Oddly enough, several people have raised the same question with me this past week: is it possible to write a good proposal just using one of the checklists or books out there in the marketplace?
The answer is yes...maybe.
I want to answer that question by starting with one of Nathan Bransford's excellent (and funny) analogies. In one of his blog posts he compares a book proposal to lasagna, pointing out that "there are a thousand ways of making it, everyone has their own recipe, but most every lasagna will have a few basic ingredients and chances are it's going to taste good in the end." His point is, as always, not just well stated but well taken. There is no one single formula (or outline, or checklist) for a successful book proposal. Many variations will work.
But (as Nathan points out often in his blog, though not in this lasagna-related way) if you're an aspiring author hoping to publish a nonfiction book through a commercial (as opposed to self-) publisher, it's also important to note that a good-tasting lasagna isn't necessarily the same thing as an award-winning, restaurant-ready lasagna. To make a lasagna lots and lots of people will pay for, it's not enough to follow a recipe. You're going to need to know why those ingredients are there. Why they're there. How they work. How they react to heat or cold or time. How much they cost. Which ones people like best. What can be substituted for a fresh or updated version of the old standard. In other words, you're going to have to become quite expert not just on lasagna, but also on gastronomy and marketing as well. Only once you understand these broader subjects will you be able to tweak an ordinary lasagna recipe into something that is truly yours, truly unique, and truly salable. Only once you understand them will you begin to be a chef, not just a good cook.
A book proposal that actually sells to a commercial publisher is like that award-winning, restaurant ready lasagna. It's not just good, it's expert. It's not just expert, it's original. It's not just expert and original, it's salable, and to strangers, and to strangers in quantity, and to strangers in quantity in a profitable way. That kind of book proposal is entirely different from the kind of proposal you write by dutifully following someone's outline without deeply understanding either that outline, or publishing in general, or even your own book.
That's why people like me, who are trained to teach and consult on book proposals (or their fiction equivalents, queries and synopses) exist in the writing marketplace and offer personalized help. When I work with a client on their book proposal, my job isn't merely to repeat the same checklist and explanations that are available for free. My job is to help that client understand the "whys" behind each element of the proposal, to answer them as compellingly and professionally as possible, and even perhaps to adjust his or her book as necessary to make a strong case for it in the current market. We're not just writing a proposal together, we're thinking it together. I don't say this to suggest that you must hire a professional book consultant or teacher in order to create a proposal that succeeds. I just want to point out that there is a level of professionalism and thought and exploration in a good proposal that is difficult to achieve if you don't learn a lot about all that's behind that simple checklist of "Overview" and "Competition" and "Marketing" and "Credentials."
That "tough love" imparted, let me use the lasagna metaphor once again to offer a closing note of hope.
It's not easy to create a restaurant-ready lasagna or a selling book proposal. But it is possible, and possible for the "average joe." The ingredients, the practice, the mentorship, the comparison with others' creations past and present, the feedback, the care that go into a great book proposal--they are all available, to all of us. Finding them, using them, and building from them may take hard work and the investment of both considerable time and a little bit of money. But you can create a selling proposal, whoever you are.
You just have to want it...a lot.
Showing posts with label submissions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label submissions. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
TOUCHY TOPICS TUESDAYS: they've heard it all before, part 2
I've been asked some interesting questions by fellow writers in the past couple of weeks. Here's the one of them, and my thoughts on the subject.
In response to my Touchy Topics Tuesday post They've heard it all before, author Dianne Lininger, whose books The Kingdom of Cydinah and The Valley of Shadows and Shame are from Crosam Press, wrote this: " To be honest, your clever poem for HOME LIFE would have sold me on the manuscript had I been your agent. I thought it displayed noticeable talent! I don't understand why being different, original, or unique doesn't work for pitching manuscripts when it's amazing successful at marketing detergent, insurance, hair plugs, or laxatives."
First, let me thank Dianne for her kind words about my poetry!
Beyond that, her question about why quirkiness and gimmicky "hooks" don't work as well selling a manuscript as it does when selling some other "products" is a good one.
One important reason is that the publisher who buys a book is making a much more significant investment. Given overhead, printing, shipping, advertising and other costs, even a low-advance, small-print-run book will cost its publisher ten thousand dollars or more, take space in their list away from any other book, and commit them for several years at least. That's a serious and tangible investment, and demands a more serious approach—and much more solid information—than is involved in a single small retail purchase. Too often, tricky or innovative pitches stop with the clever hook, and fail to go on to demonstrate the salability and professionalism needed to justify this investment.
I would also underscore the point that most good agents scan hundreds if not thousands of query letters a year. The hook that seems so unique and compelling to us as writers crafting a single query letter probably doesn't seem anywhere near as cute to them. They've heard it all, and what they really want is to be able to assess the quality and economics of our project quickly.
Finally, there's the issue of risk. The problem with attention-getting hooks in everything--singles gatherings, keynote speeches, sales pitches generally—is that they either work perfectly or fall completely flat. Sure, an agent may love your weird and dramatic hook. But they may also find it silly or cliched or exaggerated enough to question your writing and your common sense. In contrast, a smart, savvy, and lively opening that doesn't try too hard to impress the recipient with novelty will work well in most situations.
All that said, here's some basic advice.
Tailor the "hook" in your query letters to the genre of your book. A mass-market suspense novel or book of humor may warrant a clever hook. A literary novel, a history of your town or memoir of loss probably don't. Your opening lines and your query letter generally should sound like the "you" that wrote the book you're pitching, not like a door to door salesman on crack.
If you can't come up with a hook that is startling, novel, or unique, don't worry for even a minute. Work to create something that is really smart, really concise, really informative and just plain interesting instead. Meeting even those criteria is difficult enough.
Remember that a query letter is, at heart, a business letter: a communication from one professional to another. Be professional enough to give your fellow professional the information he or she needs to make a decision on your book.
Last but not least, don't overemphasize the importance of having a unique or exciting hook. Agents are very smart people. They're more than capable of scanning below the hook for a second or two of further assessment. I've never known, or even heard of, one who threw queries away because their hooks weren't original enough. (I can just hear it now. "Hmmm. This book could be the Silence of the Lambs of 2012! Too bad the author can't write a hook. Next!") Conversely, I've never heard of any who ask to see lousy books just because the hook is clever. (Here again: "Hmmm. This book has a market of about four people. But that is one clever, clever hook. Get Random House on the phone!")
Or, to end this post with the same bad verse that closed out the last one on this subject:
My dear authors and friends, this small rule I will share:
Of cute gimmicks and tricks please devote not one care.
Be smart and be lively, be clear and be brief
And your letters of query shall come to no grief.
In response to my Touchy Topics Tuesday post They've heard it all before, author Dianne Lininger, whose books The Kingdom of Cydinah and The Valley of Shadows and Shame are from Crosam Press, wrote this: " To be honest, your clever poem for HOME LIFE would have sold me on the manuscript had I been your agent. I thought it displayed noticeable talent! I don't understand why being different, original, or unique doesn't work for pitching manuscripts when it's amazing successful at marketing detergent, insurance, hair plugs, or laxatives."
First, let me thank Dianne for her kind words about my poetry!
Beyond that, her question about why quirkiness and gimmicky "hooks" don't work as well selling a manuscript as it does when selling some other "products" is a good one.
One important reason is that the publisher who buys a book is making a much more significant investment. Given overhead, printing, shipping, advertising and other costs, even a low-advance, small-print-run book will cost its publisher ten thousand dollars or more, take space in their list away from any other book, and commit them for several years at least. That's a serious and tangible investment, and demands a more serious approach—and much more solid information—than is involved in a single small retail purchase. Too often, tricky or innovative pitches stop with the clever hook, and fail to go on to demonstrate the salability and professionalism needed to justify this investment.
I would also underscore the point that most good agents scan hundreds if not thousands of query letters a year. The hook that seems so unique and compelling to us as writers crafting a single query letter probably doesn't seem anywhere near as cute to them. They've heard it all, and what they really want is to be able to assess the quality and economics of our project quickly.
Finally, there's the issue of risk. The problem with attention-getting hooks in everything--singles gatherings, keynote speeches, sales pitches generally—is that they either work perfectly or fall completely flat. Sure, an agent may love your weird and dramatic hook. But they may also find it silly or cliched or exaggerated enough to question your writing and your common sense. In contrast, a smart, savvy, and lively opening that doesn't try too hard to impress the recipient with novelty will work well in most situations.
All that said, here's some basic advice.
Tailor the "hook" in your query letters to the genre of your book. A mass-market suspense novel or book of humor may warrant a clever hook. A literary novel, a history of your town or memoir of loss probably don't. Your opening lines and your query letter generally should sound like the "you" that wrote the book you're pitching, not like a door to door salesman on crack.
If you can't come up with a hook that is startling, novel, or unique, don't worry for even a minute. Work to create something that is really smart, really concise, really informative and just plain interesting instead. Meeting even those criteria is difficult enough.
Remember that a query letter is, at heart, a business letter: a communication from one professional to another. Be professional enough to give your fellow professional the information he or she needs to make a decision on your book.
Last but not least, don't overemphasize the importance of having a unique or exciting hook. Agents are very smart people. They're more than capable of scanning below the hook for a second or two of further assessment. I've never known, or even heard of, one who threw queries away because their hooks weren't original enough. (I can just hear it now. "Hmmm. This book could be the Silence of the Lambs of 2012! Too bad the author can't write a hook. Next!") Conversely, I've never heard of any who ask to see lousy books just because the hook is clever. (Here again: "Hmmm. This book has a market of about four people. But that is one clever, clever hook. Get Random House on the phone!")
Or, to end this post with the same bad verse that closed out the last one on this subject:
My dear authors and friends, this small rule I will share:
Of cute gimmicks and tricks please devote not one care.
Be smart and be lively, be clear and be brief
And your letters of query shall come to no grief.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
TOUCHY TOPICS TUESDAYS: they've heard it all before
When I was putting myself through writing grad school I had the chance to do some preliminary submission screening for a variety of publishers and organizations. This was before email submissions, so it was dusty and surprisingly physical work. (If you've never hefted giant manuscript stacks, let me tell you that paper is heavy.) It wasn't very fun, although it sometimes was funny. But it did give me a transformative glimpse of what longtime agents and editors experience.
The most important thing it taught me was that trying to be original, startling, unique, or otherwise memorable in your pitch, as opposed to the writing you're trying to sell, just doesn't work.
It's as if you were beginning chess player trying to surprise Gary Kasparov or or Boris Spassky with your brand new opening gambit. They have seen hundreds if not thousands more opening gambits than you have. What's unique to you is not unique to them. They've heard, and played, it all before. And the less you understand that, the more amateur you seem.
What does work? In getting your writing published, I mean, not in chess, about which I know only four things. (For the record: Boris Spassky and Gary Kasparov have been champions, Bobby Fisher is one crazy dude, and chess pieces are pretty.)
It's this simple: being professional works. Submitting only those genres of work they say they actually want in the format they request (that is, really researching your submissions rather than sending out huge email blasts). Being informative rather than being "unique" or "different" or "original." Skipping the bold claims and inflated credits for confident honesty. Learning what they need to know to make a good decision, and giving it to them concisely.
Like manuscript screening, this isn't really fun. I'd personally much rather choose fonts and cook up striking first lines for a query letter. But it works. You may still get rejected, and rejected a lot. No letter can sell a work of writing if that work doesn't happen to be right for this particular recipient at this particular time.
But you'll get rejected for the right reasons, and not because you sabotaged a perfect viable book submission by, say, starting your query letter in anapestic tetrameter. That reference sounds impressive, but it's actually the poetic meter used by Dr. Seuss, a writer whose work is permanently engraved on my synapses (which is the only reason I know its name). Herewith, just to show you that I feel your pain despite the rather hectoring tone of this post, is a query for my first book, Home Life, in more or less anapestic more or less tetrameter.
To my dear Agent X: this small book I submit
In the hopes it will charm you with wisdom and wit.
My small memoir of rooms is so detailed and smart,
that its style and its grace will catch most readers' hearts.
I'm impoverished, unknown, and a novice, it's true,
But just try it and see it make profits for YOU!
The most important thing it taught me was that trying to be original, startling, unique, or otherwise memorable in your pitch, as opposed to the writing you're trying to sell, just doesn't work.
It's as if you were beginning chess player trying to surprise Gary Kasparov or or Boris Spassky with your brand new opening gambit. They have seen hundreds if not thousands more opening gambits than you have. What's unique to you is not unique to them. They've heard, and played, it all before. And the less you understand that, the more amateur you seem.
What does work? In getting your writing published, I mean, not in chess, about which I know only four things. (For the record: Boris Spassky and Gary Kasparov have been champions, Bobby Fisher is one crazy dude, and chess pieces are pretty.)
It's this simple: being professional works. Submitting only those genres of work they say they actually want in the format they request (that is, really researching your submissions rather than sending out huge email blasts). Being informative rather than being "unique" or "different" or "original." Skipping the bold claims and inflated credits for confident honesty. Learning what they need to know to make a good decision, and giving it to them concisely.
Like manuscript screening, this isn't really fun. I'd personally much rather choose fonts and cook up striking first lines for a query letter. But it works. You may still get rejected, and rejected a lot. No letter can sell a work of writing if that work doesn't happen to be right for this particular recipient at this particular time.
But you'll get rejected for the right reasons, and not because you sabotaged a perfect viable book submission by, say, starting your query letter in anapestic tetrameter. That reference sounds impressive, but it's actually the poetic meter used by Dr. Seuss, a writer whose work is permanently engraved on my synapses (which is the only reason I know its name). Herewith, just to show you that I feel your pain despite the rather hectoring tone of this post, is a query for my first book, Home Life, in more or less anapestic more or less tetrameter.
To my dear Agent X: this small book I submit
In the hopes it will charm you with wisdom and wit.
My small memoir of rooms is so detailed and smart,
that its style and its grace will catch most readers' hearts.
I'm impoverished, unknown, and a novice, it's true,
But just try it and see it make profits for YOU!
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