I wasn't going to blog this, but what the hell.
I won't name the publishers concerned even though sorely tempted, because I am about to slag them off heartily and I don't want a lawsuit on my hands. Anyway.
A few weeks ago I sent off one chapter and a synopsis from my novel to a publishers I found listed in a well-respected (non-internet) directory.
They got back in touch. I was in conversation with one chap and he was raving about what he'd seen, and as you can imagine, I was on the verge of wetting myself with excitement.
So easy! It had all been so easy! Woo!
The praise and encouragement carried on for a couple of minutes, and I lapped it up.
Like a fool.
Then he said that there had been a bit of feedback from marketing, and they were concerned that it was a little too...unusual, and that there might not a market for it as the industry stood.
I was still champing at the bit.
Then the phrase 'lack of commercial viability' cropped up and it struck me how very...practised the whole conversation had been.
Maybe with a limited printing through personal investment, interest would be aroused and warrant a commercially viable large-scale print?
Did I have £3500 spare?
Did I bollocks.
It was at this point, not without making my feelings known, that I brought the conversation to an end.
After a bit of research...which to be honest, I should have done beforehand, I found out that this particular company didn't do anything except vanity publishing, and they had tried to dupe me.
It struck me, walking down the street afterwards, that it must be hard to reconcile making your living through this sort of work...not to mention difficult. I mean, I knew that there was no way I was going to even consider vanity publishing, and I made my mind up on that a long time ago. The publishing industry is a strict, harsh and totally unassailable critic that has no option of appeal or feedback other than the ultimate 'yes' or 'no', and I value that. After so much hard work and thinking about hopes and aspirations for a book, I can imagine others might not be so definite. After all, getting into print is what it was all about, right?
It was a bit like a salesman in an electrical goods store who spends 15 minutes persuading you to buy an enormous TV, and after you've said yes, spends another ten minutes telling you that you can have an extended warranty for an absolute bargain price...
"It's great! Buy it! Great choice! Oh, and by the way, it's shit! It's gonna break! Pay us so we can fix it for you when it happens!"
"Your book is marvellous dahling - truly! We might not make our money back on a large print to start off with though. We'd run a print if it had a profile already. Why not pay for a small printing? Don't you have any faith in yourself?"
How can you get up each morning knowing that your living depends on you hijacking other people's hopes and dreams?
Well, I've spent some time trying to think up euphemisms and I can't be bothered.
They can just fuck off.
The bastards.
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