Further Perspective on Author Branding — You Are Forced To Choose Who You Are is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

I’ll try to keep this short.  I have only one very simple point to make here today.  And it’s not pretty.

But it is important.  Every movement of mass hysteria has a voice of reason and moderation, and this is it.

This is about getting real with your dream of being published.  Because – newsflash – it isn’t the same dream that you started with.  And the new one doesn’t come with the same perks.

Earlier this week we ran a terrific guest post (from Joanna Penn of The Creative Penn) about the brave new world of self-publishing and why even the dreariest of cynics should give it a close look.  I absolutely agree that the emerging digital venues for fiction are changing everything in a way that opens doors formerly bolted shut, in addition to rapidly shutting down the chain bookstores (a debatable disaster) and putting many independents at risk (a true disaster).

 But let’s all file in with our eyes open and our dreams still in our pants.

It wasn’t that long ago that self-publishing was a haven of last resort.  Traditional publishing rejected you (I know they sure did reject me), so you spent your money and got the thing printed yourself.  Or – for even more money – you signed on with a third party to help make that happen, hoping they might get you into the bookstores that you can’t.

They didn’t.  Nor did they give you your money back.  There was no market for independently published fiction, the only market was for the folks offering to get you into one.

But now there’s a new self-publishing sheriff in town (that’s Sheriff Kindle, to you), and he’s swinging open the publishing doors to anyone and everyone who knows how to download a digital file.  And because the bookstore of today is just a few keystrokes away, everyone has access to the marketplace.

Or so the theory goes.

What used to be a concert by John Denver is now allowing anybody with a ticket up onto the stage.

Advocates love to herald the success stories of how a handful of self-published books are being “discovered,” how they are landing seven-figure contracts or, more recently, selling hundreds of thousands of digital copies via Kindle and iBook and other technologies.

I have to be careful not to rain on this parade.  I may be marching in it myself before long.  Come to think of it, I already am, as my ebooks are selling well on Kindle and my new trade paperback (not self-published, it’s from Writers Digest Books) has a digital version available, too.

I could rain a torrent of caveats on that issue, but none of that is my point.  But, to help me make what is my point…

This Just Happened

Part of my writing journey involves reading and critiquing unpublished books and screenplays, with a view toward coaching them toward salability.  The idea, of course, is to see if there are issues that can be fixed and opportunities to be seized before sending them out to the big bad world of traditional publishing. 

Which, in case you’ve been writing under a rock, is about as stable and viable as the Egyptian stock market lately.

One recent project didn’t go as the author planned. 

Many writers send me their work in the hope of affirmation, and sometimes we have to do a little reality dance before they open their hearts and minds to the feedback they’ve paid for. 

In this case… well, let’s just say the author needed to start over.  Nothing about the novel worked.  There was a seed of a story there, somewhere, but it needed replanting in a more fertile dramatic landscape, and watering from more capable hands.  So I wrote a 17-page, single-space opus of constructive criticism, ending with ideas for a resurrection leading to a rebuild.

In the game of manuscript feedback, I’m way more Paula than Simon.

The response was something like this: okay then, thanks for trying, but I love my book the way it is.  So do all my friends.  So I’m going to publish it myself, as I’m hearing all the time that great books are selling well even though New York publishers rejected them. 

And off he went to throw three or four thousand dollars at this wonderful new strategy.  And yes, he’ll probably “be published” at the end of the day.

But is that really the goal?  Simply to hold a copy of your book in your hands, one with your name on the cover?  It’s legitimately intoxicating, to be sure (even though you could arrange for the same thing at Kinkos… but that’s a little cynical, so never mind), but it’s a little like sending your money to diploma mill or buying air time on the local after-hours cable channel. 

 Does that make you executive material?  Does that make you a television star?  Does anyone ever really know it’s happening?

It’s interesting to note that the only people sending me manuscripts with checks attached are still trying to crack the traditional publishing code.  Nobody planning on publishing their book themselves, ditial or otherwise, seems to think professional editorial help is necessary.

Interesting.  And scary.  Because it defines this new marketplace, as well as makes my point.

Is this really the dream you’re chasing?

Now, I know stranger things have happened, and I’m certainly not the standard-bearer for what is publishable or not publishable.  But I do know a turkey when I see one, and this thing was gobbling from page one.

I also know a turkey will sell a few dozen copies out there, maybe a few hundred.  And, that among the flock, there may be a golden goose waddling about waiting to be discovered before Thanksgiving.  It could happen.

My hope is that writers go this route with their eyes open and their expectations in check.  Because publishers are not employing scouts to find the next passed-over gem floating around in digital space thanks to Kindle, and when it does happen – which it does – it’ s more an accident of serendipity than it is a coalescing strategy.

The sad and ironic truth is that your shot at writing a breakout self-published book, one that makes you real money and/or scores you a New York deal and launches a career, is significantly less than simply submitting your book to an agent who can sell it to a major publisher. 

The former happens two or three times a year.  The latter?  Two or three hundred times a month.

The game hasn’t really changed at all, it’s just harder than ever to get in.  So maybe a minor league is the answer afterall.

Writers are forgetting how to do the math.  Because the allure of holding a book that you’ve written in your excitied, clammy little hands, even if its on a Kindle screen – something self-publishing is certainly making feasible – is that powerful.

The publishing dream is a drug.  And the internet is making it legal and easy to come by.  It’s just that the high isn’t as high, and it won’t last long enough to even get you hooked.

The moral of the story is this:

Set out to write a great story.  One good enough to get published.  When you are told that it isn’t, find out why and fix it.

With the frenzy of opportunity and enthusiasm that the new world of digital self-publishing is dawning in a glorious burst of spontaneous manuscripts showing up all over the internet, one might be easily find themselves seduced.  Sucked into a dream-swap that displaces worthiness and opportunity with accessibility.

The minor leagues are like that.  At least you get to play.  Even if it’s in Walla Walla.

We’re hearing this a lot lately: it’s easier than ever to get published these days.

But is that really the goal?  If you buy your own seat on stage are you really part of the show?

Hear me clearly, there’s nothing wrong with publishing your own book, even after New York as told you to take a hike.  Hell, I’m reading one now (“Bitsy’s Labyrinth” by Mary Andonian, a youth novel that’s nothing short of beautiful in its execution), and my hope is that this becomes a stepping stone to what has already been her publishing dream for some time.

Thing is, writers are starting to confuse the stepping stone with the real dream.  Because the internet is dressing them in the same uniform.

That’s the point here.  Use this is a strategy.  Don’t confuse it with the end game. 

The Old School Is Still In Session

What is getting lost lately is the fact that the standards of traditional publishing really haven’t changed at all.  It’s the machine that’s broken, due in part to the unprecedented number of incoming submissions and competition from the very technology that is changing the marketplace into uncharted territory.

But if you look closely, even within the chaos, you’ll notice that a shift has taken place.  It used to be that a book had to be good enough to impress an agent and then a publisher.  Now, with the digital venue available to absolutely anybody, and with agents pushed out through a side door, a successful book has to be good enough to impress a reader willing to pay for it.

And readers, as a collective whole, have always had a higher bar than publishers.  That’s why not everything that is published ends up selling.

Make no mistake, self-publishing your book is a proposition measured in the hundreds of books, not the thousands or tens of thousands you hear about in those exception fairy tales.

Which means the dream has shrunk to the size of a trade paperback from Lulu.com, one that you can hold in your hands and show your friends.

It feels good.  But is it The Dream?  Don’t kid yourself, it isn’t a career.  It may become a stepping stone — now that’s a viable strategy — it may not.  But until it becomes one, it’s an illusion.

Hear me clearly, digital publishing is a good thing for writers.  

But it doesn’t change a thing in terms of what we, as writers of books, need to know and need to shoot for in our work.

The bar isn’t lower than it was. 

Don’t confuse that with the fact that the walls to getting “published” have come down, and indeed, that the very definition of “getting published” has evolved into something with very little relationship to what it was.

Not long ago a major writing conference of, say, 500 folks would find three to eight published writers in the audience.  These days, you’ll find thirty to fifty, maybe more, all because of the availability of the distinction of being published.

Bottom line: if you want to sell a book that will find readers, that will stick around and actually appear on a bookstore shelf in addition to its Amazon page, that stands a chance of being discovered among the exploding pool of digital product out there, then you better not settle.

You better understand what makes a story work, and deliver something that adheres to the principles of the six core competencies in context to what the market has shown that they want.

Because if you don’t make that distinction – if you think you can publish a manuscript that is otherwise sub-par, or so original New York won’t buy it because it’s never been done before, but somehow the digital reader will forgive you and spread the word – the marketplace will make that distinction for you.  And you won’t like it.

Cream still rises to the top.  It’s physics.  Even among traditionally published books this remains true.  It’s easier than ever to get into the dairy these days, but whipping up the cream is as hard as it ever was.

You thought the slush pile was huge and intimidating before?  Today it’s bigger than ever.  Because now it’s on the web, available for download for only $6.99.

Don’t bite. 

Write like you are still trying to impress someone at Random House. 

And while some masterpieces will certainly slip through into self-published digital nirvana due to the inevitable chaos of traditional publishing, there’s no indication whatsoever that the standards of readers are lowering.

Getting published is less than it was.  But selling your work to a mass audience is very bit as hard, and as rewarding, as ever.  And if you think you can do it without a Warner Books promotional budget…

… well, perhaps you should consider the fantasy genre.  Reality may not be your thing.

Dreaming is good.  But every dream that ever came true did so because the dreamer woke up and got to work.

And no, I didn’t keep this short at all.

Let the debate begin.  I can already hear the rocks hitting my window.

A Self-Publishing Reality Check is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

That’s what we all want, right?  In our secret heart of hearts we want it all, the window position at Borders, a spot on the Times list, maybe a morning shot on GMA. 

Truth be known, that little secret desire resides right next to the unflagging belief that we can write as well as the Big Name authors who are living that dream now.  That knowledge torments us as we lay awake nights wondering how they made it happen before we did.

And so we labor over our craft.  We read and we go to conferences and we bang out draft after draft of story after story.  Paying our dues, honing our chops. We’re doing this the right way, shelving what we know may be a delusion in a sincere campaign to be worthy when opportunity knocks.

But here’s the deal.  And it involves understanding – and possibly seizing – what those successful authors know that you don’t.

There are two levels of getting published. 

One is just getting into the game.  The other is getting a featured billing and, we pray, an enduring career. 

They are as different as being an extra on a movie set or getting top billing and a trailer.  Even if you’re better looking than the star with the name on that door.

The enlightened writer understands that the established names – the ones you’re sure you can already out-write on a good day – play by a different set of rules.  They have contracts.  They have a floor full of editors waiting to turn their chicken droppings into chicken salad.

They can rewrite the Walla Walla phone book and someone will publish it.  And because their name is on the cover, it will sell.

Of course, that never happens.  Why?  Because the people writing the checks won’t let it happen.

When we submit something that reeks of imperfection, we are rejected. 

When an A-list author does so – and rest assured, they do – they get rescued.

When we write something that is pretty damn good, but doesn’t stand out from the pile on the editor’s desk, we also get rejected.  When an A-list writer pens something that is pretty damn good they get a review in People Magazine and a publicist.

The equity, or lack thereof, of that isn’t the point. 

Nobody who has ever tried, even those who have succeeded, will claim that the publishing process is fair.  It doesn’t try to be. 

The salient point here, though, is looking closer at who reaches that level, and why.  Under that discerning microscope there awaits a tiny morsel of insight that, if it applies, might just propel you into the epicenter of your writing dream.

Take a long hard look at the famous authors you admire, and chances are you might see something there that you’ve missed before.  Once you see it you’ll shake your head at its obviousness, but still, you haven’t compared yourself to that standard yet.

Maybe you should. 

Maybe you already have what they have.

I’m not talking about talent or skill.  I’m talking about a life experience worth writing about.  Or if not about, per se, then using as an arena for your next story.

That’s precisely what a significant percentage of the authors you’ve heard of do.

Next time a “first novel” gets a lot of pre-publication hype, look closely at the background of the author.  Odds are there’s something there that connects to the story they’ve told, something that separates them – other than talent – from the hoards of others submitting manuscripts in the very same genre or niche.

That Big New Novel that exposes the underbelly of the movie industry?  You can bet the author used to be a player in that very business, rather than some schmoe from Fort Worth who spent a month of Sundays on the internet getting up to snuff.

Case in point: Nelson Demille. 

My hands-down favorite author, by the way.

He writes cynical, wry thrillers that always relate to a situation, or a hero, that connects to military intelligence and crime, and/or national security.  He has written 12 NY Times bestsellers doing this.  And guess what… before he was a writer, he worked in military intelligence and security.

His Vietnam masterpiece, 2004’s Up Country, was more autobiographical than anyone knows.  Nobody else on the planet could have written that novel, that way.

My favorite whodunit author is Michael Connelly.  He writes stories set on the mean streets of Los Angeles.  And guess what… before he was an author of novels, he was a beat crime writer in – wait for it – Los Angeles.

Coincidence?  I think not.

Have you read Patricia Cornwall or Kathy Reichs?  If not, I’m certain you’ve heard of them, especially if you’ve strolled past that Border’s window.  They write mysteries that center around forensic science and the gritty realism of the autopsy room, and guess what… both worked in the coroner trade before they began writing novels.

The TV show Bones?  That’s all based on Reich’s books and her career. 

Here’s the bottom line. 

It’s full of holes and exceptions, but that doesn’t remotely water down the opportunity that just might be calling your name.

The best spy thrillers are written by ex-spies.  Or someone who worked in the CIA in some form, even if it was in the mailroom.

John Grisham writes legal thrillers.  John Grisham was a lawyer.  Same with Scott Turow.  And my friend Phil Margolin.  And pretty much anybody else who has written a bestseller starring a lawyer and involving that trade.

Remember an author named John Nance?  He had a bunch of bestsellers in the 80s and 90s about aviation.  He also had a gig on one of the morning talk shows you’re desperately dreaming of being on as their aviation correspondent.  Guess what… he moonlighted as a pilot for Alaska Airlines.

Examples of this are everywhere.  So much so, that they are screaming to become a fact of writing and publishing life.

But what about genre, you might ask?

Granted, not all novels are set in an arena that has inherent career opportunities afoot.  What about family dramas, romances, teen adventures… are those authors all professional family therapists, divorce lawyers, adulterers, hookers and high school counselors?

No.  But they could be. 

And if you happen to be any one of those in a past life, pay attention, that’s the point we’re kicking around today.  Because you just might have a leg up on authors who don’t have the benefit of a personal resume that brings a sense of realism and vicarious thrill to the experience of the story itself.

Have you been there, done that?  Perhaps you should consider writing about it.

Not every writer can say they’ve lived into this opportunity.  Not all of our lives and careers are fascinating and involve dead bodies, treacherous spies, military lack of intelligence and the gritty danger of life on the street.

But take a look at your life.

What do you know that the vast majority of readers don’t?  Whatever it is, it might qualify you to layer a story over it – every story needs an environmental and societal landscape – that will set you apart from the truckload of submissions in the agent’s mailroom.

Just a teacher?  How about a romance between faculty set in a stuffy private school?

A tax accountant?  What if a Big Wig with the mob comes in and asks you to do his 1040, and oh by the way, he knows where you live?

Worked at Burger King back when?  Or maybe now?  C’mon, there’s gotta be something about the inside society of the fast food industry that is screaming for a story.  A comedy maybe.

You get the drift here.  You don’t have to be a lawyer or a mortician – now there’s an idea – to take us into a private world where you once did your thing.

You need to be set apart, too.  Your crackerjack writing and storytelling skills may not be enough.  Not when the manuscript right behind yours was written by a crack investigative journalist and her story is about the murder of a crack investigative journalist who was murdered because she had stumbled into the wrong dark corner in Georgetown.

There’s nothing wrong with a housewife from Wisconsin setting out to write a sexy novel about a drug dealer operating out of Havana.  Research is a beautiful thing.  But the truth is, the real ex-Havana crack dealer writing the same story already has a leg up on her, and no research in the world can supplant the vicereral, minutea-bound credibility of someone who knows.

Sure, it’s fiction, we get that.  But you have to bring it to life, and life is about truth.  And everybody has lived a truth worth telling.

So the next time you’re waiting for the muse to bestow a career-making idea on you, ask her to take a look at your resume.  Maybe the opportunity you’ve been waiting for is already there.

Just add a story, stir in craft, shake until blended then bake until done… and who knows.  You might end up staring Matt Lauer in the eye one of these mornings a year or two down the road.

Hey, it could happen.  The path toward that end begins with the story you choose to write as much as it does your ability to write it.

Do you know of an author who has leveraged their background into a career?  Please share.

The Holy Grail of Getting Published Big is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

Today I offer you a new writing mantra. 

In fact, you can start right now – just say the following words, proud and out loud, as fast as you can:

Mindset shift.  Mindset shift.  Mindset shift.

As you just experienced, it’s a lot harder than it seems.  Just like writing a killer, publishable story is a lot harder than it seems. 

Which is why you should adopt an empowering mindset toward your storytelling, instead of the naïve, short-sighted approach so many well-intentioned writers cling to.

Why do they cling to that which betrays them?  Because nobody’s told them differently. 

But if they – perhaps you – can make just one critical shift in their thinking, they’ll be taking a giant leap toward publication.  They’ll be in the game in a way they weren’t before.

I’m not saying you can’t publish without this healthy mindset. 

Heck, stuff happens, crazy people (and celebrities) get published all the time.  What I am saying is that you’ll get there quicker if you can get out of your own way and clear the rubble from your belief system about how an effective story is written.

Notice I said how.  Not what a publishable story is — that’s always a crap shoot — but how it’s written.

It’s about recognizing and understanding the truth, and then incorporating the context of that truth into your creative approach, whatever that might be. 

Because in writing, as much as any other avocation on the planet, the truth really will set you free.  Especially this one.  While a naïve, romanticized and unenlightened mindset will almost always render the writing dream an elusive one.

Here it is.  Get ready for a mind blowing, career skyrocketing paradigm shift.

Or not.  You may already be on board with this and not even realize just how empowering it is.

The Two Realms of Story Development

How do you write a story?  Do you just sit down with your idea and start banging out a draft to see where it will go?  That’s fine, it can work this way, but rest assured, it’s like fighting a forest fire with a bucket and a garden hose.

Or, do you spend time envisioning and planning your story, considering options and weighing choices, before you write it all down?  Or, if you belong to the garden hose group above, you realize that what you’re writing is really just a preliminary exercise in story development, rather than a draft itself?

And once you do write it down, are you doing it in context to the flexible yet unyielding physics of storytelling – if you’re going to defy gravity, or the odds, you’ll need some solid wings under you – or are you simply imitating what you’ve read elsewhere and/or inventing your own dramatic form?

That worked for a dude named Homer, but not for you and me.

I’m not here to argue for one over the other. 

I’ve done enough of that here, and you know where I stand.  Both approaches can work… but only if you understand the next paragraph.

Before you will ever write a draft that works – a draft that is publishable – you must first find your story.  And to find it, you must search for it.  A story is not an idea or even a concept, it is the flight plan that ensues from that starting point.

The point of every flight plan is a destination, delivered with a pleasurable flight experience.  Without either of those, you are skydiving with an umbrella.

Drafter or planner, you need to vet and cull out the many ways your story might unfold.  Consider the possible and the feasible and opt for the dramatically ideal.  All of this in context to an understanding of Big Picture literary principles and mechanics.

Like it or not, this is precisely what you’re doing when you write an early, pre-enlightened draft. 

It is also precisely what you’re doing when you are planning a story in some other form before you write a draft.

You are merely searching for your story.  The business of writing a publishable draft doesn’t begin until you find it.

If you don’t recognize this – and here is the potential mindset shift – if you believe you can just sail along through a draft while waiting for your characters to come alive, to start talking to you (they don’t, by the way; that’s just your literary subconscious whispering that you need to do something different with your story), for the perfect twist to emerge…

… if you do that, and if you just keep going as you sense you are finally on track, that the story is really coming alive now…

… and then you finish that draft, which has been saved in mid-flight, and you call it a final submittable draft…

… then you’re toast.  It just won’t work as well as it could.  Or should.  You’ve just slashed your chances of publication to a fraction of what they could have been.

And yet, this is precisely what an alarming number of writers do.  Because they come to the blank page with the wrong mindset.

In essence, story development separates into two sequential realms: the search for story… following by the rendering of story.

That first realm – the search for your story – can happen in many ways.  It can happen in your head.  It can happen through a series of drafts.  It can happen through an anal-retentive and madly obsessive process of story planning.  Or some combination of the above.

But no matter how it happens, here’s what is unarguably – and in this case redundantly – true: you cannot write a publishable draft until you’ve discovered your story.  However you get there.

This is the fatal mindset that condemns so many stories to the slush pile. 

If you use drafting as a means of searching for and culling out your story, or worse (because drafting can work as a search tool), if you think you can just make up your story in sequence and then change things mid-stream as better options and ideas come along…

… and then if you finish that suddenly englightened draft, the first half of which is a random or even slightly inefficient search for your story (which it will be), and the second half of which has been written in context to the killer story you’ve finally landed upon…

… if you do this…

… you will most likely fail.

Why?  Because an effective, publishable story needs to be written in context to a full understanding of the Big Picture from the very first page.

Which means, if you arrived at the point in your draft where you finally wrap your head around your story, when it all comes together for you, you’ll need another draft to actually write the whole thing the right way.

And that is the second realm of story development.

Nobody’s buying a ticket for a flight bound for Miami that takes a hard left over Kansas and heads for Quebec.  No matter how smooth the landing.

If you use some form of story planning to discover and optimize your story, then your first draft might actually come close to the mark.  Because it will unfold in context to solid story architecture and rendered in context to ideas and choices that have been vetted and culled.

A story written this way doesn’t turn on the gas in the middle, it’s working from the first page forward.

This mindset is as liberating as it is powerful and valid. 

I’m not suggesting you become a planner if you are, by nature and preference, a pantser (an organic writer who makes it all up as you go along, letting the story unfold organically and in context to what’s already been written, for better or worse). 

What I am suggesting is that you recognize that your draft doesn’t stand a chance until the story is solidly, front to back, fully conceived.  If you haven’t landed on a theme, a pace, on context and sub-text, if you haven’t discovered what your character arc is, if you don’t know how things are going to end… 

… you won’t write optimally effective narrative until you do know these things.  To get published, your story needs to be optimally effective, beginning on page 1.

If you’re a freaking genius – Stephen King comes to mind – then you can do all this searching and vetting and culling in one pass right out of your head, perhaps even as you write.  This, too, is a risky mindset, because that level of genius – it’s a myth, really, King has written hundreds upon hundreds of stories and is a practiced story architect in every conceivable way – is rare.

Like, Holy Grail kind of rare.

Trust me, King and his few and far between prodigy peers do all their story planning in their heads before they write a word.  They do it instinctually, and with an innate sensibility that allows the story to spill onto the page the first time, or close to it.

Are you really that good?  How’s that working for you so far?

Only when fully conceived, however that happens, will your story become fully and gloriously realized.  And that never happens in the middle of a manuscript.

If you’d like to learn more about how to get published, please consider my new ebook, Get Your Bad Self Published, for the unvarnished, impolite truth about what sells, what doesn’t and why.

A Mindset Shift That Can Get You Published is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

If you don’t understand what that means, or if you think it refers to a pre-millennium science fiction flick… maybe the news won’t strike you as all that good.

Then again, if you’re reading Storyfix – which you are – it should.

If you’re a writer looking to get into print, or if you’ve already done a POD title, you should read to the end.  Or just skip to it if you already know what POD is all about.

Because something new is on this horizon, and it’s huge.

“POD” stands for “Print On Demand.” 

As in, self-published.  Or as in, the chosen path of many new small publishers who understand that this is the most available and viable way to nose-into the business.

Instead of printing a box of books, only those that are needed – as in, ordered — are printed.  Even if it’s only one copy.  No more inventory, unless you want inventory.

Sell five, print five, deliver five.  Genius.

POD is redefining the publishing business, and it has completely obliterated what used to be called fee-based vanity press publishing.  Even if expectations and results-to-date are both modest… just as they’ve always been.

What was not all that long ago rarely even spoken of within the walls and halls of the established publishing community is now considered viable – a genuine threat to the status quo – and even, depending on whom you ask, the future of publishing. 

These days anybody can publish a novel.

Or a how-to.  Rich Dad Poor Dad began its life as a self-published title (though not a POD book, that was back when POD did mean something from a movie), so anything can happen. 

Not just an ebook, or a Kindle/e-reader title… but a bona fide, leave-a-bookmark-where-you-left-off-and-recycle-when-you’re-done trade paperback.

One that looks good, smells good, seems as professional (in many instances) as the titles on the shelf at Borders, one with an actual ISBN on the spine, and becomes a product you can sell – and smell – from the back of your SUV to your heart’s content.

That’s how John Grisham got it going… it happens.  And now, the chances of it – mainstream success via your launch as a self-published author – are even greater.

To paraphrase another 80s movie moment… we all love the smell of a good book in the morning.  Especially when it’s our own name on the cover.

If you were hoping for “one that the bookstores will stock and sell for you” as part of that roster of benefits… sorry, it doesn’t quite go that far.  While some POD titles do actually make it into bookstores, they are few and far between.  And almost non-existent in the big retail chains.

Now – literally – anybody can get published.  In fact, more than a few of the titles you see promoted at writing conferences and signings are, in fact, POD titles.

When someone says, “yeah, I just published a book,” you can’t really be sure what that means anymore.  In the most cynical sense it’s kinda like buying a sheepskin from a diploma mill… nobody offers up this information voluntarily.  They just walk around in the glow of a certain perception they hope will remain unquestioned.

Then again, getting into print is getting into print.  

Just holding your own book in your own two hands can be a dream come true.

Just don’t expect a lot of other people to hold it in theirs.

And don’t kid yourself into thinking, “I’m there, this is it, my publishing dream just came true.”  You and I know that’s not the case.

But… if you work hard enough and smart enough at marketing your POD title, you have a shot at leveraging it toward an old school publishing deal from a brand name house.

And that particular proposition just became more real.

The Golden Ring of POD

Truth is, getting a POD book widely reviewed is next to impossible.  The local daily might run something, especially if you’re a familiar face on the writing scene around town.  Or if someone there owes you a big favor.

But if you’ve been dreaming about getting your POD title reviewed in, say, Publishers Weekly – the most important place of all to get a book reviewed – well, you’ve been dreaming.

Prior to now, that didn’t really ever happen.

But that’s about to change.

That’s what’s new and huge and exciting for anyone with a POD strategy.

PW is now going to list, and review, POD titles.

Publishers Weekly is calling it “PW Select,” and while it doesn’t guarantee you a review – though it does open the door to one – it does guarantee the title of your book will appear in their pages.   

Here’s what Publishers Weekly has to say about the phenomenon of self-publishing:

In recognition of the boom in self-publishing and as an acknowledgment that valuable works are being published outside traditional publishing, PW is giving self-published authors a chance to present their titles to the publishing trade. Call it what you will–self-published, DIY, POD, author-financed, micro-titles, or relationship publishing–the phenomenon is upending the publishing world.

Our readership — agents, booksellers, publishers, distributors, librarians, and media–constitute the ideal audience, always on the alert for new talent, worthwhile books, and marketable products, and the PW Select Announcements issue is poised to both take notice in the publication of such books and to select titles for review.

This is truly visionary stuff. 

PW Select will appear as a quarterly supplement to the actual Publishers Weekly periodical.  Authors can purchase – for $149 – a listing that will describe the book and, theoretically, be exposed to the industry players named above. 

And… wait for it… it will also include ordering information.

But here’s the best part.

From those listings PW editors will select 25 of those listed titles and actually review them in the magazine.

Which means, this insider audience will have the benefit of a proven, credible Publishers Weekly review, one that applies the same standards (and the potential for that coveted star) applied to your favorite A-list authors.  If your book scores a solid review, well…

… someone in the business might take notice.

Which is what you’ve been dreaming about all along.

This opportunity is perhaps the first viable POD strategy that doesn’t require 30 grand and a year of elbow grease and rejection to offer a shot at success.

Click HERE to read more about PW Select page from the Publishers Weekly website.

To learn more about getting published, please consider my ebook: “Get Your Bad Self-Published.” 

Good News For POD People is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

You’re at a writing conference.  You’ve scheduled your ten minutes with someone from New York you’ve never heard of. 

That person is an agent, and this is your shot.

The pleasantries are over.  You’ve introduced yourself, you’ve both commented on how wonderful this hotel is and how funny the morning keynote guy was.

Your butterflies begin to settle down.  This agent seems nice, not the bored been-here-heard-that intimidator you expected.

You’ll throw up later, but for now, in that awkward pause between hellos and getting down to business, you believe you’re ready.

That’s when the agent says it.  Or some form of it. 

So what are you working on?  Tell me about your story.

And suddenly all those butterflies are back.

The next thirty seconds will decide the fate of this relationship.

Because you are now at a crossroads.  You have two choices. 

You can do this properly and demonstrate your mastery – not only of your story, but of the craft of storytelling – or you can make the most common mistake in the business. 

At least when it comes to pitching agents at writing conferences and in elevators.

Which is… you simply start.  At the beginning.  In sequence.

You begin to narrate the whole damn book, as if your words are to be heard as a condensed stand-in for the printed story itself.

As if you can tell it as well as you believe you wrote it.

Newsflash: you can’t.

You may be allowed to go on and on and on before the agent holds up a hand and asks for clarification… if that even happens at all.

Or they just say it sounds interesting but it’s not for them, and ask if you have anything else in the works.

It’s too late.  You’re already toast.

Here’s what’s going on in those 30 seconds.

At least, if you don’t do this properly.

Within seconds the agent is asking herself questions like… excuse me, what genre is this again?… where did this idea come from?… where the hell is this going and why is it taking so long?  

And perhaps… I wonder where the closest Carl’s Jr. is?

Because a professional author (which doesn’t necessarily mean published) – someone who knows what makes a story really tick – doesn’t do it this way.

A professional knows that what makes a story tick is context.

A set-up.  Just as when a reader who picks up a book off the shelf (a form of pitching at the retail level), there are things that are clear from the outset: the genre, a hook from the inside flap or back cover, a sense of story from the cover art, and some semblance of context-setting by way of revealing the novel’s backstory.

In other words, why the author is excited to tell this story – indeed, must tell this story – and a preview of what the thematic impact of it all will be.

If Dan Brown was pitching The DaVinci Code, he might begin by saying something like:

“I’ve written a thriller that blows the lid off the entire Catholic church and threatens to undermine the very heart of the Christian religion, all within the guise of a murder mystery involving priests, crooked cops, secret sects, Leonard DaVinci and some pretty cool codes, all of it based on accepted mythologies.”

He’d say that before he utters a word about the sequence of the story itself.

And the agent – because they can smell a winner from the parking lot – would already be praying that this will work.

Imagine you’re a realtor, and you’re driving the client to see a new house you think they’ll love.

In the car on the way over you tell them why you think that.  You tell them what kind of house it is, the background of the house, the way the house will make them feel, and the quality of the construction.

When you get there – if you’re a pro and you’ve done your job well – the client is already arranging their furniture in the back of their mind.

When pitching your novel…

… if you don’t do something similar before you launch into the story itself – if you don’t set it up, don’t preview and pre-sell it – the agent’s defenses are already up.  Once they hear you begin with… “So there’s the guy who leaves home when he’s sixteen, and then he meets this girl…” they know this isn’t going to work.

Chances are they won’t ask for clarification.  You haven’t given them a reason to.

No, as they sit there politely listening, they’re already asking the questions – the ones I told you about a moment ago – that you forgot to cover.

Agents aren’t readers, they’re sales professionals. 

Which means, they’re looking for a professional-level sales pitch on your book.

Expose yourself as an amateur by simply launching into the nature of your first chapter and you’ll not only induce a fog in the listener – no matter how good the book may be – you’ll announce yourself as someone that doesn’t understand storytelling as well as you should.

Because if you can’t pitch it properly, if you don’t recognize the power of context and theme and intention and passion and a killer hook – not to mention the limitations of the pitch vehicle itself – how can you possibly write it well enough to interest them?

But the agent won’t be asking that question. 

It’s a given in their mind, and they’re already deciding between a salad and a tuna melt as soon as you’re done.

If you’d like to understand more about the relationship between your story and your pitch, as well as concrete ground rules and examples of how to deliver one effectively, please consider my new ebook, “Get Your Bad Self Published.”

The Last Thing An Agent Wants to Hear From You is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

For your consideration…

Today I’m launching my new ebook, “Get Your Bad Self Published.” 

What follows here is from the sales page.  Click HERE (or on the cover image) to read more from that presentation. 

It’s $14.95.  If you’d like to skip the pitch and order now, click HERE.

Getting published is very much like getting rich or losing weight. Few topics have received as much focus – especially when it comes to online products and programs – as the latter two.

We know how hard those goals are to reach. How exciting it is to start, and then how easy it is to come up short, sometimes right out of the chute.

There are no magic pills, no shortcuts, no avoiding the hard truths. The road to riches and the path to lean health is one of knowledge, self-awareness and discipline, and success depends as much on how smart you work as how hard you work.

The same is true when it comes to publishing your writing.

And yet, because there is an element of art and talent involved, the conventional wisdom in the writing community seems to focus on quality over process. On dreams instead of reality.

As if quality and dreams are enough.  They’re not.

Fact is, there are two realms of knowledge and truth involved in the publishing equation, and a writer seeking to get into print needs to wrap their head around both of them with equal clarity.

The first has to do with writing the right book, the right way, at the right time, for the right target market. Too many writers don’t get this, they just write their book their way, and because it’s good – hey, everybody says it is – they fully expect an agent or a publisher to agree and take it on.

It just doesn’t work that way.

Like I said above in big bold letters, good – even great – books get rejected as a matter of course. Why? Because, despite delivering a good story that’s well told, it’s the wrong book, written the wrong way, offered at the wrong time and in the wrong way to the wrong market.

The second realm of understanding has to do with the process of getting published. There’s nothing fair about it, at times it’s not even logical. And yet we’re stuck with the publishing machine, and if you don’t know how it works, what it expects, how to navigate it and make the most of an opportunity when it comes along – indeed, how to create that opportunity – your book won’t find a home.

Or, you could publish it yourself, or use a publish-on-demand service.  That’s viable, but it’s not going to get your book onto the shelf at Borders.

None of this should be fresh news. That said, it’s hard to find clarity and insight into how one turns this awareness into a game plan that stands a chance.

That’s why I’ve written “Get Your Bad Self Published.”

I’ve been there. I’ve written novels that never landed a publisher. I’ve also published five critically-acclaimed novels, four by a major house, another by a wonderful print-on-demand small press.  And I recently sold my first non-fiction book (on writing, of course; it comes out in February from Writers Digest Books). I know both sides of the publishing street, and I’ve been thrown under buses parked on either curb.

I also know the thrill, the complete and utter sense of satisfaction, that comes from seeing your book on a retail shelf. The goal of “Get Your Bad Self Published” is to take writers, like you, closer to experiencing that for yourself. And to do it through knowledge and strategic empowerment.

 In “Get Your Bad Self Published” You’ll learn…

● How and where to land an agent.

● What publishers are really looking for today.

● Why most books, including really good ones, get rejected, and how to not go there.

● The Dirty Little Secret that will set your book apart from the crowd.

● How to adopt and leverage a publishing mindset.

● How to master the selling tools required to get your work published.

● How to know when your book is really ready.

● Why bestsellers are different.

● The Biggest Mistake new writers make, and how to avoid making it, too.

● How to craft a powerful pitch, a killer queryletter and a spectacular synopsis…

● … using real-life examples as a model.

● … and a whole lot more.

This is a book for serious writers with serious intentions. It’s not a listing of agents and publishers; there are plenty of those resources out there. Rather, this is a book about enlightenment.  About working smart. About leveraging what published writers already know and the vast majority of new writers don’t.

It’s about what will really get you published.

Read a review by Kay Kenyon on her site, HERE.

Also, here’s the very first reader review, from Kelly Whitley:

“Get Your Bad Self Published” takes a hard look at the competitive world of commercial fiction.

Writing is hard, lonely work, and committing to it without knowing the road is like taking a job without knowing if you can meet the job requirements.  Fortunately, the mechanics can be learned.  Larry guides the reader through the down-and-dirty dissection of what a successful book needs to be, how to lay hands on the resources to write it, and then navigates the waters of successful pitch, query and synopsis to get the thing sold.

I’ve read all of Larry’s books, and this is a must-read for aspiring writers.

To read more about this ebook, click HERE.

To order it for $14.95, click HERE.

*****

“Get Your Bad Self Published” is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

One of the most frequently asked and therefore legit questions on this venue concerns the applicability of the principles of story structure to genre fiction, especially mysteries and romances.

If you’re writing a screenplay, the answer is simple: nothing is different among the genres.  You have three acts to work with (equivalent to the novelist’s four-part model) and three major milestones to work with.  Same as it ever was. 

For novelists the answer is much the same, but where mysteries and romances are concerned it certainly bears closer scrutiny.  Or at least explanation.

Why?  Because those two genres, among all others in the storytelling universe, are overtly and proudly formulaic.  Much more so than thrillers, horror, westerns, historicals, science fiction, fantasy and adult contemporary.

If I’ve omitted your genre of choice, forgive me. 

And if your book doesn’t fit into one of these categories, good for you – welcome to the world of adult contemporary fiction, which is a story that arises from life as we know it, and Young Adult (YA), which isn’t really a genre at all (it’s a niche), because all of the above named genres can be written from within this category.

Young folks with hair sprouting in strange places enjoy mysteries and romances, too.  In fact, it’s the hottest market niche in the game.

In mysteries the plot points are simply major clues.

While some writers don’t like to cop to the formulaic nature of mysteries and romances – indeed, the underlying concepts and characters in those genres can be as fresh and original as you like – the irony is that readers love it. 

Predictability is precisely why they read these books, and if you mess with their expectations by violating the genre-specific contexts that make them mysteries and romances in the first place…

… well, that’s like trying to play golf with a hockey puck.  Some things just can’t be messed with.  Even if you hit it straight, the puck won’t fit into the hole, anyhow.

In fact, these genres are so predictable in their structure that you can actually genericize the major story milestones.  For example…

In Mysteries….

The hook is when the “detective” (or however you label your investigative hero) and the “case” collide.  The hero is suddenly on the case, chasing down the truth, by whatever means you concoct.

This moment may or may not be the First Plot Point.

If it isn’t – if it’s a true hook occurring during the first 10 percent of the story – then the FPP is when new information hits the page that suddenly rockets the story in a new and unexpected direction.  When it defines the nature of the hero’s quest and gives us a major look at what’s in the way of getting there.

The FPP is the first major clue, or an unexpected twist.

The Mid-Point is when the curtain parts.  Which is also, by the way, yet another clue.  The seemingly innocent are suddenly suspicious.  The loyal become traitorous.  What appeared to be X is now actually Y.

The Second Plot Point is the final clue, the missing piece of the puzzle that propels the hero toward the conclusion, which is almost always the identification and arrest (or death) of the guilty party.

In Romances…

The FPP is when sexual chemistry ensues.  Everything that happens before that moment (the Part 1 set-up) is simply there to make it reasonable, believable and, because there are stakes on the table, vicariously emotional.

The involved parties have already been introduced in Part 1, they may even have met (or not), but at the FPP the heroine knows in her heart that this is the guy for her.  Even if she can’t quite admit it yet.

The Mid-Point is when she finds something out about the guy that complicates things.  Like, he’s married.  Or, he’s a Russian spy.  Or, he’s really dead and is here on a pass from the Great Beyond.

The Second Plot Point is when the heroine learns something new about the guy or the circumstances and, as a result, casts all caution to the wind and gets into the chase with a full commitment.

Identifying Plot Points vs. Understanding Them

The nature of the three major story milestones can always be defined in terms of where they appear and what they impart to the story. This is true of any genre.

It’s the where that becomes the liberating, useful tool for storytellers. 

Having twists and clues and obstacles isn’t rocket science, almost every writer has these in mind before or soon after they begin telling their story.  But the great mistake – indeed, the most common mistake among rejected manuscripts – occurs when those things are unveiled in the wrong place and for the wrong reasons.

Just like you can’t use a putter off the tee and expect to shoot great golf.  Despite knowing beforehand that a putter is indeed part of the game.

Understanding the game is everything.  You can’t succeed at it until you do. 

The trick isn’t deciding what your plot points should be, it’s understanding what they need to do to the story, and why.  Which includes where.  Once you own that understanding, the what becomes orders of magnitude more accessible. 

Because your idea either fits the criteria, or it doesn’t.

Too many writers don’t understand the criteria for the major story milestones.  Understanding them, and then executing the plot exposition that makes it happen, is the key to getting published.

That, and a killer idea behind it all.

The principles of story structure tell us that there is a time and a place – and even more importantly, a purposeful mission – for the basic elements that create pace, dramatic tension, character arc, vicarious empathy and, at the end of the reading day, a rewarding reading experience.

Using these principles can make it a rewarding writing experience, as well.

Lelani… this one’s for you.  Thanks for the idea.

Check out my ebook, Story Structure Demystified, for more on understanding and implementing the principles of effective storytelling.

The Mystery and the Romance of Structure is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

A few tough truths for the new and truly committed.

The following presumes you’ve actually written a publishable story.  A manuscript that stands ready to compete against proven professionals and talented first-timers with a story that’s every bit as compelling as yours.

How to write such a story and how to publish one are very different tutorials.  Today’s post is a high-altitude slice of the latter.  And yet, it demands that you wrap your head around the former… and own it.

Before you can fly, you must successfully complete ground school.  Nobody survives their first solo without it.

You must focus on both.  Maybe not simultaneously, but at least with overlapping concentrations.

Craft without art, and art without craft, will not get you published.

Getting published is very much like becoming a professional athlete, a dancer, a musician or a fine artist.  Even a pilot.  It requires solid craft lurking beneath all your abundant art.

You can’t reinvent the game you’re playing.  There are rules and boundaries in play, with subtle differences between genres.  And nobody’s invented a new genre in decades.

Getting published is always a bit of a paradox. 

You must be the same, but different. 

You must be better than good, though once you’re in, once you’ve made it, you need only to be good.

And if you’re not, there are bunch of recent grad editorial types sitting in cubicles who will rescue you.  Not so with the first-time novelist.

And even then, if you don’t sell well enough – which may or may not have anything at all to do with how good you are – you’ll soon find yourself under a bus thinking about what pseudonym you’ll adopt for your literary resurrection.

You must write for yourself first.

And you must respect yourself enough to write well, in accordance with established principles and expectations.

No finger painting allowed.  This isn’t kindergarten, this is the major leagues.

And yet, while you’re at it you must write with the intention of publishing if you want to elevate  your story to that point. Which, from one point of view, means you are no longer writing for just yourself.

Four words to remain sane within this paradox: Read.  Study.  Practice.  Repeat.

Find your voice.  Find your passion.  Summon the discipline required.

Writing a story any damn way you please isn’t a disciplined approach.  Nobody with their name on a book cover writes that way.

Your niche awaits. 

And when you get there, know that you will not have invented it.   

Just might.

Given that your manuscript is already good enough (by whatever measure you care to apply), you just might sell it if you have an agent.  The vast, overwhelming majority of first-time novels are sold to New York-based houses through an agent. 

Overwhelming, as in, unless you’re related to the Senior Editor, you need an agent for your manuscript to make it out of the mailroom.  That’s just the way it is, fair or not. 

And yes, while you hear of the occasional exception to that, you also hear of someone winning the lottery once a week.  Read the fine print on the latter: “should not be played for investment purposes.  Should be played for entertainment only.”

So which are you – writing as a career investment, as an intended profession, or are you writing to entertain yourself?  (If it’s the latter, then may I suggest you begin a diary.)

Or are you doing one in the mistaken belief you’re doing the other?

Perhaps the most naïve and frankly ridiculous comment/question I’ve ever heard from an unpublished writer was this: “Why should I give ten percent of my take to an agent, when I can sell it directly myself?  Or simply publish it myself?”

Because that ten percent is the best money a writer can possibly spend.  And even the smallest of advances gained through an agent who takes ten percent of it will vastly exceed anything you can expect to make by publishing it yourself.

If you have an agent, your odds are – literally – 10,000 times greater than trying to sell to a major publishing house without one.  And infinitely more viable than publishing it yourself.

The most dismal failure of a published book exceeds the sales volume of the highest reasonable expectation of a self-published book by a factor of about ten.

How do you get an agent?  First, by writing a publishable story.  Back to square one.  The endless circle of the publishing paradox.  Hop on, or not, but you can’t beat this system.

Probably won’t.

If, in reading that guy’s question a moment ago, you actually consider it – even for a nanosecond – as a viable, reasonable inquiry, then I submit to you that you probably won’t be published.  At least until you wise up.

Unless, of course, you are shooting low.  There are small publishers out there that buy manuscripts from first-time authors all the time. 

Getting published, and really getting published (in a way that can launch your career) are vastly different things.  You can get your private pilot’s license, which is a respectable achievement, or you can become an airline pilot.  Same difference.

Nothing wrong with small publishers, by the way (my latest book was published by a great one).  It’s just that, if you’re already thinking about the money and you aren’t also thinking about an agent in that context… odds are you don’t get it.

And if you don’t get that, chances are you don’t get professional-level storytelling, either.

Just might.

Your story is the same, but different.

By that I mean, your story fits neatly into a niche, a genre, and fulfills all the expectations of agents, publishers and readers.  It’s solid and it’s ready.

But… there’s something new and fresh about it.  Might be your writing voice, might be the conceptual heart of the story.

Probably won’t.

It’s as good as Grisham.  As bad-ass as Baldacci.  As rockin’ as Roberts and Rowling and as delightful as Demille.

Hear this clearly: the brand name, A-list authors you read have a different standard and a different process than unpublished authors looking to break in.  If you’re playing their game, you’ll lose.

You have to be better than they are.  In some cases, that’s a high bar.  In others… very doable.

What will make your story better?

A stronger, more original concept.  A cleaner, more compelling writing voice.  A strong, unforgettable character.  A theme that alters perceptions and changes readers.

Or simply, the integration of six core storytelling competencies that exceeds the sum of those parts.

Just might.

You have a vision for your story.

Your writing process isn’t a search for the story, or even an exploration of it.  Rather, it’s a passionate execution of it. 

The “it,” in that case, being a completely fleshed-out, realized story plan – however you get to that point – that leaves nothing to chance and no storytelling stone unturned.

Probably won’t.

You have the core of an idea in your brain, and because it’s so compelling to you, you allow it to write itself.  To just open a valve and let the words pour out of your head.

To listen for, and then follow, characters who seem to be talking to you.

For professional level writers, Rhis is the stuff of first drafts and story planning. The means to an end.

For less than professional writers, this is the end instead of the means.  And thus, it becomes the stuff of frustration and fodder for naivety.

If you don’t recognize, or believe, that there are expectations, principles and paradigms into which your story must fall into compliance, then you aren’t ready to write it at a professional level.

The journey, then – at least when it works – becomes the pursuit of that understanding, every bit as much as the pursuit of the next great story idea.

The published writer knows the difference.

Just might.

Your ending is astounding.  Something that blows readers off their easy chair.

Notice how many times your favorite A-list author, while spinning a great tale with witty narrative and a slick hero, fall short of this standard.

Earlier I said you have to be better than they are.  This is one way to get there.

Probably won’t.

When you settle for less than that.  When you think your idea, your writing voice and your likeable character is enough.

It isn’t. 

The pile is full of manuscripts with just those descriptors.  Unless your ending drops jaws and demands a re-read, chances are it won’t sell.

Just might.

You won’t quit.  Ever.

These stories are everywhere, and they illustrate a prerequisite more than a fluke.  In a recent post I talked about a writer who had a story that was rejected 400 times.  Rather than quit, she self-published and promoted her novel via Kindle.  Sales ensued, gaining the attention of a major house, and now she has a three-book contract.

The road is long and dark.  You have to become your own light along the way.  The burning flame of your passion to learn — not just to write — is the best way to see and sidestep the  multitude of potholes in that road.

Probably won’t.

If you’re doing this for any other reason than the inherent joy of the story itself, and the process of parenting it into existence.

If you’re doing it for the money, do the math.

If you can ignore that answer, if you realize that you’re writing your story for yourself and for publication at the same time – a critical difference, one you need to comprehend on both sides of the coin – then you have a shot.

Writing for yourself, without regard to the expectations of the publishing world, wont’ get you published.

Writing stories that seem to be just like what everybody with a book on the shelf at Barnes & Noble is writing probably won’t, either.

You must defy the logic and the odds of showing up big at both. 

Going too far out on either end of that continuum puts you in a crowded place.  And hardly anybody sitting next to you there will either know how they got there or why they’re stuck there.

Larry’s new book, “Story Engineering: Understanding the Six Core Competencies of Successful Writing,” comes out next February (2011) from Writers Digest Books.  You can get a peek at the cover, and even pre-order a copy from Amazon.com, HERE.

His new ebook, “Get Your Bad Self Published,” will be available within the next two weeks.  If you’d like to pre-order at a discount, send $10 to Paypal (storyfixer@gmail.com), and you’ll receive your PDF as soon as it’s released.  The regular price at that time will be $14.95.

If you’re in a writing/critique group and would like to order multiple copies of “Get Your Bad Self Published,” send $7.00 for each recipient (5 copy minimum order) to Paypal (storyfixer@gmail.com), along with the email addresses of each recipient.

What Just Might Get You Published. What Probably Won’t. is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

This weekend I was privileged to participate in a panel discussion at the conclusion of a long day of writing workshops. 

The venue was the annual Write on the River conference in Wenatchee Washington – a great event, very professional and well attended – and I was among 12 presenters on a stage answering questions from a hearty handful of astute writers who had the energy to drag themselves in after a long day.

Someone asked about writing a series. 

They always do.  It’s one of the most-often asked questions I’ve personally heard, both at conferences and here on Storyfix. 

Specifically, writers want to know about how to structure a series.

Which makes it a great question.

Now, before I mount my soap box, allow me to confess that I’ve never written a series.  And I’ve only read a few.

Which, while I have an opinion, is why I didn’t try to be the first to answer this question at this particular Q&A.

I have written a sequel, and I must confess I had visions of a series… but that’s precisely my point today.

Back to Wenatchee… at the far end of the stage sat none other than the Master of fantasy series juggernauts, Terry Brooks.  Small wonder I didn’t chime in right away.  I was relieved to hear him unequivocally say what I have been somewhat equivocally saying on this issue, and would have written here anyway.

It’s good to be validated by someone who has sold over 30 million books.

There are a few things you need to understand about writing a series. 

And one of them is… maybe you shouldn’t be asking the structure question.  Even if it is a great one.

Because the question implies that series novels are somehow structured differently than stand-alone novels.

They are not.

Allow me to repeat that.  They are not.

Unless you kill off your hero, and if you give your hero the right role — detective, therapist, magician, columnist — then if and only if your book is successful you may have a shot at bringing that hero back for an encore.

Each book in your series needs to stand alone. 

As if it were written and intended as a stand-alone. 

Which means all the of the principles of structure, character and the tools of effective storytelling apply just as much to an entry in a series – especially the first novel – and in precisely the same way, as they do to any other book.

Stated another way, each book in a series needs to deliver a satisfying ending to the reader. 

What Makes a Series a Series

What I am about to say here may have exceptions.  Which I will put a fence around after I’ve said it.

A series is not a 500,000 word story published as five separate, sequential 100,000 word books.

That’s a fatal mistake.  That’s the first rule of selling a successful series.

A valid, publishable series from that same story would be five stand-alone novels, each with something in common:

-         a compelling hero that returns in each book…

-         an over-arcing thread of story premise that is not resolved in each book (such as the on-going search by Harry Potter to find and bring justice to his parents’ murderer), but is separate from the book-specific story…

-         other elements-in-common, such as setting or arena…

-         possibly a sequence of timeframes that age with each book…

-         … and, most importantly, each entry has a book-specific story that resolves itself.

A series is a recurring character in a recurring role.  That’s it.  It’s not the continuation of a single storyline.  That’s an option, not a requirement.

Harry Potter has both – a book-specific plot and an over-arcing storyline.  The book-specific plot always resolves itself.

Harry Bosch, on the other hand (the hero of many Michael Connelly mysteries), simply stars in each book.  There is no over-arcing story, per se. 

We see this in television all the time. 

In the current hit series Castle, for example, the hero, the primary characters and the set-up continue from episode to episode.

Castle has the same gig – he’s a bestselling novelist who is a friend of the Mayor of New York City, who has arranged his role as a consultant tag-along with a certain precinct and the gorgeous lead detective who calls the shots.

He and the hot lead detective – Beckett – have a sub-text of romance and sexual attraction that continues from week to week.

Castle’s life away from the station – his unbearably cute high school daughter and his unbearably overdone actress mother – continues from week-to-week in the guise of a sub-plot, without ever really becoming one.  More like comic relief.

But most importantly, each week presents a case to solve.  And unless it’s a 2-parter, the following episode’s caper is not connected to it in any way.

This model is all over television.  Every night.  Every season.

This is identical to the structural linkage between books in a series.

Before The DaVinci Code there was Angels and Demons.  Same character, same premise, completely different story.  Angels resolved solidly. 

The only person who saw this as a series at the inception of that book was Dan Brown, the author.  And only when DaVinci went ballistic was Brown offered contracts for something like twelve more Robert Langdon novels strung out over the next half century.

Television, unlike books, has a few exceptions to this, such as Nurse Jackie and The United States of Tara, which are almost completely character-driven.

But that’s television.  Don’t let it ruin your novelist perspective on this issue.

Any literary exceptions – and here’s that fence – if they’re even out there, would almost always have the name of a famous author on the cover.  Why?  Because…

You Can’t Sell a Series

Publishers don’t often (if ever these days) buy a series premise – much less multiple manuscripts – from an unpublished author. 

So don’t pitch it that way.  It will get you next to nowhere.

They buy a book.  They may contract for another, but rest assured, it isn’t a series until the first book sells.

Because two books do not a series make.  And if neither sells, there won’t be a third.

If your first book sells and the character and over-arcing drama are set-up to continue past the first book, then a sequel – not yet a series – may be in cards.

They won’t keep publishing you on the promise of the series someday exploding into popularity.  You get one shot, with one book.  Make it count.

Not that it’s wrong to think in terms of a series. 

But don’t allow that plan to compromise the nature and quality of your first novel in the sequence.

Each book you write has to stand alone.  And if it’s a series you dream of, you must deliver a character that readers will want to see return.

Story Structure in a Series is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com