If You Give a Writer a Book Contract, She’s Going to Want…Everything!

Eighteen months ago, I vowed that all I wanted was for any decent traditional publisher to offer me a book contract. I swore I’d be happy no matter how tiny the advance, how miniscule the press run, how scant the publicity, how few reviews, how many bookstore shelves it might not land upon. I’d be grateful just to be published.

Then, the much sought-after contract was offered. The same day, a second offer arrived. A university press wanted me! A small press wanted me! So many riches! A week later, an agent offered representation, counseled me on the pros and cons of each contract/publisher, negotiated advance and royalty terms. I signed on with University of Nevada Press to publish Starting with Goodbye: A Daughter’s Memoir of Love after Loss. Elation!

And then, quite suddenly, that series of fortunate events kicked my humble I’ll be happy with anything attitude to the curb. I began to want things.

As the 14 months between contract signing and publication ticked by, my expectations grew, fertilized by over-exposure to what other authors were doing, getting, experiencing in their run-up to publication. I began to wonder why I wasn’t getting all of that too—trade media coverage, opportunities to appear at publishing/bookseller industry events, massive marketing support, advertising, you name it. Things I’d never thought about before, or even knew existed, now mattered because of their absence.

Conversations with author friends rankled, especially those who were with one of the Big Five publishers, who arranged perks that didn’t exist for a first-time author with a reputable but small university press. Each time I heard of an author landing another pre-pub boon, a little green monster that normally occupied only the tiniest corner of my brain, became a raging hulk.

I wanted it all. Everything that was happening for every other author I wanted to happen for me. My hopeful but naïve idea—that if only my book got published I would be content—crumbled.

In emails with my publisher, in talks with the publicist, in my forays around social media, in rambling one-sided conversations with my husband (who is clueless about publishing, but ever supportive), in my silent bedtime prayers, in my secret envious mental rants, my must-have and why-don’t-I-have and how-do-I-get list grew.

I wanted, wanted, wanted. More ARC’s. Greater marketing support. For my little book (no, it was no longer a little book in my head now but a big book, a great book, a mighty book!) to be featured at the trade shows. For me to be the feted author at bookseller breakfasts, media lunches, pre-launch literati cocktail parties. For my book to be the centerpiece of a gazillion trade industry ads, to be included in “must read” lists in every magazine or website, to be—as my military friend once put it—“coming in hot.”

Look, her book has a celebrity endorsement. His book snagged glowing advance reviews in every trade publication. All those authors’ books are getting an audio version. Every article about preparing for publication warns of comparing your book’s trajectory to others’. But it was as if I’d never heard that advice.

The more I wanted, the less attention I paid to the bona-fide good things that were happening. When my book was flagged an Amazon #1 New Release its first week of pre-orders, I dismissed it as a lucky fluke. When my publisher placed an ad in a trade publication (which drew strong response measured by clicks), I wondered why that ad wasn’t in multiple issues, or additional venues. When a perfectly lovely literary site said my book would “redefine the classification of grief memoir,” I chalked it up to exaggeration.

My local newspaper ran a feature about me and my book, and people were congratulating me in the grocery story, but I saw only small potatoes. Friends near and far told me they’d pre-ordered the book, which I shrugged off as obligatory gestures. On and on it went. Nice things were happening. My publisher was pleased. My husband and sons were excited for me. Yet I was convinced that something, always, was missing.

But why? What had transformed me from the grateful, low-expectation writer who signed that book contract, into a malcontent convinced that other books, other authors were getting bigger, better slices of a more delicious publishing industry pie?

Partly I suppose, it was the confidence that bubbles up when a publisher believes in your book, the confirmation that hey, I was right all along: it is a good book, damnit.  The rest arose from perfectionist tendencies and a misguided belief that my workaholic habits should earn me those shiny things. (Ha!). But some of it was just ugly jealousy. I knew it but I couldn’t help myself.

I did know though that if I didn’t rein in my flailing feels-like-failure attitude, I was going to ruin for myself one of the high points of my writing life. Of life. Over lunch and then texts and emails, I confided to two author friends. They sympathized but both urged me to focus on the bigger, positive picture—my book is being published!—and as for the rest of it, concentrate only on what I could control. To do what I could do to help my book’s chances for success, and as for the rest, I needed to let go. Breathe. Get outside, away from my computer and phone. Find some joy in the process.

My husband was doing all he could to celebrate every good thing and remind me this was the culmination of several years’ hard work. That this was something I dearly wanted and like all major milestones, the publication of my first book would be over in a flash. Why not enjoy it?

Late one night, I came across the film Jerry Maguire. In one scene, a football player’s agent, disgusted with his client’s lackluster performance and locker room whining, explodes: You’re playing with your head and not your heart, he shouts. You’re constantly yapping about other players’ contracts, perks, and sponsorship deals, and who else is getting what. That kind of performance doesn’t inspire people, Maguire says. Playing with heart is what’s inspiring.

I wasn’t playing the pre-publication game with my heart. No wonder I couldn’t inspire even myself. When I realized how far my attitude had strayed from my outlook of the year before, I sat myself down for a little tough-love heart-to-heart. Listen up, I told myself: don’t be that author, the who’s only concerned with every other author’s good fortune. Remember, self, that our book—our humble little book that one very decent publisher has decided to publish—is enough.

—

Lisa Romeo is the author of Starting with Goodbye: A Daughter’s Memoir of Love after Loss, (University of Nevada Press). Her nonfiction is listed in Best American Essays 2016, and has appeared in the New York Times, O The Oprah Magazine, Longreads, Brain Child, Inside Jersey, Front Porch, Tishman Review, Sport Literate, Sweet, Barnstorm, Brevity, and Hippocampus. Lisa is thesis advisor to Bay Path University’s MFA. She holds an MFA from Stonecoast/University of Southern Maine and works as a freelance editor and writing coach. Lisa lives in New Jersey with her husband and sons.

Social Media Links:

https://LisaRomeo.net

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https://Facebook.com/LisaRomeo  and  https://Facebook.com/LisaRomeoAuthor

About STARTING WITH GOODBYE

In Starting with Goodbye, a midlife daughter explores whether it’s ever too late to reconnect with a parent. When Lisa Romeo’s late father drops in for “conversations,” she wonders why this parent she dismissed in life now holds her spellbound. Lisa reconsiders her affluent upbringing (filled with horses and lavish vacations), and the emotional distance that grew when he left New Jersey and retired to Las Vegas. She questions death rituals, family dynamics, Italian-American customs, midlife motherhood, and her own marriage while getting to know her father better after he’s gone. Their new father-daughter relationship transforms grief, and delivers powerful lessons about the bonds that last past death.

“A compelling memoir. Lovely writing and starting insights into father-daughter bonds, identity, mortality, and the vagaries of love.” – Christina Baker Kline, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Orphan Train and A Piece of the World

 

 

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing