So, You Want To Be A Writer, Eh? - The Accumulated Wisdom of Mil Millington
First piece of advice: 'reconsider'. For a start, it's not remotely well paid. I believe that the current figures tell the misty-eyed that, in fact, the average, published writer in the UK earns under £5,000 a year from it (about $9,750) - and, as the lovely Danuta points out, the trend is downward. (Also, even if - against astronomical, sweating odds - you do have a massive hit, don't start picking out the wallpaper for your penthouse. This writer tells you what she's made from her New York Times Top 20 Bestseller - even if you become a published writer, the possibility of having a NYT Bestseller should be kept in your 'wild, delusional, fancies perhaps due to food poisoining or untreated diabetes' box. While reading the piece, keep reminding yourself that the average writer's initial print run with not be over 80,000 copies - it'll be about 2,000; and the publisher will consider the book a success for them if more of that 2,000 gets sold than doesn't.) People's perceptions are warped because of news stories reporting only the hugely-rare exceptions - reading the papers, you'd think almost every first-time author got a million-pound advance. Next, do not do it because you have some mad idea that it will validate you as a person in the eyes of the world. Never even consider fantasies about cascades of breathlessly-awed reviews. Instead, have a quiet think about (if you manage to get reviewed at all - which is an uphill struggle for the publishers, let me tell you) whether your fragile, in-need-of-third-party-bolstering self-image can survive reading someone in the national press saying you're a tiresome, illiterate moron. Because they will: that's simply a fact of varying personal tastes (I even read someone opining that Patrick Suskind's Perfume was 'a waste of paper' the other day - unbelievable). And when someone doesn't like a book, they really love to lay into it, and the author personally, as savagely as possible. Consider writing only if you're doing it for yourself, not because you want to be told you have worth or 'need to be loved'.
OK, in the sweepingly certain knowledge that you'll all utterly disregard the above, let's get down to practical advice.
1) Get an agent. I can't stress this one enough. It's not completely impossible to be offered a contract without having an agent (as it happens, I didn't get one until after I'd received offers; but then I wasn't trying to get a publishing deal anyway, so I'm a doubly bad example), but it almost is. The brutal fact is that publishers get sent a crushing number of manuscripts every day, and the very first filter they apply to these is 'Does it come from an agent?'. The logic being that, if an agent is prepared to invest a little time and effort in the thing, then it's worth their looking at it too. If an agent isn't, then it's rubbish. And it's no good putting in a covering letter explaining why you happen to have decided to bypass getting an agent: all that means to a publisher is that the manuscript in front of them might be OK, or it might be a complete waste of their already overloaded time. So, why bother, when there are hundreds - thousands - of manuscripts spilling from their shelves that definitely do have an agent's backing? Get. An. Agent.
Having said that, getting an agent is no easy task in itself. Again, I was sickeningly lucky. When I was looking for an agent I already had written offers sitting in my surprised lap, so it was rather a case of asking, 'Um… would anyone like to pop by and take fifteen per cent of one of these?' Getting an agent is usually terribly difficult - and not without the potential for trouble: I, personally, would never go near an agent who asked you to pay them to read/comment on your stuff. You can find agents listed in the Writer's Handbook. Obviously (this applies to publishers too), approach them sensibly. Don't send your sci-fi fantasy epic to an agent whose WH entry says they don't accept unsolicited material and specialise in historical romance and pet books. A usefully 'unofficial' list of agents is here: http://everyonewhosanyone.com/aguk.html It's a little out of date, but still informative.
2) Publishing is a business. Say that out loud. Even the chief commissioning
editor at a publisher is unlikely to be able to run to you with a contract wriggling
excitedly in her hands on her say so alone. The question asked of manuscripts
in publishing houses the world over is not, 'Is this good?' but, 'Will this
sell?' I'm not saying you should 'write to be commercial'. Quite apart from
the fact that I'd rather not write at all than write stuff I didn't like just
because I thought it'd be popular (and so should you - or why write in the first
place? If you're not doing it for the love of the thing itself, then you'd be
better off getting far more money and far less grief working in conveyancing
instead), it's almost certainly doomed to look like nothing but terribly-forced
tosh written because the author thought it'd be commercial. And thus you're
twice damned. What I'm saying is consider whether what you're writing will be
a success. Some things won't. Some things are dead before you type 'Chapter
1' - biographies of your wonderful grandmother and her interesting life, for
example. Personal struggles to overcome adversity? No one gives a bugger about
your courageous triumph over illness/deformity/prejudice/depression/ addiction/whatever
unless you're already at least a mid-level celebrity, OK?
Before it even gets a chance to pass before the weary eyes of the general public,
publishers have to persuade bookshops to stock copies of your novel. In today's
sprinting, sound-bite world, everyone wants to hear the novel's premise slapped
down vividly in two sentences. So, think about how you'll 'pitch' your idea
- practise desiccating Madame Bovary, Northanger Abbey, etc. down to movie poster-style
shoutlines, if you want (it's a fun party game anyway) - and be aware that,
of the two ideas boiling inside your brain, the instantly understandable and
intriguing High Concept one is probably going to give you the better chance
of getting your first deal than the gentle character study of two sisters living
on a farm against the backdrop of rural Wales in the 1860s.
3) Submitting manuscripts. Do this to an agent if you can, as stated above.
Whether you're sending it to an agent or a publisher, though, keep it brief.
There is absolutely no need, nor benefit, in sending the completed manuscript
right away. The standard practice is to submit a synopsis, three chapters (they
needn't be the first three), and a covering letter. The covering letter should
be professional. List biographical details - especially those that might help
a little; 'I've had short stories appear in various publications', 'I stole
Shergar', 'I live across the road from Nicole Kidman and got the idea for this
book after keeping a powerful telescope trained on her windows for the last
four years', etc. Do not ramble on about how you've wanted to be a writer
since you were a small child and the way your lovely, late Aunt Betty always
encouraged you. An agent can easily have to go through twenty new submissions
a week (in addition to all her other work): long, wistful autobiographies disguised
as covering letters are likely to piss her off - she simply wants to get on
with it so she can get away in time for her yoga class.
4) Don't send your work to me. Sadly for me, I don't have the time to read stuff.
Luckily for you, my opinion carries no influence with anyone anyway. And, overwhelming
both of those things, I'm apparently clueless, it seems: books I think are wonderful
often wither on the shelves, while the writing of a good many massively-bestselling
authors of recent years has done nothing but fill me with a howling urge to
go round their houses and beat them into ICU beds in the dead of night. If you've
a yen for a second opinion (that is, an 'objective' opinion - if, drunk and
sleepless and on the Internet at this time of night, we imagine such a thing
exists), then why not try a writer's group? You can probably find one at your
local library, or online (http://www.greatwriting.co.uk,
for example). All writing groups are 50% people with at least some degree of
ability, 30% people without any ability at all, and 20% people without any ability
at all who are also frighteningly disturbed maniacs. This is an official quota
and cannot be altered.
5) The Internet. Writing for the Internet is entirely different to writing a
novel. Also, anything decent you put on the Net will get stolen. Fact.
So, if you think you can do a webpage that will give you some kind of profile,
fair enough; but regard it in the same way as you would running naked across
the White House lawn as a way of getting publishers to take notice of you. Putting
your novel online in the hope that someone will pick it up is doomed for so
many reasons that it would wear out my knuckles to sit here typing them all.
6) Self or 'vanity' publishing. With a few exceptions - targeted local books,
say - this is simply a way of transferring your money to someone else's bank
account. Would-be writers often think, 'If I could just get it out there, it'd
sell - word of mouth.' No. As I said further up, even big, established publishers
have to work hard to get bookshops to stock their books. Waterstone's simply
aren't going to take your stuff, let alone display it where it'll be seen (publishers
have to pay thousands for visible locations in the stores).
7) Rejection. If your manuscript is repeatedly rejected, it could well be that
it's because it's rubbish. There's no shame in this - I'm never going to appear
in any The World's Most Desirable Men lists, for example. Them's the breaks.
Brad Pitt might set women panting, but I bet he can't configure a wireless network
as rapidly as I can. So, perhaps you can't write, but you're really good with
horses or can pack suitcases exceptionally well or something. It all evens out
in the end.
However, there's also the possibility that your stuff is being rejected because
it's being read by idiots. So, don't be put off too easily. Remember, if - say
- Penguin sends your manuscript back with a terse form-letter, it's not the
infallible literary voice of an all-knowing publishing house judging you. It's
one person. One person, on one day, perhaps after a long, drunken night at a
wedding reception, not liking your writing. One author I know hit gold with
his first book - New York Times Top Ten Bestseller; big commercial and
critical success; set up for the rest of his career. Yet the manuscript for
it was rejected by seventeen different publishers before someone saw
that it was splendid. Publishing is like that: be realistic, but be resilient.
8) Try to be your own harshest critic. This isn't actually possible - the world
is brimming with doltish, bitter individuals sucking desperate mouthfuls of
pleasure from criticising people because they hope it'll make them appear clever
in the eyes of others. But try. Glare sternly at every sentence you write:
'good enough' is not good enough. Don't use clichés. Don't try - or accidentally
allow yourself to - sound like anyone else. If you're being defensive, it probably
indicates that you know, deep down, that you have to try to justify things that
need support to survive. If every word sings off the page, you'll be less inclined
to get angry at those who criticise you, and simply think, 'Meh - what a twat.'
The only opinion that really matters to me is my own, because I'm utterly brutal
with myself; so, if what I've written passes my own tests, it's earned its stripes.
I think that's best. It helps you write as well as you possibly can. Writing
is often called masturbation, but it's probably better, because of the double
meaning, to regard it as a form of self-abuse. It flows clearly from this that
you shouldn't be fooled by praise either. If you think something you've written
is 'Fff' but people are telling you it's actually the incandescent prose of
a unique genuis, then it's 'Fff', and that's the end of it.
9) The writing is all that matters. You are its servant. It's not about you;
it's about the words. So, never pull back from writing something in the ideal
way - or writing about the most interesting things - because you're worried
what your mom or the woman at the post office will think about you. People sometimes
call this 'honesty'. It isn't - you might be writing the mind of a rapist; it's
not you - but it does require a certain amount of, um, 'bravery'. Self-censorship
is the vilest censorship of all, because it's a factory designed to produce
flavourless, furiously-inoffensive pap.
10) Length. Obviously, a novel should be precisely the length it has to be.
As a warning, though, don't imagine that bigger is better in some kind of 'value
for money' way. A 'novel' in publishers' contracts will generally be 'about
80,000 words'. Going over that - I know from repeated experience - causes problems.
The American publisher tried for months to reduce the length of my first book
(100,000 words) purely to make it slimmer to look at - as Americans are
put off by thick books, apparently. There are also problems associated with
foreign publishers paying translation costs, as well as simple printing overheads.
Never mind the literary wrongness of trying to pad out your book to get it up
to 200,000 words: even on a purely practical basis it's shooting yourself in
the foot.
11) Don't write crap dialogue. The number of writers writing crap dialogue is
stunning. It hurts my soul to read it. Think about making all of your writing
flow and sound natural, of course, but think about it, then think about it again
with dialogue. Then think about it another six times.
12) It's often said that the best thing you can do to write better is to read
a lot. I'm not sure that's true, but being aware of other people's work, and
their excellence, and their mistakes, and their ideas is very useful indeed.
Reading may be the way for you to do that, or it could be that doing a creative
writing course helps, or even watching films - analyse the structure of movies,
think about how plot points are introduced and how characters are defined. It
won't just improve your writing, it'll actually make it easier for you to write
too - because you'll know where you're going, what you're trying to do, and
it'll help you identify problems (rather than simply having a cold, inchoate,
stymieing feeling that 'something isn't working here').
13) Don't introduce eighteen characters and twelve vital plot points in the
first twenty pages. Yes, spy and fantasy authors, I'm looking at you. Readers
can retain only about four characters and two or three 'things' in their heads
until they've really had a chance to get into the book. Bombard them with more
than that and they don't simply forget the rest: they mentally collapse due
to information overload and lose track of everything.
14) If the dizzy female protagonist finally realises that she's been wasting
her time on a succession of stupid, self-centred men, and that her sweet 'friend'
David is the person she's really loved all along, then I will hunt you
down and spit in your ears. Relatedly, turning up at a fancy dress party, but
- Ah-ha! - it's not really fancy dress at all! You/she/he is the only one there
in fancy dress, due to a misunderstanding/a lie told by the your/her/his evil
rival: no. No, no, no. Seriously, just how many tiresome times do we
see these clichés repeated? Writing them yet-a-bloody-gain will succeed
in nothing but making me angry. And while you might get away with making other
people angry, if you make me angry by sloshing out that lazy drivel I'll break
both of your legs, and then return every day for the next month to kick at your
crutches.
15) I think I've said enough already, without bothering you with more than fourteen
points.