So You Want to Know How to Publish a Book

This article is so good I am reprinting it here.  It's an interview with the best-selling author Larry Brooks.  Good advice and insight on what goes into getting published. Also how best-selling authors are not a shoo-in for a follow-up book. Among his quotes "Anyone can write; the trick is publishing." 

On the writing workshop circuit-
The Truth is what you don't dare say

Sunday, August 12, 2007
LARRY BROOKS Special to The Oregonian

Deep in the black heart of every writing workshop instructor resides a dirty little secret: We are praying that no one asks when our next book is coming out. We keep talking and sounding oh-so-enlightened so no one will ask this question. Because while getting published was what got us up here in front of these people, all of whom see themselves as the next Chuck Palahniuk or Mike Rich, we know something they don't, something we don't dare speak aloud: These days it's harder to stay published than it is to get published.

And getting published is about as likely as a fiftysomething ex-jock getting hired at Nike to write shoe copy. Believe me, I've tried both, and I've only succeeded at the former. Ask anyone who's been there, it's absolutely true. More writers are losing their contracts every year than there are writers who are getting their first shot at it.

There are a few writers in town more famous for their repeat appearances at writing conferences, workshops and the occasional keynote than for their books, and I'm one of them. I was pontificating on "structural paradigms" for the Oregon Writers Colony long before any of my four novels were published, long before I knew how to spell or pronounce the word "paradigm," and long after anyone remembers that my humble books were more critically successful than they were commercially enduring.

For the past few years the folks at the Willamette Writers Conference have indulged an apparent penchant for nostalgia by inviting me back to teach, including a keynote at last year's conference that nearly got me lynched for speaking The Truth about the business of writing fiction for money. Because The Truth isn't the point.

The Truth about getting published, you see, is a paradox of vast proportions. Every author who has lived to see his or her name on a book cover knows that the real joy of it isn't in the book signings (try being introduced to 40 empty chairs sometime and see how you like it), or the advance checks (OK, that was nice while it lasted, which wasn't long) or the way unpublished writers look at you, like you know something they don't. Which is true -- we know that at the end of the day the reward of it all is found in the process of writing stories, not selling them, in the very thing that got you hooked in the first place.

Writing is like that old joke about prostitution: First you do it for love, then you do it for a few friends, and finally you do it for the money.

But usually not for long.

I wrote paperback originals, which in the business of book selling are like B-minus movies -- they appear, they have their run and then they go away, fated to the occasional spotting in the used section at Powell's. At the core of my dirty little secret is the fact that my publisher, Signet, threw me under the literary bus after three singles and a double in a game of home-run derby. Despite two new manuscripts and a new agent, I'm still out there on the streets schlepping, right alongside the very people who have paid to listen to me teach them how to break into the business.

This is like David Hasselhoff telling a group of fourth-year drama majors at Reed College how to audition for a Mamet play. He's been produced on stage and screen -- the equivalent of being published -- so they'll listen. And I do know how to write a book that works, that much is not in dispute. It's just that the shelf life of the cachet that allows me to keep doing it is getting a little thin. At least until my next book comes out.

When I broke in, both as a published novelist and as a writing workshop teacher, there was another instructor on the local scene named Jim Frey (not the James Frey of "A Million Little Pieces" infamy) who had a reputation as the Leona Helmsley of aspiring authors, someone with the wit and demeanor of Dick Cheney and the sensitivity of Simon Cowell when it came to the feedback he gave his students. At first I was aghast when I heard stories of his cruelty . . . how could anyone rain on this parade of ambition and burgeoning talent, how could he crush their James Patterson dreams with his insensitive casting of their work into the abyss of the proverbial wannabe slush pile? But I get it now. Not that I approve -- I don't, I still believe that anyone willing to take on the daunting task of writing a novel or screenplay deserves the same respect as someone who, say, wants to erase world hunger -- but I do understand the frustration. Because no matter how hard we pound the fundamentals of structure and character and theme into their neophyte literary sensibilities, no matter how clearly we spell it out and urge them to dig deeper into the darkness of their own experience to bring blood and tears to the page, we still get -- let's be real here -- drivel in return, and we still get asked when our next book is coming out while we're at it.
The drivel keeps coming not because they don't try, but because writing a good novel, one good enough to publish, is incredibly, unthinkably hard.

That said, the key to getting published is simple. Write something completely fresh and original, not derivative of what you think might sell. Understand the basic criteria of the game; they are inviolate. Don't listen to anyone who says it's either good or bad. Just keep writing. And for God's sake, try to find a way to enjoy yourself as you do.

That's it. There's nothing else. Once you write the best book you can write -- and that's the point of all these workshops -- what happens to it is almost completely out of your control.
Let's resort to analogy to make this perfectly clear. Writing fiction is like any other avocation that can be undertaken by anyone, anytime. There are those at the top of the field who succeed wildly and get rich and famous, and there are those who, no matter how hard they labor, will be forever scanning the ads of the Publish-On-Demand outfits that will print your book for a nominal fee. It's a lot like golf. Many people play the game -- about as many as those who aspire to write a novel, in fact -- some better than others. But the bad ones keep playing, they take lessons and they still manage to enjoy a game that offers them absolutely no future. It's all about the experience, the sense of joy that comes with just being out there.

Ask yourself how many of the folks waiting in line at the first tee on Saturday morning have a serious intention of turning pro at the game. To make their living at it, even to become rich and famous at it. Answer: Zip. And yet, thousands upon thousands of writers pay to sit in writing workshops with partially finished manuscripts in their backpacks, and each and every one of them intends to turn pro, to publish and, in the most secret place of their heart's desire, to get rich and famous doing so.

I said this at that keynote for the Willamette Writers, and I'll say it again here: You can fit the number of rich and famous authors from the Northwest into a booth at Denny's. And a couple of those are dead.

If this is true, then, why do all these nice folks keep coming back to the conferences and workshops and symposiums that promise to show them how to do the very thing that the odds say is next to impossible? And why do they keep asking me to come back and teach them how to make their writing dreams a reality?

I think I know the answer. It's the same thing that keeps me at the computer late at night, trying to get my work back into the bookstore. It's the very essence of passion, the stuff of fantasy and the currency of actually being fully alive. It's called hope. Hope fuels the writer who continues to seek the holy grail of publication. And to them I say, hang in there. Set the bar high, because we, your teachers, can't really tell you how high it needs to be or we'll get thrown back into the parking lot. Keep coming to the workshops, keep learning and most of all keep writing.

Because in the end, I've also figured out why they keep asking me back. It's as simple as this, and as true: If it can happen to me, and it did, it can happen to you, too.

Larry Brooks' last published novel, "Bait and Switch," was a Publishers Weekly "Best Books of 2004" selection.