantly -- not desirable. Nothing kills creativity faster than some imagination-challenged academic performing an intellectual autopsy on a work and then proclaiming his or her findings as "This is the Way All Good and Proper Art Should Be Done." I'd argue that literature with a capital L possesses two important qualities: 1) It has a profound influence on other writers and the art itself and 2) It has an impact on the culture at large. By my definition, almost nothing that writers produce qualifies as capital L Literature. Even Shirley Jackson -- a brilliant writer -- only has one work to her credit that fits my definition, her story "The Lottery." To a lesser extent her novel The Haunting of Hill House (which, if you haven't read, do so ASAP) counts, but mostly in the horror genre. The rest of her work? Writers, readers, and academics love it, but the culture at large? No clue. Of course, this may change in Jackson's case. By my definition, the passage of time is required before a work can even begin to be considered as Big L Literature.

What does it matter, especially for those of us who write? It matters as much -- or as little -- as we want it to, I suppose. One thing's for certain: no one can set out to consciously create Literature with a capital L and be guaranteed of success (and a writer may not live long enough to find out). I can set out to write a short story, a novel, a novella, a blog post, whatever, and at this point in my life, I know I can do so with a bare minimum of success for I've done so in the past, pleased readers to one degree or another, and continue to do so. I also know that I can write work that's entertaining, fun, humorous, disturbing, thought-provoking, suspenseful, and that at least some people find worthy of giving good reviews and award nominations to. I can, and do, set out when I write to achieve any or all of these things, and I know I'll do so with a reasonable amount of success. (Although it's not always easy to remember that when I'm neck deep in the actual process of churning out what seems like an awful piece of crap!)  But I never think about creating Literature. I think writers who do only hamstring themselves. Is this idea Literature-worthy? Is this image, this word, this comma? That way lies madness, not to mention writer's block.

I believe we should write what we want to write, what's fun, what's challenging, what helps us grow as artists, what increases our bank account, whatever. If all you want to do is entertain people, that's fine. But if you want to do more, have your work mean more than the written equivalent of a bag of potato chips, here are some things to consider.

1) Genre fiction vs Mainstream/Literary.

Any type of writing can be good or bad, and any type can be derivative. It doesn't matter if you're trying to ape Lovecraft or Raymond Carver -- a copy's a copy. That said, genre fiction is defined by shared set of story elements and reader expectations. It's the main reason literary types look down at genre fiction. They view all of it as copies of other works. So if you're writing genre fiction, and you want to stand out from the herd, you need to remember that genre can offer as much restraint as it does freedom and be careful not to let those restraints hold you back. But be careful. Some restraints are there for a reason. For example, category romances always have to have a happy ending; it's what readers read those books for. That's a genre restraint that you can't avoid if you're a romance writer, so look for your freedom in other places. And for literary writers, you need to be careful when writing about the "real world." What makes your novel about a married woman having an affair any different from the thousands of others already written? And don't fall back on the old saw "It's the beauty of the language." A pretty copy is still a copy.

2) Read Your Ass Off

This is Writer 101, but the wider you read in and out of your chosen genre, the less chance you'll have of being a human Xerox machine when you write. Find out who the exemplars of Literature with a capital L are in your genre. In horror (the genre I write in most often), names like Ramsey Campbell, Charles Grant, Peter Straub, Laird Barron, Thomas Ligotti, and Caitlin Kiernan pop immediately to mind. Literary writers tend to be spoiled for choice in this area (at least in terms of quality), so I often suggest they seek out work from writers of cultures and backgrounds different than themselves. You're a white twentysomething suburban male who's never traveled farther than your tri-state area? Read Sandra Cisneros, Haruki Marakami, and Jhumpa Lahiri.

3) Go Deeper

Deeper into your characters, your setting, your plot, your descriptions, your turns of phrase. Deeper doesn't always mean adding more words, however. Deeper means going beyond the usual, beyond the expected, beyond cliche.

4) Follow Your Fascination

Many writers chose to work in a genre because they love it, but they're often too concerned with writing what they think will sell. Medieval and urban fantasies may fill the bookshelves, but if you're fascinated with ancient Egypt, use that as the setting for your fantasy series. Most how-to-write books say you need a likable protagonist, but if you're fascinated with sons of bitches, use an unlikeable protagonist. Not only will following your fascinations lead to more original stories, your passion will come through in your writing and readers will be able to feel it.

5) Strive for Quality

Here's another no-brainer from Writer 101. Take the time to make your writing the best it can be in terms of word choice, sentence structure, scene construction, etc., etc. Quality doesn't necessarily mean mean flowery language or poetic imagery, but it does mean producing the very best writing you're capable of every time and then working to make it even better.

6) Write the Stories Only You Can Tell

Draw on your own experiences for your stories, and show us the way you view the world.  We've already had Hemingway, Tolkien, Austen, Lovecraft, Chandler. What we need is you. Even if you're writing a category romance with strict guidelines or a work-for-hire action adventure novel under a house name, there's still room for you to be an individual. Right now, I'm writing a tie-in novel based on the TV series Supernatural. It's set in Southwest Ohio, where I've lived most of my life, and the opening scene takes place near a duck pond just like the one behind my apartment complex. I've been fascinated with Norse myth ever since I was a kid, and so the plot contains some elements drawn from those legends. When I'm done, it'll be a Supernatural novel, but it'll be my Supernatural novel.

As I said earlier, no one can set out to create capital L Literature with any guarantee of anything even remotely approximating success (how's that for encouragement?). But that should never be the goal. The goal is to tell the very best, most interesting, most engaging story we're capable of each time, and when we're finished, sit down and do it again. And who knows? Just like Shirley Jackson, maybe one day you'll win the lottery too.

Department of Shameless Self-Promotion

It's been a while since my last blog, so I have a few projects to plug this time.

Curious about The Men Upstairs? It's still available:

http://tinyurl.com/ccdud4d

My novel The Harmony Society is out in a new edition from Dark Regions:

http://tinyurl.com/cbttnn2

An ebook edition of Cross County -- now retitled Beneath the Bones -- is available:

http://tinyurl.com/ctt762c

The Nekopolis Archives -- an omnibus edition containing all the Matt Richter novels and stories to date can be found here:

http://tinyurl.com/cy7mpjb

I have an essay on developing the style of your world in Eighth Day Genesis, a book on world building for writers:

http://tinyurl.com/btt3vwq

And last but not least, my story "Thou Art God" will appear in Dark Faith: Invocations, which can be pre-ordered here: http://tinyurl.com/d5aj6vt

 

The One That Got Away

(A version of this article originally appeared in Speculations, April 2001.)

"They decided to withdraw the offer on your novel."

I hesitated, not quite believing what my agent had told me. "What? Why?"

"The editor said she was no longer 'comfortable' with the book. Whatever that means."

The publisher in question had made an offer on my novel The Harmony Society over a month before. Not for a large advance, but they had seemed enthusiastic about the book. After years of trying to sell a novel, I thought I'd finally done it -- finally was a Writer with a capital W. And now this.

My agent commiserated with me a bit before promising to keep sending the book around. I thanked him and hung up. I knew publishing was a volatile business and that this particular house had a reputation for somewhat eccentric business decisions. But no longer comfortable with my book?

I felt awful. I'd come so close to achieving my dream of being a published novelist, only to have it yanked away from me -- two hours before I was due to attend a local science fiction convention as an author panelist.

Needless to say, I didn't feel like going. Even with dozens of short story sales to my credit, I felt like a failure and a fraud. I didn't want to have to sit on panels and pretend that I knew what the hell I was talking about. Didn't want to have to face friends and acquaintances and have them ask how things were going with my writing.

I was angry at my agent for pushing the editor too hard for more money and better contract terms, perhaps scaring her off; angry at myself for having been dumb enough to believe that the offer had been a firm one in the first place. Angry that I had no clue exactly what had happened to screw up the deal and that I probably never would. But most of all, I was angry that I had wasted so much time pursuing my dream. A dream which had turned around and bit me hard on the rear.

In the end, I went to the con, if only so I'd have some friends to complain to. They were all perfectly sympathetic, of course, but several of them said with a wistful tone, "At least you had an offer."

I felt like telling them the grass was definitely not greener on this side of the fence, but I didn't. I knew they wouldn't understand. I wouldn't have either, not before.

I moped around all weekend, felt miserable, talked about quitting writing, and stuck more than a few mental pins in an imaginary voodoo doll labeled EDITOR.

Then the con was over, my friends returned home, and I was left with only my wife to complain to. But I didn't feel much like talking anymore. I realized that I'd actually been fortunate to have a con to go to. While it hadn't exactly kept my mind off my stillborn book deal, it had, if nothing else, kept me busy and provided some measure of catharsis.

But now it was Sunday night and stretching before me was my first full week as a failure. The question was, what was I going to do with it?

The next day I sat down and started to write another book.

I wanted to get back on the horse, was afraid that I might never write a novel again unless I did. I used an outline which I had completed some months back so that I wouldn't have to worry about developing a plot and characters. I could just write.

And write I did, well over ten pages a day in between teaching college composition courses and caring for my then one-year-old daughter. I took all the emotional energy churning inside me and channeled it into my book, writing like a man possessed. I finished the novel, titled Necropolis, in twenty-nine days.

I tinkered with the manuscript, editing and revising over the next several weeks, then blasted it off to my agent. But now doubts began to set in. What if I'd written Necropolis too fast, hadn't revised enough; what if it was absolute crap?

Sure, my writers' group liked it, but how could I trust them? They were my friends; they knew how emotionally fragile I was just then. I could have probably scribbled out a grocery list and they'd have praised it as a surefire Nebula contender.

The con had taught me that I needed to keep busy, but I couldn't bring myself to write any more fiction, not then. Nearly a decade earlier, I had worked as a reporter for a small weekly newspaper, but I had written very little nonfiction since. Still, I occasionally thought about getting back to it, and now seemed the perfect time.

I threw myself into reading about nonfiction writing techniques and researching markets. I tossed around different article ideas, finally deciding to write a personal essay about my experience with testicular cancer. I developed a query letter, sent it out to fifty magazines, and sat back to wait. A few days later I received an e-mail from an editor at Penthouse. He was interested in seeing the article.

A couple weeks more, and the article was finished and in the editor's hands. The check was welcome, of course, but I had gained something far more important than money: I felt like my words were valued again -- not by my wife or my writers' group, not even by an editor of a national magazine. But by me. And I needed to feel that way, needed it like a man lost in the desert needs a drink of cool, clean water.

I toyed with the idea of saying to hell with fiction altogether and writing nonfiction exclusively, but I couldn't do it. Despite the instability (and occasional insanity) of a fiction writer's life, I loved it too much to quit. I returned to working on short stories and noodling around with novel ideas. My agent called to let me know he liked Necropolis and would start submitting it to editors.

I'm not the only one who's had a book deal go sour on him, of course. SF novelist J.R. Dunn (This Side of Judgment, Days of Cain, Full Tide of Night) once had an editor send him a two-page letter of revision for a novel. Dunn made the revisions, turned the novel in, and it was rejected.

"Naturally you're going to be furious when your book's rejected," Dunn says, "but you want it to be rejected for good grounds, not a minor technical point." It turned out the editor "basically didn't understand what a radio was. I told my agent to drop the publisher and go on to another, and that's what we did." The novel, This Side of Judgment, came out two years later in hardback to good reviews. Dunn says the moral is "not all editors are idiots" and advises writers to "keep banging your head against a wall" until your book finds a home.

Editor Gordon Van Gelder says that having a book deal fall through is "definitely not common at all." He advises authors to research a publisher to determine size, longevity and stability before submitting. Smaller houses are especially precarious financially.

Van Gelder assures that there is "no stigma" for authors who've had book deals collapse on them, and that actually the book's more attractive to other editors because it had a deal before. For instance, Van Gelder once bought a book by Tanith Lee that had been abandoned after the Abyss line of horror novels folded. Not only did Van Gelder think it a fine book, but it was a sequel and he felt Lee's fans should have a chance to read it.

"It was the right thing to do," Van Gelder says, "plus I made some money for St. Martin's in the process."

Given the mergers and downsizing in publishing over the last few years, and the fact that The Harmony Society was a slipstream novel not easily pigeonholed, my agent and I decided to investigate the possibility of placing the novel with small-press publishers. A recent start-up, DarkTales Publishing, seemed a likely prospect. They published offbeat horror/dark fantasy novels and brought out work by such authors as J. Michael Straczynski, Yvonne Navarro and
Mort Castle, among others. We decided to give them a try.

And they took my novel, with every intention of publishing it. But after a couple of years, the publisher realized their business had grown too big, too fast, and they needed to slow things down. DarkTales would still be bring out my novel, but they couldn't say when. So, after letting out a long sigh, I decided it was off to market once more.

In 2003, The Harmony Society finally found a home with Prime Books (then a new publisher). The book came out, folks read and reviewed it, and eventually it fell off people’s radar, as
books do. But that was okay. I’d managed to get it out into the world, and I had other books to write.

Since that time, I've had a few dozen more novels published – including a revised, expanded version of Nekropolis (now with a K) – and I’m thrilled that this month Dark Regions Press is bringing out a new edition of The Harmony Society for readers to enjoy. In many ways, it’s the novel of mine that means the most to me, and now that you’ve read this far, you know why.

And what, as the saying goes, is the moral of my tale? Simply this, my friends: despite my successes -- or perhaps because of them -- I've learned the most important lesson an author needs to learn: I don't need publication to feel like a writer. The only thing I truly need is to keep writing.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

As you no doubt surmised from the foregoing, The Harmony Society is now available from Dark Regions Press: http://www.darkregions.com/the-harmony-society-by-tim-waggoner/

You can read an interview with me about the book here: http://www.darkregions.com/pages/Blog.html

And you can find out what folks have said about the book here: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/568043.The_Harmony_Society

Dreamers and Crafters

As both a writer and a teacher, one of the most difficult things for me to do at this time in my career is advise new writers on how to get published. Do I extol the virtues of traditional publishing? Do I sing the praises of self-publishing in the era of the e-reader? Do I tell them to go for either or both? Or do I throw up my hands and say "How the hell should I know? I'm just a guy who writes weird stories!"

Before I go any further, let me give you a couple links. Kristine Kathyrn Rusch -- who's been at various times a multi-genre writer, editor, and publisher -- writes frequently (not to mention insightfully) about the business of writing. Recently, she wrote a couple blogs about the brave new era of publishing we find ourselves in. They're required reading for anyone wanting to understand the shift in the publishing paradigm that's upon us. Go ahead and read them. I'll be here when you're done:

http://kriswrites.com/2012/03/14/the-business-rusch-scarcity-and-abundance/

http://kriswrites.com/2012/03/21/the-business-rusch-quality/

So if you read Kris' articles, you'll understand my confusion when it comes to advising writers. And it's all because of a point Kris doesn't address in either of her articles -- which isn't surprising, because really, it doesn't matter from a business standpoint. The point of which I speak is the education and growth of a writer.

You ever watched the tryouts for American Idol? Ever wondered how in the hell the worst singers -- those who sound like a tomcat getting neutered sans anesthesia -- think they sound good enough to sing in public, let alone audition for a spot on a national TV show? They have no concept of quality, no self-awareness that allows them to judge their current ability level, and they have no one to tell them this particular emperor has no clothes or they refuse to listen to those who do. They don't care about the art of singing. The care only about being in the limelight, being the center of attention, being famous. In short, they don't care about craft; they care only about making their fantasy become reality.

Now imagine that there's no panel of judges to say yea or nay to them. Imagine that all of them can be "professional" singers simply by uploading their performances to Itunes or a similar service. Now ask yourself, what's the motivation for the Dreamers to improve? They're getting their performances out there, they can tell all their friends they're real singers, they can get their friends to go online and give five-star reviews to their songs, they can try to set up live performances or perhaps teach singing to other Dreamers. They get to do all the things that they ever dreamed about, and best of all, they get to do it without any tiresome work.

Now, there are Crafters, too. Folks that want to become better singers because craft matters to them. It's the song, the music, that matters most to them. Crafters may wait to upload their performances until they feel they're good enough, and once they start uploading, they'll continue to work on improving, learning and growing throughout their careers.

So, instead of singers, think writers. Instead of American Idol, think traditional publishing.

Business-wise, Dreamers and Crafters will compete for readers' attention in the new publishing ecosystem, and Darwin take the hindmost. Readers will find quality work (however they define it), and those writers who are found lacking won't be read. From a reader's standpoint, the system will take care of itself.

But from a teacher's standpoint, the Brave New World of self-publishing poses a serious dilemma. How do you help people grow as writers? Hell, how do you even get them to value the concept of growth? I finished my first novel at 19 and sent it out to Del Rey books, and within two months received a kind personal rejection (you used to be able to get personal rejections from major publishers that fast back during the Cretaceous). I kept writing novels, kept submitting them. I wrote around ten novels before my first was accepted for publication. A handful of those early novels have been published since, but the rest will remain forever unpublished because I wouldn't inflict them upon the world.

But what if I was 19 today? Besides my sudden youthening confusing the hell out of my two daughters, I'd have no reason to even consider sending my first novel to a publisher. I could just write it, check it quickly for typos (missing most of them, probably), format it as an e-book, upload it to the Net, and dive right into writing the next book. My first ten novels would be "published" (I think "uploaded for sale" is probably a more accurate term) and maybe I would find some readers, maybe I wouldn't, but either way, what incentive would I have for working to improve? At 19, I was more of a Dreamer than a Crafter. Most of us probably are. But I don't know if I ever would've become however much of a Crafter I am today if I hadn't had to work to get published in the traditional way.

I once had a creative writing student who told a fellow classmate this about receiving feedback: "Why should I do any work to make my stories better? If publishers don't want them as they are, I'll just self-publish them. Either way, they're going to get published."

So as a teacher, what do I do? Share what I know with new writers and let them sink or swim on their own? (I'm pretty sure I know which the student I mentioned above is going to do.) That's mostly all any creative writing teacher can do anyway, and I doubt any technological advances will ever change that. But for those who are standing in that yellow wood with two divergent roads before them, one labeled Crafter and the other Dreamer, what advice could I give them that might lead them to take the road less traveled, the one that will ultimately make them the best writer they can be?

1. Commit to being a life-long learner.

Read a ton -- fiction, nonfiction, and especially interviews with writers you admire -- write a ton, learn everything you can about the business of writing, and never stop. Do you need to take a class or earn a college degree in writing? Nope. But it can't hurt (assuming you've done your homework and chosen a class that's right for you. (Here's an article I wrote a few years back about choosing a creative writing class: http://timwaggoner.com/class.htm) In fact, I suspect creative writing programs and writers who offer classes on their own will see a lot of increased business in the years to come as new writers seek ways to get a leg up on the competition.

2. Make peace with process.

Studies of the current "Instant Download" generation show that people are losing their patience with process. The idea that a series of steps may be required to reach a desired outcome loses meaning whenever we can get whatever we want instantly. But there's no app for making yourself the best writer you can be, just as buying a new pair of running shoes won't immediately make you a track star. Accept that growth takes time and can't be rushed. (Though of course, your learning curve can be decreased. See item #1.)

3. Get good feedback and keep getting it.

Find yourself the equivalent of the American Idol judges. Well-read, honest people who are not only capable of paying attention to what's going on inside their heads as they read, they're also able to articulate it in a way that makes sense to you. You might find these people in a writing class, you might create your own writing group, but however you do it, make sure you cultivate people who can help you improve your game and stay on it.

4. Don't be in a rush to publish.

This may be the hardest piece of advice to follow. Self-restraint isn't exactly one of humanity's greatest strengths. It has to be learned. But no matter how badly you want your dream, do you want to publish work that's not the best you're capable of, work that may garner reviews (real ones, not the fake five-star Amazon reviews you beg your friends to post to help sell your work or, worse, that you pay someone to write for you) that might not be flattering and will stay on the Net forever? On the flip side, don't do the opposite: never publish because you're afraid your work will never be good enough. Remember item #3. Good feedback will help let you know when it's time to publish. More importantly, if you've read widely and well, you'll know if your work is up the standards of what you consider good writing.

5. Earn your readers.

I tell this to students when I talk about publishing: "There is no reason for anyone on this Earth to give a damn about what you write. You must give them a reason." You want to attract readers to your work? Want to repay their time, attention, and money so they'll come back and read -- and hopefully buy -- more of your stuff? Dreamers think only of themselves. They think of how great it'll be when people are reading their work, how wonderful it will feel to be a "real" writer at last. Crafters think about the reader. What will make this story the best it can be? How can I make this scene more exciting and suspenseful? How can I make this description more evocative? Put the reader first, and you'll be a long way toward putting yourself ahead of the horde of self-published Dreamers out there.

The Writing Life has never been an easy one, and in many ways the rise of self-publishing, while appearing to make it easier, has in truth, made it even harder. But if the future of publishing is going to be even more Darwinian than its past, make sure that you do what it takes not only to survive, but thrive. Dream and dream big, but tend to your craft and tend it well.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

The Nekropolis Archives is due out from Angry Robot Books late April. It's an omnibus edition collecting the first three Matt Richter novels, as well as three short stories featuring Matt. (And if you want more new Nekropolis, drop by www.angryrobotbooks.com and let the publisher know -- and if you buy lots of copies of the omnibus, that won't hurt either! Remember, big fat books make wonderful gifts!)

http://www.amazon.com/The-Nekropolis-Archives-Tim-Waggoner/dp/0857662082/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1332873789&sr=8-1

My surreal horror novella The Men Upstairs is still out, and it's now available for all e-reader formats.

https://www.darkfuse.com/the-men-upstairs-by-tim-waggoner.htmlD

Persistence Isn't What It Used to Be

My senior year in college, I was the editor of the student literary magazine. My associate editor, Vance Wissinger, was ten years older than me, and far wiser in the ways of the world. He was a poet, and he'd been writing and submitting his work for a long time, and one day when I wondered aloud how my own writing career would develop, he said, "Why don't we consult the I-Ching?" Small-town southwestern Ohio boy that I was, I had no idea what he was talking about. He took a yellow-covered hardbook book out of his briefcase -- a lot of us used briefcases instead of backpacks in those days; blame the 80's -- along with several Chinese coins. I did as Vance instructed. I held the coins, concentrated on my questions, Will I be a published novelist?, shook the coins, and dropped them on top of a desk. Vance looked up the pattern the coins made in his book, and the corresponding prophetic message listed there:

Perseverance furthers.

I was kind of bummed. I would've preferred a Yes or better yet a Hell yes, and soon, with truckloads of money, too! But even at the tender age of twenty-two, I recognized those two words for the wisdom they were. And when it comes to writing careers, they're just about the only advice that really applies.

Fast forward two-and-a-half decades and change. There was a time when old pros would tell you the formula for writing success: TALENT + PERSISTENCE + LUCK = A PUBLISHED AUTHOR. They used to say you needed any two of the three elements in the equation to succeed, but as publishing began to change and become ever more competitive, they revised that to say writers needed all three elements.

But today writing and publishing are very different gigs from when I dedicated myself fully to them at the even more tender age of eighteen. Thanks to the ease of self-publishing, you no longer need any of those once so important qualities. Talent? Doesn't matter if you don't know how to shove a noun up against a verb. You can still self-publish your work. Persistence? What's that? All you have to do is write something, format it, and upload it for sale. No problem. Luck? No need for it, not when anyone who wants to can publish his or her work.

But to paraphrase a writer far better than I'll ever be, I come not to bury persistence, but to praise it. It may no longer be necessary in the Brave New World that's upon us and the Even Braver and Shinier New World to come. In fact, it's probably already viewed as a quaint anachronism by most self-published writers these days -- if they even think about it at all. But I believe there's important growth writers need that can only be gained through persistence.

If you're truly (and not self-deludedly) a brilliant writer right out of the starting gate, or if you don't mind taking risks and maybe falling flat on your face as you publicly learn your craft, feel free to stop reading right now and start self-publishing. Otherwise, consider the following:

When self-publishing eventually becomes the only publishing, it will no longer matter who is publishing you (because -- duh -- you are the publisher), how big of an advance you got (advances will also be quaint -- and in the case of my generation of writers, sorely missed -- anachronisms), or how many books you sell (especially when you price the damn things at .99 cents apiece or worse, give them away). Only two things will matter: Is your work read and do those readers respect it? Your reputation, your brand, will become your biggest selling point. if you, like most of us starting out, write books that are, shall we say, not ready for prime time, and you put them out there for the world the see, you'll be taking quite a risk. Back in Bedrock, Fred, Barney and I used to call those less-than=glittering works or art trunk novels -- works created while learning, full of clunky prose and tortured plots, best locked away, never to see the light of day. And if the Bedrock gang and I were tempted to submit these learner-novels to publishers in the almost assuredly vain hope that they were good, despite the sneaking suspicions we had that they were crap, an editor would soon set us straight. And after enough rejections, we either revised those learner-novels or trunked them and wrote something new and -- hopefully -- better.

We were able to make our mistakes in private, without anyone seeing them which, while potentially embarrassing personally, would've been disastrous professionally. Because if somehow those learner-novels had gotten published, we would've gotten reputations as sucky writers. Really, REALLY sucky writers.

But that might not have been fatal. Back then, all information wasn't accessible to everyone all the time. Reviews weren't permanently preserved in electronic amber for eternity. You could've kept on writing, could've eventually convinced agents and editors that you'd grown, that your work had improved. Reviewers soured on your earlier work would give the new stuff a try -- especially if a publisher vouched for it by bringing it out to the public with their stamp of approval -- and, with any luck (remember the formula?) you could leave your bad rep behind you and continue on to brighter days.

But that was then.

Now, the reader reviews of your self-published (and probably learner) novels -- if they are, um, less than enthusiastic -- will haunt you forever. Worse, new potential readers will see those reviews and decide to download someone else's book instead of yours. Imagine if you were a self-taught chef whose food was awful. Think you'll keep customers if you tell them to be patient because you're going to become a better cook in a few years? Customers will flee your restaurant in droves, never to return. And they'll tell all their friends to steer clear of your place. The same thing will happen with your self-published learner-novels.

The self-publishing ecosystem will be a Darwinian nightmare. Only the best writers will attract and continue to attract readers, and the rest will wonder why only their friends and relatives downloaded their first novel and why even they won't download the second. I suspect that gatekeepers of one sort of another will arise to assure some measure of quality for readers, but that's a blog topic for another day. Instead, I want to talk about how the self-publishing generation can acquire the benefits of persistence in a world where persistence is no longer necessary. Supposedly, the great thespian Sir Laurence Olivier, was once asked what the secret to great acting was.

"The key to great acting is sincerity," he said. "Once you can fake that, you've got it made."

So how do you "fake" persistence?

A huge service that agents and editors at publishing houses used to supply was feedback. When I started out, I submitted to small-press publications because I quickly learned they were more likely to provide feedback along with their rejections. I gathered personalized, detailed rejections for two years, then one day I sat down and collated and charted all the comments. I saw clear, specific areas where my writing needed improvement, and I got to work on making my writing better. It's no great surprise than I began selling much more regularly after that.

So if you're not working with agents and editors, and not getting feedback, what can you do?

Find a writers' group

Yeah, there's always the danger of "the blind leading the blind" with writers' groups, but if you gather a group of well-read, honest, self-aware writers, you can all help each other become better by simulating the submission and response process of Old Publishing.

Take a writing class

Try to find a well-published professional who teaches. All too often, creative writing classes are taught by college professors who have published little or nothing. Don't just look in your area. A lot of colleges and even individual writers offer classes online.

Get a writing degree

Whether you go for a certificate program at a community college or an MFA, going through the rigors of a program will definitely help teach the lessons of persistence, as well as giving you tons of feedback. Creative writing programs have grown exponentially since I was in college, mostly because they're moneymakers for schools. I suspect they will grow even more in the Self-Publishing Future as writers seek to gain an advantage. Again, make sure you select a program with well-published faculty and graduates who have gone on to publish their work successfully.

Get beta readers

Gather a cadre of trusted readers -- regardless of whether or not they're writers themselves -- who will read a draft of your novel and provide honest feedback.

Invite online feedback

Use your website or other sites where beginning writers can post their work to invite feedback on your learner stories and novels. You'll have to deal with some trolls, of course, but ignore their comments and take the decent feedback you get.

Give readings

Whether live or video-recorded and presented online, readings can be a great way to test your work before an audience. Invite feedback, not so much on your performance, but on the work itself.

Hire an editor

The bad thing about the Self-Publishing Future is how much money writers will have to lay out in order to by truly competitive. A whole industry of freelance content editors, copy editors, typesetters, and cover artists is already emerging, and if they're any good, they won't work for free. If you decide to go this route, make sure to hire someone with expertise and a track record, who will refer you to past and current clients who can vouch for them.

Enter contests

A little competition can be good for the soul -- especially if you get feedback from the judges, win or lose.

Attend conferences and workshops

Look for conferences and workshops where you can get feedback on your work. Check out the conference/workshop's reputation and quality of faculty first, though, before deciding to attend. You may have to pay a fee to have your work read, and it's doubtful you'll get feedback on an entire novel, but it's a good chance to get your work read by a pro writer. At some conferences, you can pitch your work to Old Publishing editors and agents. These pitches are usually verbal in nature, so you probably won't get detailed feedback on your actual writing, but the feedback you do get will still be valuable.

Read interviews

Read interviews and biographies of Old Publishing authors to see how they persisted in their careers and what they learned from it. It won't be the same as gaining experience for yourself, but it can still be instructive.

And by the way . . .

Don't ask pros for free feedback. We're too busy writing. If we choose to teach classes or give workshops, that's a different matter, of course. But don't come up to us at conferences or send us emails out of the blue asking us to read your stuff. We won't.

In summary . . .

A writing career has always been about producing the best work you're capable of at any given time, and then trying to make your next work even better. It's still true today, and -- if you want to be read -- it'll be even more true tomorrow.

DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION

The new edition of my surreal horror novel Like Death is still available in both print and e-book formats. You can pick it up online at Amazon or B&N or direct from Apex Book Company: http://www.apexbookcompany.com/products/like-death-by-tim-waggoner

I have an essay titled "I Dream of Zombies" in the recently released book Zombie Writing!: http://www.amazon.com/Zombie-Writing-Armand-Rosamilia/dp/1469931478/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1327340843&sr=1-1

Recently, my college recorded a video interview with me for their Office Hours series. If you want to see and hear me in all my glory, you can check out the interview here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldQDUyF-BU4

Inaugural Guest Post

Happy Holidays, everyone!

From time to time, I'll be asking guest writers to answer a few questions so that you can get advice from perspectives other than mine (even though mine is AWESOME, right?). First up -- Ty Schwamberger!

What's the best piece of writing advice you ever received?

Ty Schwamberger: When I started writing, I didn’t have someone to show me the ropes. I had to learn things on my own. Although, a few years ago I did receive a good piece of writing advice from Brian Keene while at a convention in Nashville, TN. The conversation started with me telling Brain what I was currently working on, my future plans, etc. I don’t remember what spurred his question but Brian asked, “Do you want to be a writer or a businessman?” I thought about it for a moment and replied, “I want to be a writer.” Now that it’s a couple years later, I think someone that wants to write fulltime (if that’s their goal, anyway) needs to be both – a writer and a businessman. But, Brian wasn’t saying that the business side of writing isn’t important. No. Instead, he was stating that at the beginning of every writer’s career, you need to focus on the actual craft of writing a good story. Then, once you start getting some published stories under your belt, that’s the time to start worrying about the business stuff.

What's the worst piece of writing advice you ever received?

Ty: This is a tough one for me to answer. As I mentioned before, I didn’t have a mentor to show me the ins and outs of the publishing world. I had to learn things as I went along. I always knew that it would benefit me in the future, and I think it has, but it was definitely tough going my first year in the business. There was one particular publisher, whose name I won’t mention here, that kept telling me “this is the way it is in publishing.” Later, of course, I found out that the majority of things they had told me were bullshit. But, it was out of that experience I learned what to watch out for in the future.

To give a good piece of writing advice from the several bad ones I got from a certain publisher when I first started in the business…

Always do your research before signing on the dotted line. Or else, you might just get stuck in a long-term contract that’s benefiting the publisher more than you. Always remember, a contract should be equally beneficial to both the publisher and you as the writer.

What's something you've learned about writing or publishing that you wish you had known when you were first starting out?

Ty: It was mentioned earlier that an aspiring author should focus on the craft of writing when starting out. Now, I’m going to throw a monkey wrench into the conversation by saying, “The business side of writing is just as important as the creative side.”

Why, you ask? I’ll explain. But first a brief history…

Few people know this, but I didn’t start writing until early 2008. It was right after I read a couple novels by Jack Ketchum and Richard Laymon that I said to myself, “Hey, I can do this.” That’s when I sat down and pounded out 100k words. I didn’t really know what the hell I was doing, but three months later I had finished my first novel. It was subsequently published (looking back, it really shouldn’t have been) later that year, then away I went. During the first year I was writing, I wasn’t really focused on writing as a career. Instead, I was just having fun doing it.

After the one-year mark, and a few published short stories later, I realized that it would take a lot of work, but writing was definitely my calling and something I wanted to do fulltime one day. It was then at the end of 2009 and the beginning of 2010 that I started pitching ideas to publishers. I’m still not sure if it was something special I was saying in my letters or if potential publishers just saw potential in me (perhaps it was a little of both). That’s when things really started to take off. From my first published book, through the end of 2012, I should have close to a dozen books out there. Not too shabby for someone that started writing for the fun of it just a few years ago.

So, why did I somewhat contradict an earlier statement? It’s to show all the aspiring authors out there, that if writing is something you truly want to do, and you work really hard at it, that anyone can do it. But, if you want writing to be your fulltime dig someday, you have to know the business side of things, as well. Like any successful businessman (or woman): you need to study your chosen industry, learn market trends, test the waters with your product, go to conventions and meet potential publishers and the writers you enjoy reading. The publishing world can be full of trials and tribulations, but if you play your cards right, and work really hard, you can achieve what you’ve always loved doing.

To borrow from my literary idol, Richard Laymon, “In spite of all the drawbacks, the writer’s life is a great life. If you can manage to pull it off. And I believe anyone can. All it takes is desire, persistence, guts and a little bit of luck.”

Besides, who am I to disagree?

Ty Schwamberger is growing force within the horror genre. He is the author of a novel, multiple novellas, collections and editor on several anthologies. In addition, he’s had many short stories published online and in print. Two stories, "Cake Batter" (released in 2010) and "House Call" (currently in pre-production in 2011), have been optioned for film adaptation. You can learn more at: http://tyschwamberger.com/.

Ty’s zombie novella, THE FIELDS, is now available from The Zombie Feed Press, an imprint of Apex Publications. You can purchase a copy here: http://www.apexbookcompany.com/collections/the-zombie-feed/products/the-fields-by-ty-schwamberger or here: http://www.amazon.com/Fields-Ty-Schwamberger/dp/1937009025/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1325043175&sr=1-1

Think Before You Slice

Dear Sir or Madam,

I don't own a computer, and wouldn't know how to use one if I did, so I hope this letter reaches you. My name is ______, and after a great deal of worrying and praying over a moral dilemma, I'm writing to ask for your help. I'm facing some very serious surgeries, so in preparation for the hospital, I went to the store to buy new slippers, a robe, and a nightgown, and got a few paperback books to help pass the time and take my mind off my pain and fears. The store is small and hard for me to manuever in my wheelchair, so I didn't really examine the books -- a crossword puzzle book, a comedy, and a spooky one. The spooky one says on the cover, "The best novel of the year. I can't recommend this novel highly enough." It's called Pandora Drive by Tim Waggoner, and is supposed to be about a young woman with psychic abilities, but it's not really about her at all, and that's why I'm asking for your help. It was on a revolving rack right next to a Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys books. I had no idea that it was so vile. The author's photo is on the inside, on the back cover with some information. He is a teacher at Sinclair Community College in Dayton, and there is something I sense from what he has written in this book that is so evil and so perverse and dangerous, that I am greatly concerned over the safety of his students, and everyone he may be in contact with. If you can obtain a copy of this book and read it, you'll understand what I'm trying to explain. It's not fair to judge someone by the way they look, but a person who can conceive of such evil thoughts, and expose impressionable students to them, might be a predator, a pedophile, and even worse. I don't want to accuse an innocent person, but he may act on his thoughts and not be so innocent, and someone who is truly innocent may pay the price with their lives. Please, could you run a background check or whatever you can do, to find out if this man is dangerous to others? With all my heart, I hope and pray that what I feel about this man is wrong -- that he just has a "warped" imagination -- but if he's harmed someone, or will in the future, perhaps you can help, you can stop him before something truly terrible happens. He's too sure of himself, he can write such vile things and get away with it, no one will check, after all -- he's a teacher -- and that's a position of respect (or it used to be.)


Maybe it's intuition, or fear, I don't know how to explain what I feel when I look at the man's picture, but it's upset me so much that I'm asking you, begging you, to please check into this matter. I apologize to you, and to him, if I've misjudged him, and pray for you (and his) forgiveness if I have, but if I'm right, maybe someone will be saved. Thank you for reading my letter, and for your time and help. May God bless you and your good work, and protect you and all those you love.


The above letter was sent to the Dayton Police Department in December, 2009. They forwarded it to Sinclair Community College, where it ended up on the desk of my division dean at the time. The dean has a doctorate in theatre arts, and she well understands the difference between art and the artist and wasn't unduly concerned. She told my chair about the letter, who in turn informed me. My first reaction was to laugh. Me? A danger to anyone? Why, as Norman's mother said, I wouldn't harm a fly. But seriously, I've never even been in a fight, never thrown a punch, not even to defend myself. I don't know if I'm even capable of violence. Yeah, I could be mean to my siblings when I was a kid (though my sister was much meaner and tougher than I was, and I'm still scared of her to this day), and there were times when my ex-wife and I were fighting that I yelled, and once I threw a TV remote against the wall and broke it. Once. And I still feel shame about that. As for being a pedophile, I have two daughters and four nephews (and now a new grand-nephew). The thought of anyone harming a child makes me ill. And corrupting the minds of my students? Most of them don't read for fun, and most of those that do don't read horror. And for those who do read horror . . . well, they often dig my stuff. Warped minds think alike, I suppose.


And when I finally had the chance to read the letter itself, I got another laugh when I saw this line: "There is something I sense from what he has written in this book that is so evil and so perverse and dangerous, that I am greatly concerned over the safety of his students, and everyone he may be in contact with." I mean, can you imagine a better blurb for a horror writer?

And the part of me that's a cynical salesman regrets that the media didn't get hold of this story and blow it up into a huge money-generating scandal for me.


When I was a younger writer, I might have viewed this letter as a badge of honor. After all, one of the goals of horor writing is to make readers uncomfortable, to provoke, unsettle, and disturb. As John Trent says in John Carpenter's brilliant film In the Mouth of Madness: "People pay money to feel like that? It's cute. Put it in the press kit." But this was an instance where someone reading my fiction was unsettled to the point of believing there was an actual threat in the real world. Kind of like a small-scale version of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds broadcast. My words had such an impact on this woman that the line between fantasy and reality blurred for her -- which is precisely what happens in Pandora Drive. So without realizing it, she had participated in a wonderfully bizarre metafictional experience -- and had brought the Dayton police and my college's adminstration in as well. (The best metafictional reading experience I ever had was when I read Joseph Heller's Catch 22, and the paperback slowly fell apart in my hands as I read it. Let's see e-books try to recreate that experience!)


But I'm an older writer now, just as prone to overthink things as ever, but perhaps a bit more thoughtful and less self-centered when I do so. The worst thing artists can experience is indifference to their work. As Oscar Wilde said, "The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about." The woman who wrote about Pandora Drive was definitely not indifferent to the book, and it certainly had an impact on her, although not perhaps the one I'd hoped for when I wrote it. I wrote the novel for horror fans and fans of bizarro fiction. (Don't know what the latter is? Google Bizarro Central.) I wanted to include every type of horror I could think of -- quiet, loud, surreal, erotic, psychological, supernatural -- and I wanted to include echoes of Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz. I also wanted to include a tribute to the wonderful Richard Laymon, by including a Laymon-esque character whose repressed sexual desires were suddenly brought to dangerous life by my protagonist's ability to manifest others' fantasies. And -- this is the last thing I'll mention, I promise -- I wanted to experiment with providing a false climax (no jokes, please), including what appeared to be a final conflict scene, only to have the story take off in a different direction afterward. (I firmly believe horror fiction shouldn't be safe, and that goes for narrative techniques authors use as well.)


Remember how I said I overthink things? Point proven, I trust.

I have artistic goals for everything I write, although I try not to call attention to them in my fiction. I want my stories to be fun and enjoyable but, if you're interested in delving a little more deeply, there are other levels beyond entertainment to explore and, I hope, appreciate. I don't expect everyone to like everything I create. Much of art appreciation comes down to personal taste. I hate raisins -- they're just the nasty little dried corpses of grapes -- and I refuse to eat the damned things. But while I wonder a bit at the sanity of those who eat raisins, let alone love them, I know raisins are what they are. They never change. Only the people eating them do. But the woman who responded so strongly to Pandora Drive didn't simply dislike horror fiction. She was profoundly, deeply disturbed by my words, ideas, and images. Perhaps even to the point of being traumatized -- and right before she was scheduled for multiple surgeries. I know she's responsible for her own choices as a reader. (Why she kept reading when she found the book was, to put it mildly, not to her taste, I'll never understand.) But I'm also not so naive as to think that my work has no consequences in the real world.


Some writers decry the use of genre labels, obvious genre covers, and genre-identifiable back cover copy, feeling that such things diminish the seriousness with which their work should be taken or begin to shape readers' response to the work before they've even begun to read it. I understand those points, and don't necessarily disagree with them. But we can't have a world like in the wonderfully strange movie Repo Man, where all products are generic, packaged in white with black lettering that says GOOD FOOD, GOOD BEER, etc. Would you want all your novels to be labled GOOD BOOK? (Personally, I'd prefer KICK-ASS BOOK or COMPLETE AND TOTAL MINDFUCK OF A BOOK, but that's just me.) But I don't mind labels and packaging.They let people know whether a work of art may or may not be for them. I tell my daughters they can't read any of my horror until they're at least teenagers, and for some of it, they should probably wait until they're thirty or so (or better yet, just wait until I've joined the choir invisible).


The Letter Woman was hurt by reading my work. Perhaps she hurt herself, but I made the knife she cut herself with, so to speak. And I've made a lot of other knives since then, large and small, some sharper than others. I suppose it's inevitable that when you make knives, someone's eventually going to get cut. But that doesn't mean I like it or that it's always easy to live with.

That woman did me a huge favor. She reminded me that if I'm going to make knives, I need to do so responsibly, always remaining aware that there's a person who will one day grasp the handle, pick it up, and attempt to use it. She reminded me that, as it says in theme to the old cartoon Super Chicken: "You knew the job was dangerous when you took it."


Do I believe in censorship? Of course not. Do I believe in self-restraint when it comes to writing? Only if it helps me tell the best story I can. But that means I also believe in a total lack of restraint if that's what a story requires. Do I always toss in as much sex, violence, weird ideas, and bizarre imagery into my horror fiction as possible? Nope. Do I give my imagination free reign to go where it will while at the same time keeping my readers in mind? You bet. These days, however, I consider my artistic choices -- and their potential impact -- a bit more carefully.


Bottom line: Respect the knife and the eventual wielder of it, but always make the sharpest goddamned blade you can.


DEPARTMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION


Apex Books have released a new edition of my horror novel Like Death. which I wrote before Pandora Drive. (If the Letter Woman had read that book instead of Pandora Drive, she'd probably have sent the FBI, CIA, and every branch of the military after me -- along with the Salvation Army for good measure!) The book is available in both trade paperback and e-book editions, and this weekend Apex is having a Black Friday sale: 25% percent off all their books. So drop by their website and pick up a copy or ten of Like Death. And if, after reading it, you feel inclined to contact the media and report me as a major menace to society, my bank account will thank you for it. Here's the link: http://www.apexbookcompany.com/blogs/blog/4651912-black-friday-sales