Hurry Up and Wait

My book was fully edited, we had a cover, a marketing plan of sorts and a target date for publishing. There was not much to do but wait at this point. I had some very rough sketches of ideas about what I wanted to do once the big day arrived--book signings, readings. Naturally, there would be tons of press to contend with.

Indeed, I had much planning to do. But I was unsure of where to even begin. The bookstores? The critics? (It would only be a matter of time until they had a copy of the book in their sweaty little hands, eager to critique it and expound upon its merits, comparing it with Joyce, Proust, Marquez).

At this point, you will be forgiven for thinking me naive, perhaps even bloated with the most conspicuous case of hubris. But I was also ignorant. And happily so ... .

A Cover

The time had come to put a cover on this book. Brown Paper Publishing Head Editor and President Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) was hard at work on three cover designs that would capture the essence and very nature of my book. I had a couple visions of my own but because I am not a visual artist, I had nothing very concrete in mind. Just some vague notions.

Before we get into the nitty gritty of these covers, I must say that Juan (not his real name) and his designer worked very hard on each and every design and I applaud their efforts. In fact, I had a hard time choosing.

The first one was my least favorite. At risk of sounding homophobic, I just found it simply too gay. Had the main character actually been gay (or an utter narcissist), it might have worked. (As soon as I can figure out how to convert a PDF to a JPEG or some other acceptable format, I'll show you a copy.) It was a man leaning against a mirror looking very sad.

The third one was just plain depressing. Washed in a sea-green tint, it showed a man seated at the bottom of a long outside stairwell with his head in his hands. (Again, you'll see a copy as soon as I figure out this tech stuff.)

I went with a modified version of the second iteration:

I think it captures the mood and the essence of the book rather nicely. However, when I saw some of the other covers on Brown Paper Publishing's website, I was actually a little jealous. I thought mine looked the least inviting. This one, for instance, simply looked more polished:



But Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) told me that he based the design of my book cover slightly on a classic novel by GK Chesterton:


So perhaps the old cliche is true: you truly cannot judge a book by its cover.

Waiting, Working, Rewriting

Winter was closing in fast. Agreement signed, schedules made, my publisher (and the head editor of Brown Paper Publishing), Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) told me my page proofs would be on their way soon.

When they finally did arrive, I was shocked at just how terrible my book was: amateurish, sophomoric, rambling, loose and wandering. So I set about not just proofing it but rewriting it. I took three weeks off and told my clients I would be unavailable until after the new year (2008). This was serious business in need of serious attention.

Juan (not his real name) and I had worked out some formatting details whose impact only now were becoming clear to me. For example, Juan (not his real name) did not believe in quotation marks, preferring the dialog to speak for itself, as it were. I bristled at this initially but when I saw the book laid out in print, I quickly changed my mind. It actually was less disruptive and made the text flow better.

We also had a minor skirmish over the size of the font. Granted, The Dog at the Signpost is a relatively lengthy book for a first novel and I understand the publisher probably wanted to cut costs. The font size is a bit small for people with astigmatisms and so forth, but it does work. It was about as small as we could get away with and still be readable.

And so, by the first week of 2008, I had completed my final rewrite of the book, having cut 14 pages or so of needless text. And I felt better about the final result. It was tightre, flowed better and a little more polished.

Gone Fishin'

To all of my fan (no -- that's not a typo):

I will be away Aug. 9 through Aug. 17. Please try to get along with a posting during that time. The story will pick up soon.

Love,

Moe

An Agreement (Still Fall, Colder Still)

Less than a month after Brown Paper Publishing agreed to publish The Dog at the Signpost, I received an author's agreement from the company. A straightforward three-page document, I hurriedly read it, sent a copy to a more experienced author friend of mine for advice (he largely approved of it) and signed it. Among other things, BPP promised to send out 25 review copies, set up a website for the book and get some copies out to literary contests.


Now it was official. I was to be published. I couldn't help having the feeling, though, that at any moment it could all go foully wrong. The publisher would fold. It would turn out to be an elaborate hoax. The head editor and publisher Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) would meet with an untimely demise or disappear mysteriously somewhere in the misty foothills of South America. So I was still telling people, but being very cagey. Still analogous to the whole pregnancy thing, it was a very touchy situation. The last thing I wanted to do was to jinx it. Still, the book was to be published in less than four months so it was time to get some promotional plans together.

It has been said that there are essentially five stages to facing one's own death: anger, denial, depression, bargaining and acceptance. I have found that there are at least three stages to writing and publishing a book and each step becomes subsequently more difficult than the last. Writing it is difficult enough. If you've managed to crank out a story with a beginning, a middle and an end (and even if has no plot per se), that's an accomplishment. Getting it published is another huge step. But for me, the most difficult aspect was (and remains) marketing it. How on earth could I compete with already established authors (living and dead) for precious shelf space in brick and mortar stores? I am fortunate to live in the Internet age. And thank Providence for amazon.

A Light Breaks Through (Early Winter)

It seemed as if I was reaching the depths of my misery at the prospect of becoming a published author. (Part of the problem was feelings of inadequacy ... who am I to get a book deal?) (See another post in another blog.) After some digging, I was finally able to ascertain that the mysterious Juan DeCarlo (not his real name) was indeed a real person and was indeed interested in publishing my novel simply because he liked it.

After many, many emails back and forth between Mr. DeCarlo (not his real name) and myself, we finally set up a time for a face-to-face meeting, as he would be in my very fair city within weeks. However, his schedule became jumbled up and so I settled for a phone meeting. At our appointed time, the telephone rang and I was speaking to the man with whom for the past three months or more I'd only corresponded via electronic mail. (One thing Mr. D. [not his real initial] and I had in common was a predilection to be annoyingly and fastidiously punctual.)

We spoke for an hour. And with each piece of the conversation, much of my angst and anxiety simply melted away. That Mr. DeCarlo (not his real name) was an articulate soul with a smooth smoker's voice did much to help assuage my darkness. It was as if each word he spoke helped part a curtain, then burst a cloud to help reveal the light. It also helped that this guy knew his stuff. He had a business plan and understood the market much better than most upstarts. He wasn't a dreamy-eyed optimist.

Yes, Brown Paper Publishing was small. Yes, they had a limited budget. But the fact was we had a contract and they were obliged to print so many copies and do their best to sell as many copies as possible. My part would come later.

Still the Fall ... but getting colder (and darker)

Once I was assured that Brown Paper Publishing was legit, I did a lot of waiting. It would be at least a few weeks until my page proofs were ready. So I started telling people that I was getting a book published. I observed the "pregnant rule." That is, you don't tell people you're expecting until you're at least out of your first trimester. I wanted to wait until it was 100 percent official.

Everyone was quite pleased for me. I, however, was trying to take it with a grain of salt. Yes,this was a major achievement, a triumphant culmination of everything I had looked forward to in my career. Still. I had to be honest: This was a small startup publisher, it was my first novel and my expectations were not terribly high.

Perhaps it was seasonal affective disorder, but during this time I became very depressed, almost despondent. What should have been a joyous event, something to celebrate was turning, in my mind, into a nightmare. And I could not figure out why. Perhaps I was comparing myself to other novelists and feeling like small potatoes. Perhaps I felt as if this tiny novel would be lost among a chorus of more highly placed voices. Whatever the reason, I was in a funk.