The Importance of Networking

The Event Circuit

One of the most important things you can do as a fledgling genre writer is attend events. These can be conferences, conventions, festivals, whatever floats your boat. The important thing is that you meet others in your trade, particularly the professionals to whom you will be marketing your wares.




Because, as I have discovered, while being published is a combination of luck, skill, and perseverance, it is also about networking. This is not to say you can meet a publisher, have a conversation, and they will contract you for work. But a publisher who remembers your name and a good impression, particularly a good pitch, will potentially look more favourably on your submission than one received from a random individual. I say potentially because your project is still subject to luck and skill and hard work and everything else associated with writing. But putting your name and face out into the industry doesn't hurt.

I had the privilege of speaking at the Pure Speculation Festival (2012) in Edmonton in November. Unlike some of the larger conventions, Pure Spec is a small, intimate affair designed to bring together geeks, academics, and professionals under one roof. I personally prefer their environment because I didn't feel as though I was being jostled down the hall, and I never felt I was there solely to purchase a $100 celebrity autograph.

What Pure Spec offered was a chance to see and interact with writers and industry experts in their elements. There were book readings, academic panels, geek panels, game demonstrations, film screenings, socials, and professional development workshops. I want to highlight a couple of these events to illustrate how beneficial attending a small festival can be to a burgeoning writer.

Book Readings

While I felt that Pure Spec's line-up had more readings than I would prefer, the readings I attended were interesting and helpful. What normally occurs is that an author reads for about 10-15 minutes from their book. They then answer questions about the book/publisher/experience/etc.

During one panel I learned about Turnstone Press out of Manitoba. I hadn't heard of them before, mostly because they publish literary fiction instead of genre fiction. They have a mystery imprint, Ravenstone, which I went on to learn is interested in publishing genre fiction in general. This is not something posted on their website, but both authors told the audience that Ravenstone is looking for unique, Canadian-oriented genre fiction. I will likely query Ravenstone about this at some point because I have an idea for a YA science fiction novel, set in Saskatchewan, that I'd love to pitch.

Mega Panels

Mega panels are where a bunch of respected writers/film-makers/industry experts are tied to a stage and made to answer questions. Well, maybe not tied -- because it was very obvious the experts at Pure Spec not only wanted to be there, but wanted to impart their wisdom, stories, and advice on the crowd. The Pure Spec mega panel was a casual round robin session, and I found the anecdotes entertaining and enlightening.

One story that stuck with me was S.M. Stirling's account of how he found an "unedited" copy of a Stephen King text (I can't remember which one for the life of me) to be indistinguishable from the original. The author-edition had an extra 500 pages, and yet those pages didn't contribute anything notable to the text or make it really different. This story resonated particularly strongly with me after the conference, because, as you're about to find out, I learned about the importance of word count for submissions.

Publisher Tables

A nice thing about smaller conventions like Pure Spec is that you have opportunities to speak to people at the industry/sales tables without fear of holding up the line. Not that you can occupy their entire day, but most of the time there aren't 20 people behind you waiting to purchase the same thing from the same person. This is a great chance to learn about the publishers to which you want to submit.

Ask about their books. Find out what they like, what they don't like. Find out about their company -- how long they've been around, how many staff, who the editors are. And above all, ask them about their rules if you have any questions. One of the last things I asked when I spoke to the wonderful lady at the EDGE Science Fiction & Fantasy Publishing table was about their word count limit on submissions, given that my book at the time was a bit long for their preference. She was immensely friendly and offered suggestions about how to proceed. Then she asked for a book pitch. And she asked for my card.

The pitch was terrifying because it was my first, but you can see how easily these things fall into place once you start speaking to people. Without networking, I would have had no information, no pitch. With networking, I had both, along with 4 excellent purchased books that I look forward to reading.

Before I was sucked up into the busy that was the panels (including my own), I stopped by and met the editors/readers of On Spec Magazine. Again, the experience was fantastic. I purchased some back-issues, joked about writing, and had some important questions answered about the submissions process. I learned about the history of On Spec's foray into online submissions, and I came away with a greater appreciation for a) how much editors have to read in the slush pile and b) how much work they do when considering all submissions, both vile and exceptional.

Development Panels

While I learned a great deal in the informal environment, I found two panels in particular to be very helpful. One was called Pitch Camp. The initial idea was that everyone participating would be paired with industry professionals in their area, and would then pitch an idea and receive feedback from said professionals. We ended up doing it as a round table, which I preferred. It was a lot more public, but at the same time it made me pitch to multiple individuals. I'm not great with public speaking, at least naturally. It's a learned skill I picked up during school and then on the job as a communications professional. But if I want to sell what I write, I need to sell what I write.

I appreciated how candid the Pitch Camp judges were. They asked pointed, accurate questions. I know one of them, an individual from the comic book industry, said he had a history of being blunt, but I appreciated the candidness. It's hard to improve if people aren't honest.

I was most impressed with how much personal, industry advice the professionals gave the room. Tina Moreau, then-editor and co-owner of Tyche Books, was very forthcoming with advice about the publishing industry. My knowledge of the industry to that point was either garnered online or from the recent conversations I'd had with EDGE and On Spec. Canadian publishing is very much about small press start ups, and to hear that perspective instead of the large house views that trickle from the USA, well ... it was an eye opener. There are good things on both sides of the fence, but Tina's pitch (as it were, for her industry) is part of the reason I'm pursuing small press publication in Canada with as much if not more vigour than larger house publication in the USA market.

Tina's advice also led to another book pitch and a conversation with the Tyche acquisitions editor. It was from Tina and Margaret both that I learned why word count is so important to small press publishers. Larger houses offset the cost of publishing larger books with money they make from other sales. Small presses don't have that luxury. The cost of the book is based on how big it is. By logic, a lengthy, $30 book wouldn't sell in the Canadian market. By necessity, small press publishers have to stay just that -- small.

It makes sense. And I wouldn't have learned it without networking.

By this point, I was beginning to realize that publishers are indeed people. They are not the scary creatures writers sometimes make them out to be. Treat them with respect. Treat them well. But they are helpful and friendly and genuinely love what they do. This helped alleviate a lot of my networking stress. It also lessened a bit of my fear for what came next -- Pure Spec Idol!

The other panel I found immensely helpful and terrifying was Pure Spec Idol. Pure Spec Idol involves individuals submitting anonymous opening pages (the first page) from their work. A panel of judges (editors, slush readers, owners) listens as the work is read aloud. If they hear something they don't like, they raise a hand. Once all hands are up, your time is up. Or, if you're lucky, your work gets read to the end. And then the fun begins!

Pure Spec Idol is the scariest thing you can do with your work. It puts it out in public to be ripped and assessed by people who absolutely know their stuff. When you hand away your page, it's like signing up for a session of American Idol. And you wonder. Can I sing? Can I even hold a tune? Are they going to be helpful? Or is it going to be a blood bath?

Do it. If you ever have a chance to participate in a writer's Idol, do it and don't look back. You will shake and quiver and blush and every other panic reaction as they read your work. But the truth is, if it's bad, you need to know. And nothing read at an Idol competition is ever perfect, or it would be submitted to a publisher instead. The judges will tell you, as bluntly as possible, what is wrong with it. What has to be fixed. And what they did or did not like about it.

I submitted the opening page to my novel knowing it needed work. I wrote it quite a while ago and was planning on editing it. But I wanted to find out from the pros where they would start. I felt I'd hit a road block with my writing, and though stylistically it's improved since then, I honestly didn't know what they wanted in a first page.

Ah, the first page. The most important page in writing. Let it be immediate and captivating and lush and enticing. Let it take a few sentences to give the reader a raw, personable look at your protagonist. Do it with action. Do it with empathy or at least understanding. Don't bore the reader. Don't bore your protagonist. Draw them in. With every word, craft a towering mural of content.

Only a publisher can tell you the true importance of a first page. A reader might say, "It seemed boring to me." A publisher will say, "It seemed boring to me. It'll be boring to the reader. I'm not interested."

I was proud, granted. No hands went up for mine. It won out of the three submitted. But what was so important was all the advice offered. S.M. Stirling, the reader, was candid in his assessment of what he would change -- which actually wasn't much, but from a structural standpoint made perfect sense. The other editors offered different views of what they did and did not like.

Some related to Kas (the protagonist), particularly those with a self acclaimed road rage (the audience launched into this part). Some didn't and wanted more motivation outright. One, I can't remember which, made the incredibly astute remark that a head-strong individual whining about things not being the way she wants them wouldn't wait for something to happen. She'd go out there and change things. Of course, the individual is right. This remnant of Kas' character lingered from when the book was very different, but I was stuck in and enamoured with the opening lines  and hadn't really seen it that way myself. On second read I couldn't see it any other way, so out came the red pen.

The entire panel reminded me that part of writing is understanding your audience. And part of doing that is knowing that everyone is different. You can and should try to please everyone. But to do so, you have to realize there are discrepancies in how publishers view your work. And if someone reads your book in a way you don't expect, even if you think they're wrong, you have to believe others will read it that way as well. Fix things. Make them air tight. Ask many opinions. Above all, be ready to learn and change.

Post-Convention Panic

At the conclusion of the Pure Speculation Festival, I felt a mix of overwhelming information overload and euphoria at having taken the first steps into learning the industry. This turned into a panicked, driven desire to apply what I learned to my work.

I kept thinking about S.M. Stirling's Stephen King anecdote about unnecessary content. I wondered -- what exactly can I cut from my work and have it remain the same in essence? And I remembered Tina and Margaret's explanations about the importance of maintaining word count for small press.

This gave me the motivation to start trimming. And for the first time since I began writing, I learned the real skill of "editing." Not at a superficial gloss level, or at a thematic level, or at a typo level. But at a word and a sentence and a paragraph level. I re-wrote the text from the ground up. It went from just over 135,000 words to a compact 108,000. I even added in a scene I'd wanted to include but didn't previously have the space. All this done by cutting one short chapter, and the rest coming from sentence level reductions.

Everything I did was seared into my brain, along with an angry red note to do it right the next time. I'm sure I'll make mistakes in the drafting process, as everyone does. But I know what I have to do next time to not write the book twice. It was a worthwhile, though time-consuming, learning experience.

I submitted my novel to a publisher on Monday. This is my first submission. It took me two months from Pure Spec to ready it, in part because it was my first text and I had lots to learn, but also because of just how much I did indeed learn at the convention. Sweat and blood is a major component of writing. You have to learn when to let go. But you also have to make sure that what you send out is the best representation of your skills.

I don't know if my stuff is there quite yet. We'll see. But I know Pure Spec helped get me on the right track. And it was an enjoyable experience, at that! We'll see where it leads in the future.

-- Janet