Michael Logan

Novelist, Journalist and other things ending in -ist

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New Authors and the Agent Conundrum

November 18, 2013 by Michael Logan


A few weeks ago, I gave this piece of advice on Chuck Sambuchino’s blog over at Writer’s Digest:
You may have to compromise to gain commercial success. As an artist working in a commercially driven industry, you could face an uncomfortable choice. Your agent and publisher will usually look at your labour of love with an eye on what is right for the market, not what is right for your vision. Publishing is an industry, and industries want to make money (although kudos and credibility in the form of prizes or critical acclaim from the intelligentsia form a lesser part of the equation). It is up to you whether you refuse to compromise your vision, and thus run the risk of your career facing a potentially fatal setback, or accede to their requests. Just make sure you can live with the consequences of your decision.
Given word count restraints, I didn’t have space to go as deeply into this as I would have liked, but a conversation with a friend the other day reminded me I had more to say. My friend, a budding writer, sent her manuscript off to an agent about two months ago. The agent got back to her expressing an interest in working with her. A big ‘Yay!’ is in order, right? Well, yes and no.

 

My writer friend, let’s call her Sam to avoid the need for me to write ‘my friend’ repeatedly (and thus sound like I’m waving my one pal around to show I’m not horrendously unpopular), was actually dispirited by the response from the agent.
Apart from the positive news, the agent also gave a long list of things that ‘needed’ changed in the manuscript. Again, I told my friend this was a good sign: no agent is going to waste time doing this unless they feel the writer has potential. Sam acknowledged this, but said she found herself facing exactly the dilemma I wrote about. The agent essentially wanted her to change her book so it would become more of a conventional crime thriller, and Sam wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with her original intentions being subverted in such a way. So, Sam wanted to know if she should make the changes to get her foot in the door, or stand her ground and run the risk of losing this agent.
Here is what I told her:
If you write in order to be published, then it makes absolute sense to implement whatever changes are requested. However, if your writing is your art and you feel very strongly about your vision, don’t make any changes that compromise what you want, but be aware this second approach can mortally wound  your chances of ‘making it’. 
Of course, there are many shades of grey in between these two stances. A writer may elect to compromise initially with the intention of establishing themselves and then changing direction later. This is possible, but there is also a good chance that this writer will find it far harder to change direction than they thought once their writer ‘brand’ has been created.
Also, when an agent or publisher asks for changes, there is often wiggle room and a middle ground where all parties are happy can be found. So search for that ground. However, for a lot of writers, there is usually a line that shouldn’t be crossed and the problems come when you are asked to cross that line.
New writers often lack confidence, and so when somebody from the inside opens that door a crack and gives you a tantalizing peek inside, the initial impulse can be to bend over backwards to get that agent. An agent may well suggest revisions that they honestly think will make for a better book. It is also possible that if an agent suggests changes, it is because they want to increase the commercial viability of that work so they can sell it to a publisher. Bear in mind that an agent is often second guessing what a publisher wants, and that a publisher is second guessing what the public wants. 
In either scenario, an agent can just be plain wrong.
So, this is a key point to remember. Look at every suggested change with one simple question in mind: Does this make my book better? If not, you may be getting led down a path to a novel that, while fitting genre conventions a little better, is going to be average.
The problem with making all of the suggested changes, even those you don’t’ agree with, is that it will immediately put you in a situation where you are uncomfortable with your agent. The relationship is immediately defined by you doing something you didn’t want to, thus creating the possibility of long-term resentment and also setting a precedent where the agent gets the final call on the book.
All new authors feel powerless, but they are not. You have to remember that, ultimately, an agent is going to be working for you. Their income derives from your work. Without authors, agents wouldn’t make a penny, and the same goes for publishers.  If you are good enough to attract the attention of the first agent you approach, then there is every chance you can attract the attention of others. So, you don’t have to sign up with the first one that bats their eyelashes at you and you don’t have to drastically rework your manuscript if it feels wrong. 
Ultimately, you can be commercially successful but an artistic failure, or vice versa. You can be successful both commercially or artistically (but hopefully not a failure in both). Choose whether book sales or integrity of vision is most important to you, and create your own definition of success based on that criterion. Keep that in mind when deciding whether to sign up with an agent and whether to rewrite your work according to their wishes. The right agent (for you) can help take your work to another level and be a relentless advocate for your career. The wrong agent (again, for you) can make you lose focus and hamper your career. It is your future, so choose wisely.

Filed Under: advice, agents, publishing, writing

7 Things I’ve Learned so Far

November 1, 2013 by Michael Logan

I don’t normally do writing advice, since I generally feel that I have no idea what I’m doing, but Chuck Sambuchino asked me to contribute to his blog over at Writer’s Digest, so I obliged. Below is what I told him.

7 Things I’ve Learned so Far

1. Your first book often defines your career. You may see yourself as a genre-spanner who dabbles in whatever takes your fancy. Most publishers will think you are just a spanner if you do this (Americans: please do not hold this very British joke against me, and accept this definition). They want to build a brand. That process begins with your debut. If your first novel is crime, that is what your agent and publisher will want you to deliver again in order to keep any readers you have hooked. In the words of one big publisher, they want ‘the same but different’ for subsequent works. If you give them something totally new, there is a strong chance they will turn their noses up at it even if it is staggering work of heartbreaking genius. While it is better to be published than not, choose your first book wisely: it may define the next 20 years of your career.

2. You may have to compromise to gain commercial success. As an artist working in a commercially driven industry, you could face an uncomfortable choice. Your agent and publisher will usually look at your labour of love with an eye on what is right for the market, not what is right for your vision. Publishing is an industry, and industries want to make money (although kudos and credibility in the form of prizes or critical acclaim from the intelligentsia form a lesser part of the equation). It is up to you whether you refuse to compromise your vision, and thus run the risk of your career facing a potentially fatal setback, or accede to their requests. Just make sure you can live with the consequences of your decision.

3. If you want to sell, you have to market. This has been said before, but bears repeating. Your publicist will send out review copies and gab about your book on social media for a while. Then, like a serial philanderer, they will make eyes at the next author to come along and you’ll be ditched. Instead of bemoaning your fate, get marketing yourself. The one nugget I have to add to the reams of advice already out there is that you shouldn’t neglect the real world. Social media is awash with self-promoting authors. It’s hard to rise above the noise. So get creative. I wrote a comedy about zombie cows so I am hiring some panto cow outfits, wearing which a group of us will roam around London and prompt a few cardiac arrests. The cows will have posters for the book pinned above their over-the-top udders and I will hand out flyers. At the same time, I will film a silly book trailer. It may have zero impact, but I will feel that I am doing something constructive and we will have a lot of fun in the process.

4. To call publishing glacial is demeaning to glaciers. Never mind how long it takes from starting a book to getting a contract to being published: getting the damn thing widely read can take years. Word of mouth is still the most powerful way for a book to go humungous, and despite the internet we feel is so omnipotent this doesn’t happen overnight. Your marketing will help, but it won’t pay instant dividends. Good reviews don’t prompt immediate sales. Learn to be patient and play the long game.
 
5. Look forwards, not backwards. In the age of instant feedback, it’s tempting to spend hours trawling Amazon, Goodreads, Facebook and Twitter monitoring your sales and reading reviews. Don’t do this unless it is a way of gauging the effectiveness of your marketing efforts. There is nothing more crippling or demoralizing than passively observing how your last book is being received. Concentrate on your next project.

6. Don’t try to please everybody. So you’ve ignored the advice above, as the majority of published writers do, and read every review. The positive comments give you a glow at first, but after a while you can only think about the criticism. When this happens, understand that you can’t please everybody and shouldn’t try. Don’t change how or what you write because some people don’t like your work. This is a sure path to losing your identity as a writer. Just be grateful that Dorothy Parker isn’t around any longer, and for the love of God do not read the Kirkus review of your book.

7. Never forget why you started writing. I’d like to think most authors started writing not because they desired riches, but because they felt driven to share another worldview or needed to silence the voices in their head (maybe that’s just me). Once you’re in the industry, it’s easy to lose sight of this. You will have setbacks. You will doubt yourself. You will despair that you are ever going to make it. You may even be tempted to set fire to the only copy of your WIP and lob it from a tall building. Through it all, don’t lose your love for writing. If this happens, you may as well go and do another job you hate that pays better. Nothing makes me feel the way writing does, and I will never stop even if I don’t make another penny.

Filed Under: advice, writer's digest, writing

Spew of Consciousness, or How I Write a Novel

April 25, 2013 by Michael Logan

Right, you didn’t ask for this, but you’re going to get it anyway: a blow-by-blow description of how I write a novel.
When I first switched from short stories to novels, I found it hard to transit, for the simple fact that once I had written any more than 3,000 words I felt the need to compulsively edit them until they were perfect. This didn’t work for me, which I realized one day when I looked at the file names of a book I was working on. I had only three chapters, at v17, v18, and v21 respectively. It had taken me almost a year to get to this point. Clearly I had a problem.
So, I resolved to mend my ways and ban any editing until I had a full first draft. From this simple decision, the following method evolved. It won’t work for everybody, but this is now the only way I can get it done.
Draft 1
Probably the best way to describe my early-stage writing process is ‘Spew of Consciousness’. For the last seven weeks, I have been sitting at my laptop barfing up ideas, plot twists, character quirks, thematic concepts, scenes and general mind frippery onto the page as soon as they occurred to me. The result is 74,000 words of the first draft of the sequel to Apocalypse Cow.
This jumble of words can only be called a book in the loosest sense of the word. It’s more akin to the first stage of putting together a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle: the bit where you take all of those colourful little cutouts and turn them face up on the floor, perhaps making a half-hearted effort to find the corners and some of the edges, and hope your children don’t come rampaging through to kick them everywhere or jam them up their noses.
The purpose of this draft is simply to get everything in plain view, so I have a vague idea which characters are going to do what and when and, crucially, how it is going to end.
Draft 2
Now comes the laborious task of putting all these pieces together in the right order.
I will create complete profiles of every character in the book (as opposed to my early profiles hitting only the main points), even the minor ones. Each one will have histories full of details that won’t make it in the final text, physical descriptions, and arcs where appropriate (pop up, get eaten by a zombie badger isn’t really an arc). Since I have about 17, that’s going to take some work.
I will create a document laying out all of the rules for my world to ensure everybody and everything behaves as they should.
I will draw up a very large timeline on flip-chart paper, with the different POVs on different lines, that shows the major developments in plot and character. This is useful to provide me with an easy way of visualizing how the pace is progressing and whether I’m neglecting any one character for too long.
I will write a full and detailed outline of the book.
Once all of this is in place, I will go through the second draft turning all my notes and placeholders into proper scenes, with an eye mainly on pacing and inconsistencies in plot in terms of both reveals and placement of crucial elements.
Draft 3
I will go through it POV by POV (skipping chapters that change to other characters) to ensure I have the voices and actions/thoughts/emotions of these characters correct. This will include reading out every line of dialogue, perhaps in silly voices approximating each character, to make sure it sounds real.
Draft 4

I will go through it focusing on ensuring the rules of the world are followed everywhere.
Draft 5
I will go through it to check every ounce of comic potential is squeezed out.
Draft 6
I will go scene-by-scene and line-by-line to ensure the prose makes the story live and breathe.
Draft 7
By this point completely sick of the damn thing, I will start to despair and tell myself this is the biggest pile of dross ever written, but I will soldier on to check for typos and other little errors introduced by my constant editing.
Draft 8
With a complete manuscript, I will ask a group of readers to have a look at it and rip it to shreds (I always ask my readers to focus on what’s wrong, not what’s write. I will then gather all their feedback, consider what I agree with and don’t agree with, and go through it again.
Draft 9
I will then read it again, obsessively, just in case I’ve missed anything.
Draft 10
I will then compose an email to my agent, attach the manuscript and outline, and then hover with the mouse over the ‘send’ button. I will then delete this email, and go back to have one last look, honest. During this phase, I will catch loads of small mistakes and probably decide to make a few significant changes. Finally, exhausted and wondering why I ever became a writer, I will send it off and then spend the next couple of months expecting to get an email rejecting my latest work. 

Filed Under: apocalypse cow, Cruel Britannia, obsessive nutbag, writing, zombies

Horrendous writing advice

February 27, 2013 by Michael Logan

Just as I rarely post reviews (see my last entry), I also don’t get into the writing advice game very often. There is already more advice out there than you can shake a million sticks at, and I prefer to write than write about writing – or write about writing about writing, as I just did. However, I recently witnessed possibly the worst piece of guidance I have ever read and feel compelled to weigh in.
Given to a budding writer who had been demoralized by an in-depth critique he had just received (from me, as it happens), it went something like this: “Don’t worry about your grammar and punctuation. A good agent will see past that to the great story you have written.”
Now, this was said by a well-meaning friend with no background in publishing and was no doubt meant to gee the writer up. I’m all for encouraging new writers, but they have to understand the hurdles they will have to jump to make it.
A good agent, even a truly rotten agent, will not see past a manuscript that has poor grammar, syntax, spelling and punctuation. Agents and publishers, as I have heard directly from people in the industry, are looking for reasons to reject rather than accept. To those not familiar with the industry, it may seem harsh that an agent will dismiss a story without reading it properly because of a few technical glitches. There are, however, very good reasons for this.
Firstly, agents and publishers are overwhelmed with submissions. Have a look around the various websites to see how many are actually even accepting proposals. Many close their submissions process for long periods just to give themselves a chance to wade through the massive slush pile. Consequently, if they see an excuse to cut down on the backlog, they will take it. If a writer hasn’t taken the time to master the most basic elements of his or her craft, upon which everything else is built, then how can an agent be expected to assume that the writer can handle more complex elements such as plot development, characterisation, pacing, theme development and so on? A writer may have imagination and great ideas, but this alone doesn’t make a great story. Imagine an architect who can’t draw or a carpenter who can’t create a smooth join. The conception is irrelevant if the execution is poor.
Secondly, somebody is going to have to fix these basic errors before the book goes to a publisher and ultimately to print. Who is going to do that? The writer who didn’t realise these mistakes were there in the first place? Unlikely. The agent would either have to edit the manuscript, which no reputable agent will do (although there will be those who charge a fee for that, whom you should avoid), or go through the manuscript and point out all of these mistakes and then trust that the writer would be capable of fixing them. This would take time that no agent has to spend.
If you are serious about making it as a writer, you have to make sure you know your nuts and bolts, and you have to make absolutely sure your manuscript is beyond reproach in these terms in order to let your story shine through. If you don’t feel you are capable of this, then hire a good editor before you send your manuscript anywhere. Without such steps, you don’t stand a chance in an industry that is growing tougher to break into every year.

Filed Under: advice, agents, publishers, writing

Multi Story short fiction contest

January 8, 2013 by Michael Logan

I am judging a short story competition that will be running in January and February on Multi Story, so get your botskis on over and enter.
The word limit is 1,000, so you won’t have any space for waffle or flab. Writing at this length is damn hard, and every single word counts. I’ve been writing for a quite a while now, at all lengths, yet the hardest thing I ever did was write this 300-word short story. I agonized for days over each and every word in the story, and it paid off when it won Fish Publishing’s One Page Fiction Prize.
While it may sound counter-intuitive, writing short is harder because you still have to cram a story into this tiny space. Your 1,000 words allow you to tease open the door to another world just a crack, but even such a sneaky peek should suggest the richness and complexity of an entire human life. And that means discipline.
While it can be challenging, writing so short is always incredibly useful practice for writing a novel. The temptation when you have 90,000 words to play with is to loosen the straitjacket a little and allow yourself digressions, rambling prose and even whole chapters thrown in because you love the writing or scene rather than because they serve the story. If you can apply the same rigour to a novel as you do to a 1,000-word piece, your chances of producing a strong work are much higher.
Anyway, I’ll leave you with the words of Oscar Wilde, which should give you a strong hint as to what I expect you to do to win this competition:
I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.

Filed Under: competitions, Multistory, writing

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