The Top 5 Ridiculous Things People Ask About Writing

Every time I mention that I’m a published author (which I try to do as little as possible, because it makes me feel like I’m covered in an icky film of self-promotion), people get this look on their face. Part awe, part confusion, as if I’d just demonstrated to them that I can sprout fluffy fairy wings.

At this point, the conversation can go one of two ways. Either they’ll nod and smile and make a bland inquiry to be polite, and then get the hell out of there as fast as they can before I can sell them my books, or they’ll ask one of the following questions. Next time they do, I’m going to respond by bringing up this blog on my phone, and handing it to them. Maybe I’ll even carry laminated copies with me.

Here are the top five most ridiculous things I've been asked.

1. “How much did you pay them?”

I get this one a lot. I don’t know why. It’s never said in a malicious way – as in, how much did you pay them to publish that piece of garbage? – but more a kind of confused idea that authors have to pay money to get their books published.

I have no idea why so many people believe this. It falls apart as soon as you look at it for more than two seconds. Why on earth should I have to put hours and days and months of effort into a book, and then have to dig up a sum of money to have someone publish it? If that’s what went down, it means my book was a shoddy shinola shitstorm, and the only way for me to get it released would be to plunk down bundles of my own money. Maybe I look like someone who would do that. Who knows?

Important note: I’m not talking about self publishing. Self publishing does require a bit of money, for things like editing, and a cover that doesn’t look like a rainbow fucked the Papyrus font file on your computer, but you keep almost all of the profits. They go directly to you. People do this all the time. What I’m talking about is called vanity publishing, and in that case, you’re sharing your profits (which will probably be a number with a lot of zeros on the wrong side) with a third party, and it’s an arrangement that you have already paid money to be a part of. If that’s the case, you’re a moron.

Let me dispel this right now. If an established house wishes to publish my book, they’re paying me money for the privilege. Some upfront, some later, dependent on sales. I am expected to devote my expertise, writing ability (such as it is), time and energy to making the book and its reception the best they can possibly be, but I am not expected to open my wallet, at all, ever. Please stop thinking that this is the case. It makes you look like a bumbling, rosy-cheeked rube, fresh off the train from Hicksville.

Wait, apparently there actually is a Hicksville. Good day, Hicksvillians! I meant no offence. May I interest you in this fine book…?

2. “So did you write the book first?”

Nah. I sit in the publisher’s office with my feet up on his desk and use my beguiling voice and hypnotic eyes to con him/her/them into writing a large cheque.

Of course you write the damn book first. Publishers are in the business of making money, and they want a fairly good idea of what they’re buying before they actually buy it. As would you, in their shoes. The book doesn’t have to be perfect, or as polished as it will be when it comes out, but it’s got to be pretty damn close.

The one exception to this is a series, when a publisher buys several books without all of them having been written. This happened with the Outer Earth series. When Orbit’s Tim Holman delivered his stamp of approval on the deal in 2014, I’d only written two books in the trilogy. He was taking a gamble that I wouldn’t stiff him for the third. But there was no way I was even getting in the same room as Tim without something to bring to the table.

OK, occasionally publishers buy a book based on an idea, but it’s always from an established, famous author with a track record. Which brings me onto my next misconception…

3. “Do they send you on book tours?”

Fuck no. Nor is there any good reason for them to…yet.

The formula for whether or not to send an author on a book tour looks something like this:

(Projected direct sales at signings and appearances) + (Sales online from people seeing that an Author is Somewhere doing Something) + (Sales from any press coverage) - (Money spent on hotels, flights, food, transfers and blue M&Ms for author)

I can tell you this right now: the number that pops out of that little equation is almost always less than zero, and if that’s the case, forget it. Hotels and flights and whatever are expensive. You would have to sell a whole whack of books to make it worthwhile, and every sale, of course, is subject to friction like venue fees and advertising and royalties and tax. Add that to the fact that you’re probably going to have to do a staggering amount of publicity just to get the number of people at an event into double figures, if you’re a new author, there’s just no way. It’s not happening.

If you’re Salman Rushdie or Stephen King, then sure. You’re an established quantity, and it’s a good bet that a lot of people are going to appear to hear you speak. Even if they don’t buy a book, they’ll almost certainly be willing to pay money for a ticket.

But for me? I’m not good at maths, but even I know how that equation ends up. Book tours for new authors don’t work. What does work, a lot of the time, is an author appearing at a convention, where he or she will have a captive audience and lots of people to talk to. Publishers don’t usually shell out for any fees, but they can help you along with some of their marketing budget, as Orbit have graciously done for me in the past.

4. “Why didn’t you self-publish like everyone else?”

I hate this question. It’s usually asked by someone with a permanent sneer on their face, someone who has either been rejected by a traditional publishing house(s) or has simply decided to be contrarian because they think it makes them look cool. Someone I want to dunk head-first in a vat of acid.

I need to say right away: I respect people who self publish. It’s bloody hard. It involves doing things that I can’t even begin to get my head around, and a level of self-confidence that is just awe-inspiring. To do it, and to do it well, is a real skill.

I didn’t self publish because I didn’t want to acquire that skill. I wanted to do one thing, which was write. I accepted that there would probably be a lot more to it than that, and so it has proven, but I knew that having a traditional publisher behind me would give me a little more freedom, as well as guarantee me a certain amount of money in the bank. Of course, simply deciding that I wanted to be traditionally published and actually making it so was a very long process. It was so long and discouraging that I revisited my initial decision to self publish, and only a few sharp words from a friend made me stay the course. It worked.

The real reason why I didn’t self publish, the core of this particular argument, is that my books simply wouldn’t have been good enough if I did. By going with Orbit, I got to work with one of the best editors in the business, who polishes the books to a mirror sheen. To me, that was worth any amount of money I might lose out on with royalties. Maybe self publishing would have made me more money, I don’t know, but what I do know is that I wouldn’t have been nearly as proud of the finished product

And what works for me may not work for you. Self publishing and traditional publishing can exist in the same space. Just because someone buys my book doesn’t mean they’re going to turn their nose up at yours.

5. “Why haven’t I heard of you?”

I don’t fucking know! Are you on Twitter? Insta? Do you spend time online? Do you hang out in the scifi section of your local bookstore? Actually, a more pertinent question: are you personally aware of every single author on the planet? If you are, you should be doing something more useful with your time, like going on Stephen Colbert and trying to name them all before he can eat a burrito.

This question has its root in the idea that anyone who publishes a book is instantly world-famous. It doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t work like that in any industry. Making sure an idiot like you has heard of me can take years. Decades, if you’re particularly stupid.

I’m kidding. I love you, really.

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