by Dean Koontz
For every novel purchased for motion picture production, hundreds go unnoticed by Hollywood. A movie sale is either a stroke of luck which no sane author would waste time thinking about, or the work of a shrewd agent and, again, beyond the author's province. Motion picture sales can run from as little as $10,000-all of it, aside from the agent's fee, being the author's money-to as much as the property can command. While producers are reluctant to commit that kind of cash, they are often willing to option a novel-usually at ten, fifteen or twenty percent of the purchase price. Most authors with ten books behind them have benefited from one or more options never picked up and carried to a final purchase. Many authors consider options "found money" and keep an agent chiefly for the bits and pieces of income, like this, which he brings them.
The era of the large circulation, general audience magazine is gone and, with it, most of the markets for serialization of a novel. Playboy and several women's magazines still pay big money for serial rights but reject two hundred titles for every one they run. The only genre magazines that regularly carry serials are in the science fiction field and pay two or three cents a word for the privilege of publishing them. That's not a fortune, but still the competition is rugged.
Book club rights, if sold, more often bring $1,000 to $3,000 for the author rather than the five- and six-figure sales reported by Book-of-the-Month Club and the Literary Guild. Like the possibility of the movie sale, the sale of book club rights to a major company at a fat advance is something to be kept in the back of the mind, shelved next to "miracles" where it cannot obsess the writer and cause him to waste time in useless daydreaming.
11. If I manage to sell hardcover rights instead of going straight to the paperback original market, 'what kind of royalties can I expect the hardcover to earn? Hardback sales are not what they once were, and most hardback category novels are supported by libraries. Few books get a second printing, and the average novel earns between $2,000 and $6,000 in hardback royalties, from which you must deduct the amount of your original advance.
The standard hardback advance schedule makes provision for a 10$ royalty on the first 5,000 copies, 12/2% on the second 5,000 copies, and 15% on everything thereafter.
12. Would I help the sales of my hardcover novel if I spent time promoting it? Undoubtedly, you would, if you have any knack for being interviewed by newspaper, radio, and television reporters. However, unless your book has sure best-seller potential, you will not be reimbursed by your publisher for your travel expenses on behalf of the novel. If the novel has best-seller potential, special response from readers and critics prior to publication, the publisher may provide an advertising budget and may help you promote the work. For the large majority of new novels, however, not a cent is dealt out for promotion purposes.
The smart writer will consent to newspaper or other interviews whenever he is asked, will promote his book whenever he can, so long as most of his time is still spent at the keyboard creating new work. Promotion of his latest piece should not become-unless he's an Arthur Hailey who writes only a book every three years or so-a full-time or even a substantial part-time job, for it seriously saps the strength.
13. So far, it sounds as if a genre writer must be prolific to be successful and that he must spend quite a bit of time at the typewriter. Exactly what kind of schedule should the freelance genre writer maintain? When I speak before a group of potential novelists and short story writers, or when a new writer solicits my advice, I always say the most important thing a writer must cultivate is discipline. He must learn to sit at the typewriter a certain number of hours every day, and he must teach himself to complete a minimum number of pages in each sitting. He cannot afford the conceit so often expressed by the amateur: "I can only write when the muse is with me." The professional author can write whenever he wants to. He can learn to stimulate a tired imagination and kick himself into action when he would rather read or sunbathe or watch television.
I used to work ten to twelve hours a day, seven days a week, with an occasional day off for some folly or other. Now, I work eight hours a day, five or six days a week, which is the best schedule for the professional writer to maintain. Writing is your job; it puts the bread on your table. Your fringe benefits are numerous-no bosses, no white shirt and starched collar, late to bed and late to rise, unlimited earnings potential, an outlet for the ego-but you must earn them through hard work. If your goal is eight pages of finished script a day and you only produce two pages on Monday, you had better produce fourteen on Tuesday; if you let yourself slide one day your entire schedule will collapse.
Heinie Faust (under the pseudonym Max Brand) produced hundreds of Westerns in his career and sold millions of copies of his work, by writing only two hours a day. His secret was to write two hours every day, no matter what, and to produce fourteen pages in those two hours. Few writers have matched his prolific pace.
Of course, the part-time writer cannot keep a schedule of this sort in addition to his regular job and family duties. But, just as the full-time professional, he should learn to force his imagination into gear without the aid of the "muse." He should set aside one or more days of each weekend for uninterrupted work. If possible, he should write for an hour or two every evening. If he truly cares about a career as a novelist, he will not begrudge the hours spent working that could have been passed in relaxation, games, or sport.
The successful freelancer, the one whose books occasionally sell to the movies and who receives solid paperback advances, can afford to, and should, take a few weeks off between each project, time to recharge the creative batteries. But the new writer, with a name to build, needs to work as much as he can stand to work.
14. But what if I sit at the typewriter day after day and only produce a few paragraphs? Don't give up and don't satisfy yourself with so little. Grit your teeth when you find your self stuck or daydreaming, and go on-put a verb after a noun, a conjunction after that, another verb, a phrase, and so on until you are working with words as if they were tangible blocks. What you create this way may be crude, but you can keep retyping the page until it's right, then go on. The dogged drive you display will eventually erase the clumsiness and give you a genuine ease with the words.
15. How do I overcome a complete writer's block, when I can't write even one word? A writer's block is most often caused by one of five things: overwork, boredom, self-doubt, financial worries, or emotional problems between the writer and those close to him. If overwork is the cause, stop writing for a couple of days or weeks; when you're ready to start again, you'll know, because the typewriter will no longer appear to be a formidable opponent, but a delightful toy. If boredom with the piece in progress has slowed you to a standstill, put it aside and begin something new, no matter how close to the end of the piece you may be; chances are, if it bores you, it will bore editors and readers also. The simplest way to cure a case of self-doubt is to shame yourself without restraint for your lack of confidence and start something new which may, by its freshness, restore your confidence. Don't worry if you go through a dozen ideas before you hit something that gets you going again. Financial worries must be solved before you can write again, even if that means you-the full-time freelancer-must take a job, temporarily, to keep above water, or you-the part-time writer-must take a part-time job and temporarily forsake writing until your financial position is less chaotic. If emotional entanglements occupy your mind and keep you from producing, sit down with your boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife, and talk out the things that are bothering you. Not only will such sessions improve your love life, they will improve your writing as well.
No writer's block need be more than a few days long if he is determined to break it.
16. How long is the average category novel? Paperback and hardcover minimums are usually 55,000 or 60,000 words, though Westerns average ten percent below this. Generally speaking, editors are more pleased with a 60,000-word minimum, but every book should be as long as it needs to be and no longer: never pad
a short book just to get it up to the minimum word levels. On the other hand, realize that you will have great difficulty marketing a novel that's 40,000 words long. Usually, with a bit of thought, you can find places where the plot could be developed more dramatically, at greater length. In other words, to lengthen a short novel, add incidents, don't merely stretch those incidents already done.
In the Big Sexy Novel, minimum word lengths may be, depending on the publisher, considerably longer than 60,000 words: as much as 100,000 and 150,000. Likewise, some Gothic publishers prefer minimum 75,000-word Gothics.
17. I'm a new writer, as yet unpublished. Should I choose one genre and work at it until I begin selling, or should I employ a scattergun technique and try writing for several categories? Choose one category-usually that you most enjoy reading-and stick with it until you've built a reputation in it. You will learn the fundamentals of genre fiction and develop your style more easily if you write the same type of fiction again and again.
18. I'm an established writer in one genre. I want to branch out. Should I choose a single area and concentrate on it, or is it all right for me, the pro, to use the scattergun technique? Develop your skills in one category at a time. If you're a successful suspense writer, you can't necessarily dash off a Western and Gothic and sell them first time around. Each form requires a subtly different touch which you will need time to learn.
19. Should I mail my manuscripts First or Fourth Class? Because Fourth Class is cheaper, most instruction books recommend the manuscript rate. I disagree. For two years, I mailed all my scripts Fourth Class. I had to retype six short stories because the post office had mangled them. Two novel manuscripts were lost, forcing me to retype. One manuscript box, returned to me marked "Fourth Class-Special Handling" was broken at all four corners; three of the four lengths of twine that bound it were broken and twisted around the single remaining strand; most of the paper wrapper was torn away, with only the address remaining; the bottom of the box was decorated by a large, muddy footprint. That certainly was Special Handling! In the three years I've used First Class mail, I've never had a script lost or mangled beyond repair. The extra cost seems, to me, well worth the work and worry saved.
20. Can I copy a manuscript and submit it to several publishers at the same time, to save myself the extra waiting? No. Only the most respected authors in each field can get away with multiple submission, and even they irritate editors by the practice. An editor likes to feel that you value his opinion and especially desire to make a sale to his list; he cannot maintain the illusion of a personal author-editor relationship if he knows other editors have received copies of the same work simultaneously with your submission to him. Furthermore, he doesn't want to be a buyer at an auction who must outbid other parties to obtain the piece, especially not when he is bidding for the work of an unknown or minimally established author. Multiple submissions of novels should be made only by your agent and only when he feels you've created a property with enormous financial potential.
21. It seems to me that writers could save time by collaborating on novels. Do you recommend collaboration? No. The only reason for collaborating is to create a better story than either writer could do alone. Such occasions are rare. Never collaborate to save time on a story, for the collaboration-fraught with arguments, rewrites, plot discussions, and mutual criticism-always takes longer than you would have needed to do the work alone. Remember, too, that the money will be split fifty-fifty and that, in the end, your work-reward ration will be substantially less than you've come to expect.
Writing is such a personal craft that collaboration can make enemies of friends, and turn a potentially fine story into a boring pastiche of styles, moods, and plot concepts.
22. Should I use a pen name? If your real name is completely without intrigue or musicality, you might want to employ a pen name from the start. No one can say, for certain, whether a phonetically pleasing by-line sells more books than an irritating by-line, but most writers tend to feel that it does. We can more easily visualize a reader going to a bookstore to pick up the latest Ross MacDonald mystery than to purchase Kenneth Millar's new thriller. (Mr. Millar has had great success with his pen name.) Some authors are born with names that cry to be splashed on book covers: Isaac Asimov, John D. MacDonald, James Gunn, Brian Garfield. Others are not so lucky. Dean R. Koontz is basically an unpleasant, guttural name, but I have stuck with it, for the most part. And after twenty books under that name, I find that editors prefer to use it than some melodic pseudonym. In short, the work between the covers is more important than the name on the outside.
Once you are established, use your own name for your most serious books whether they are inside or outside the category you're most known for, and keep your pen names for your lighter things. I learned this lesson a bit late, after publishing a serious novel, Chase, under a pen name and then wishing my own by-line were on it.
If you are publishing six or seven original paperbacks a year, you are not taxing the market for work under your own name. If you're publishing that many hardcover titles a year, you should use a pen name for some of them. Remember that hardbacks are often reprinted in paper, with the result that six hardcover books a year eventually means twelve separate editions a year. There is no sense competing with yourself once you've established the value of your name.
Many prolific writers, especially in the suspense and mystery fields, employ at least one pseudonym in addition to their real names, and they often make no particular secret of their many publishing identities. Donald E. Westlake is also Richard Stark and Tucker Coe. John Dickson Carr is also Carter Dickson, and Robert L. Fish is also Robert L. Pike.
23. Should I employ a typing service for preparation of my final manuscript? A manuscript should be as clean and flawless as you can make it, but it should not necessarily be prepared by a professional typist just because your own keyboard expertise is slight or even laughable. If you do several drafts and heavy blue penciling (which I have expressly advised against), a typist may be of value to you. However, most professional writers find that they make last minute changes in phrasing even as they prepare the submission script. You forfeit this last polish if you use a manuscript typist. (See Chapter Nine for a discussion of manuscript revision.)
24. If I type the script myself, should I keep carbons? Some publishers now require two copies of an author's manuscript when they purchase it. Occasionally, the original copy will be lost or destroyed, and the writer must supply his publisher or his agent with a good carbon to take its place. You should, therefore, keep two carbon copies, one of them as readable and unmarked as the original bond paper script. Personally, I dislike wasting the time it takes to correct typos on a carbon copy. Therefore, I make only one, which is smeared and good only for my own files-and I have the original script photocopied. Though the cost for this service averages $25.00 a novel, I feel the time saved is more than equal to the cost.
25. Should I subscribe to a clipping service to receive reviews of my novels? Most clipping services charge a minimal subscription fee and then bill you by the item-usually $.50 or $1.00 for each clipping they find-until you tell them to stop. Since original paperback novels are rarely reviewed in the major newspapers and magazines, the service is more valuable to the regular hardcover novelist. You can benefit by the feedback a clipping service can supply, if you understand beforehand that the bad as well as the favorable reviews will be sent you. The greatest danger is that one of your books will suddenly catch on, and the avalanche of clippings will threaten to wipe out your life's savings. I know of one writer who published a dozen novels with only moderate success, but unexpectedly hit the best-seller lists with his thirteenth. In all the excitement, he forgot about his clipping service. Two months later, he received a shipment of forty cardboard cartons full of clippings and a bill for slightly more than $5,000! This could have been avoided had he established with the service a limit that he would buy, at the start.
26. /f a reviewer really
slams my book, should I respond? Absolutely not. If he personally slanders you, a response may be necessary. Otherwise, shut up and get back to writing stories, not letters. As a published writer, you open yourself to negative as well as positive, inept as well as perceptive reviews. More often than not, reviewers will miss the entire point of a book or so baldly misrepresent it to their readers that it is barely recognizable as the novel you wrote. If you respond, you irritate the reviewer, who will be less likely to give your next book a fair review, and you appear, in your response, to be either pedantic or egomaniacal. Temper your anger with good reviews and the amused tolerance for reviewers that most professional writers cultivate. You will be less stung by negative reviews when you discover that even the positive reviews often miss the point, misrepresent the novel, and recommend it for all the wrong reasons. Reviewers do not read a book solely for enjoyment, as most of your audience does, and this is exactly what is wrong with the entire concept of professional book evaluation.
Of course, not all reviews are off base. Most writers, in private, are truthful enough with themselves to be able to distinguish the sound criticisms from the unsound, and to learn from them.
27. /f an editor requests a rewrite, should I oblige? If you are a new writer, do exactly as he asks. Most editors, even if they are not writers themselves, have an excellent grasp of prose structure and rarely make suggestions that would damage a book. After selling my first three novels without changing a word of them, I began to find it difficult to sell anything more. An editor at Lancer Books, who has since become a good friend, took my fourth, fifth, and sixth science fiction novels, brutally criticized them, made me completely rewrite them, and bought the final versions. In the process of helping me make those books publishable, he taught me more about the craft of writing than any book or series of articles ever had.
If you are an established author with published works to support your self-confidence, you might occasionally refuse to rewrite a book as an editor requests. However, if you can set aside your ego, you will nearly always find that the requested rewrite would not hurt the book, would probably help it. If the sale to this particular editor seems important enough to you, you should try to make compromises even when you feel deeply that the changes will not add to the work's quality.
