In the publishing world, there’s a lot going on behind-the-scenes even when it may not look like it. In fact, the bulk of a publisher’s (or agent’s or writer’s) efforts aren’t publicly broadcasted. When an announcement is made or a book is released, it comes on the heels of weeks, or even months, of behind-the-scenes teamwork. Because we like full transparency and providing an inside look into how we do what we do, I wanted to touch on delays; why they happen, and why they aren’t always a bad thing. So in a fashion similar to Editorial Dir. Kisa Whipkey’s What Not to Do When Querying article, here’s:

“Hey, what’s taking so long?”
The Delays in Publishing.

For organizational means, I’m going to break down “publishing” into the main phases an author and publisher go through. Please note this is specific to REUTS and how we move through these individual phases. Though other pubs may have similar processes, there isn’t a “one size fits all” method to publishing.

Submitting

Number one delay: Slush.

Now, don’t assume that’s bad. Slush is just a term to describe all the submissions we receive. Some are good, and some are not so good. Kind of like snow—you’ve got the pristine, fresh snow, and then the mucky, brown snow. Mix them together, and you have slush. Not bad, just how it goes. Every publisher or agency has slush, and everyone has their own method of trudging through it.

Delay’s happen here from an overwhelming number of submissions. If you have 100 submissions looming in the slush pile, and each includes a query/synopsis and the first ten pages of the manuscript, there’s quite a lot of reading involved at the very start of the process. And, in order to make the most informed decision on whether or not to request the full manuscript, we read them all. This causes a delay at REUTS because of the unique method we’ve adopted to handle submissions. Instead of submitting to one Acquisitions Editor who then decides yay or nay (and if yay, has to convince the rest of the team to feel the same way), we have a panel consisting of the four REUTS directors. Each of our directors reads through each submission, provides their thoughts, and submits a decision. It then comes down to a majority vote. Only after a majority vote has been decided can we respond to an author regarding their submission. And at REUTS we provide a unique response email to all of our submitting authors, regardless if it’s good news or bad news.

Only then can we move a manuscript out of the “submitting” phase, and into the “reviewing” phase.

Remember, requesting an update only delays us further, since the time it takes to look up your manuscript, track down the email with any discussion, and respond back takes precious time away from actually reading your submission. Here are REUTS we always respond to a submission made. No exceptions. So if you haven’t heard from us, that’s actually better than if you had and received a rejection.

Reviewing

Number one delay: Reading.

If a submission makes it to the “reviewing” phase that means we’ve requested a full manuscript for further . . . review. Makes sense! This is, without a doubt, the longest part on your journey toward receiving that beloved contract offer. In requesting manuscripts with a minimum word count of 50,000 (and many times a story is well over that), it means an acquisitions team has to read a full-length book before making a decision. Just like in the “submitting” phase, our panel of four REUTS directors are involved in reviewing the full manuscript. Each director reads the manuscript, and then there’s the discussion. Since people read at different speeds, with their own set of different delays (remember: our directors have responsibilities to already signed authors outside of their acquisitions duties) there’s no way to accurately gauge how long it will take all four team members to read a manuscript. Then there’s the discussion, which is absolutely necessary, as each of our directors brings a different perspective to the table. Editorial Director Kisa Whipkey weighs in on the amount of work involved in bringing a manuscript up to publication standards. Marketing Director Summer Wier weighs in on how marketable the title would be in the current—and future—marketplace trends. This method, along with many other factors, allows us to determine whether a title will work within our collection or whether it isn’t a good fit.

We take our job very seriously, as I’m sure all Acquisitions Editors do, and that means taking our time to make sure our accrual of a new title will benefit both REUTS and—most importantly—the author.

Production
(editing, cover design, marketing, etc…)

Number one delay: Life.

Your editor won’t be your cover artist. Your cover artist won’t be your marketer. That right there means there are at least four people working together to produce your novel. And, guess what, those four people all have lives independent of each other, independent of REUTS. Yes, you’re included in that four, too. We don’t expect an author to focus on their manuscript 24/7, just as we don’t expect our production team to focus solely on your manuscript 24/7. It’s a fact many tend to ignore: life gets in the way. Sometimes you can’t control it. Sickness, death, children, leisure . . . delays sometimes happen because of the things you can’t plan for. It doesn’t mean your editor/cover artist/etc . . . isn’t fully vested in your project. It doesn’t mean you’re not a priority in the eyes of the publisher. It just . . . happens. As much as we try to account for life-based delays, let’s face it, they’re unavoidable.

In addition, on top of those life delays each team member involved in the production of your title has at least a handful of other books they’re also working on, simultaneously, and trying to make sure all authors receive the same amount of attention, especially if one of the authors has a book release looming sooner than another.

Sometimes this means we miss the original publication date, and it has to be pushed back (trust me, this happens a lot in publishing, and not just to independent presses). Many times that means scrambling until the very last second before a release day, making sure everything is set and ready to go. But always this means we’re working our very hardest for you and your manuscript. A delay doesn’t mean otherwise.

So you see, there are a lot of pieces to the puzzle that come together, from start to finish, to produce a book. Delays aren’t necessarily a bad thing. We’d much rather delay any phase of the process in order to give your story the time of day it deserves. In the “Submitting” phase, that means actually reading through your submission, and determining if we’re the best fit as a publisher or not. In the “Reviewing” phase, that means reading every word of that 50,000+ word story, becoming emotionally invested in your characters/world/etc… and trying to find a place for it in our collection. And then finally, in “Production”, where if everything wasn’t done digitally, our blood, sweat, and tears would stain your pages because we want to put out the very best product possible.

Publishing is largely a waiting game. That should come as no surprise. But just remember what they say:

Patience is a virtue.

The post “Hey, what’s taking so long?” The Delays in Publishing appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

Surprisingly, I’ve actually seen the statement (more than once) that writers don’t need to worry about things like grammar and spelling. That’s the editor’s job; they’ll clean it up. (Every time someone says this, another editing muse disintegrates into ash from the horror.) No, actually, that’s not our job. It’s yours. Yes, editors (especially freelance editors) are more forgiving of the occasional typo and drunk-sounding sentence than your average reader, but that doesn’t mean they want to sludge through something that isn’t even as legible as your 4th grade history paper. And if your 4th grade teacher made you proofread, what makes you think an editor standing between you and publication, between you and being paid for your work, wouldn’t expect the same thing?

Exactly. They do.

But that doesn’t mean editing has to be as painful as a self-lobotomy. In fact, I’ve given tips to get you through the revision process before. (Divorce Your Words; Save Your Story) It’s a topic that bears repeating though, so today, I’m going to give you another set of helpful insights, not from the perspective of a writer (like that previous post was) but from that of an editor. (Hold on a moment while I swap my writer hat for my editor one . . . Okay. Ready.)

1. Step Back

 
No, I’m not bastardizing “step off” so don’t get your panties in a bunch. Step back is a concept from the art world. In fact, it’s one of the first things you learn at art school. (Yes, you learn stuff at art school. Shocking, I know.) The idea is that an artist can’t clearly see the entirety of their work when they’re hunched over it and it’s about 6 inches from their face, so they have to “step back” to change their perspective and see their work the way the world does. Now it makes sense, huh?

The first step in self-editing is finding a way to create that shift in perspective, to see the work you’ve poured your heart into for the past year in a different way. We’re too close to it during the creation phase, viewing it like an overprotective mother turning a blind eye to their kid’s flaws. You have to break that connection before you can even begin to analyze your work objectively. You need to step back.

The easiest way to do that is simply to shove your manuscript in a drawer for a few days and avoid it like a note from a debt collector trying to repo your car. I recommend a bare minimum of 48 hours, but a week to a month would be better. That allows the warm, fuzzy glow of creation to fade away and stark reality to set in. If you can’t afford to take the time off, then simply changing the mode of viewing can help. Download it onto an eReader or print it out. Even just move to the Starbucks two blocks away instead of the one next to your house. The change of venue will automatically clear your perspective of any lingering rosy tint and allow you to see more clearly.

2. Ignore the Details

 
Editing is synonymous with comma hunting, spell-check, and word choice, right? Wrong. So many writers (and more than a few editors) dive right into the detail work, thinking all they have to do is clean up the grammar, completely skipping over a very crucial step — structural editing. Bypassing this is like trying to repair a broken bone with makeup. All you end up with is a mangled limb painted like a hooker. Offensive, maybe, but it gets the point across, no?

At this stage in the process, no one cares if you spelled “definitely” wrong, or have a bazillion commas in all the wrong places. Ignore all that. Look deeper, at the story itself. If the structure isn’t working, there’s no point in polishing. That lump of coal’s not turning into a diamond. The only way to fix it is to become a story surgeon, diagnosing and repairing things that are otherwise fatal to your chances of publication. How? Like this:

Take that fresh perspective you earned in step 1 and read through your manuscript from an aerial view, glossing over all the details. You’ll fix them later. Right now, you want to focus on things like pacing, character motivations, world development, scene transitions and narrative sequence. What’s the message of your book? Is that coming through clearly? Do the characters feel like fully-fleshed out people, or cardboard cut-outs? Are the scenes in the right order or does shuffling a few around improve the plot’s progression? These are the kinds of questions you should be asking. Trust your instincts as a reader. We’ve all been programmed to know when a story works and when it doesn’t. And don’t be afraid to make a giant mess; you can stitch it all back together afterward.

3. Murder Your Habit Words

 
Habit words are insidious, riddling your manuscript like a cancer, so before you send your book off to the cosmetic surgeon (aka, your editor) for that much-needed facelift, you need to eradicate them. (Don’t ask why my favorite analogy for editing is medical. I don’t know.) Don’t feel bad, everyone has them. They’re like comfort food, something we turn to without even realizing. My habit words are “was” and “so.” I’m sure I have others, but that’s all I’m admitting to.

Other common ones are “that,” “had,” and “actually.” It can also be a phrase like “for a moment” or “roll his/her/their eyes.” Pretty much anything you find repeating over and over again qualifies as a habit word. Ideally, you should try to avoid repeating words on the same page or even the same chapter! The English vocabulary is huge; use it to your advantage. But without being pretentious about it. Rarely will you find a word that doesn’t have at least one synonym. So before you go to the next step, arm that delete button with a hefty dose of radiation and go hunting for your habit words. You can’t kill them all, but you’ll be surprised at how even just this small tweak can drastically improve the smoothness of your prose.

4. Rhythm’s in the Details

 
Now you get to go through your manuscript with a fine-toothed comb, copyediting line by line until it’s as perfect as you can make it on your own. This includes things like fixing rocky sentences, condensing wordy parts, simplifying convoluted phrasing, fixing grammar mistakes and just general tweaking for rhythm and smoothness. This is what people picture when they hear “editing.” It’s the tedious part that will make you want to poke your own eyes out just so you never have to read that chapter ever again. It’s repetitive and monotonous, but it’s like sending your book to the gym. Each pass will trim a little more of the fat until your manuscript is a lean, efficient piece of storytelling. At which point you send it to an editor and the whole process starts over.

That’s right. I just outlined what a professional editor does. (With the exception of #1.)

So, why, if these are all steps you can do yourself, do editors exist? Because they provide objectivity. Even a self-editing master won’t be able to catch everything. Writers can never truly disconnect from their work, can never view it with complete objectivity, because they know the story and what they were trying to convey. An editor provides clarity, finding things that are confusing or missing just like a reader would. But since they’re also literary doctors, they’ll help you fix it, saving you from the embarrassing backlash of reader criticism and scorn. Besides, two heads are better than one. Right?

**Syndicated from Nightwolf’s Corner, the personal blog of Senior Editor, Kisa Whipkey.**

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Never underestimate the power of a good, aesthetically pleasing sentence. You can have the most amazing story idea ever, but if it’s not clearly written, nobody will understand what the heck you’re talking about, or they’ll have to work so hard to understand what you’re saying that reading ceases being a pleasure and becomes a pain.

I don’t have to tell you how easy it is to check your spelling. At the most basic level, you can use spell check in Microsoft Word (but that little bugger can be tricky, so don’t bet the farm on it). You can Google a word you’re unsure about. You can ask someone on FB or Twitter. If you feel like getting up from your desk, you can go get your dictionary. Some mistakes in your final draft are inevitable, thanks to evil typos and the impossibility of human perfection. But numerous mistakes are a big red flag that the writer didn’t put much effort into his or her work, or worse, weren’t even aware of the mistakes.

As far as grammar is concerned, there are a ton of rules, and lots of writers break them regularly. If you pick up a YA or NA novel, odds are that you’ll find fragments, maybe some run-ons, comma splices, etc. BUT, the successful rule-breakers do it in such a way that is natural, unobtrusive, and suited to the voice of the character and the tone of the book.

Never break grammar rules for the sake of breaking grammar rules or because you’re tired of line edits. For the most part, following the rules helps you create clean sentences that are easy to read and understand.

In summary:

1. Be fastidious about spelling and grammar.

2. Don’t depend on spell-check.

3. Your dictionary is your friend.

4. Stick to the rules unless you have a monumentally good reason to do otherwise.

That’s all for now, folks!

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I’m not one of those writers. Revision is actually my favorite part. There’s something so satisfying in tearing apart a story to reassemble it in a better version, polishing and cutting and rearranging it like pieces in a puzzle until everything finally clicks. I don’t fear the delete button, I wield it proudly. That 6 page scene I slaved over for three weeks still isn’t working? Buh-bye! Two-thirds of my story is riddled with plot-holes, superficial characters and overall stinkage? Adiós! The word count is too high for the magazine I want to submit to? No problem, let me grab my scalpel.

How am I able to freely chop my manuscripts into little mutilated bits? I don’t marry my words. Maybe that’s a perk of writing like a film director. I don’t see words on a page, I see the scenes themselves. The words are just a way for me to communicate those scenes to my audience. They’re my camera. So when what I’m trying to convey gets lost in translation, I have no problem chucking them and trying again.

I know, I’m extreme. Cutting an entire section is most writer’s worst nightmare. But sometimes, that’s exactly what needs to happen in order to save your story. Sometimes, you have to strip it down to it’s bare bones before you can build it back up. Sometimes, you have to hit delete.

Similar to “kill your darlings,” which tells us our favorite phrases are also the cancer of our manuscript and should be instantly removed, you have to divorce your words before you can successfully revise. Easier said than done, right? I know how hard it is for some of you to disconnect from those precious patterns of words and beautiful phrases, to see past the letters to the plot itself. Which is why I decided to write this post. I’m going to teach you my method of revision in the hopes that it helps some of you become less afraid of the process.

Step 1: Remove the Rose-Colored Glasses of Creation

Let’s face it, when we’re wrapped up in a love affair with our muse, we think everything we write is brilliant. There are days when we know it isn’t, because we’re having a lover’s spat with the fickle biatch, but deep down, we still think our manuscript can do no wrong. Everything is tinged with the rosy glow of creation.

You’ve heard of the runner’s high, yes? The rush of endorphins that provides runners with a euphoric moment in paradise? Well, I believe creative people feel a similar burst of euphoric pride, a creator’s high if you will, that prevents us from seeing our work the way the rest of the world will. So the first step in my revision process is to disconnect from the piece. Set whatever you’re working on aside and wait for the creator’s high to wear off. This can take anywhere from a day, to a couple weeks. But once you’re no longer creatively invested in the piece, you’ll be able to see it through the harsh lens of reality and objectively assess it.

Step 2: Strip to the Bare-Bones

Once our judgement is no longer clouded, we can easily spot flaws, the scenes that just aren’t quite right, the wonky phrasing, the plot holes. Don’t get discouraged though, that’s exactly what we want. Because now you’re in editing mode. One of an editor’s jobs is to see past the words to the skeleton beneath. So that’s exactly what step 2 is about.

Read your manuscript again, ignoring the small things, the weird word choices, the rocky sentences, the missing punctuation, and focus on the scenes themselves, the flow of the story. (Click here if you need an explanation on what I consider “flow.”) Channel your inner film director and watch your story unfold in your mind. Kind of like one of those computer generated posters that contained a 3-D image if you crossed your eyes and stared long enough, (Yep, fads from the ’90′s for the win!), the words should fall away and you should be left with just the visuals they contained.

Those visuals are what I consider the skeleton of a piece, the bare bones. Once you have stripped away all the clothing, fat and useless fluff that masks the underlying architecture, you can analyze that skeleton, looking for cracks and weaknesses and in some extreme places, breaks. Much like a doctor examines x-rays, devising a strategy to repair the damage, an editor uses the bare bones of a story to identify and repair problems with the overall flow and structure. Which brings us to step 3.

Step 3: Divorce Your Words

This is where a lot of you are likely to rebel, because it’s where you’ll move from simply identifying the issues to becoming the surgeon that fixes them. And that’s a transition a lot of you might not like. (Warning, it involves heavy use of the delete button.)

Keeping the visuals from step 2 in mind, read your manuscript again. This time, compare what you’re reading to what’s in your head. Do they match? Do the words accurately convey the emotional content, the action, the details of the scene? If not, can it be fixed with a few minor tweaks or smoothing? (Not all editing has to be dramatic, after all.) Sometimes it just takes a minute shift of a single word or phrase to make everything perfect. But if the gap between the scene as you imagine it and what’s on the page is as large as the grand canyon, then you’ll have to do something more drastic– rewrite.

This is what it means to divorce your words. Highlight the trouble passage and say, “sayonara!” No alimony, no visitation, just rip it off like a band-aid and hit delete. (If that terrifies you, you can cheat slightly and copy/paste the original passage into a different file. That way you still have it if you don’t like the new version. But trust me, you’ll never need that safety net.)

Now that you have a blank slate, picture the scene as clearly as you can and try to recapture it. You’ll be surprised how often the second, (or third, or fourty-fifth), attempt is dramatically improved over the original. My theory is that the original acts as a dry-run. In film, they’d call it blocking in the scene. It’s essentially a rough draft placeholder meant to provide guidance for the real thing in terms of lighting, mood, choreography, etc. It helps the director organize their thoughts so that when the time comes to film it for real, it’s smooth sailing. Plus it’s cheaper to work out the kinks without the actual actors.

A similar thing happens when you rewrite. Rather than try and force the original to behave, you are free to start over. But because you’ve already practiced, it’s easier to write this time, and the result is a closer translation of the scene in your head.

That’s really all there is to it. Three simple steps that can take you from laboriously beating a broken carcass of letters into a semblance of what you hoped for to a liberating experience that gets you closer to your original goal. This method might not be for everyone, and that’s quite OK. But if you find yourself dreading the revision process like you would going to the dentist for that root canal, give it a try. Kick your words to the curb and you might just save your sanity as well as your story.

**Originally posted on Nightwolf’s Corner, Feb 1st, 2013.**

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