Traditional Publishing Is Traditional Polishing
So, the copy-edits for my next book, The Call are done. This means that from now on I will have no further input until we all start marketing the thing and you poor sods begin to receive wheedling pleas asking you to buy it, sell it, publicize it, review it, give all your lives and worldly possessions over to the glory of ME.
Oh, relax! That won't happen for a while yet, I swear it.
It's been years since I've been through the mill of Traditional Publishing and I had forgotten just how much work goes into it. I had at least four full edits at the hands of several, highly qualified people, before the eagle-eyed and brilliantly pitiless line-editor brought death to a thousand commas. She uncovered a host of other tiny flaws. None of these would have ruined the story. None would have brought armies of furious readers onto the streets to take their rage out on shop windows or on poor little match girls in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But each of them acted as an irritation, working and working to pull you out of the story.
I had to pay about $1,200 to self-publish my previous novel, The Volunteer. The lion's share of that money went on a very thorough line edit. I shudder to think how much I would have had to pay over to get all the careful layers of polish
I'm getting on The Call.
I want The Call to be the best book ever written between now and the inevitable death of the sun. I wanted the same for The Volunteer, of course. But this time around, I have a large team at my back who all act as if they want the same thing; as if their very lives depend on it!*
Self-publishing is a wonder of our age and it has saved many fantastic stories from dusty drawers around the world. I don't doubt, that sometime in my life, I'll be making use of it again. But I won't and can't pretend that my work is better for never having anyone but me involved in its creation.
*Some exaggerations may apply. See Terms and Conditions.
Oh, relax! That won't happen for a while yet, I swear it.
It's been years since I've been through the mill of Traditional Publishing and I had forgotten just how much work goes into it. I had at least four full edits at the hands of several, highly qualified people, before the eagle-eyed and brilliantly pitiless line-editor brought death to a thousand commas. She uncovered a host of other tiny flaws. None of these would have ruined the story. None would have brought armies of furious readers onto the streets to take their rage out on shop windows or on poor little match girls in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But each of them acted as an irritation, working and working to pull you out of the story.
I had to pay about $1,200 to self-publish my previous novel, The Volunteer. The lion's share of that money went on a very thorough line edit. I shudder to think how much I would have had to pay over to get all the careful layers of polish
I'm getting on The Call.
I want The Call to be the best book ever written between now and the inevitable death of the sun. I wanted the same for The Volunteer, of course. But this time around, I have a large team at my back who all act as if they want the same thing; as if their very lives depend on it!*
Self-publishing is a wonder of our age and it has saved many fantastic stories from dusty drawers around the world. I don't doubt, that sometime in my life, I'll be making use of it again. But I won't and can't pretend that my work is better for never having anyone but me involved in its creation.
*Some exaggerations may apply. See Terms and Conditions.