The Business of Writing

The Wake Up Call Heard Five Years Ago

5 April 2014

From Tracy Hickman:

I received a phone call today to tell me that perhaps I should find this article on what I said in a speech and that I should read it. I’m often intrigued by what people say that I said … and in this case what someone said that someone said that someone said that I said.

. . . .

I am fighting for my life as an author but then those authors who are not are as rare as meteor strikes in my back yard. I do work 12-14 hours a day – but what the quote does not say is that I’m working those hours on self-publishing projects, or on an independent publishing contract I have with ‘Shroud of the Avatar‘, or my own self-promoted serial novels or my more recent successful kickstarter storytelling game project. I engineer my own ebooks, do my own layouts and generate my own epub and mobi format files. I design and provide content for my own websites, book my own appearances and sell my own content through my websites. I even occasionally pick up the phone when people call to tell me with concern that there is an article quoting me on the internet.

And, if you had the time, I could tell you exactly why I think ‘Legacy’ publishing is a dinosaur just begging for extinction.

Let me fill in some of the blanks for you. There is nothing preventing me from writing 12,000 word publications and selling it for $4.95. My actual point is that this very fact spells the death of the ‘Great American Novel’ as we once knew it. I’m a working writer, a professional for thirty years. It’s not a hobby for me; this is my bread, butter and mortgage payment. The economics of words is part of my career. It is precisely this fact that requires me to do exactly what this article asked: write shorter fiction in serialized format in order to be properly compensated for my time, my talent and my three-decades of craft. What perhaps needs to be said is that now that same 120,000 word novel I once sold as a whole now might have to be sold as a five-to seven-volume serial – and now ends up costing those who want to read the entire story that same $49.50 in order to get all of the installments.

. . . .

As for my audience, it’s a dramatic picture that is painted here but inaccurate. Of course my audience remembers me (they’re very bright) but the world today — especially the internet — is a pretty distracting place. Where my readers once looked for my books in the local book store, the B. Daltons and Waldens are now gone from the malls that have vanished with them. The truth is that the old ways in which my readers and I once connected have disappeared. That is why so much of my efforts today are going to reconnecting with my audience in new ways and far more directly.

Link to the rest at Tracy Hickman and thanks to Frank for the tip.

Author Myths

31 March 2014

From suspense writer Russell Blake:

I hear ‘em all the time in chat groups and forums, and they drive me nuts. Author myths.

. . . .

1) Books Sell Themselves. No, sweetie, they don’t, at all, and never did. That’s why trad pubs spend massively on promotions. Because they know that visibility sells books, not invisible cosmic forces or author brilliance. It’s a highly competitive market with millions of choices, and it’s a retail market, and in retail, visibility is key. Which means constant promotion. Which most authors hate. But it’s reality, so get used to the idea. A companion to this aphorism is the next one…

2) Just write the next one. Sure, if you want to have two undiscovered gems instead of one. Look, writing the next one’s important, but not if it’s used to justify not promoting the last one, which is often the case. You have to both market the last one AND write the next one. Sorry. You do.

. . . .

4) Do everything right and you’ll make it. Huh. If that were so, every book put out by big pubs would do well. The vast majority don’t. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have to do everything right, unless you want to worsen your already slim odds rather than improving them.

Link to the rest at Russell Blake and thanks to Eric for the tip.

Genre lines: Why literary writers won’t self-publish

30 March 2014

From TeleRead:

Paul Bowes suggests that the reason literary writers can’t or don’t want to self-publish is a genre thing.

Guardian Books, and the literary world generally, have a tendency to conflate ‘writing’ with literary fiction: or at least, with literary fiction and the kind of serious non-fiction that is aimed at the same readership. I don’t think it’s possible to exaggerate the contempt with which these people regard self-publication. To other people, working in other genres, it looks like a reasonable option: but to someone who expects to be reviewed in the LRB or the TLS and the daily ‘heavies’, self-publication is an up-front admission that nobody who matters thought your stuff was good enough to publish.

In a follow-up, someone going by the handle “400pages” writes that traditional publishers are still seen as the “gatekeepers” of literary fiction to a greater extent than in other genres.

Unfortunately (as so many commentators have pointed out), this gatekeeping system is extremely elitist and cliquey, totally opaque to outsiders, and is biased towards a certain particular model of “writing” and “writers.” Self-publishing is to reject that system entirely – it is to throw a big “**** you” to the whole literary establishment and walk off on your own. That shuts a lot of doors, and means a lot of influential opinion-forming people will not bother to read your book. Perhaps you’ll get a good number of readers and even earn some money that way, but call yourself a “writer” in the hearing of the guardians of literary fiction and most of them will quietly sneer. As I mentioned in another comment, things are rather different in the music business, with glorious traditions like indie shoestring labels and unsigned bands with early cult followings making it rather the done thing to despise major record companies, encouraging experimentation with new models (it may also help that listening to a song is rather less of a time investment than reading a new novel). If self-publishing were to become sexy, with the rebellious down-at-heal classiness of good indie music, that would be the greatest revenge it could have on the traditional literary publishers. Is it going to? I don’t know. Frankly, I rather hope so: it would be fun to see.

I must confess to enjoying a bit of schadenfreude here. After years and years of looking down their snooty noses at genre fiction, literary fiction writers are now looking at something akin to an apocalypse. Traditional publishers just aren’t able to pay them as much money anymore, and they place too much of a value on traditional gatekeepers to let themselves dip a toe into the self-publishing water.

. . . .

Meanwhile, genre fiction writers, who don’t take themselves nearly so seriously, are able to get off the dying horse of traditional publishing and take their work directly to the readers.

Link to the rest at TeleRead

I Made the Mistake of Starting a Small Press and So Can You

21 March 2014

From The Toast:

At the start of 2013–years ago, really–I started Sorry House. Imagined as a community collective (I was, after all, a year younger) and re-imagined several times with several different names, like high schoolers starting a band, it quickly became a very self-driven thing. I’ve rejected a lot and assimilated more. I’ve seen my books go from PDF to featured in Vice, Paper, Nylon, and The Rumpus, from my desk to the windows of McNally Jackson. Here’s everything that I’ve learned so far.

. . . .

Hate writers, hate books, hate publishing. Get mad when you see awful covers on great books, get frustrated when great presses have incomprehensible websites, cringe when a book is blurbed to be a “tour-de-force,” or another famous author makes an awkward stab at social media. Unfollow any writer who brags about their manuscript or penchant for whiskey. Feel bad for feeling superior. Remember it’s about doing. Feel excited.

. . . .

 The big five publishers don’t know how to sell books. Not really anyway. I interned at (what is now) the largest publisher in the world, and the formula was to skim the editor’s notes (which were a brief plot summary, three line biography, etc.) and, print press releases on company letterhead, calling it a modern masterpiece, a thrilling page-turner, a dazzling tear-jerker. Mail those press releases out with the books to a 300-entry list that’s not even up to date with current press contacts, and ask me to mail them out. On a good day, two or three reviewers get back to the publicists. The model is a few best-sellers float the rest, and there’s a machine in place to make a few bucks on everything else. 

. . . .

Content is promotion. Nothing makes me want to buy a book less than an author on Facebook saying “Have you read my book yet? Here’s your chance!” What does make me want to buy their book, though, is a funny or compelling Twitter feed, an interesting photography Tumblr, a great ask.fm account. This is how books are sold these days, and it’s a wonderful thing. We have all these opportunities to make selling more interesting than a commercial, to subvert the daily tedium of social media, to publicly slander your author instead of saying she’s the most honest writer alive. Advertising doesn’t have to be the necessary evil of your art, it can be a part of the object itself. Make it weird, make it funny, pay attention to what your inclinations are and indulge them. Don’t just compare the price of your book to a latte and call it a great deal.

Link to the rest at The Toast and thanks to Bonnie for the tip.

James Patterson: how the bestseller factory works

21 March 2014

From The Telegraph:

The book sales have been counted and verified and the results are in: James Patterson, author of tomes such as Mistress and Private Berlin, is the world’s best-selling author since 2001.

To call Patterson prolific would be an understatement. The ad man-turned-author has put his name to 130 novels, 15 of which have publish dates in 2014 alone. But even when you divide his estimated 300 million booksales by that number, it still results with a healthy 2.3 million copies sold per title. His website claims that in 2011, a quarter of all hardback thriller novels sold were written by Patterson, and since 2006 one in every 17 novels bought in America boasted his name.

. . . .

The 130 Patterson-branded novels have approximately 45,651 pages between them. It has been 38 years since his first publication, which is 14,185 days. Bearing in mind that Patterson takes the weekends off to relax in his palatial $17.4 million Palm Beach home, and presumably celebrates Thanksgiving and other bank holidays by not putting pen to paper (he writes only in longhand), then that’s still 4.7 published pages he has consistently written every working day since 1976.

The truth of the matter is that he has help. Although Patterson only became a full-time writer in 1996, since 2002 just 20 per cent of his novels have been entirely written by him.

Link to the rest at The Telegraph and thanks to J.J. for the tip.

SHAKESPEARE system for helping authors figure out self-publishing

20 March 2014

From author Matthew Mather via SFFWorld:

I get a lot of requests from new authors looking for tips and advice on how to navigate the self-publishing book market. I created this document to summarize the approach that worked for me in getting started.

Exactly one year after publishing my first novel, Atopia Chronicles, a science fiction epic (followed a half a year later by CyberStorm, a present day tech-thriller in the vein of Crichton) I’ve managed to achieve some impressive success: 20th Century Fox purchased the film rights to CyberStorm, over 120,000 books sold, and ten foreign language publishing deals…tooting my own horn a bit :) but just trying to illustrate what’s possible.

My background as an entrepreneur shaped my thinking in approaching self-publishing. In the past I’ve managed my own successful start-ups, as well as helping start many other companies get started–handling everything from writing business plans to raising venture capital. I applied that same structured way of think about starting a new business to the business of marketing a book, and below I am sharing my SHAKESPEARE system for helping new authors reach their own self-publishing success.

. . . .

Serialize

As attention spans shorten in the online (and real) world, readers don’t trust a new author enough to read 400 pages to get the point. For a new author, a winning approach is to serialize, to create your work as a set of progressively longer stories that connect together through cliffhangers to get a reader hooked. And speaking of that…

Hook

The first short story needs to be punchy and tell a complete story in itself while leaving the reader wanting to know more. Even more than that, you need to hook the reader on the first page somehow, create a mystery, a reason and need to keep reading.

Amazon

To start, focus only on Amazon. I’m not here to promote Amazon, but the first rule of entrepreneurism is to focus, focus, focus. The large majority of revenue in digital books comes from Amazon, with a small minority coming from all of the other players combined. So when you start, focus on Amazon by itself; getting reviews, getting up in the ranking. By only going on Amazon, you force people to buy from one place and thus drive up your rankings in this one spot. Once you have achieved some success there, expand to other platforms (FYI the easiest way to get on other platforms is just to use Smashwords).

. . . .

Perceived Value

Create perceived value by offering a deal. For instance, try and divide your ‘whole’ work into 6 parts, and sell each for $0.99, and then offer the whole ‘collection’ at half price, e.g. $2.99 for all six. This creates perceived value on the part of the buyer when you start to sell the whole collection

Link to the rest at SffWorld

What kind of reader are you? Big Pub thinks they know.

6 March 2014

From TPV regular, author Randall Wood:

This past month we saw the birth of AuthorEarnings, a website created by best-selling author and self-publishing guru Hugh Howey, in trying to expose what kind of money authors, both trade and self published, are really making. Howey’s data has raised a bit of controversy, with rebuttals coming from several trade-publishing supporters such as Mike Shatzkin, Dana Weinberg at DBW, and agents such as Donald Maass calling the whole study such things as “incomplete”, “a stellar example of what not to do”, and saying that it “raises more questions than answers”.

I’m not going to argue Hugh’s numbers here. I feel they speak for themselves and people will twist them to support whatever agenda they have. Unlike other studies, Howey provides the raw data for just that purpose. One thing that I did notice in the many responses was the insistence by the trade-pub crowd that the numbers meant little, that it was simply not how the trade publishing world worked. They say this despite offering no data to support their argument. Regardless, they fail to see (or tactfully ignore) the main question that the reports attempt to answer; Is a new writer better off pursuing a trade-pub deal, or going it alone with self-publishing?

It’s often said that publishers no longer view the reader as their customer, the customer for the publishing industry is now accepted to be the book store. The reader is now viewed as a persona, a variable to plug into an algorithm in an attempt to find the next 50 Shades of Grey.

So, from a Big Publishing House point-of-view, what kind of reader are you? Most would answer by genre; I like Thrillers and Science fiction, or by author; I like Bella Andre andH.M. Ward. I think trade-pub sees the reader in an entirely different way.  To trade-pub, you the reader fall into one of three categories;

The Voracious Reader: This is the reader who spends his entertainment time and money on books and little else. They put one down and immediately shop for the next one. They make up the smallest percentage of the reading public but spend the most dollars-per-person by a large amount. Most were early adopters of the e-reader, and due to their reading appetites seek out lower priced books. They are the group most likely to try an unknown self-published author.

The Casual Reader: This is the reader who divides their entertainment time and money among several other different sources, be they TV, movies, or newspapers, in addition to books. They stick to authors they know, usually best-selling names, and rarely divert from them. Their busy lives and short supply of free time limit their reading to less than 12 books a year. Price is not much of an issue due to the low volume of books they purchase. They prefer paperback and hardcover or are late adopters of e-books. They are also the group least likely to try an unknown self-published author.

 The Social Reader: This reader prefers to get their entertainment from sources other than books, reading perhaps one or two a year at the most. However, they are by far the largest population of readers out there. They read mostly for social reasons; when the Casual Readers in their social group are all talking-FaceBooking-Tweeting about a book they will not hesitate to pick it up. They are the group most likely to be seen reading the hot book-of-the-moment, and also the ones telling the world via every social connection they have what it is they are reading, thus promoting it even further. The Social Reader is what makes a book a blockbuster. By their nature they are nearly impossible to market to. The Social reader requires a Casual Reader to stimulate their reading/purchasing of a book.

. . . .

As book prices rose, voracious readers found other means than buying new to feed their habit. Libraries, used book stores, book swaps, etc. In example, for every reader who bought Stephen King’s latest in either hardcover or paperback, there were probably fifty who didn’t buy the book new but read it anyway. To test this I visited my local library when King’s book 11/22/63 came out back in July of 2012, I reserved it on the library list, and was informed that I was number 234 in the queue. That means 233 people who wanted to read his latest, but weren’t willing to pay retail for it, were willing to wait behind up to 232 others.

. . . .

[I]t’s not hard to come to the conclusion that the targeted reader for the BPH’s, the one they spend their marketing efforts on, is the Casual Reader. Once you realize this every baffling practice adopted by Big-Pub falls into place; the select list of big-name authors, the monthly new releases, the high cost of trade-pub ebooks, Windowing, the purchased coop space, the limited marketing push for new authors, the six-month shelf life, the lack of marketing for the existing mid-list. It all makes sense now.

More importantly it leads to this; There is an upper limit to how many Casual Reader Authors a publishing house can have at any one time.

. . . .

The Apple/Big-6 case points to just how afraid the publishers are. Price is usually the defense of the collusion charge, but the real reason is simply that Amazon can do something that they cannot; target the Voracious Reader.

Link to the rest at Randall Wood Author and thanks to Dan for the tip.

Miss You, SASE: On Postal Submissions

3 March 2014

From The Millions:

The Whippany River flooded my hometown post office in August 2011. Hurricane Sandy would cause far more damage statewide, but Irene pushed the river across Route 10 and through the front door. The post office has never reopened.

. . . .

I drive past the abandoned post office when I visit my parents, and can’t help but get nostalgic. The mail was a source of surprise during my youth: issues of Amazing Spider ManUncanny X-Men, and The Sporting News, letters from my French pen pal, or postcards from my sister in college. I would shoot baskets in my driveway so I could catch afternoon delivery. The low hum of the mail truck’s engine announced its arrival, and while it looped toward my mailbox, I envied the lives of those mail carriers. They delivered people’s hopes and disappointments, bound in rubber bands. There was a quiet dignity to the legion of men and women who delivered mail. It seemed like the entire town counted on this ritual.

. . . .

Electronic submissions have evolved from direct e-mails to editors, to the Council of Literary Magazine and Presses’ Submission Manager, to the now industry-standard Submittable system. Since electronic submissions have become the norm, editors have complained about writers who submit new work immediately after a rejection is received, or, even worse, rescind a submission only to revise and resubmit the work. Electronic submissions have put the writer in the editor’s office, like some cinematic wordsmith tramping into Random House with a manuscript under his arm. I would never think of calling the editor of the Southwest Review to check on the status of my submission, but e-mailing that editor somehow feels less intrusive. It shouldn’t, and unfortunately results in some writers eschewing professional decorum. Until an unsolicited work is accepted for publication, there should be a comfortable distance between writer and editor.

At Electric Literature’s Recommended Reading page, Agni editor Sven Birkets recalls the “labor-intensive era before e-submissions, [when] going through the stack that was several days’ accumulation had certain assembly-line aspects: open, extract, examine to gauge general caliber, sort into one of several stacks. Return, return with note, look closer, pass to trusted readers.” While putting together the first issue of his editorship, Birkets received a snail mail submission from David Foster Wallace. The story was titled “The Soul is Not a Smithy.” This was 2003; Wallace could have placed the story anywhere. Birkets was excited: “I took myself away from the desk. I found a private place with decent light and no phone; I did whatever one does to narrow the beam of attention down from wide-angle receptivity to full-on focus.” Granted, Birkets knew Wallace, but the story was a surprise, and Wallace’s work and self were made new by the spontaneity of that silent submission.

. . . .

In order to be a writer, I also had to be a submitter. I printed some of my stories and followed the magazine’s guidelines. I typed and signed cover letters. I prepared SASEs, which felt like a strangely formal and unnecessary action to receive a response: folding an envelope and stuffing it into another envelope is the literary equivalent of matryoshka dolls. I soon understood that literary magazine editors and staff had to deal with cataloging, reading, and responding to thousands of submissions, as well as pleading for university or donor funding. They didn’t have the time or money to buy and provide stamps for responses.

I mailed stories to Cimarron ReviewArtful Dodge, and Prairie Schooner. I thought about the submissions from time to time, but I was an undergraduate with more than enough distractions. The form rejections arrived on thick, cardboard stock cards, or on computer paper sliced into squares. There was the occasional “Thanks!” or a suggestion to subscribe. No meant no. There were no explanations. I needed to hear those cold, distant rejections. My writing mentors were constructive but caring: they would edit my stories down to the single sentence worth saving, but they would do so with guidance and interest. Editors owed me nothing: no words of encouragement, no line edits, and not a swift response. In order to impress them, I had to write better fiction. I knew that writing was a slow process on my end. I scribbled story and character ideas on napkins, in the margins of junk mail and newspapers, or in a series of notebooks. Those ideas became handwritten drafts, which were typed, printed, set aside, and then revised on the printed page. I typed those revisions, and then repeated the process. Ideas come in a flash, but stories must be built. I am the son of a carpenter who almost became a priest: planning and ritual are the modes of our lives.

Link to the rest at The Millions

How Much My Novel Cost Me

25 February 2014

From author Emily Gould via Medium.com:

It’s hard to write about being broke because brokeness is so relative; “broke” people run the gamut from the trust-funded jerk whose drinks you buy because she’s “so broke right now” to the people who sleep outside the bar where she’s whining. But by summer 2012 I was broke, and in debt, and it was no one’s fault but mine. Besides a couple of freelance writing assignments, my only source of income for more than a year had come from teaching yoga, for which I got paid $40 a class. In 2011 I made $17,000.

During that $17,000 year I also routinely read from my work in front of crowds of people, spoke on panels and at colleges, and got hit up for advice by young people who were interested in emulating my career path, whose coffee I usually ended up buying after they made a halfhearted feint toward their tote bag–purses. I felt some weird obligation to them and to anyone else who might be paying attention to pretend that I wasn’t poor. Keeping up appearances, of course, only made me poorer. I’m not sure what the point of admitting all this might be, because I know that anyone who experiences a career peak in his mid-twenties will likely make the same mistakes I did, and it’s not even clear to me that they were all mistakes, unless writing a book is always a mistake, which in some sense it must be.

In 2008 I sold a book-in-progress for $200,000 ($170,000 after commission, to be paid in four installments), which still seems to me like a lot of money. At the time, though, it seemed infinite. The resulting book—a “paperback original,” as they’re called—has sold around 8,000 copies, which is about a fifth of what it needed to sell not to be considered a flop. This essentially guarantees that no one will ever pay me that kind of money to write a book again.

It took me a while to realize that my book had failed. No one ever told me point-blank that it had.

It was more like the failure occurred in tiny increments over the course of two years, after which it was too late to develop a solid Plan B.

I spent some of the advance on clothes that no longer fit my body/life, but mostly I spent it on taxes—New York even has a city tax, on top of the state and federal kind—and rent. I lived alone for three years in Brooklyn, paying $1,700 a month ($61,200 all told) for a pretty but small one-bedroom within eyeshot of the Brooklyn–Queens Expressway. I also spent $400 a month on health insurance. At one point I thought I would find another full-time job after finishing the book, but then I must have convinced myself that teaching yoga part time would better enable my writing. I also thought that I would immediately start another book, which I would sell, like the first, before I’d written half of it. In order to believe this I had to cut myself off from all kinds of practical realities; considering these realities seemed like planning for failure. In retrospect it seems clear that I should never have bought health insurance, nor lived by myself.

. . . .

While some people, mostly young women, embraced my book the way I’d dreamed they might, much of the reaction had been vehemently negative—not just critically, but among my family and friends. In the fall that followed the summer of my book’s publication, my entire immediate family briefly stopped speaking to me. No one would acknowledge that this was because of the book—officially, the last straw was a stupid fight that happened during the two-day car ride home from a family vacation. I’d spent the whole vacation whining about my bad reviews and jonesing for the internet. Whenever I took out my computer, trying to write something, anything, to prove to myself that I still could, my mom suspected—as she later confessed—that I was blogging about how miserable our vacation was, and specifically about her. I wasn’t, and I felt her suspicions were irrational, but they weren’t.

She’d hated the way I’d portrayed her in the book, and I owed her an apology but couldn’t muster one that would satisfy her. No one wants to hear you say, “I’m sorry but I might do it, or something like it, again.” But in the months that followed I discovered that, even when I wanted to, I couldn’t write well in the first person anymore. I tried, but what came out read as self-conscious, self-censored, chastened—and worst of all, insincere.

. . . .

When I look at my bank and credit card statements from 2010 it’s easy to see what happened, but at the time it was so hard to know which decisions were good and which were stupid. And even had I known, when I received the last quarter of my book advance, that it would be my last substantial paycheck for the next few years, I don’t think I would have spent it more slowly. I wouldn’t have been able to. So much of the money we spend—or I spend, anyway—is predicated on decisions made once and then forgotten, payments that are automated or habits so ingrained they may as well be automated. You think you’ll tackle the habits first—“I’ll stop buying bottled water and fancy cups of coffee”—but actually the habits are the last to go. I only stopped buying bottled water when I literally did not have any cash in my wallet at any time. In the meantime, I canceled my recurring charitable donations (all two of them), my cable, my Netflix, all my subscriptions. I moved in with Keith. I stopped seeing my doesn’t-take-anybody’s-insurance therapist, but only after I owed her $1,760.

. . . .

My first clue that my book would not be a bestseller came in a marketing meeting about six months prior to publication. Actually there were several clues in that meeting. The first came when a marketing assistant suggested that I start a blog, and I had to explain that her bosses had acquired my book in part because I was a well-known blogger. The second came when my publicist asked how I thought they should position my book. She rattled off a short list of commercially successful essay collections by funny, quirky female writers like Sloane Crosley, Laurie Notaro, and Julie Klam. Books with “Cake” and “Girls” in the title and jokey subtitles.

Having worked at a publishing house, I know that it’s not possible for everyone who works at a publishing house to read all the books coming out that season, or even parts of them, or even the descriptions of them in the catalog or in-house “tip sheets.” But I also know that if a book is supposed to be a “big” book, everyone in the office will read it. I was a young woman, so of course they had lumped me in with the cake-girl books. But my book was not cakey. I had no idea how to explain this to people. I clearly still don’t. Knowing how obnoxious it would sound, but feeling I had to say it anyway, if only to have said it, I told them that they had to “go all out.” “Say that I’m the voice of my generation,” I told them. They looked at me like I’d emitted a long, loud, smelly fart. And so—swear to god—I amended what I’d said:

“Okay, say I’m a voice of my generation.”

Link to the rest at Medium.com and thanks to Joshua for the tip.

Here’s a link to Emily’s book, And the Heart Says Whatever

Lynda La Plante forms own rights company

18 February 2014

From The Bookseller:

Crime writer Lynda La Plante has launched a new company, La Plante Global, which will control all of her future book, TV and film deals, as well as digital content and production.

La Plante’s former PR director at Simon & Schuster, Nigel Stoneman, has been made head of development at the company, handling negotiations for the author’s novels and screen work and developing new content across all media.

Agent Gill Coleridge, who previously represented all La Plante’s literary rights, will continue to represent the author’s backlist and backlist foreign rights, including for her next novel Twisted, out from S&S in June.

La Plante, who is the c.e.o. of La Plante Global, said of the business venture: “I wanted to consolidate all areas of my business and have a platform upon which my team and I can strategically plan the growth of the business.”

. . . .

The author also announced that she is currently writing a prequel to acclaimed TV series “Prime Suspect”, titled Tennison, which she will adapt for the screen.

. . . .

Lynda La Plante’s books have total sales of over 2.2m copies via Nielsen BookScan records, which began in 1998. Her best seller in Nielsen BookScan was Above Suspicion (2004) with sales of 284,479. Sales for her most recent novel Wrongful Death (September, 2013) currently stand at 23,455.

Link to the rest at The Bookseller

Next Page »

Page optimized by WP Minify WordPress Plugin