Part 1

What You (Might) Need to Know about Publishing, Even If It (Not You) Is Boring and Stupid

INTRODUCTION

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT ADVICE AND RANDOM THOUGHTS

Jeff Herman

Except for a few hiatuses, I have been in the book-publishing business since the early 1980s, when I was in my early twenties. I entered the business without any forethought. I wasn't an avid book lover or English major. My primary mission was to be respectfully employed in a Manhattan skyscraper where people wore jackets and ties and performed seemingly important tasks. That was my projection for post-college success, and I imagined it as glamorous and exotic. Reality was a hard, slow grind compared to the glorious images painted by youthful endorphins and innocence. Getting what we wish for can be easier than living with the consequences.

In the summer of '81, shortly after graduating from an Upstate New York college, I was clinging to a greasy pole in a sweltering subway car when I saw an ad that would direct my life going forward. "I Found My Job in the New York Times," said the ad's smiling generic white- man-in-a-suit, with his paper opened to the Help Wanted section. For me it was the right promise at the right time.

Over the next few weeks I answered countless blind ads for a variety of entry-level jobs. One day someone with a harried- and tired-sounding voice called to schedule an interview. I showered and showed up on time in a clean suit. I said little and tried to smile and nod on cue. The only question I recall was if I could start work the following Monday (it was a Friday) for $200 a week (1981) as a "publicity assistant." It was a small independent book-publishing company with a compelling list and history. I was second- in-command of the firm's two-person publicity department, which entitled me to do the filing, phone answering, and typing (on a huge IBM Selectric) — none of which I knew how to do before doing it. I knew nothing about publishing or what the job entailed. My most important attributes may have been a calm persona of sanity and an apparent willingness to follow orders. Or maybe it was just my sincere promise to show up. In a nutshell, that explains how I "chose" the business I am in.

I tell this vignette because people often ask how I got into the business. But there's also a larger reason why I share this. I didn't have much of a plan or fixed direction, but yet I arrived somewhere and along the way made decisions (good or otherwise), grew, and helped make constructive things happen for myself and others. Maybe it's okay to not know what we want or where we are going in order to accomplish what we should. When I was young, a wise man told me that "man plans, God laughs," and I have subsequently heard that phrase many times. Frankly, I had to grow into understanding what that meant, and I frequently question it all over again. Perhaps writers shouldn't overplan what they write or will write. For sure, they can't fully control what happens to their work after they write it, short of destroying it.

Because it can be useful to consider what others say about what you do and wish to achieve, I have generated this section of the book. Read what you will with absolute discernment. Not all of it is for you, and all of it is imperfect — same as you and me. The only perfection is that you and I are here now together.

LITERARY AGENTS: WHAT THEY ARE AND WHAT THEY DO

Jeff Herman

Think of a venture capitalist: those people who invest their resources in other people's talents and dreams in exchange for a piece of the glory and profits. The capitalist's skill is the ability to choose wisely and help manifest the endeavor. Literary agents are conceptually similar. For an industry-standard 15 percent commission ("ownership"), we invest considerable measures of time, expertise, and faith in the writers we choose to represent. Our professional credibility is on the line with each pitch we make. We don't directly provide the cash; part of our job is to get the publisher to put its money on the line. If you stick with the trajectory of information that follows, the reasons why most writers elect to have an agent will become clear.

Publishers Overtly Discourage Unagented/Unsolicited Submissions

A typical publisher's in-house functions include product acquisition and management, back-office administrative tasks, editing, production, distribution, sales and marketing, accounting, and numerous other indispensable aspects related to publishing a book and running a business. However, the creation of almost all editorial content is outsourced — unlike magazines and newspapers, books are rarely written by in-house staff; publishers are entirely dependent on "freelance" writers, including you.

If people stopped writing new books, publishers wouldn't have anything new to publish. So it might seem counterintuitive and ironic that traditional publishers make it difficult, if not impossible, for writers to submit their work for consideration. But from the publisher's perspective it's about being functional, not courteous. For every book that gets published at a given moment, there are at least 1,000 manuscripts vying for the same opportunity at the same time. Imagine George Clooney or your favorite heartthrob standing in Times Square, without any barriers or security, announcing that he's looking for a new wife. It would be a...