So, You Want to Write a Novel

I understand—I wanted to write one, too. Every fiction writer (and many poets) would like to publish a novel. It’s one thing to publish stories and/or poetry in small literary magazines. It’s quite another to have a novel, with your name on the spine, sitting proudly on your shelf.

Books and more books.
Image: isbndb.com.

My first novel was drafted during the late, great NaNoWriMo, way back in 2016, immediately after Trump was elected for the first time. (The two events are not unrelated.) Many, many rewrites and workshops followed.

Then, last month, that novel was accepted for publication. I’ll tell you more about that in a future post. For now, I’d like to address the process of writing for book publication. With luck, this post and the ones that follow will be of some help to my fellow writers.

I’ll begin with a disclaimer: this is a very fraught time to try to publish a novel, especially if it’s your first book.

Presumably, if you’re working on a book and would like to be published, you have a least a rough overview of what’s involved. The problem is, that overview is constantly changing. Several changes, most of them harmful to your prospects, have already occurred in recent years. And even more changes, potentially more disastrous still, loom on the horizon.

Want an exceedingly bleak view of the prospective obstacles to your book? Then head over to the Substack newsletter of one Michael O. Church (”72 Degrees North”), who takes a grim view of traditional publishing indeed. One of his top bugbears is trad publishing’s agent system, in which you must sent a pitch letter and five pages of your 250-page manuscript to someone you hope will represent you and your work to the Big Five publishers. Fat chance, Church says. The odds are excellent that your five pages will not even be read, and you will be fortunate to receive a two-or three-line form letter rejection, if you receive any response at all.

Why must you go through this? Because Big Five publishers will not accept direct submissions from writers. Agents represent the publishers’ farm teams, whose job it is to find publishable work (not good work, necessarily) so publishers needn’t dirty their hands in the slush pile. The problem with this system is that they very seldom choose said work from writers’ submissions. (I can confirm this myself—the agent-publisher arrangement is a conspicuously unresponsive and inefficient system.)

Instead, agents mostly choose work that has been recommended to them—chiefly by MFA instructors and friends they may have in the large publishing houses. As a novel workshop leader (two midlist titles at Random House) said to me not long ago, “no matter how talented you are, you’re not going anywhere without connections.” I’m paraphrasing, but you get the idea.

There are always exceptions, of course. And there are some worthwhile agents out there, difficult though they may be to find. Sometimes one of these agents will come across a breakthrough manuscript from a really talented new writer, then help shepherd the writer and the manuscript through the publishing process. This remains the ideal.

In addition, Michael O. Church undermines many of his legitimate observations about publishing by sometimes proselytizing for self-publishing, a complete different (and inferior, I would argue, despite the bleak facts of trad publishing outlined above) process altogether.

The paradigm is this: you are a talented writer (maybe even a genius!) but you can’t break through traditional publishing’s gatekeepers (agents and recent grads hired to skim the slush pile). So you decide to do it all yourself: you write a brilliant book, edit it, design a cover for it, collect some blurbs, then pay* to have your book published under your own imprint. And voila—your book is recognized for the masterpiece it is, it generates tremendous word of mouth and growing sales, and is then picked up by a trad publisher (and made into a prize-winning film as well!).

You do realize it does not work that way.

Thankfully, I believe, self-publishing still carries a stigma. And it should: most of it is just not very good. What’s more, I’d argue that the whole self-publishing phenomenon has been damaging to publishing overall: it has flooded the market with poorly written books, and it has probably led to a lowering of standards everywhere.

There has to be a better way, right? There is, and we’ll take a look at it in the next couple of posts.

* Your cost will vary, but can easily spin into five figures.

A Work in Progress

The title above refers not just to the poem below (although that is unfinished), but to all of us collectively on our strange journeys through these mortal lives.

It could also refer to today’s publishing industry, which is facing serious threats, especially in the U.S. AI is perhaps the preeminent challenge and I don’t believe any of us, including American publishers, have fully grasped the possible magnitude of the looming transformation.

The fact that half of U.S. adults don’t read books, along with the fact that reading levels in American schools have been falling for years, are also stark warning signs.

Finally, there is the unwarranted clubbiness of the publishing world. I have had a successfully published novelist tell me that, no matter how good your work is, it will not be published without the right connections. That could well be true. There is also the new challenge of marketing your own work, as I am reluctantly doing with a new Substack account (and with Bluesky, X, Instagram, etc.). Social media eats up time that could be spent on the work itself, and I resent that. I also resent the trendiness American publishing endorses, from book covers that all look largely the same to subject matter du jour, such as every possible “queer” point of view. That’s why it’s good to see some occasional resistance, like this recent takedown of Ocean Vuong.

I could go on, and I will in a future post. But for now, let’s turn to the aforementioned work in progress. The poem below does not yet have a title. When it does, and when it’s been polished up a few more times, I’ll send it off to a literary magazine somewhere. Changes are excellent I won’t be paid for it, and probably won’t even receive a copy of the publication. This is another branch of American publishing, just as dismal as the book world. Here is the poem. For now, let’s call it “Someone’s Shoes.”

Image: ChatGPT.
Image: ChatGPT.

Try to imagine the drone’s descent
as it speeds on a diagonal toward
Gaza or Kiev or Tabriz.
Imagine these lines packed with explosives,
so that reading on the page or the screen
posed an actual hazard—would that help?
It’s doubtful. The problem remains: even if
we imagine we see, we don’t. Not really.
This is true for most of us, most of the time.
Yes, there are exceptions. Some people
understand things which lie beyond our ken.
They know they’re in its shadow. Death has
already launched, and any moment now their
lives, all they know and feel, could simply cease.