It’s a big building with patients, but that’s not important right now.

In which I wait a year.

I haven’t been posting because, well, there’s been nothing to report.

Until now.

Get on the F—ing Stage has officially been postponed for a year.  There are a hundred factors (OK, maybe not that many but several is certainly true) that went into the decision to wait a year on the book.  I’m actually OK with this.  It will give me more time to focus on my thesis for school, maybe even a little extra time to research the book, take in this year’s Teen Fringe with a biased eye but less of an urgency…

I plan to keep posting here from time to time. I think it’s going to be important for me to mine my own memories and experiences as a teen in theatre as I start to approach the writing of this book. So I’ll be back with reminiscences, thoughts, and the like and once we get closer to the end of the year, I’ll hopefully have a better timetable in hand with which to get this bad boy written.

So I’m hanging in there.  Hang with me.

No, I’ve been nervous lots of times.

In which I ponder snags.

Treading some old ground here (the rarely heralded ins and outs of publishing) as it intrudes upon new territory (the fate of GOTFS).

One of the things about my job as a book publicist is that I often have to take new authors by the hand and gently guide them through the rigmarole that is the world of publishing.  Many of my newbies know zilch about all the behind the scene processes; they’re a bit like me in that they tend to think, “But isn’t it all about fabulous writing? Shouldn’t that be what it’s about?” Yes, really, that’s what I wish it was about. I wish being published was a perpetual Cinderella story of someone finding your manuscript in a pile, falling in love with that perfectly crafted first sentence, not being able to put it down all night, and calling first thing in the morning to say that they love your work and is it please still available?  Sometimes, it’s about that. But very rarely.

As distasteful as the words are as they form in the mouth, publishing is a business.  Which means there are decisions to be made that will affect the publication which have nothing to do with the beautiful writing. In my last post, I talked about this to an extent, in how these business decisions affect the cover, title, and promotional copy.  But there are many other factors that go into the creation of a book. Even just the decision to buy a book. Now most authors aren’t privy to these discussions.  Most of them happen before you even get the call saying, “A contract is on its way to your hot little hands.” An acquisitions editor may love your work and want to fast track it so its in the public’s hands ASAP, but it has to pass muster with that all-important adjudicator–the sales force.

The sales force at a publisher, be it a single person or a team of sales professionals, are responsible for seeing to it that the various outlets of the world (Barnes and Noble, Borders, Amazon, various online and independent brick and mortar stores) purchase copies of your book so that others can in turn buy it from them. That goes without saying. What needs to be said, because it’s what most people don’t understand, is the influence the sales force has on whether or not a project is ultimately acquired. The acquisitions editor might think your spiffy but the sales people have to be a bit cold and hard and look at numbers, precedents, trends, the attitudes of their buyers and countless other minutiae before they sign off on it.  So when a book is brought up for consideration, they do feasibility studies and they talk to their buyers and they (only sometimes, sadly) actually read the manuscript to create a picture of how viable a proposed project is.  Things like costs, print runs, market history all come into play. For a math-phobe like myself, you can get a bit claustrophobic, watching it all close in like the electronic walls in the house of the security system commercial, the one with all the glowing binary digits racing across them.

This is where the acquistions editor becomes a sales person. They need to make the project as attractive as possible. They’ll do a little of their own research, providing comparable titles with corresponding sales figures (did you know that publishers have access to sales figures on ANY book published?).  They provide ideas for possible promotional venues (a bit out of their territory, so sometimes they’ll consult with marketing and publicity).  They’ll create lists  of reasons why the project needs to proceed (and, yes, they’ll even acknowledge the project’s short comings).

Get on the F—ing Stage sits currenly mired deeply in this morass of numbers and conservative opinions. To their credit, the sales force doesn’t approach a project with any personal bias–they’re simply looking out for the company’s best interest.  But right now, they’re not really thrilled with the prospect of this book. (Again, it’s unusual for an author to be privy to these discussions at all but when you work in the same building where they take place and you know all the players involved, it’s inevitable you’ll get a feel for what’s happening.)

What seems to be most off-putting for them is the concept of its newness.  Andrew pitched this project to them as something unique, there’s nothing like it on the market. (The closest I could find was a book called THE STUFF OF DREAMS by Leah Hager Cohen which chronicles the efforts of a Massachusetts community theatre as they attempt to mount a production of M. BUTTERFLY. Which is a poor example because 1: it’s not aimed at teens like my book would be and 2:…well, it didn’t have the greatest sales.)  “New” is a funny little dichotomy unto itself.  It implies both fresh and exciting while also conveying the terrifying unknown and strangeness.  You get out your half-full/half-empty people who start the debate. The half-fulls say: “We’ll have something that no one else has!  We’ll have cornered the market on this. We might even be the first in a series of copycat attempts by others.”  The half-empties say: “There are no sales precedents, nothing to suggest that people would buy this. The intended audience is notoriously fickle; they like established ideas/thoughts and eschew new things.”

Wherein lies the truth? If I’m lucky, it falls somewhere right in the middle (or maybe just skewing ever so slightly toward the half-fulls).  I had hoped that all this would be ironed out by now, I’d have a contract signed, and I’d be plotting my first two months of research.  Now I’m not even sure it’ll happen by the end of the year, making me nervous because I really wanted to start in January so I’m ready for the February lottery.

There’s a chance this will get shot down. Truth be told, it was a lean year for us so the Powers That Be are preaching conservative approaches to all future projects.  One of these approaches is in how we acquire projects that don’t necessarily scream of success from the get go. Which is why GOTFS is getting the hairy eyeball. Andrew believes that it’ll go through, it’s just going to require a bit more manuevering. I’ve offered to help but it’s pretty much all in his lap. It’s weird to have someone go to bat for you like that. Really, the project was his idea but I think he liked the proposal I wrote for this so he may be even more invested in it than before.  I did ask him, should this go the way of the dodo, if he’d mind if I took it to another publisher. Because at this point, I really love the idea myself.  He said he’d insist that I do so.

I guess the good news of all this is that the fight might not be over if my publisher says no.  Both Andrew and my boss have told me they have ideas about where I could take this.  But we’re all quietly hoping it won’t come to that. In the meantime, I’m waiting. And thinking about how sad it would be if my first project for a publisher, my first real publishing credit, dies on the cusp of cold numbers. And I’m thinking about how great it’ll be when Andrew comes to my cube and gives me the thumbs up.

It’s a good thing I’ve been nervous lots of times. I’ve got practice.

Listen, Betty, don’t start up with your White Zone shit again.

In which the title is unveiled.

On my other blog, I shattered a few hearts with the revelation (although I’m not sure exactly how much of a revelation it really was) that the title an author picks for their book may or may not be the final title as decided by the publisher.

The reason for this is simple: when a publisher agrees to publish a book, they are taking a risk. Whether it’s a new author or an established name, there’s no guarantee that a given title will sell.  So they make the initial investment that gets the book on the shelves. They pay all the costs associated with production, marketing, and sales.  (This is why vanity presses, where authors are expected to pay all costs, are not considered to be “legitimate” publishing.) If the book bombs, the publisher pays the costs. And, as with any investment, if it succeeds, they take a share of the rewards. 

Because the publisher is taking the risk, they want the book to succeed and to help insure that, they take total control over everything that markets the book. The cover art work, the back cover copy, the size and layout…..and even the title.  You’ve no doubt heard the advertising adage that the two words guaranteed to get an audiences attention are “free” and “sex.”    While you don’t see these words in every form of marketing, the theory remains the same that some words or phrases are more interesting and those are the ones the publisher wants on the front of the book.

The author (usually) is not COMPLETELY without a say.  Reputable publishers will at least run their ideas by the author.  Depending on the author’s contract (and, let’s fact it, unless you’re Stephen King, you won’t have a lot of negotiating power), the author will have very little to no say in the publisher’s decision on what to call the book or in how it looks. Authors can mention legitimate concerns–I’ve heard of cases where the author made a good point or two about why cover art wouldn’t work and they got it changed–but in the end, it’s the publishers call.  Some authors will take offense at this, wondering how anyone could have the temerity to think they could come up with a better title for their work than they can.  But just as a manuscript can benefit from having input from advance readers, so can having many sets of eyes on the marketing of a book benefit it’s platform.

 Titling my work, since I came to realize this, has meant less to me.  I still like a title. It gives me something to refer to and a framework for my own reference.  As I’ve begun to make notes about this book, I decided that I need to give it a name. A name that, yes, was expendable but I could at least give it my best shot at coming up with something that might just make it to the final round.  So I jotted down a bunch of ideas and sent them to Andrew to see what he thought.  Some of these ideas included:

Dramatis Personae: Behind the Scenes at the Teen Fringe Festival

This is NOT a Dress Rehearsal: Live from the Teen Fringe

And….Scene!: The Minnesota Teen Fringe Festival

I liked these. Any one would work. And I hoped Andrew would like them too.  He wrote back and said, “Yeah, I like those. What do you think about Get on the F—ing Stage!:A Year at the Teen Fringe Festival.”

And I swear I heard angels sing, harps strum. A shaft of light came down from above and I felt my epidermis tingle. Yes. That was it. That was the title. It captured everything I wanted to do with the book.  Now, granted, this wasn’t a book that I’d been slaving over for years and therefore had a strong emotional attachment to. That might have made it harder to accept someone’s input on the title. But I couldn’t deny that this was exactly right.

Now, technically, the title still has to fly with the entire Acquisitions Committee. I’ve got my fingers crossed. I think that’s what I’m going to call it, no matter what.

Get on the F—ing Stage!

Genius.

It’s an entirely different kind of flying altogether.

In which reality starts to set in.

There’s a fundamental difference in selling a novel to a publisher and a nonfiction book.  With few excpetions, when you sell a novel, it’s done. You (or your agent) present a finished manuscript to the editors for review. They read it and buy or pass.  Nonficiton books are typically pitched; you write a proposal where you outline everything you intend to do with the book.  In this instance, if the publisher says, “Yes, we want you to write this,” THEN you go write it. (That’s not to say that some nonfiction books aren’t written prior to being sent to a publisher but if you require a lot of research and travel to write the book, the proposal route can be a great way of getting the publisher to pay for that….)

I’m more comfortable with the fiction route. I’m in complete control. I’m making it all up. I don’t have to wait for something to happen or HOPE for something to happen before I can start writing. With this book, all I can do right now is some preliminary research (essential to the process) and come up with a game plan but the majority of my work won’t start until the plays start rehearsing, sometime next summer.

What makes me nervous about everything is how random it all is, how I’m totally at the mercy of chance.  Here’s something I learned about the Fringe festival AFTER I said I’d do this.  The plays that perform in the festival are chosen completely at random. Let me repeat that. Completely at random.  If you would like to perform in the Fringe festival, you have to put in an application and be ready to pay $400 and then, in February, a lottery is held and applications are drawn out of a barrel (I don’t know if they use a barrel… the point is people are picked COMPLETELY AT RANDOM).  It doesn’t matter if you’re classically trained by Uta Hagen or if you’re a complete theatre newbie or if you’re Steven Spielberg…if you want to do something at the Fringe, you have an equal chance with everyone else who submits their name.  Here’s the kicker: you don’t even have to know what you want to do. You can simply put your name on the paper and say that the show will be determined later.  There are many people who do this and then, when they get their name drawn, go, “Well, damn…now I have to come up with a show.”  Some people choose to write their own thing, others produce pre-published material.  But because the festival is non-juried, there’s no guarantee of the quality or diversity (although diversity never seems to be a problem).

This method is very appealling to Fringers.  There’s something edgy, dangerous about it. Anything can happen.  Guerilla theatre at its finest. Get chosen, quickly write a show, throw it together, and get it on stage.  The writer in me loves this.  The situation is rife with the potential for drama and conflict.  The control freak in me is clutching the sides of his head and screaming, “Are you KIDDING me with this?!”

The timeline for this project is scaring me the more I think about it.  February, the shows are selected.  There are FIVE slots that are guaranteed for the Teen Fringe (although, bear in mind, there’s nothing saying that five teen plays will be submitted….do you see where the randomness of all this has the potential to make my life very difficult?), although 18 shows were designated as Teen Fringe shows last year.  So let’s say that 10 shows end up being Teen Fringe shows as of February.  At least half of those will be writing their own material (and maybe half of those will be already written, the other half being written as soon as their name comes out of the mythical barrel).  So I start working with the people involved–writers, directors, actors–HOPING that they want to be part of this book and will give me full access to everything I need (casting meetings–although I understand they’re scarce at Fringe, rehearsals, tech discusssions, etc.). I get a feeling for who these people are outside the Fringe. I watch as they write their scripts and try to come up with a rehearsal schedule. I watch as they rehearse. HOPEFULLY, during all this, I’m doing a little bit of writing. The shows go up in August, I cover a little bit of the post Fringe activities…and then I go write. I’ve got until January to turn in the manuscript.  This is while I’m also working on my thesis for the MFA program.

The fact that MOST of this will be written in that tiny window between September 2007 and January 2008 is what’s scaring me the most. I’m a slow writer. A very slow writer. And I’ll have other things on my plate at the time. But I’m very excited about this project so, naturally, it’ll have a certain amount of priority.  But still….

First up, a proposal.  Remember, at this point, it’s not a DONE done deal. Both sides–the Fringe and Flux–have expressed enthusiasm for it. Andrew has asked that I write a formal proposal that just sort of lays out my intent and thoughts so both sides know exactly what’s going on. I don’t have a problem with this. In fact, it’s a way of keeping me focused. So a large portion of this weekend will be 1) reading a book on the proper way to write a book proposal and 2) writing a book proposal.  Hopefully, sometime in the next few weeks, this will pay off with a contract that everyone signs off on and then I can REALLY start to panic.

Nah. No panicking. It’ll be fun. It’s just an entirely different kind of flying altogether.

I am serious. And don’t call me Shirley.

In which I answer what I anticipate will be your questions.  

*sigh* Another new blog? OK. What’s this one about?

Well, I’m glad you asked.  Here’s the down and dirty version:  last summer, I did an internship with Andrew Karre, the Acquisitions Editor at Flux, wherein I assisted with the reading of manuscripts, working with authors, etc.  Recently, Andrew came to me with the idea that he wanted to do a book about the Teen Fringe, a small offshoot of Minnesota’s Fringe Festival (the largest non-juried Fringe Festival in the country).  He saw a lot of possibilities in creating a book of the scripts written by teens.  As he saw it, it would include lots of content: scripts, essays from the participants, photos, etc. Me, with my theatre background, thought this sounded like a fantastic idea and told him so.  He said, “Would you be interested in writing and editing it?”  I think it took me all of half a second to say, “Yes, please.”

Come again?

Yes. I’ve just been commissioned to write a book about the 2007 Teen Fringe Festival in Minnesota.

It was…that easy?

Of course not.  I actually didn’t say “yes” that quickly (the above was for comic effect….how did it work?).  I am, after all, working full time and a full time student who is preparing to start work on his thesis in the fall of 2007….about the same time as the Fringe.  I hemmed and hawed quite a bit. Would it be possible to juggle the work I would need to do on the Fringe book (which, believe it or not, would be considerable) and the work I’d need to do on my thesis (again, considerable)?  The answer is: I don’t know.  I do know that I’m taking a lighter course load in the spring so I’ve got extra time to work on all the preliminary stuff. I also know that I’m in for a hell of a fall. And I know I’d be a freaking idiot to pass up the opportunity to author a book so, yes, I agreed to this. And, to be fair, the contract has not been signed and there are small chances things might blow up (the Fringe people are very excited about this but it still needs Board approval and the Flux Acquisitions Committee still needs to sign off) but I anticipate the details to be finalized shortly.  

 You might be jumping the gun then?  This could all go south.

Yup. This might be the most quickly aborted blog in the history of blogging.  If the project goes away in the next month or so, due to any number of unpredictable circumstances, so does the blog. However, if the project goes ahead, as I feel it will, I’ll be charting my progress here.  I’ll be telling stories about my own teen theatre experiences, I’ll be ruminating on things like the structure of the book, my plans for it, and how I anticipate pulling it all together. I’ll admit: it’s largely for me to chart my own thought process.  But, if you’re interested in what I’m doing, you’re welcome to come along for the ride.

So…OK, start over. You’re writing a book. And it’s not fiction?

No. Well, yes, I’m writing a novel too but that’s for my thesis and no one has offered to make it into a book yet.  The Fringe book will be an account of how the Teen Fringe of 2007 comes together.  I’ll talk to the writers/directors/actors who are making it happen. My initial thought is that the book will read much like you might view a documentary:  it weaves in and out of each play, highlighting key moments that tell the “story” of the creation of each show.  We’ll glimpse the lives of the players involved, come to understand who they are in the context of the theater and in their lives beyond the proscenium arch.  The appendix of the book will be the scripts of the chosen plays, sort of like the icing on the cake at the end.  Now, what sort of documentary will this be? Spellbound (which I actually find to be a flawed film but still fascinating in its depiction of the kids involved) or American Movie (which, if you haven’t seen, is a must for artists…just as Waiting for Guffman is a must for community theatre participants)?  I dunno. There’s a lot I won’t be sure about until I come to understand the people involved.  Ask me again next summer what kind of documentary I’m doing.

Let me get this straight. You have zero qualifications to write a nonfiction book (you’re studying fiction, for crying out loud) and you’re just being handed a publication credit? That’s so unfair.

First, I wouldn’t say I have zero qualifications. I have a strong theatre background. I did a lot of theatre as a teen, including competitive one acts. I judged competitive one acts after high school. I’ve worked with community theatres and childrens theatres. And I *am* a writer. OK, it’s not fiction, but I think I can handle this. And, no, no it’s not fair that there are writers out there struggling to have their own books recognized and here I am, getting a chance to write a book just because I was in the right place at the right time. If it makes you feel better, I might never sell a novel. Ever. And that would make me sad.  Otherwise, try to be happy for me. I get to write a book!

When’s it coming out?

The timeline is roughly this:  The plays for Teen Fringe will be announced Feb. 12, 2007. The Festival runs for two weeks in August 2007. I need to have the completed manuscript finished by January 2008. Publication would happen in July/August 2008 in time for the launch of the next Fringe. 

Why WordPress? Why not Blogger? You do everything on Blogger.

Yeah, well, I’m just trying WordPress. We’ll see how it pleases me. I may switch to Blogger if WordPress incurs my wrath.

Are you really going to try to maintain a fourth blog?

Look! Pretty! Shiny!

Assume Crash Positions?

See, here’s the way I see it:  if you’re ever on a plane and they tell you to assume crash positions, there are three possible outcomes*: 1)  the plane does not crash and even though you got into the proper position, it was for nothing but at least you’re safe; 2) the plane crashes but because you took the precaution of getting into the proper position, you survive relatively unscathed; 3) the plane crashes in a horrible, fiery manner and no matter what you do, you die screaming.  So, in two of these scenarios, you live.  And like the song says, two outta three ain’t bad.  This is uncharted territory for me. It’s exciting and scary but it’s not a case of either or:  either I’ll craft a great book or I’ll crash and burn. No, it’s not that simple.  I have two options that mean survival and I’m shooting for one of those. Yes, crashing and burning could happen but I’ve got a 66% chance of survival and that’s something to be grateful for, right? 

That’s the big news.  I’ll post updates as events warrant. I’m going to shoot for at least one weekly update (biweekly maybe, in the beginning, until things get hopping in February?).  If you read my other blog, you’ll know what you’re in for with this one: lots of neuroses.  Andrew is showing a lot of faith by handing me this project and that’s just a little daunting. I don’t like to let people down.  But I’m very, very stoked about this and can’t wait to get started.  So 66% doesn’t seem that tough, does it? Wish me luck, tuck your head between your knees, and let’s go!

 *=Actually there’s a fourth outcome: the plane does not crash (or it crashes and you survive) but you die minutes later from a heart attack brought about by the stress of thinking you were going to die.  But I’m trying to stay optimistic here, people. Work with me.