Professionalism
By Jeff Mariotte
I once worked for a comic book artist who, when he decided he wanted to be a professional comic book artist, set himself a schedule and put in eight hours a day drawing comic book pages. By doing so, he accomplished two significant things: he learned that he could, indeed, handle the grind of a daily stint at the drawing board, and he created a portfolio of samples that got him work in his chosen field. Today, he’s one of the most popular and successful artists in the history of that medium, and his popularity shows no sign of waning.
I’ve also known people who wanted to be writers, but whose primary efforts in that direction consisted of hanging around bookstores and coffee shops talking about what they would be writing, if in fact they were writing instead of talking. Now they still hang around coffee shops. Fortunately for them, the explosion of big box chain bookstores has resulted in many stores having coffee shops right inside, saving gas money—a plus when these folks are spending more on coffee than they’ll ever make writing.
The difference is professionalism.
Also drive, determination, and probably talent. But for the purposes of this discussion, let’s take talent for granted. That’s less controllable than the other factors that go into making a professional—it can be honed, strengthened, but I don’t believe it can be acquired through sheer force of will.
The aspects of the job I want to talk about today, however, can be. Through my three-part connection to the world of publishing—as bookseller, editor, and author—I’ve seen a lot of behavior, professional and not, and I’m here to tell you that acting like a pro can have a positive impact on your career, while acting like an amateur can often keep you at that status forever.
As a writer, your goal is to sell to editors (and, via that route, ultimately to readers). But the editor is your first customer.
Talent, as I said, being a given, you might well be able to sell to editor A the first time simply by writing a good book. Beyond that point, though, it would serve you well to remember a few facts about editors, and behave accordingly.
Editors—like the rest of us—are very busy people. At the lower-to-middle echelons of publishing, they are vastly overworked, have few assistants to help them deal with the day-today paper pushing their jobs entail, read manuscripts at home, on the train, on the john, and they are not paid well enough for all the hours they put in. Nonetheless, when they really love a book they shepherd it through the various processes and dearly want it to succeed in the marketplace.
If you, as the writer, act like a professional—by which I mean meeting your deadlines, keeping a line of communication open that respects their schedule and the other demands on their time, respond promptly to editorial queries, page proofs, etc., and have reasonable expectations of the editor’s role in sales, promotions, and advertising—then editor A might be interested in your next book.
If you’re a pain in the ass regarding any or all of those things, then (unless your sales are stratospheric, in which case you can disregard this whole essay), then editor A has a big stack of other submissions that might seem a lot more interesting than your next project.
Editors are interesting people. They spend their time working on good books, they know great stories about writing and publishing, and they’re fun to hang out with. I wouldn’t, however, recommend getting roaring drunk with them, for instance, because you don’t want to do or say something in an inebriated moment that’s going to color your professional association with them. Remember: the editor works for the publishing company, not for you. His or her first interest is keeping his or her job, and sometimes that will require making decisions you might not like or agree with. The editor wants to keep the company in the black, not throw millions in your direction just because you’re pals. Business and friendship don’t always mix, and editors can be put into very difficult positions by trying to force those two relationships into one box. The two editors I know best socially, I have never sold to. On the other hand, most (but definitely not all) of the editors I have sold to I do know socially, to at least some degree.
You, as the writer, have a job to do. It involves writing a publishable book, then helping see it through to final publication by making yourself available to the editor when he or she needs you. After publication, your job might also involve working to promote the book to the ultimate consumers, the readers. Professionalism counts there, too.
If you are offered the opportunity to do an interview, take it. Don’t be late for the interview, whether it’s on person or on the phone. If it’s via e-mail as so many are these days, don’t file the questions and forget about them—tackle them as soon as you can and get them back in a timely fashion. The interviewer likely has plenty of other demands on his or her time, and is probably a freelancer, like you, who won’t get paid until the work is done. Consider the interviewer’s time at least as important as your own, because, after all, that interview’s ultimate purpose is to promote your work, not the interviewer’s interrogation skills.
If you’re offered the chance to sign at a bookstore—and it doesn’t cost you a ridiculous sum to get there, or take you away from the writing of the next book for too long—go. For 98% of writers, there is no guarantee anyone will show up. But they might, and the bookstore staff will be there regardless. For both audiences, staff and public, you should be on time, if not a few minutes early to discuss exactly what is expected of you. You should be reasonably dressed—suit and tie not required for men, evening gown not required for women—but a black Marilyn Manson T-shirt and torn jeans is not exactly appropriate attire, either, for most occasions (although it can be for certain books and audiences). You’re there to interest the public in your work, and you want to create the impression that you’re someone they wouldn’t mind spending a few (figurative) hours with as they read your work. Again, the relationship with the reader is a balancing act—you don’t need to be their friend, but you do want to come across as a trustworthy professional who can deliver the goods.
Not to harp on the drinking angle, but keep in mind that a bookstore appearance, even if it’s called an autograph party, is not really a party, and a book tour is not an extended party. I know of a case in which an author started drinking on the plane to an event, and never made it to the event or the several scheduled to follow. That’s a good way to make booksellers lose interest in promoting, or even carrying, your books. I also witnessed a case in which three co-authors appeared at a store to sign, and one of them was close to falling-down drunk. The lesser-known of the three authors, seeing his collaborator’s state and realizing the man would not calm down, ended up going outside the store to talk to fans and sign in relative peace. He made new fans, that night, by the score, because of his professional approach to the situation. The other co-author stayed inside and tried to ignore the drunk’s obnoxious behavior—both of them lost fans. No doubt in today’s web-connected world, word of the impaired author’s behavior would have spread much farther and wider than it did at the time, possibly having a greater impact on his sales (and certainly on the willingness of other booksellers to invite him to their stores).
Writing is many things: art, craft, calling, avocation, but when you do it for money, it’s also a business. Put in the hours, do the job to the best of your abilities, treat the people with whom you have to work with respect, an
d do what you promise to do.
Last year my July essay for Storytellers Unplugged was due the day I got home from the truly exhausting Comic-Con International: San Diego. I completely forgot about it and missed my SU deadline, for the first and only time. This year, my date is during the con. Knowing I’ll be surrounded by 140,000 or so people, keeping late hours, running around madly trying to do business and have fun, I’m interrupting the final chapters of a novel manuscript to write it a week in advance.
I don’t get paid for writing SU; in the greater scheme of my career, it’s a lesser deadline.
But it’s still a deadline, and a commitment. I’m a professional writer. Professionals honor their commitments.
If writing is the job you want to do, approach your writing like you know it’s your job.
