Author: LDS Publisher

Writer’s are always trying to figure out what a market needs, what they should write to insure they get a publishing contract? They watch trends, talk to publisher representatives, and in the LDS market, they pray a lot. All in pursuit to the Great Mormon or American Novel, all in pursuit of giving the market what it needs. So what do YOU think the market needs?

Vampires?
Wizards?
Real issue conflicts?
Mysteries?
Thrillers?
Picture Books?
Self-help?

I know the answer 🙂

Ready?

What the market is absolutely and completely hungry right now–today–is . . . all of the above, or, well, maybe none of the above.

All of them if the publisher can a) sell it and b) It’s well written. None of them if a) You’re the only one that thinks people will buy it and b) It’s poorly written.

It seems obvious, doesn’t it? Of course a publisher needs to sell the book to make it worth their time and money investment and obviously, it needs to be well written if it’s going to sell. So, seeing as how obvious it is, here are a few things I’ve heard from writers in the last six months:

“I knew it still needed work but I had spent so much time on it I just had to finally send it in, ya know, like when you get to the point in a relationship where you either get married or break up.” “I know I should have revised it, but I was sick of it and had another idea that was begging for me to get started, so I just sent it in. That’s what they have editors for, right?” “I just need one of the editors at (publishing house) to take me under their wing, show me what I need to work on. If they would just give me a little time I could figure out what my weaknesses are.” “I find that letting other people read my work before I submit shows a lack of confidence in my own ability. The most important person to believe in me, is me.”
I know I’m beyond objectivity for comments like this, since my life has become completely entangled with submission guidelines, knowing the market, and presenting about the overall world of writing and submitting, but honestly I hear this and I say “Really?”

Would you go to a bank for a mortgage if you were unemployed and had no credit?

Would you show up for your first day on the job with a suitcase full of clothing and ask your new boss to help you pick out the outfit?

And would you ever marry the guy that says “Hey baby, I either need to dump you or finally give in and make you my wife?”

It seems obvious in those cases, doesn’t it? And yet dozens of writer’s feel they are the exception, that their story is good enough that their grammar-defect won’t be an issue. They continue to see editors as employees rather than employers. They continue to think that they are the exception to the rules repeated to them over and over and over again.

Getting published is a three point plan:

1. Write your best work–this means making sure other people agree that it’s your best work. Hire an editor, trade with other writers, take a writing class. Don’t THINK it’s good enough, learn enough and get enough feedback to KNOW it’s good enough. Keep learning, don’t ever rest upon your laurels and assume you know enough.
2. Submit the right way–you’re expecting an agent/publisher to respect you and your work enough to produce it. Respect them enough to submit the way that works best for you. If you’ve written your best work, don’t screw it up by going slacker-face on the submission guidelines. With the internet and ease of getting the right info, don’t flush it.
3. Don’t give up–You’ll have lots of reasons to give up. Even as you begin achieving success, you’ll wonder if you should stop. You’ll get rejected, you’ll get bad reviews, you’ll get frustrated, and discouraged, and get tired of seeing other people’s success. But if you give up, you’re guaranteed that you’ll never get published. If you write your best work and if you submit the right way and to the right houses, you will eventually find publication. If might not be your first book–my first book is still on my hard drive as are many other writer’s first attempts. Keep writing your best work, submitting the right way, and not giving up.

And remember, the longer the process takes, the better success story you get to tell later.

Find Josi at http://www.josiskilpack.com and http://www.josikilpack.blogspot.com

There was a time in my college days I didn’t believe the script writing professor. He said all stories were ultimately about birth and death. The man was an ad director who retired from his Manhattan agency for a career in teaching script writing. Not that you can’t trust ad people and their creative attempts to convince me I need a hand sewn magnetic head warmer to promote brain wave function, but they’re the ones who hype high fructose corn syrup to reduce the risk of type four diabetes–the type of diabetes the coroner diagnoses. Can you really trust a professor who makes a comment using the word all?

I don’t remember everything I learned in my college statistics courses, but when a lecturer said it was statistically possible to know if a question was true or false based on how it was phrased, I perked right up. You mean there is a real-world application for standard deviations? I admit my perkiness was more about not having to study the course material too deeply and still have a statistically significant chance of acing the test. It was the greatest find since Columbus used a time machine to transport the Pilgrims to Plymouth Rock. History is my best subject. My statistics professor was also the same scholar who advised a local frozen food packing company that the best way to insure lower rates of employee turnover was to hire applicants who scored below thirty percent on the company’s entrance exam. Apparently exam scores predict a reverse correlation between the repetitive work of stuffing pasta into plastic freezer bowls and job satisfaction. Based on those findings I was willing to suspend my disbelief and I took copious notes to preserve forever the knowledge of how to divine which test bubble, A or B, to darken with a #2 pencil.

Turns out it was a pretty simple matter of semantics. If the question uses the words all or always, you can be 95% certain that the answer is false. When my script writing professor insisted that all stories are ultimately about birth or death, I was statistically skeptical. It wasn’t until after he explained the nuances of his claim that I learned he fell into that narrow 5% category of being always semantically false while at the same time remaining true to the art of storytelling.

I said, “Where is the story of birth or death in the Sound of Music?”

He pointed out that when characters change they essentially let their old way of thinking or behaving die in exchange for a birth into a new way of behaving. What he called a new life. Maria, the Captain, all the Von Trapp children, the blond-headed telegram delivery boy of going-on-seventeen-fame turned Nazi. Even Max the freeloader who loved rich people ephiphanized new wine and stored it in a new bottle. There’s something to that Jewish parable. It was Max who said he loved the way he lived when he was with rich people, but finally exchanged his greed and let his new-found Von Trapp Family Singers escape over the Swiss Alps.

Okay. Maybe my script-writing professor was right. There are metaphorical births and deaths in that rerun-of-a-drama, but that was an old story lost among millions of newer stories.

I said, “What about Ground Hog Day?”

I was willing to concede the stories of romance, drama even documentary. But comedy? I figured I had him until he pointed out that the main character in Ground Hog Day, when he discovered he was living in a repetitive day that re-cycled every twenty four hours, searched for happiness in the base pleasures of the world. When that didn’t make him happy, he gave away his former life, essentially letting it die. It wasn’t until he was reborn into a new life did the repetitive daily routine break and the story end with a satisfying conclusion.

Darn. I was forced to concede comedy too.

This is the point where I should limit my analysis to storytelling and declare that birth and death act as metaphors for character change. But its deeper than that. Character change just may be a metaphorical death and birth equivalent for salvation. The spiritual connections are obvious. Faith. Repentance (and its corollary forgiveness). Baptism. Atonement. Maybe what my script-writing professor was teaching me without actually mentioning it was that all things are spiritual. Even all our stories.

Always.

David G. Woolley is the author of the Promised Land series published by Covenant.

Five years ago, in 2002, my dad and I both started writing our first books. I started writing mine almost as a knee-jerk reaction to his. He would send me portions to read and critique. I enjoyed it and I thought, “Hey, if my dad can write, maybe I should give this a try, too.” We both had a little more time on our hands than we had before or have had since—he was retiring, and I had just finished teaching high school and was awaiting the birth of my first child.

So, we were both writing…We called each other to talk about our books. We drove our family members crazy talking about our books. We inflicted multiple drafts of our books on each other.

My father and I share the same genes, and we are a lot alike. …We both want people to like us. We both hate rejection.

We are also very different. His first book is a non-fiction account of traveling through America with my younger sister; my first book is an LDS young adult novel. He is agnostic; I am a devout Mormon.

But, as we walked down the path of writing and marketing a book together, we had many shared experiences, and our similarities came into play much more than our differences. We joked about who had the most rejection letters. When a new one came in, we’d forward them to each other or read them to each other on the phone. At one point, the same agent was considering both of our manuscripts. (He ended up rejecting both of us– another shared experience.)

And then, about two years ago, our path diverged.

My first book (Yearbook) was accepted for publication by Deseret Book and was published last September. My second book was published in June. My father’s book is still not published, although all the bigwigs (Penguin, etc.) have had him under consideration at one time or another. So, he waits and sends out more queries, and hopes. …

At one point early on in our journey, he sent me copies of Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird and Stephen King’s On Writing, both memoirs about the authors’ writing. In Lamott’s book, she mentions the movie Cool Runnings, in which the coach of the team says, “If you’re not enough without a gold medal, you’ll never be enough with one.”

My father is a capable man, he excels in his career, and he is an exceptional father and husband. I think he knows that he is enough.

But just in case he has those moments, as I do sometimes, where you wonder if you are enough, I want to remind him (and perhaps myself) of a few things:

The publishing industry is subjective. We all know that money must be made, that people’s opinions may differ, that the gold medal of publication doesn’t always go to the one who should get it.

And, as any published author can tell you, even getting published—being lucky enough to grab that gold medal—doesn’t mean you feel like enough. You are still scared when you have a book signing, and worry that no one will show up. (And sometimes, no one does.) You worry that people will make fun of your book or have something negative to say about it. (And sometimes, they do.)

But ultimately, our worth is not measured in sales numbers or books in print. It is measured in whether we were good to those we loved, and whether we were loved. And, on all those accounts, my father is more than enough.

Allyson Condie’s books, Yearbook and First Day are available at Deseret Book and other LDS bookstores.

Several years ago, I wrote a profile piece for a national children’s magazine. To make a long story short, the photographer they’d hired fell through, and the magazine’s art director called and asked if I could take the required picture instead. I agreed, but since I am not a photographer, I asked if he would tell me exactly what he wanted while I recorded it on my answering machine–just so I wouldn’t make any mistakes.

To my surprise, he cleared his throat and haltingly said, “Uh, I, uh, I have a cold.”

From that experience, I learned editors REALLY are people. Like me, they have difficult, yet hopefully fun, jobs to do; and yet they also have insecurities. The only problem is they hold the fruit of my dreams in their hands. But still, knowing they’re people helps me navigate the publishing maze with a little less trepidation.

In many ways, it’s like working with a well-meaning but not all-knowing building contractor. Most of the time he’s c orrect and knows exactly what he’s doing, but not always. Sometimes a laundry drain doesn’t work right or a wall isn’t perfectly square. And sometimes an editor rejects us. But, hey, he’s (or she’s) only human. They make mistakes, too.

I just hope I can always tell the difference between a mistake and an opportunity to correct–or rebuild, as the case may be.

You can read more of Ronda’s writings over on TheWriteBlocks.