…surprise — it’s business!
In a blog post the other day, literary agent Nathan Bransford unleashed a torrent by asking nascent and/or, umm, under-published writers two questions:
Question #1: Let’s say there was a seer who could tell you definitively whether or not you have the talent to be a published writer. Absolute 100% accuracy. But. If the seer person said no, that’s that. Final answer. Would you want to know?
Question #2: If the seer person said no, you don’t have the talent to be a published writer, would you still write?
Now, granted, there are some traps there for the unwary reader. What does “published” mean — does self-publishing count? What’s “talent”?
But there were also a couple traps there for the blogging agent himself. First, of course, maybe 50-60% of commenters began by implicitly re-writing the first question to suit themselves, a la “Nothing is ever 100% certain. Therefore I’m going to assume that the seer may be wrong — certainly in my case!”
(I wanted to say, C’mon, people, make a choice. One shudders to imagine this sort of “decision-making” when facing truly black-and-white life choices — as sometimes, however painfully, life choices are. Re-imagine Sophie’s Choice, say: Sure — take them both! Sheesh.)
The post drew almost 200 comments. But that wasn’t the other trap awaiting Bransford. The other trap was in summing up his responses to all the comments.
That follow-up, titled “Non-Hypothetical Response to the Hypothetical Question,” addressed in part a specific comment: Does Bransford ever tell anyone (a la the seer), “Sorry — you’ve got no talent. No chance at all in the marketplace. Give it up. I don’t want you, and nobody else will, either.” (Not the questioner’s words, but that’s sort of the way the question went.) To which Bransford replied:
Before I answer that, let me reluctantly admit that at times it is tempting. When you’ve read twenty queries in a row by people who will almost positively never be published, sometimes this voice in the back of the head wants to tell people to just stop and go and spend some time with their family. And for about 50% of the queries I receive, I think I could probably tell someone with 99% accuracy that they don’t have the chops for mainstream publication.
But I don’t give into that temptation. And here’s why:
#1: It’s just not my place. Who am I to tell someone they shouldn’t follow their dreams? I’m just trying to do my job, which is sell books.
#2: The people who have the least chance tend to be the people who are most hostile to hearing that.
#3: Who knows, anyway?
And wow, some of the comments on that List of Three really fell into Never-Never Land. I’m not going to quote any of them directly — not out to embarrass anybody — but in short, the objections went kinda like this: What about all the authors who were told they had no talent but went on to write great books? Aren’t you failing to recognize that some people can grow, with work and persistence, into clients you would want to represent? And so on.
Look: every agent (I’m sure) wants to find the Austen-in-the-rough in the slush pile, the writer who will just require a few nudges in the right direction in order to craft great literature that sells well.
Ask yourself, thinking from inside the agent’s head (not quoting anybody, least of all Nathan Bransford; just imagining):
What are the odds? How much am I willing to risk? Say 1% of the writers whose work is in my Inbox are possibly the next Austen, or Heller, or Chabon, or whoever. How many of those 1% of writers will in fact turn out to be the next etc. etc. etc.? Maybe 1% of the 1%? Half a percent? How much do I bet? and, really, how do I know which is the 1%-of-1% that will thrive, endure, make both of us fabulously wealthy, and change the course of literature?
The answer (it seems to me) must be, well, you gotta go with your gut.
Please, anyone who might read this: by all means write, for whatever reason works for you. Commenters on Bransford’s two posts cite fun, dreams, money, success, fame, pride, and so on. Any of those suffices, as well as any other reasons you might adopt for yourself.
But please, if you decide you need to put your work in the marketplace, please think: Business people must make the business decisions that make sense for them — their lifestyle, their legacy, their pride and aspirations. They don’t owe you a chance to prove yourself the next Austen, Heller, Dostoevsky, E.B. White, Jim Harrison, Verlaine, James M. Cain, Ursula K. LeGuin, or anybody else. Maybe you will be, someday, and good for you; I can’t wait to read your stuff. In the meantime, sheesh, it’s a product, people. Bitter reality, but truth.
[Steps off soapbox]
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