Theory #1: The Unsuccessful Debut

Apart from the overall mission of 101 Reasons (seeking to convince the comma-deprived that the ability to delude themselves does not indicate a talent for fiction), there's an underlying agenda: to determine, through analysis, conjecture and good old-fashioned finger-pointing, why the majority of people who call themselves "writers" couldn't even plagiarise a good novel, let alone write one.

Inevitably, some patterns will emerge out of the semirandom blatherings of the clueless keyboardists. Common strands of craptacularity connecting the chronically cliched. Reasons refined, tested and trialed, and tied together into theories.

Our first theory explores the old question of why some adequate, even good novels just don't succeed - in the submission stage, or in the marketplace. For the sake of argument, we're going to assume that the reason is not related to some previously undetected dreadfulness.

The 101 Reasons Theory of the Unsuccessful Debut:

You Don't Understand Why Readers Buy Debut Novels

(Reasons #1 and #6 touched on this, and Poll #1 demonstrated part of it.)

Sure, you think you know why you buy books. And you probably think you can deconstruct that into a checklist of component parts, and write the "perfect" novel, the novel someone like you is certain to buy. Of course, the world is full of people just like you, silently yearning for such a book to free them from the tyranny of unfamiliar literature. You just never seem to meet them.

You might think you understand why [Famous Author] is successful. You buy every new book by [Famous Author], and you figure other people probably buy them for the same, or equivalent, reasons. [Famous Author] has lines around the block at book signings, surely those fans would like something else to read while they're waiting.

And you really understand the appeal of [Genre]. You buy a lot of [Genre] books. You hang out in [Genre] bookstores, you go to [Genre] conventions. Most of your friends are [Genre] addicts too, and the ones that aren't have told you to shut the fsck up about it already. 

So you think you can write a book that [Genre] fans will like, particularly fans of [Famous Author], and especially the unseen millions of readers with exactly your taste.

This understanding, no matter how accurate, is useless when it comes to writing your debut (and until you're published, every novel you write is your debut).

There is one, and only one, target market for debut authors: Readers who will take a chance on buying debut authors. Those eternally optimistic homebodies who aspire to work in a bookstore, diligently maintain their LibraryThing, and zealously defend their Amazon.com Top 1000 Reviewer status. They buy and read books as if a cracked spine released a hit of crystal meth. They are so disenchanted with the real world that they'd rather spend a few hours in yours.

Unlike most book buyers, they don't wait for some external condition to be met (bestseller status, good reviews, word of mouth, etc). They crave the thrill of finding the next [Famous Author], and are prepared to drop hundreds of dollars a year on random debut novels looking for them.

They make, and break, new books and authors. I don't know exactly how this happens, though I'd dearly love to, as would most of the publishing industry.  

(The downside is in what these readers don't buy - or rather, what doesn't get the boost of their early support. It's likely there are great books, authors, even small sub-genres, that don't sell because the readers who would enjoy them don't buy enough new books. If there's any "conspiracy" in publishing, it's this side-effect of a capricious marketplace.)

They don't (by themselves) make bestsellers, but if your first book isn't discovered by these dedicated shelf explorers, you may not get to publish a second one. Instead you'll be stuck whining to the few fans you did make about how your publisher didn't get behind the book, your agent negotiated a crappy deal, booksellers only want to sell the big names, [Famous Author] stole your idea, blah blah blah, and begging anyone left listening to buy your bottom drawer of unsold novels POD.

If you're not one of these voracious risk-taking consumers, then you don't know what type (and standard) of debut novel publishers are currently willing to gamble on, and you don't know what these readers want and expect. But more importantly, you're not in the target market for your own book.

We'll delve deeper into this theory at a later date.

Poll Dancing #1: The Results

The first 101 Reasons poll is closed, and the results should be interesting for anyone trying to break into publishing.

The Question: Did you buy any books by debut authors last year?
Simple enough.

The Responses:

45% (14 votes)I bought a few from debut authors, but I mostly stick to familiar crap from bestselling crapmeisters

26% (8 votes)Dozens. I like to support debut authors. (Sooner or later the first edition will be worth money.)

10% (3 votes)If by "debut" you mean remaindered, marked down, found on a park bench or oops! in my pants ...

10% (3 votes)Debut authors come to me, begging for a review on my blog.

10% (3 votes)I only buy pornography new.

0% (0 votes)I only buy if the New York Times tells me to.

0% (0 votes)If it doesn't say "Book of the Film", I ain't buying.

Total Votes: 31

Now, you might think that the lesson here is that the the largest proportion of respondents only admit to buying a few books by debut authors (and that 10% have an ego problem and 20% have other social problems, and that I shouldn't write polls with five different jokey versions of the same answer). But that's only part of the story.

The real tale is in the hidden numbers. At least 250 different people viewed 101 Reasons while the poll was displayed. Only 12% bothered to click an option, and hit the Vote button.

Fair enough. There was no reward for voting.

But that means only 3% of people who read this blog actively purchase books by debut authors. (I'd venture to guess that the 88% who didn't vote aren't terribly likely to give the new guy a chance.)

When you submit your manuscript, you're hoping it's going to overcome the Everest of Ennui: the publishing industry. Agents, editors, marketers, reviewers and eventually readers - five levels of "Why should I take a chance on this?", and thousands of individual decisions not to bother.

Before asking all these people to care about another new author, maybe you should decide if you do.

Reason #11: You Think Web 2.0 Will Change Publishing

(I would have gotten to this eventually, but the timing is inspired by Meika.)

Web 2.0 is a wonderful, nebulous concept. It's a buzzword, a meme, a marketing gimmick, a catchcry, a call to arms, and yet it doesn't actually describe anything in particular. To programmers, it's an exciting way to build interactivity into websites, experiment with online communication and collaboration, and make nifty gadgets. To tweens, it's an awesome way to get stalked and to get busted puking into your mom's Beemer. To most humans, though, Web 2.0 finally delivers on some of the promise of the Internet that made you buy that first modem, back in nineteen fscking ninety-six.

Web 2.0 hacks, and the talentless masses who choke these channels with meaningless content, can pat themselves on the back now that Time has declared this river of shit the most powerful cultural force in existence. Dear god, now we're all watching each other poop, and rating it.

One thing Web 2.0 has done is bring us closer to Andy Warhol's prediction, and the metaphorical period of fame closer to a literal 15 minutes.

One thing Web 2.0 won't do, however, is put your words in a better order. There's only so much you can learn from sifting through garbage.

Every year or so some pundit declares the next technology to be a [some industry]-killer. POD, e-books, e-paper, Amazon.com, they were all supposed to have killed traditional publishing and bookselling by now, and we were all supposed to be sitting under healthy trees reading democratically-promoted writers on the one sheet of electronic paper, while flying cars whizzed by. But the dents made by these technologies are nothing compared to the impact of Dan Brown and JK Rowling alone. For every person who took a gamble on a POD author, or squinted through an e-book in the last five years, there are two kids and a high-school dropout who set foot in a bookstore for the first time to buy TDVC or Harry Potter and the Obvious Fantasy Reference.

POD, self publishing, e-books, Internet distribution - none of this is really new (not Web 2.0 new). Writers have always had the option of writing out more copies of their manuscripts to hand-bind and sell in the market. The only difference now is that e-books and POD make it a snap to reproduce the product, which means even the laziest writer (who manages to cobble together a first draft of some "experimental" fiction over decades of minimal effort) can become the sole proprietor of I Wrote This Myself Enterprises.

Because the barriers are lower, more shit flows. More books are published now than ever before, but quality hasn't improved. There's just more stuff in the middle, and much more stuff at the bottom.

Apart from experiments in interactive and collaborative fiction, Web 2.0 has meant nothing for how people write. Hell, we haven't even got an online or software thesaurus that beats reaching behind you for the battered copy of Roget's you bought in college. The cyber-fantasy of online, instant feedback and criticism is hampered by two obvious inertias:

• I can't be bothered reading your crap, let alone providing detailed constructive criticism; and
• Even if I did, you'd just get all huffy and tell me I'm wrong and too stupid to understand the deeper layers of puke below the crap.

And thus the dream of Web 2.0-driven fiction founders, on the rocks of obstinacy, continually dashed by waves of utter indifference.

So what does Web 2.0 mean for publishing? Not much. Publishing companies are big enough to absorb the shift to POD, when the quality of POD eventually rivals mass production. People still buy books for the same reasons, and how these books get in front of their eyes is less important than which books they choose - and they ain't choosing meika loofs samorzewski.

The Would I Buy This? Test

How do you choose which books you buy? (If you don't buy books, see Reason #1, then stop writing.) Do you:

• Browse the shelves at your local chain store?
• Read the reviews in the Sunday Elitist?
• Let your friends screen the current bestsellers?
• Grab whatever's on the top rack at the airport newsstand?
• Get This Month's Special auto-shipped from Doubleday Book Club?

How would your novel fit into your purchasing routines? With thousands of books published every year, most of which won't make it into these venues, would you even see it?

This is the Would I Buy This? test. If you're not completely sure you would buy the novel, you're wasting your time writing it.

The people who buy books from new authors are usually hardcore genre fans. They're not very discerning (face it, you're not), but they know what they like. If you're not a hardcore fan of the genre you're writing, you don't know what these fans want. Fail them, and your career won't gain traction. Your publisher will dump you, and you'll have to shop around your next misconceived piece of shit under a pseudonym.

If you're not the ideal reader for your own work, you're writing for the wrong reasons. Plus, your work sucks, and you will never understand why.

Reason #1: You Don't Buy Books

How many books have you bought in the last five years?

Make a rough guess. Now eliminate anything in the following categories:

non-fiction

gifts

remainders

second-hand

(ghost)written by a celebrity

published prior to 2001

(If your total is already down to zero, give up any fantasy of being a published writer. Right now.)

Keep going and eliminate:

established authors (prior to 2001)

anything with "Bestseller" or "Oprah" printed on it

recommended by a friend/family member

anything by an author you know personally

If you have a few books left, congratulations. Check back for Reason #2.

If you haven't taken a chance on a new, unproven author in the last five years, why the hell would you expect anyone else to?