Hello, fellow writers!
My last post was inspired by lugging copies of my new book home from the post office. That got me thinking about the start of my publication process, which was also launched at a post office when I sent my first book proposal.
The press wanted a hard copy of the documents, so I printed a huge bundle of pages.
At the time, I was living in Chicago’s South Loop, and so I walked my package to the iconic glass-and-steel box of a post office designed by Mies van der Rohe, with the splash of Calder’s “Flamingo” sculpture glowing orange-red in front.
It was a gray afternoon, New Year’s Eve of 2018, and the city was quiet. A few snowflakes whirled softly through the plaza’s open space.
The picturesque scene made me feel as though I was living a movie version of the task.
But even as I enjoyed the moment, I was pretty sure I was not going to receive the reply that the magical setting might seem to portend.
Choosing a publisher, take one!
Recently, I heard a fellow academic editor give some common advice: to choose a publisher, scan your bookshelves. Which press is best represented there? Plan to submit your proposal to your favorite.
That’s a bit too simple, but it isn’t a bad way to start.
In fact, I didn’t have to look at my personal library. I already knew which catalogue I awaited eagerly each season, whose books I admired for their design as well as their content, which publisher had a reputation for working with first-book authors in the way I’d most appreciate.
I was also familiar with the press’s relevant “lists”—the subject-area categories by which acquisitions editors organize their titles, where my own book should fit.
That was the first snag.
Though I continued to enjoy the press’s most recent books, I had a sense that the lists were subtly shifting direction, making my book less of a match than it might have been a few years before.
Also, a book somewhat similar to mine had appeared on one list a few years back. I had consulted an editor at the press during an academic conference, but felt as though their encouragement to submit my work was a bit tepid.
I had a nagging feeling that my choice was more aspirational than realistic, but in my circumstances, that was OK. I was leaving academia, and I had time to try for my pie-in-the-sky choice, a luxury those on the tenure clock do not enjoy.
But my gut was right. The rejection notice arrived in April.
Choosing a publisher, take two!
I knew that it wasn’t uncommon for authors to receive rejections on book proposals. So, I had a Plan B ready and returned with no less alacrity to the drawing board.
Certainly, I was a fan of the Music/Culture series at Wesleyan University Press before my own book was accepted for it. This is also evident with a glance at my bookshelves.
I liked the idea of a series, too. As I’ve written, I think that with editorial input, the more the merrier! Here was a chance to have not one editor, but two or more.
Best of all, I thought I could make a strong case for why my book would be a good match for the series.
In my proposal, I reframed the project in a way that felt more solidly grounded in how it might appeal to the press. With the benefit of fresh eyes, I chose a different—and at the moment, better developed—second chapter to pair with my introduction as samples.
The press wanted only an electronic submission, so there was no pretty scenery to match that first, false start. I simply took a breath and hit “send.”
This time, my proposal met with success.
Working with Wesleyan
The proposal review process took a good bit longer than I had been led to anticipate, but the outcome was worth the wait.
The press offered me an advance contract based on the proposal—though of course, its terms were contingent on the full manuscript undergoing a successful peer review.
What followed was a wonderful period of brainstorming with the editor in chief, Suzanna Tamminen. We considered the project through to its last details, a helpful thing for a first-book author whose thoughts are glued to the manuscript’s content.
As another New Year’s Eve approached, I was content.
My book was under contract with a press I respected. My kind editor made sure that I understood what everyone liked about it, giving me clear ideas about how to tighten the full draft for review. My motivation was newly fired up by imagining what the finished product might look like one day.
Though 2020 would soon bring its calamities, including its impact on the publishing world, I would find more reasons to be glad of my choice as I moved through the many stages of finishing the book—even before my most recent trip to the post office.
More information! If you’d like a thorough overview of the proposal process for scholarly books, take a look at Laura Portwood-Stacer’s The Book Proposal Book (Princeton University Press, 2021).