I knew a woman on Staten Island who had a knack for finding coins. She, being a devout Catholic, thought it was some kind of telepathy / magnetism thing rather than any mystical ability (and no, she didn't have a metal detector walking-stick). By all accounts, she racked up a tidy sum over the years - in dimes, nickels and pennies.
I've developed a bit of a talent myself, lately. It seems that wherever I submit my books, the first thing the editor says in reply is: 'Have you got any spare money?' Well, it's more subtle than that but the end result is the same. I'm talking about shared cost publishing. I have mixed views at this point; a cocktail of disappointment, hope, cynicism and bewilderment.
On the one hand, I can see that publishing a book is expensive, especially where one of my novels works out to almost 500 pages (I did the maths on Lulu and gave up!). And I'm not blind to the global financial meltdown that's still pooled at our feet like last month's candles. But somehow it feels like I'd be buying someone's endorsement rather than earning it.
The excellent Writers Beware waves from the shore to steer me from the rocks of vanity publishing. I could quote you horror stories aplenty now, of writers who invested their cash only to see poor quality material - or no material at all - and a non-distribution service to match.
Then there is the question of sales. It's one thing to see your work on Amazon but another entirely to generate enough actual sales from the web and shops to get a return on your investment. And let's not forget that you'll likely be selling off your debut work. Something that may have taken a long time to create.
So, what to do? Well, apart from checking with Writers Beware and the Society of Authors, you could try my approach. I ask straightforward questions. They're not difficult - any self-respecting publisher should have them to hand.
They are:
1. Will it be Print on Demand or Print in Advance (conventional printing)?
2. What's the distribution network? i.e. Are you linked in with Gardeners / Atlas so that shops can order the books as well as there being web sales?
3. How do the costs break down - and how much money is involved?
4. What is the break-even point? This is crucial if you aim to recoup your investment and / or turn a profit.
5. Is there a marketing plan for my book? Basically, how do they propose to sell it?
6. What's the success rate with other authors?
7. Can I speak to two or three of those authors?
8. What's the frequency of payment for sales?
I think, if writers approach it as a business proposition, they're less likely to be swayed by other factors that might part them prematurely from their hard-earned cash.
As for me, I remain open to all options, while I wait for three different lists of answers!
http://www.sfwa.org/for-authors/writer-beware/
Should writers be more like plumbers?
What's the difference between a writer and a plumber?
Many would say that a writer works more unsocial hours and being a plumber is seen as a more noble profession. But, for me, the main difference is that you wouldn't ask a plumber to work for free.
Writers though, particularly at the start of their journey, are often expected - in print or online - to work for 'compensation: nil' as an opportunity to raise their profile or gain valuable experience and a readership. One could argue that it's now part and parcel of a working apprenticeship, although when I last checked, apprentices were still being paid.
So why does it happen?
1. I think the democratisation of writing is part of the problem. If everyone can write then anyone can write. Which means there will always be someone else out there willing to answer the call for a freebie.
2. Another reason is the ambiguity of the term ‘writer’. It’s a catch-all for a range of skills, experience and qualifications. For starters there is journalism, copy writing, poetry, novels and comedy writing – these specialisms all have their own requirements and it would be a rare soul indeed who was comfortably proficient in all of them. Okay then, Clive James – I’ll give you that.
3. Another factor is the lack of a standard rate of pay, even for web articles. It really is a buyers’ market and any polite noises towards the existence of a minimum wage will quickly find you opportunity-less.
4. Until they are published – and often afterwards – most writers are fantastically insecure. The very idea that someone is interested in and willing to use our words is music to our ears.
5. The ‘industry’ knows it has us by the gonads because writing is now really sexy with a creative writing course on every street corner.
This is a REAL issue affecting countless writers today. Bad enough that many of us earn less than £10,000 a year from writing alone, we also have to contend with an ocean of upcoming newcomers who have become convinced that working for free is the only way to get a start in the industry.
I’ve done it myself. Of course I have. So far my gratis proof-editing, copy writing and comedy material has been limited to friends, non-profit organisations and one or two occasions when I believed I was getting in on the ground level (few of those are still standing). But I can’t help thinking that every time we support a business – where everyone else is being paid – by submitting to the tyranny of ‘compensation: nil’ we are just undermining ourselves, our fellow writers and the future prosperity of writing.
Wait, I hear you shout. What about the print publications and websites that would cease to exist without the input of freebie writers and enthusiasts. It’s a fair point and so is the counter-argument; that if they’re a business and their business model relies on having people (who have their own bills to pay) working for nothing then it’s little short of scandalous.
So what’s to be done?
I’ve given it some thought and I think we need a union. No subs though, no committee power struggles and a simple manifesto. After half a dozen pieces of work, maximum, across the board – which are signed off by clients as meeting their needs and supplied to prospective employers on request – all work undertaken thereafter has to at least meet the minimum wage.
Or we could retrain as plumbers.
And to end, let’s hear a few words on the subject from the highly respected and successful writer Harlan Ellison. Check out this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mj5IV23g-fE
Many would say that a writer works more unsocial hours and being a plumber is seen as a more noble profession. But, for me, the main difference is that you wouldn't ask a plumber to work for free.
Writers though, particularly at the start of their journey, are often expected - in print or online - to work for 'compensation: nil' as an opportunity to raise their profile or gain valuable experience and a readership. One could argue that it's now part and parcel of a working apprenticeship, although when I last checked, apprentices were still being paid.
So why does it happen?
1. I think the democratisation of writing is part of the problem. If everyone can write then anyone can write. Which means there will always be someone else out there willing to answer the call for a freebie.
2. Another reason is the ambiguity of the term ‘writer’. It’s a catch-all for a range of skills, experience and qualifications. For starters there is journalism, copy writing, poetry, novels and comedy writing – these specialisms all have their own requirements and it would be a rare soul indeed who was comfortably proficient in all of them. Okay then, Clive James – I’ll give you that.
3. Another factor is the lack of a standard rate of pay, even for web articles. It really is a buyers’ market and any polite noises towards the existence of a minimum wage will quickly find you opportunity-less.
4. Until they are published – and often afterwards – most writers are fantastically insecure. The very idea that someone is interested in and willing to use our words is music to our ears.
5. The ‘industry’ knows it has us by the gonads because writing is now really sexy with a creative writing course on every street corner.
This is a REAL issue affecting countless writers today. Bad enough that many of us earn less than £10,000 a year from writing alone, we also have to contend with an ocean of upcoming newcomers who have become convinced that working for free is the only way to get a start in the industry.
I’ve done it myself. Of course I have. So far my gratis proof-editing, copy writing and comedy material has been limited to friends, non-profit organisations and one or two occasions when I believed I was getting in on the ground level (few of those are still standing). But I can’t help thinking that every time we support a business – where everyone else is being paid – by submitting to the tyranny of ‘compensation: nil’ we are just undermining ourselves, our fellow writers and the future prosperity of writing.
Wait, I hear you shout. What about the print publications and websites that would cease to exist without the input of freebie writers and enthusiasts. It’s a fair point and so is the counter-argument; that if they’re a business and their business model relies on having people (who have their own bills to pay) working for nothing then it’s little short of scandalous.
So what’s to be done?
I’ve given it some thought and I think we need a union. No subs though, no committee power struggles and a simple manifesto. After half a dozen pieces of work, maximum, across the board – which are signed off by clients as meeting their needs and supplied to prospective employers on request – all work undertaken thereafter has to at least meet the minimum wage.
Or we could retrain as plumbers.
And to end, let’s hear a few words on the subject from the highly respected and successful writer Harlan Ellison. Check out this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mj5IV23g-fE
Feedback from the slush pile
Rejection, as every published author tells us, is part and parcel of the process from the first draft to that magical copy on the book shelf. While rejections can be galling, confounding and sometimes amusing, what matters most is whether there is anything we can learn from them to improve our work or our approach.
Often, we're grateful to get a response at all and doubly delighted if there's actual feedback in there, beyond anything that commences 'Dear Writer'.
So, hot off the coffee table, here is today's rejection in all its glory. With a little added comment from me along the way.
The turnaround time was two months, which is very good. Three months tends to be the industry average but you can often wait much longer. And the covering letter thanks me for a lively manuscript. I have to say that seeing my covering letter marked with 'Slush' made me laugh out loud and didn't stop me reading further. Anyhow, here's the reader's feedback.
Standpoint, Derek Thompson
Manuscript type: Conspiracy theory come spy novel serialisation.
Set: Leeds, London, more perhaps.
Third person narrative the story appears to be told solely from Thomas Bladen's perspective.
It was fast paced and humorous, which worked well with the genre. The opening scene had plenty of action and intrigue. It was an easy read, chapters are short and the tone is light.
Seems like a very weak imitation of Ian Flemming. Though the setting is modern day there are Russians and East End criminals, which seems too reminiscent of the Cold War Era and doesn't appear convincing. The synopsis of the plot also seems a little convoluted. Miranda's character, the daughter of an East End criminal is unbelievable; it too is a bit outdated.
That said the story undoubtedly, with many changes, would have an audience and would be marketable, whether the proposed serialisation would have continued success is questionable. Nor is Standpoint on a par with other books published by us.
Ouch! If I were in a room with the reader, I'd thank them for taking the time to read my work. I might also mention that the Russian is actually Kosovan and that Ian Fleming only had one 'm' in his surname. Still, churlishness aside, there is useful detail in the half page of feedback - about the synopsis and Miranda - along with some positives about the humour and pace. I think if I'd known up front that the publisher's catalogue was already filled into 2011, I wouldn't have submitted Standpoint. But I'm glad I did because if you don't ask, you'll never know.
It pays to advertise... but what?
I've always been fascinated by advertising. So much so that, in 1983, I even put together my own three-hour video collection of adverts.
Sadly, it didn't survive the dampness of the front room in our old house (mould 'r' us) but I still have fond memories of watching the video avidly, in chunks, while the rest of the family gave me a wide berth.
It's a bit of a dark art - what to show and what not to show. Much like writing. The golden rule, it seems to me, is that you only tell people what you want them to know. Or, to translate that into corporate speak: "Perception is everything and strategy is everything else."
Recently, a 'top ads of the decade' TV programme crowned a Hovis advert as the winner. Even a coeliac would have to admit that the ad was superbly crafted, depicting a scrap of a lad fetching the family loaf and running through 120 years of British history. Cutting through different streets, he encountered the First World War soldier boys, the Suffragettes, the burned out buildings of the Blitz, a VE party and the jubilation of a 1966 England word cup victory. So far so inspirational.
It doesn't detract from the ad any but I did proffer a wry smile when I learned that only between 25% and 50% of British wheat is used by the brand, with the remainder being imported from Canada. In the interest of balance, I should point out that Hovis is moving to 100% British grown wheat from 2010.
Returning to the writing theme, most of us are familiar with the joys of CV writing. What to include, what to omit and which keywords to employ, all conveying a combination of superhero, Swiss Army Knife and human dynamo. For writers, the focus has to be on the writing and what you want them to know.
My current CV covers articles, comedy and fiction. More recently, with some copy writing under my belt and some additional training, I realise that I need to be more client specific. A business may not find my achievements in comedy encouraging if they are looking for new training material or in-house literature. In short, a writer, just like any other business, has to respond to the needs of the marketplace and to meet those needs.
Artists have patrons - or malnutrition; writers, with few exceptions, have a business to run.
Sadly, it didn't survive the dampness of the front room in our old house (mould 'r' us) but I still have fond memories of watching the video avidly, in chunks, while the rest of the family gave me a wide berth.
It's a bit of a dark art - what to show and what not to show. Much like writing. The golden rule, it seems to me, is that you only tell people what you want them to know. Or, to translate that into corporate speak: "Perception is everything and strategy is everything else."
Recently, a 'top ads of the decade' TV programme crowned a Hovis advert as the winner. Even a coeliac would have to admit that the ad was superbly crafted, depicting a scrap of a lad fetching the family loaf and running through 120 years of British history. Cutting through different streets, he encountered the First World War soldier boys, the Suffragettes, the burned out buildings of the Blitz, a VE party and the jubilation of a 1966 England word cup victory. So far so inspirational.
It doesn't detract from the ad any but I did proffer a wry smile when I learned that only between 25% and 50% of British wheat is used by the brand, with the remainder being imported from Canada. In the interest of balance, I should point out that Hovis is moving to 100% British grown wheat from 2010.
Returning to the writing theme, most of us are familiar with the joys of CV writing. What to include, what to omit and which keywords to employ, all conveying a combination of superhero, Swiss Army Knife and human dynamo. For writers, the focus has to be on the writing and what you want them to know.
My current CV covers articles, comedy and fiction. More recently, with some copy writing under my belt and some additional training, I realise that I need to be more client specific. A business may not find my achievements in comedy encouraging if they are looking for new training material or in-house literature. In short, a writer, just like any other business, has to respond to the needs of the marketplace and to meet those needs.
Artists have patrons - or malnutrition; writers, with few exceptions, have a business to run.
Who's writing the story?
There comes a point when you're writing a novel, if you're lucky, when the characters start to wander off in different directions. Different, that is, from the paths you've carefully laid out for them using your Plotter-matic 5000 (or A4 pages taped together). This has happened to me in three books now and always at a stage where the characters are sufficiently well established to know their own minds.
I well recall attending a writing class; back in my youth when I had hair, optimism and aspirations (they all left on the same bus). One opinionated soul there declared with certainty that characters are only projections of the author and any notion of a book writing itself was just absurd. Maybe that's true for him but me and my characters laugh at him now, together.
So, is it a good sign? The characters becoming independent, not the laughter. Well, it adds another dimension and creates choices, leading to unexpected consequences that can impact the plot hugely.
In Covenant, my magical fantasy, two characters almost have sex and this leads to a revelation that became one of the core subplots. Whatever it did for the reader, this scene told me something I didn't know but needed to.
In Standpoint, a twisty turny thriller, my lead character Thomas Bladen told me about a past I didn't know he had - certainly not one I'd ever written for him. Later on, he spoke to other characters in situations I hadn't imagined and wrote the ending for himself. He also told me from the off that he was from North Yorkshire (I'd never been) and about his father. It was like meeting a new friend.
In Line of Sight, the sequel thriller still in the first draft, I'm 87,000 words in and one character has told me she's related to someone else. I was flummoxed and thought about ignoring her at first but it makes sense. Even if it does mean some rewriting to accommodate and resolve the plot line.
The point to this, I think, is that when we set up plausible, well-rounded characters, their choices and behaviour become independent of our well-orchestrated scheme of a book. It's often a revelation for the author which means there's a good chance it will delight or confound the reader too; and that can only be a good thing.
However, arguing with a lead character while driving, when he tells you where the book will end and how many weapons he needs, is optional. Still when he told me that he wanted a helicopter - and where to get it - to finish the book, he clearly understood it better than I had.
I well recall attending a writing class; back in my youth when I had hair, optimism and aspirations (they all left on the same bus). One opinionated soul there declared with certainty that characters are only projections of the author and any notion of a book writing itself was just absurd. Maybe that's true for him but me and my characters laugh at him now, together.
So, is it a good sign? The characters becoming independent, not the laughter. Well, it adds another dimension and creates choices, leading to unexpected consequences that can impact the plot hugely.
In Covenant, my magical fantasy, two characters almost have sex and this leads to a revelation that became one of the core subplots. Whatever it did for the reader, this scene told me something I didn't know but needed to.
In Standpoint, a twisty turny thriller, my lead character Thomas Bladen told me about a past I didn't know he had - certainly not one I'd ever written for him. Later on, he spoke to other characters in situations I hadn't imagined and wrote the ending for himself. He also told me from the off that he was from North Yorkshire (I'd never been) and about his father. It was like meeting a new friend.
In Line of Sight, the sequel thriller still in the first draft, I'm 87,000 words in and one character has told me she's related to someone else. I was flummoxed and thought about ignoring her at first but it makes sense. Even if it does mean some rewriting to accommodate and resolve the plot line.
The point to this, I think, is that when we set up plausible, well-rounded characters, their choices and behaviour become independent of our well-orchestrated scheme of a book. It's often a revelation for the author which means there's a good chance it will delight or confound the reader too; and that can only be a good thing.
However, arguing with a lead character while driving, when he tells you where the book will end and how many weapons he needs, is optional. Still when he told me that he wanted a helicopter - and where to get it - to finish the book, he clearly understood it better than I had.
My brief life as a culture jammer
The first time I walked past the billboard, I could see its potential. It stood there, bold as brass and as proud as a full ashtray, sharing its jocular message with the world. I wasn’t laughing though but I soon thought of a way to change that.
I’d have to move quickly, because advertising posters seemed to have short life spans. (I know, darkly ironic for tobacco advertising.) And I’d need to plan carefully. I was as subtle as a kick up the arse - in a lift holding just two people. The billboard was at the end of our road so I nipped down there with a ruler and measured the height of the lettering. Then I dug around in the plastic box under the stairs – the one with all the tools that I can’t use properly – and found the masking tape.
The idea was both simple and largely pointless. I wanted to tape over the original tagline, mask up my own then take a photograph. After that, I’d remove my work and nip back home for a celebratory cup of peppermint tea, like a good little liberal activist.
I spent an evening wasting a felt-tipped pen to colour in the letters, got everything ready and prepared myself for the assault. Next morning, somewhere between 05.30 and 06.30, I tiptoed into the street, a scroll under one arm and a camera in my other hand. I remember there was a breeze in the air but that wasn’t why I was shivering.
Two cars drove past, which I hadn’t expected, so I leaned casually against the wall, staring off into the distance. No one stopped; no one cared. Then it was just me, standing there, blood pulsing in my brain.
The lettering stuck where it was supposed to – that was the easy part. Now I had to stand in the road and take a reasonable picture without attracting the attention of passing vehicles. There were a couple of false starts, and an unexpected commuter who seemed to appear out of nowhere, gazing at me intently as I pretended to cross over and search my pockets. I must have looked like a very amateurish car thief.
Then a moment of stillness descended and I finished the job, hurriedly removing the evidence afterwards and slinking away back up my street. I was jubilant, like a kid completing a dare, just for the hell of it.
Later, I walked into work as usual, past the poster which was none the worse for my shenanigans. And as I looked up at it, I smiled. Not quite adbusters material but a very British effort.
Armistice
I don't know of anyone who doesn't observe the two-minute silence on Armistice Day. Whatever our views of the business of war, military engagements overseas or the economics of investment in defence, we pause and reflect on the fallen. The last survivors of WW1 have passed on now, but those affected by that conflict - and all those that have followed - are still with us.
A year or so ago, Anne and I (she's the brains of the relationship) took a short trip to Bruges, in Belgium. It's a marvellous medieval city which was spared the devastation of WW2 bombing; a gem of a place where development has been kept to a minimum.
While out there, we visited Ypres in a daytrip, including Tyne Cot Cemetery, Hill 62 and Ypres itself. All most of us know about WW1 is poppies, a few old songs that make little sense and the fourth series of Blackadder. Fifty-four nations were involved in the 'Great War', many regiments from fledgling countries keen to demonstrate their new national identity. A global generation slaughtered or scarred and, in the whole bloody process, the foundations laid for the Second World War. At all those places we saw, people paused and reflected there too.
It's easy to get caught up in our modern lives with rising mortgages, shit jobs and unfulfilled childhoods / adolescences / adulthoods. But here's my cure. Take a trip to Tyne Cot Cemetery and gaze in wide-eyed despair at row upon row of identical headstones, reflecting the bright sun like bleached bones in a field. And look at the columns of names that fill the walls: like the graffiti of the lost. I promise you, it brings a different sense of perspective. No answers, just an opportunity to pause and reflect.
It would be a fitting tribute indeed if Armistice Day became a focus for peace. But until that day, the very least we can do is make more time to pause and reflect.
And while we're strolling in shades of grey ambiguity, have a read of this famous poem by Rudyard Kipling. It's as relevant today as it's ever been:
https://www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/poem/poems_tommy.htm
Derek
Thompson
I wrote it my way...
For anyone who has ever submitted a manuscript by post and then waited in vain.
(With apologies to Frank Sinatra.)
And now, the post is here;
And so I face the mail uncertain.
That jiffy bag is mine,
I want to hide behind the curtain.
I sent a full typescript,
I edited, not in a shy way.
And still, I have to say,
I wrote it my way.
Rejects, I’ve had a few,
But then again, which writer hasn’t?
I did what I had to do,
And ploughed on through, it wasn’t pleasant
I planned each chapter well;
My characters along the byway.
But still, I have to say,
I wrote it my way.
Yes, there are some, I’m sure it’s true.
They got their book deals, from who they knew.
A relative who’s in the trade,
One dinner guest and they are made.
But that’s not me, and so you see,
I wrote it my way.
I’ve tried, I’ve done rewrites;
I’ve started new and different projects.
My bottom drawer is full,
Attempted all different subjects.
To think I wrote all that;
And may I say - not in a sly way,
No, oh no not me,
I wrote it my way.
For what is a scribe, what have they got?
If not their dreams, genre and plot?
Create the words they love so well.
Or sometimes crap, in case it sells.
I read the note, lump in my throat,
I wrote it my way.
My lost contract
To any would-be novelist, the sight of a book – your book – on the shelf is surely the Holy Grail of writing. And, like any true grail quest, the path is fraught with challenges, monsters and dead-ends. Here are two of my tales.
My novel Covenant is an unusual beast, a genre crossover that I’ve called Magical Fantasy Fiction. It draws on researched mythic symbolism and mysticism; not your general sword and sorcery epic.
So you can imagine my delight, after years in the wilderness, when a British publisher expressed an interest from my initial approach. After friendly emails they invited me to submit the complete manuscript – a first for me. Even better, they phoned me at home and quizzed me for half an hour about the structure and meanings within my work. It was going so well that I felt sure the 12-week evaluation period would fly by.
Then, like buses, another opportunity came along – a delayed response from an American e-publisher I had all but given up on. They asked to see the whole book too. Lightning had struck twice and I wasn’t in wellies. Positive feedback ensued and, when I’d been advised I was under consideration, I asked for and received a sample contract.
Meantime, in the British camp, my 12 weeks passed without a response. I left a polite telephone message and waited. No response. A week went by. I sent a polite email and ticked off the days. Silence. I then sent a recorded letter indicating that I’d had a favourable interest from another publisher and wondered if, now at week 15, they’d come to any decision. At the very least I’d appreciate an update. All I got back was a sense of disquiet.
Keen to draw a line under the experience I emailed them again and, reminding them that I’d heard nothing in over 15 weeks and asked for my MS back. An email informed me it was with their editorial office and would be returned to me forthwith – this email made it to my inbox in under 24 hours. I never received an explanation and even with the assistance of the Society of Authors, I could not penetrate the castle.
But hey, there’s still Plan B, right? While waiting for the British publisher to get off the pot, I’d sent the sample US contract to the Society of Authors (I’d recently become a member). A wise investment. So, when the hallowed contract offer did come in, I already had amendments and clause deletions ready to discuss. The editor explained that she was also an author with the firm and she’d made changes to her contract, through the company lawyer, without incident. So, picture the scene; I’m looking at a 3 year e-book deal, for my original 160,000 MS split into two books, with hardcopy publication to follow. My first full vision of the grail!
I emailed the editor back and ask for the lawyer’s email address. No response. A day or so later I email again, explaining that I can’t find the lawyer’s details on the website and asking if she could refer on my comments and changes. Still no response. Now I’m starting to get a little paranoid. A day or so later I email for a third time, asking if I need to airmail my changes over. It’s as quiet as a foam covered pin factory.
A couple of days on from there I receive an email from the executive editor, apologising for contacting me this way and for the news that follows. My editor had died unexpectedly from a heart attack a few days before. Dreadful news from all angles.
I’m sure you’re ahead of me now. As my contract wasn’t signed and as the only person in the company to see and approve my work is now deceased, I have no contractual relationship with the company. Regrettably I now need to resubmit my novel so that two new editors can evaluate it and make a decision. Oh yeah, and it will probably take several weeks. Fortunately it’s submission by email so that part’s quickly taken care of. I tell myself it’s a minor setback and prepare to bed in for a month or three. My luck starts to change. I get a response in less than three weeks. But my new luck quickly runs out.
The two new editors do not enjoy Covenant at all (they’re forced by the executive editor to write an explanation). Consequently the contract offer is now null and void. Almost unbelievably I’m invited to submit something new in the future and the exec apologises once more, assuring me it’s not the quality experience they aim to give writers.
And so, like Bors and Percival, I do not attain the grail; I just get enough of a sniff to be able to go home and talk about it. Perhaps it’s all for the best, under the circumstances. In the first case, I did some research on the British firm and I couldn’t find a single book that they’ve published under their own imprint. And in the second case, with the American e-publisher, working with editors who do not appreciate my work doesn’t not sound like a match made in heaven. Imagine all the edits!
So I end my grail quest empty handed; older, wiser and frankly rather jaded. I’m sure not all publishers are charlatans, bullshitters and fantasists. I have to believe that as I set off in search of new publisher. In case you’re wondering, I did research the US company and yes, my editor was real and, tragically, she did die. And, if I’m being really honest - and not a little selfish - a little bit of me died with her.
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