WHEN I worked for the greetings card industry, someone who was skint came to us hoping to sell us a range of his cards – two grand’s worth.
They needed some work, but he wasn’t prepared to ‘compromise his artistry’ – so he didn’t sell them. Ever.
Therein lies a lesson about stupidly placed pride. When I touted my first book around the publishing world, an agent replied that my characters were too unlikeable.
I rewrote and because of her brutal advice, I got a deal. There is a difference between having confidence in your work and a foolish ego in this unforgiving world of publishing which ain’t for the fragile.
And if you really want to get a book out there, prepare to swallow your pride and listen to advice that may initially dent that ego but make you a success in the end.
If you want to hear your output is genius, ask your nan. But she won’t get you what you want. The reason I say this is because I was given a self-published book this week to read.
I don’t have time but I flicked through it. On the very first page I turned to: missing punctuation and a misplaced line break. More errors on other pages. At the front, there was a credit to the editor.
Surprisingly it wasn’t the name of the bloke in Peters and Lee (reference for those of a certain age).
This book no doubt will be given out to publishers in the hope of a deal and they haven’t a chance.
Publishers receive hundreds of hopeful manuscripts every week and they’ll say: ‘If they can’t be bothered, neither can we’.
And that is a real shame. A book that has a litany of mistakes in it forces a reader’s brain to switch from enjoying a story to spotting more and that becomes the focus of concentration.
Editing is key and can make the difference between an automatic consignment to the bin and an agent ringing you up with interest.
Another couple of weeks instead of rushing it off to the printers because they just couldn’t wait to hold their book in their hand, that’s all: sense above ego. If you are an aspiring author, please take my words to heart. The road to publishing should never be a short and careless one. Even if you have no interest in a career but just want to have one book with your name on it… it is still important for it to be as polished, polished and polished again as you can make it.
I watched a podcast this week from a local, though I won’t mention who it was, but they delivered the line: ‘I’m from Barnsley, we struggle with big words’. No ‘WE’ don’t – YOU do and that’s nothing to do with coming from here.
We get enough slagging off from outsiders, don’t attack the castle walls from within.
Re my column last week mentioning Guinness. My son said: ‘Mum, you’ve just announced you drank during pregnancy!’
So let me clarify: I had, in the course of the nine months, about three halves of Guinness which I took ‘for the iron’ until the doc told me that was old wives’ tale rubbish.
My mother smoked when she was pregnant with me. Oh the amount of times I’ve been asked if she smoked by people trying to avoid the words ‘stunted growth’ (I hardly came from parents who were giants I hasten to add).
Anyway, wanted to make it clear… I – and pregnant friends – were not to be found in any Irish bars, ratted, singing Kevin Barry. The only thing we swigged to excess was Gaviscon.
