Was Lindsay Ellis’ Casual Observation About YA Fiction So Bad?

Don’t say negative stuff about another author’s book is an unspoken rule among traditionally published authors. Ostensibly, this is because a writer never knows who they’ll bump into at a book convention or a signing and what unpleasantness may follow.

But the real reason is that they’re all published by the same five publishing houses. Publicly badmouthing another writer’s work hurts not only that author, it also hurts the investment a publishing house has made in that author’s product.

Which means you’re essentially biting the hand that feeds you.

As a traditionally published writer, Lindsay Ellis should know this, but I guess she didn’t get the memo.

Two weeks ago, she tweeted a casual observation about a new Disney Film: “Also watched Raya and the Last Dragon and I think we need to come up with a name for this genre that is basically Avatar: The Last Airbender reduxes. It’s like half of all YA fantasy published in the last few years anyway” [bold emphasis is mine, obviously]

Many read this tweet as saying all Asian inspired fantasies were derivative. Later, Ellis called out The Children of Blood and Bone and Blood Heir as examples, both works by minority writers.

Well, naturally, a dig like that cannot be allowed to stand. The book community came for her, and Ellis went on the defense. She saw the objections to her tweet as being an uncharitable misreading or her intention.

Is this all a misunderstanding?

People came to her defense. One suggested that she “def[initely] has foot in mouth syndrome.”

However, I’m not sure if this was a case of simply misspeaking.

Now, I’m not a fan of Lindsay Ellis’ work, or BreadTube/ LeftTube in general (outside of Maggie May Fish), but I’ve seen and enjoyed many of Ellis’ videos. To anyone familiar with her work, the tone of her tweet is instantly recognizable as her trademark snark that made her famous to begin with.

A major issue raised by her detractors is that criticisms of works being derivative are often only implied about novels produced by minorities. In her defense, Lindsay claimed: “I can see where if you squint I was implying all Asian-inspired properties are the same, especially if you were already privy to those conversations where I had not seen them. But the basic framework of TLA [The Last Airbender] is becoming popular in fantasy fiction outside of Asian-inspired stuff” [bold emphasis is mine, obviously]

In short, she’s protesting her innocence.

She continues her protestation of innocence by tweeting: “saying a thing is structurally similar to another thing is not a dig. Why do people immediately get defensive and think it’s a dig.”

Well, that’s an easy question to answer. It’s because Ellis’ whole brand is thoughtfully making digs at films and books. So, why would anyone think the tweet was anything else? In fact, it’s the reason I’ve watched any number of videos she’s produced over the years. But usually Lindsay Ellis doesn’t make digs for the sake of making digs. She does it because she’s making a larger critique.

But as far as I can tell, the larger critique here is missing.

After all, there’s probably a small hill of minority-authored manuscripts pitched at literary agents and publishers. That an overwhelming number of them that get the greenlight for publication are derivative of Avatar: The Last Airbender is more a systemic issue than anything else.

And surely, Lindsay knows that publishing expects comp titles. In a video she made about her own publishing journey, she said her own book, Axiom’s End, is the famous Chinese Science Fiction novel The Three-Body Problem but with girls.

Ellis could have done a critique of the publishing industry but didn’t.

She probably didn’t want to bite the hand that feeds her.

Why You Should Take Part in #Pitmad (What I Learned)

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Hollywood rules commercial fiction publishing.

Don’t believe me? Just go look for advice on plotting a novel, and you’ll inevitably come into contact with a book called Save the Cat, a primer on writing screenplays. These days, books are novelizations before they are ever novels. Hence, it should surprise no one that when it comes to choosing books for publication, the publishing industry has adopted the Hollywood-style elevator pitch.

In recent years, elevator pitches have moved out of the elevator and onto Twitter. During a quarterly manuscript pitching party (called #Pitmad), an aspiring author can now pitch- in 280 character (including spaces)- their finished works out into the internet ether with the hope that an industry insider will discover them.

Note that not all agents take part in this pitch party, and some find the quarterly event, which for some reason is always held on a Thursday when many aspiring authors are tethered to their day jobs, an unproductive means to find new writers. “One-hundred and forty characters should never be enough to properly describe your book,” says Jessica Faust of BookEnds Literary Agency.

Still, if you have the time and a finished book, I think it’s worth taking part in #Pitmad. There’s also a lot you can learn.

Being an agent is hard

This was one takeaway from the experience. Not only did I participate by pitching my recently completed book, I also followed the hashtag throughout the day (sporadically as I was working), reading the pitches as they came up in my Twitter feed. As I read and retweeted, I became a quasi-agent for a day.

The above-mentioned agent is right: it is difficult to tell anything about a novel in a 280-character tweet. All of them read like entries in Plotto or Plots Unlimited. Things likes:

Carol, a struggling waitress, finds a magic lamp in a dumpster behind the restaurant. She rubs it and out comes Jack, a Djinni. (660a) (713) (1024)

That story could be boring. It could be great. So much of everything depends on execution. Just how does an agent decide?

The other aspect of pitching is throwing out comp titles. This isn’t required, but I noticed that the pitches using them often got many more retweets, especially if the comp title was incredibly popular.

I assume things like number of retweets can catch an agent’s eyes. I didn’t add comp titles to my pitch. So that’s another lesson learned about pitching.

Do a close reading of the rules for #Pitmad

This was my first go at this rodeo. I hadn’t really heard of #Pitmad before, which just shows you how new to Twitter I am. I first became aware of the event two weeks ago, when fellow writers I follow on Twitter started talking about polishing their pitches. I really wanted to put my recently completed manuscript out there in as many ways as possible. So I got to work.

Naturally, I went to the #Pitmad webpage for more information, but I stupidly skimmed the text. I didn’t read the part about being able to pitch three times during the day. As a result, I only prepared one pitch, and that pitch was of the Carol and Jack variety.

If I had to do it again, and I can on June 3rd, I would make three different pitches. One would be of the Carol and Jack variety and another would hit hard on comp titles. I’m not yet sure how to frame the third one I’d post. I guess I have time to figure it out.

I have no Twitter game

Another thing I learned is that I have no Twitter game. I use the app only for belonging to a writing community, one that is often helpful, I might add. The problem is that I kind of find Twitter really boring. I don’t think I spend more than fifteen minutes a day on the app, and when I do, I’m mostly searching for Tweets from authors seeking advice or encouragement. When it comes to getting retweets of your pitch, however, this kind of limited engagement is a handicap.

Indeed, none of the writers who follow me retweeted my pitch. Almost all my retweets were from strangers.

My pitch received only 9 retweets in total

The bulk of these came in soon after I tweeted my pitch, which is why writing three pitches and posting them throughout the day is much better for getting engagement. Pitches in the internet ether have a short half-life.

Still, I got nine retweets. That doesn’t seem like a lot, but in hindsight, getting even that many retweets of my pitch turned out to be the best aspect of the #Pitmad experience.

When it comes to writing, I always feel unsure if I’m treading the correct path, especially when it comes to knowing if the kinds of books I write are marketable. Are other people interested in the type of storytelling I’m interested in? Are my tastes just too odd or idiosyncratic? Am I just too unique? Maybe even a mad genius before their time? A visionary?

Thankfully, the answer is a resounding No!

Strangers retweeting my pitch tells me that there is an audience out there, however big or small.

And then there were the coveted likes. I received one from a developmental editor trying to drum up business. I checked out their website and learned that for a grand sum of $6,500 dollars I can have the full publishing experience- developmental, copy, and line editing as well as a final proofread. Too bad they were barking up the wrong tree. I’m too poor for that.

Two more likes came from people who probably don’t know about #Pitmad and its rules. It was yet another confirmation to me that readers might be interested in the book I wrote.

The fourth like came from an agent. I should be jumping up and down. Unfortunately, neither the agent nor the agency they work for shows up on QueryTracker. And though the agency’s website looks legit, when I clicked on the list of authors they represent, I quickly realized that none of them have a book deal. Also, the agent’s manuscript wish list indicates that they don’t really represent the genre I work in. Because of this, I’m on the fence about querying them.

So that was my #Pitmad experience. It was pitiful but also insightful and reassuring. I glimpsed a potential audience for my work out there. For look, I also got this comment on my pitch:

And that comment made my day.

Let me know in the comments what you think about #Pitmad or if you participated last week. Should I query the agent who liked my tweet? All advice will be greatly appreciated.

Also, want to know when I post something new? Follow me here or on Twitter.

What My Literary Agent Got Me

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Why would an agent ghost a client?

Now there’s a baffling question.

Aren’t we always told (in no uncertain terms) that a literary agent and a writer are business partners? And if so, shouldn’t open communication be a part of this relationship?

Still, in recent weeks, there’s been some hubbub over the fraught relationship between literary agents and the authors they represent.

In fact, ghosting was just one accusation leveled against superstar literary agent, Brooks Sherman. In a now deleted post on Querytracker, a former client alleges that Sherman stopped responding to their e-mails once their novel wasn’t picked-up by a publisher. When the writer attempted to sever their “working” relationship, Sherman never responded.

The allegations against Sherman, however, didn’t stop there. There was another, more chilling one posted on QueryTracker. Here, the anonymous denouncer mentions how Brooks Sherman lied about submitting manuscripts, lied about submitting for foreign rights, failed to give editorial feedback, and even neglected to read client manuscripts.

I suspect this is only the tip of the iceberg as far as Brooks Sherman is concerned. But the truth is, most of it will remain secret, or spoken about in whisper networks.

The reason I’ve been following this closely is because I queried Mr. Sherman at the beginning of February. In fact, the second allegation I mentioned was already in the comments. Thinking back, why hadn’t I stopped to consider it? Why did it not give me pause before I went ahead and queried the guy?

Probably because agents are the gatekeepers to traditional publishing. In fact, they are the first of many you’ll encounter on that journey. This gives an agent power. It even creates a power imbalance between the agent and his or her client. Any such partnership will be an unequal one, especially at the beginning. Which explains why all the allegations have been anonymous. Power can silence people.

It’s no surprise then that many publishing industry insiders have just swept this scandal under the rug. We’ve been warned many a time that there are agents and there are schmagents. I call this the bad apple defense of the publishing industry. Just take out the few bad ones before the whole barrel goes bad, and everything will be fine.

But I think Brooks Sherman is too high profile to be considered a mere schmagent. From what I can tell, he’s an agent to some and a schmagent to others. This isn’t too surprising for someone like me who comes from academia. We all know that some Ph.D. advisors are mentors and some are schmentors. And most are like Brooks Sherman: mentors to some; schmentors to others.

But why would an agent even behave in this way? What do they get out of it?

I have no idea. My guess is that they think they’ve found you, and therefore have some claim over you- on the off chance you create something truly marketable. It’s kind of like a conquistador sticking a flag in a continent. They don’t know exactly what’s there, but by God, they own it.

But that’s just a guess.

What I’ve really been pondering is what the agent- writer relationship is really like. Is it what people say? Is it a partnership?

An Agent Represent a Writer

While on Twitter, I came across a tweet thread posted by romance writer, Courtney Milan. It really spoke to me because I’m just the silly sort of writer she’s describing. I believe “A bad agent is better than no agent.”

Courtney Milan on agents and the writers they represent

My logic: having an agent means at least you’re in the game.

Milan then goes ahead and demolishes that line of thinking. I believe she is a lawyer, which explains why she’s so amazing at constructing arguments.

But towards the end, her tweet thread becomes even more interesting. She writes:

“One of the most painful things that agents do is treat the publisher as if they are the client, and themselves as talent scouts. This person might get you a deal, but it will bite you.

The agent who thinks that their relationship with a publisher is more important than their relationship with an author is not functioning as an agent.

Your agent represents YOU. Period.”

How sure that “Period” is!

But is this true? Does an agent represent you, the writer, and not the publishing house? As I said, Milan is a lawyer, and lawyers represent their clients. In fact, they have no relationship with the entity opposing you in a case. It’s possible Milan thinks that the relationship between an agent and a writer is similar. It makes sense. The more money an agent can bring in to his client, the more money they themselves make. Win-win.

But is this how agenting really works? I mean, we may want it to work that way. The actual truth, however, may be something different.

In fact, I’ve always considered an agent an adjunct to the publishing house. Once upon a time, publishers read their own slush piles. Nowadays, this is outsourced, and an agent mines this mountain of manuscripts and extracts whatever gold they can.

What I think is that literary agents are more like estate agents. Sure, estate agents drive clients around and help them find their dream homes, but in reality, they work for the property seller. Of course, this analogy doesn’t work either. If we overlay this analogy atop of the writer-agent-publisher scenario, the writer is both the client looking for the new house and the house/ property itself.

And boy, wouldn’t that be twisted.

What Publishers Paid Me

We may, however, not want to believe agent’s relationships to publishing is stronger than it is with their clients. And who know? Possibly, it’s not. I’ve never traditionally published a thing. I also suspect I never will.

But my free associating mind made me think of that Twitter hashtag: what publishers paid me.

This hashtag brought to light the large discrepancies between advances given out to white and non-white writers.

What really struck me is that no one blamed their agent.

Why wasn’t the rallying cry, “#Whatmyagentgotme”? Surely, it’s the agent who negotiates the advance (and everything else).

But that’s probably because everyone knows that the publisher has the real power. And the agent is his man.

Let me know what you think about all this in the comments below.

Also, want to know when I post something new? Follow me here or on Twitter.

Who’s Marketing that Book?

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Looking back at the Authors Guild’s 2018 Author Income Survey, one thing is clear: people who traditionally publish do better income-wise than self-published authors.

While some authors are doing better self-publishing than they could be through traditional publishing, our survey shows that the overall median income for self-published authors averages 50–58% less than for traditionally published ones.” 

The question is, why does this disparity exist?

The simple answer is marketing. Traditional publishers have greater market reach. It’s also why traditionally published authors take a pittance of the royalties even though they do most of the work to produce a book. Such writers expect to make up their losses with higher-volume selling.

So, does marketing begin and end with publishers?

Over the last year, I’ve read many a blog post on the role authors themselves play in marketing. There’s a sameness to this content, and they’re almost all invariably written in a finger wagging tone. “Authors must market their own books!” So, who’s being admonished, you might ask. Well, it’s you, the author. The thesis is always: traditional publishing does very little marketing for its writers. “You have to stop being a precious wallflower and put yourself out there!

But is this true? Thought of in another way, if the above premise is correct, then very successful authors must be masters of marketing and self-promotion.

Common points raised in such “how to market” articles include:

1: have your own website

2: be active on Facebook

3: tweet a little everyday

4: create a mailing list

But is this enough? While these things are essential for a self-published writer, are they necessary for a traditionally published one?

Thinking like a reader

I approached this question by considering how I find books to read.

First, I have to confess: I only read traditionally published books. The reason behind this is structural. About a decade ago, I received an e-reader as a gift, only that e-reader was a Nook. This has effectively cut me off from indie publishing, most of which occurs on the KDP platform. (While I don’t want to have two e-readers in my life, I’m currently saving up to buy a Kindle at some point. Until I do, my reading will be mostly restricted to traditionally published books.)

So, just how do I find books?

First off, unless I’m doing research for this blog, I almost never visit author websites, check out their Facebook pages, follow them on twitter, or sign-up for their mailing lists. The principal reason for this is that I find the content boring and I’m not a fan of getting mail. In my case, the role of author-centric marketing in my reading choices is limited.

Where I do find new books and new authors is the bookstore. Before the pandemic, weekly visits to my local Barnes and Nobles were common. I’d buy a cup of coffee and wander through the aisles, thinking about what to read next. Unfortunately, the pandemic has curtailed this activity. As a workaround, I’ve been using GoodReads, which allows you to scroll through new releases not only under the general category, fiction, but also by genre.

Besides this, I read professional reviews for fun, and I find a lot of new books through “book hauls” and “TBRs” featured on BookTube.

Therefore, if I make a representative case study for the average reader, none of my reading choices come from direct marketing from the writer him/herself.

So, who controls the means of marketing?

Well, publishing does, obviously. Most of these are structural.

The chief means of marketing is book availability in bookstores- something that is negotiated between booksellers and the publishing industry. In fact, all the lovely covers act as the book’s main advertising- not unlike a billboard, which is why cover art is so important.

Besides this fundamental form of marketing, publishing can do a lot of extras like arranging for someone to review your book. And while most publications say that they chose books independently of the publishing industry, I’ve never quite believed it. I’m sure at least some nudging is involved. The publishing industry also sends out copies for review to book influencers and for placement on BookTuber “book hauls”.

Another form of marketing is making a novel book club friendly by providing a reader discussion guide at the back of the book. A traditional publisher can also get a book placed in subscription services like Book of the Month. Once again, these are all structural forms of marketing that don’t require direct author participation.

Beyond that, there’s publicity: the flashy form of marketing. This is rarer and also in the hands of publishers.

One form of this is giving out enormous advances, which naturally raise interest in both reviewers and readers. They find themselves asking just what about that book deserves a $400,000 advance? Usually nothing, I suspect. It’s just publishers backing their horse. Tipping the scales.

Publishers can also arrange for you to appear in other media: radio, television, magazines. They might even foot the bill for a book tour or an appearance at one of the large Cons.

As you can see, not only is traditional publishing tied to marketing at its most basic level (physical books in stores), it also promotes and publicizes books (often in a genre appropriate fashion). But if this is the case, why do so many people say publishing does no marketing?

Big author marketing and little author marketing

I suspect this occurs because when people think of book marketing, they think only of media and event appearances. Sometimes, I even see people grumbling about this online: “I never got a book tour” is a big complaint. But I’d argue that this type of flashy marketing is really low impact for a consumer like me: one who doesn’t go to Cons or book signings or readings at the local bookstore. For the vast majority of readers, this is also out of reach due to finances or geography.

A spot in a magazine or a radio/TV appearance is a more democratic way of reaching a reader. But most of these spots are reserved for big name authors and only for a certain type of book.

So, what can a writer do as far as marketing and self-promotion?

The real question is what structural platforms are available. Well, there’s Twitter, Facebook, personal websites, etc. But don’t be surprised if this is not enough. And worse, don’t flog yourself because your presence on these platforms wasn’t sufficient to sell your book. It rarely ever is.

What maybe more impactful on marketing is writing a great book that readers want to read. After that, word of mouth will take care of the rest.

Hopefully.

Let me know in the comments how you find new books to read.

Also, want to know when I post something new? Follow me here or on Twitter.

Querying in Batches: Is there an advantage?

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When it comes to querying, do you dip your toe into the chilly waters or do you wade right in?

After you have scoured AgentQuery, Manuscript Wish List, and Twitter for names of agents representing your genre, written an exciting hook for your novel along with a writer’s biography and a sales pitch that includes a comparison title, the next step is putting your query out there. If you’re like me, a compulsive reader of writer’s blogs about writing, you’ll already know there are many blog posts devoted to this process. That shouldn’t surprise anyone: there’s advice out there for just about every aspect of publishing.

Some of it good. Some of it dubious.

One common bit of advice I’ve seen is to query in batches, a strategy that entails sending out only seven to ten queries at a time. But is batch querying the right choice for you?

The testing the waters

First, sending queries in batches can be a strategy for success.

The big idea here is that each batch acts as an experiment that tests whether the query is any good. If you end up with no requests for either a partial or a full manuscript, then you can tweak your query hook and resend the updated query letter to a new batch of agents. In theory, you can rinse and repeat this strategy until you have exhausted your agent list.

At first, I found this advice exciting. It seemed sensible. In fact, it was better than sensible. It was a plan. The problem, however, is that the strategy seems impractical. Testing a query hook requires that your agent list contains a large number of agents with quick response times. While there are a few highly organized agents who respond the next day- sometimes the same day, these are few and far between. You’d at least need to have a small group of agents that respond within a two to four-week period. This might be likely if you’re looking for an agent that represents a perennially popular genre like mystery, but if your work is more niche, you’ll find your supply of guinea pig agents sorely lacking.

Another major issue with this strategy is that you have no way of knowing what an agent liked or didn’t like about your query hook. Most rejection letters are nicely worded form letters, and often times, the reason for the rejection is vague. The most common one I’ve received is that the book doesn’t fit their list. Knowing that can’t possibly help you tweak your query letter.

On top of that, an agent can pass on your book for a myriad or reasons unrelated to the hook, including word count, subject matter, character gender or ethnicity, etc. There’s a reason why a common refrain in rejection letters is how the business is subjective. Going back to tweak the hook in these cases would be fruitless, like spinning your wheels. You might even end up harming your well-written query hook.

What I suspect is that the benefits of batch querying are psychological. It gives a hopeful author a semblance of control in a situation where they have none.

Manage feelings of rejection

In fact, another touted advantage to batch querying is psychological (see here). In the article I linked to, there’s no tweaking of query hooks. You merely send out queries in batches, then wait for responses. When one comes back negative, you merely send out the next one.

At first, I thought, okay- it’s a little like gardening. Anyone who grows vegetables during the summer knows that you have to keep sowing seeds to replenish anything you harvest, and by doing so systematically, you can guarantee yourself a supply of lettuce all summer long.

But what are you guaranteeing yourself here? I suspect what you are sowing is hope- keeping it alive, but why you’d want to is puzzling. The obverse of sowing hope in this manner is having a prolonged period of rejection letters. And who wants that? I mean, isn’t it better to know right away if the industry isn’t interested in your project so that you can psychologically move on to your next project?

So, should you send your queries in batches? It all depends on your psychological makeup. Do you gently tug at a Band-Aid or just tear it off? I remember watching a fluff piece on morning television about groups of speedo-clad men bathing in the Baltic. They rushed headlong into the chilly water. No toe-dipping for them. And that seemed to work best.

That said, happy querying.

Let me know in the comments if you’ve queried in batches and found it useful. I’m on the fence about it.

Also, want to know when I post something new? Follow me here or on Twitter.

Why you can’t self-publish everything

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“If I can’t get an agent, I’ll self-publish on Amazon.”

That’s what a writer friend of mine always says.

It’s a good mindset to have- one in which a writer has a choice between traditional publishing and self-publishing- but is it a smart strategy?

Most of the arguments for or against taking one route over another focus on tradeoffs. If you traditionally publish, you lose authorial control over publishing rights, book titles, and cover images. The upside, however, is that you gain a team of experts. Not just an editor, but also professional cover artists, book formatters, and various other industry experts who understand how to market books.

But by far, the greatest appeal to self-publishing is the lure of higher royalties. Blog post after blog post, each with some variation of the title “Why I Choose to Self Publish”, emphasizes this aspect of self-publishing. This isn’t surprising. Many writers going down this path say that self-publishing is akin to starting up a small business. One in which you the writer must take charge of editing, cover design, and marketing. And if that doesn’t seem burdensome enough, you must also take the financial risk as well.

So let’s say you have written a book you love, have money to burn, and are willing to spend the time marketing your product.  Should you then plunge into self-publishing. Well, according to the writing chatterati, it’s your choice. You have to weigh the pros and cons and determine what’s best for you.

But I disagree. I say the choice is an illusion.

And if you’re wondering why, it’s because self-publishing and traditional publishing are two different markets that service two different kinds of readers.

Self-Publishing: the new pulp fiction

When we think of pulp, we think of noir mysteries. But pulp is a much wider field than that. At its most basic, pulp refers to price point. Pulp novels were hastily written, quickly published, and cheaply priced. As an art form, they were written to be enjoyed and then disposed of. To be pulped.

Back in the day, pulp represented a wide range of genres including mysteries, adventure stories, Westerns, and romance. These days, if you walk into your local Target or grocery store, the pulp fiction selection is much smaller. There are only a handful of truly pulp works available, and most of these are romance.

But pulp hasn’t disappeared. It’s only migrated to the eReader. The truth is indie-publishing is the new pulp fiction.

This means that writers who want to break out in self-publishing have to think like a pulp publisher of yore. Understand the genre they are writing. Know what is essential and what can be experimented with. After all, readers shelling out their hard-earned $1.99 or $4.99 for a book will come with expectations, and those expectations have to be met. A novel with a bare-chested dude on the cover ought to have a small amount of erotica even if it’s totally vanilla. Likewise, such a book must also end with a happily ever after. Failing to meet these kinds of genre expectations will only lead to obscurity.

So, what does this mean for the writer sitting at their dining room table, typing away at their novel? The kind of book they always wanted to read.

Well, that book you’ve been longing for better be pulp fiction.

Traditional publishing

Of course, an aspiring author can take the other path. Traditional publishing.

A while back, I sampled the first chapter of Donald Maass’ book, Writing 21st Century Fiction. Maass, who is a New York based literary agent, is an industry insider of some repute. His book suggests that there’s been a shift in publishing. Bestselling fiction is no longer just about plot; it’s also literary in style. He envisions “the death of genre” in favor of authorial voice. Books have to “rise above category”, “transcend” genre, maybe even “blend” them. It’s not hard to see that here is the path for writers whose books don’t meet pulp expectations.

Here is also, I suppose, a challenge to self-publishing. As the pulp market slowly slips away from trad publishing’s control, the industry has to focus on quality. Since most agents barely read sample pages submitted during the querying process, traditional publishing also leans towards books with high concept premises.

So you better have that or you’ll be traveling up the creek without a paddle.