The FREE All-You-Can-Read Buffet

Right now eight of the top ten bestsellers on Kindle are listed for $0.00, with Andrew Gross's Dark Tide leading the way.

I'm not sure what kind of conclusion to draw from that, but it's interesting.

If you like Whoppers better than Big Macs, but Big Macs are free today, which one will you choose?

Personally, I believe in paying for what you like, but it seems a lot of people are swayed heavily by the word Free.

Is it even a good promotional tool, giving books away? I would like to see the stats on how many people go on to buy something from the author whose work they first got for nothing. I'm betting many of them just move on to the next free thing and never make any actual purchases.

Thoughts?

Goals

Merriam-Webster Online defines the word goal as “the end toward which effort is directed.”

For my purposes here, I would like to modify that definition a bit for writers. My definition, then, would go something like this: The quantifiable end which effort within a writer’s control is directed.

With that definition in mind, would something like I want to be on the New York Times bestseller list ever be considered a valid goal?

Sorry, but it would not.

For one thing, getting your name and the title of your book on that list is far beyond your control as a writer. You can do everything humanly possible, starting with writing what you consider to be a commercially-viable story and ending with promotion out the ying yang, and 99.9% of the time you’re still not going to make the coveted list.

Why?

Because it’s not within your control. There are many factors that come into play (timing for the market, co-op placement, orders from major chains and big box stores, reviews, etc.). It’s just not a valid goal. It’s not within your control, and it’s not quantifiable. There’s no way to measure your efforts to insure that it happens.

But...but...but...you might say, if I land a top New York agent, and s/he submits to all the major publishers, and one of them agrees to publish my book...

Hold on thar, Bob-a-looey. Landing a top New York agent is not within your control, either, nor is it quantifiable. It’s the same thing as saying that your goal is to be a NYT bestseller. You can say it all you want, but nothing you do is necessarily going to make it happen.

Try to keep your goals quantifiable, and within your control. Here are a few examples for aspiring authors:

I will write X number of words per day (week, month, or whatever time frame you can manage).

I will improve my craft by reading more, writing more, attending classes and workshops, communicating with online groups and forums, etc.

When my book is finished (that is, when several drafts have been completed, and when comments and suggestions from beta readers and critique group members and possibly even a freelance editor or two have been incorporated to the best of my ability) I will submit X number of queries to agents I have researched, and to whom I feel would be a good match for my project and myself.

I will research and submit to X number of legitimate presses that accept unagented submissions, presses with the resources, memberships in professional trade associations, distribution channels, etc., commensurate with where I see myself as a published author.

While I’m pitching book #1 and hoping for the best, I will start book #2 and give it the attention it deserves, knowing I’m a better writer now than I was when I started book #1...

Those are just a few goals you can start with as an aspiring author. If you start with I want to be a NYT bestseller, you might as well start with a lottery ticket.

Realistic goals depend on quantification and control.

Keep it real, and you’ll be a better and happier writer for it.

The Call

Your name is Jude Hardin. You graduated from the University of Louisville in 1983 with an English degree, and you’ve been writing in one form or another for a long, long time.

Six-and-a-half years ago, you decided it was time to try the big one--the novel.

It would be easy, you thought. Your idea was a surefire hit, and publishers would line up with their fat wallets open.

You didn’t know what the hell you were doing, but you kept at it. The pages you wrote in longhand started accumulating, and eventually you decided to type them up on an old Olivetti portable you found at a thrift store.

Now this thing, this monster you had painstakingly brought to life, had page numbers and chapter headings and description and dialogue and action and humor and irony and pathos and NO FUCKING PROTAGONIST.

You had written two hundred pages of what essentially amounted to rubbish, and you thought about chucking the whole shebang.

But you didn’t.

You ran across an article in Writer’s Digest by this guy, who had recently signed a six-figure deal for a mystery series.

If he could do it, so could you.

You bought a computer. You started reading more mysteries and thrillers. You took your two hundred pages of rubbish and used them for offstage backstory. You created a protagonist.

A few months later, you were over halfway through and moving right along. Time to start querying agents and publishers!

You didn’t know it at the time, but you were lucky to get form rejections. You were lucky to get any response at all.

You finished the book, and allowed a few friends and family members to read it. They said it was great, and you believed them.

In 2006, you attended a conference where the first chapter of another novel you were working on was chosen to be in a workshop headed by them.

You pitched the first book to an agent at the same conference. She requested a partial, and you thought you were on your way. You sent her the first fifty pages, only to receive a detailed letter in return outlining the reasons the novel was not right for her.

Soon after that, you struck up a conversation with her. She agreed to look at your first fifty pages, and echoed many of the same concerns as the agent. You thought about addressing those concerns and starting a major rewrite, but…

There was that other novel you were working on. The one that had been selected for the workshop.

The hero was a private investigator named Nicholas Colt, and people seemed to respond to him. They liked him. They liked the “voice.”

Eventually you finished the book and landed an agent, only to be disappointed time and again by rejections from major New York publishers. They liked it, but it just wasn’t “big” enough.

You did a rewrite.

And another.

Then came the recession, and for a while it seemed as though publishing was at a standstill. You became frustrated, and decided to part ways with the literary agent you’d worked so hard to get.

Now you were on your own again.

You thought about giving up, but this guy had recently signed with a small-but-well-respected press and you liked the way he spoke of them. You went to their website, found the submission guidelines, and submitted a short synopsis and the first thirty pages of your thriller Pocket-47.

A month or so later you got an email requesting two copies of the full manuscript. You were excited, but you didn’t tell anyone about it because you know rejection is the norm in this business. The publisher promised to get back to you with its level of interest within 90 days.

You wait. And wait. And wait. A month passes, then two. At the end of the third month, you’ve just about given up hope.

It’s Thursday, just past five, and you’re thinking about playing tennis when the phone rings.

Your name is Jude Hardin, and you’re going to be a published author.