The Long, Hard Reach for that Brass Ring

I've been writing all my life and scared for a good portion of it to attempt to get published.  I had any number of excuses for not trying.  I was always either too young, or too busy, or too embroiled in college, or desperate not to make an ass of myself in the army.  I likely might have gone on the rest of my life that way (it seems, from anecdotal evidence, that a lot of people do) but in January of 2009 I sat down and swore that I would learn how to get published and then do it.  So I literally sat down at my computer and typed "how do I get a novel published?" into Google.

The results were overwhelming, which was good, in a way, because it meant I had a lot of different people's perpectives to go through.  But it was also bad, because I really wanted a "Step A, Step B, Step C" timeline.  That desire, of course, is what drives people into the maws of sharks like Publish America and Tate Publishing.  One nice thing, I suppose, is that almost every blog and how-to article warned me right off the bat not to fall for a vanity publisher.

However, 2009 was also an odd time for the publishing industry.  E-books were obviously making a dent in traditional sales, and Amazon was beginning to decimate the brick-and-mortar industry.  I don't think it's unfair to say that at the time just about anyone who had anything to say on the subject of publishing was screaming that the sky was falling.  Looking back it's a bit quaint.  But I also lived through an era when people swore Napster would spell the demise of the music industry, and pirating would spell the demise of the movie industry, and the internet would spell the demise of the library - so I guess you could say I was prepared to take such pronouncements with a grain of salt.  Monolithic 20th-century distribution methods may change, but I think it's safe to say people are still interested in storytelling and news and will be for a long time to come.

So, in any case, in 2009 nobody quite knew what to make of self-publishing.  It was clear that E.L James, Amanda Hocking, Hugh Howey, J.A. Konrath and the like had leveraged self-publishing into multi-million dollar enterprises, and many people were strongly advocating that it was the wave of the future.  But the long, dark shadow of vanity publishing still hung over self-publishing.  I'm not sure it's entirely gone away, but nine years ago people were much more likely to scoff that a self-published author wasn't "really published."

So.  Back to me.  After scrawling through thousands of blogposts and news articles on the matter, and (at the suggestion of a friend who had recently been published) starting this very blog, I had determined that while self-publishing was a gamble that could very easily pay off, it would certainly not get you into book stores and was very likely not going to get you in front of any awards committees.  I felt like I should at least take a shot at traditional publishing and then, if necessary, self-publish.  Certainly I couldn't go back from having self-published and hope an editor at a major house would pick me up for a second printing.  That remains so unlikely that you may as well just not count on it ever happening, unless, of course, you have E.L. James-type success with your self-published novel.

So I dug in.  For four years I queried an as-yet unpublished manuscript and then BRAINEATER JONES to every person with an "agent" shingle outside their office.  As it became increasingly, mind-numbingly clear that nobody was interested, I began to expand my search to include small presses.  Finally, after four solid years of trying, I got a bite from a small press. 

Since then my indie career has taken off.  I've worked with a number of well-respected publishers (and managed to escape the clutches of a few less-than-respected ones.  I'm very happy with where I am as an indie.  I'm finally finding the respect, awards, and, most importantly, fans that I've always been searching for.

But what you may not know is that I never gave up on my dream of a Big 5 deal.  It may seem petty in 2018, but there is still a certain gravitas to landing in a bookstore, a certain sense that you've "made it."  I don't care so much about the opinions of the literati, but I'd rather not have to give a five minute explanation about the state of the publishing industry to the regular people who are confused about why they can't find me in their local Barnes and Noble.

So I've never stopped trying to find an agent.  I've queried agents for most of my novels, and, ultimately, ended up going with a reputable small press instead.

I'm very happy to say that as of today, I am now represented by the wonderful Nikki Terpilowski of Holloway Literary.  After hundreds of rejections across half a dozen novels, I've finally found another industry professional who shares my vision.

The funniest thing about this, perhaps, is that the novel that was accepted was neither horror nor science fiction, which is all that you've known from me so far.  This novel is actually a roman à clef about my time in the military.  There's no speculative fiction element, but don't worry, all of the character-building and pitch black humor you've come to expect from me will be there. 

I'm a little concerned, obviously, about branching out into a whole new genre.  I'm worried about continuing to use my name.  I may end up writing under a pseudonym for the literary genre.  My agent and I haven't decided yet.  But I'd like to continue to use my real name for all my work, and just try to be clear about genre differences. 

So, I've done it.  I've finally caught that brass ring.  Now, of course, comes the hard part: selling the novel to New York.  But I wanted to let you all know, and remind you that I wouldn't have any of this today if it wasn't for you.  So thanks!