Reality, Brand Planning, and god

Back by popular demand (Rob demanded it, actually), is my column about publishing, originally titled Nat’s Notes (Blah!). Now it is Inside of a Dog, based on the old Groucho Marx joke (See above). The inside of this dog is the publishing industry, and we shall explore all avenues of it. This column actually started out chronicling my experiences, as a “new” author wading through the New York waters for the first time, but as it turns out, it really doesn’t end when the book hits the market. Whodathunkit?

My book, Wives and Sisters, came out in October, to a great review by Kirkus, and a few other reviews (all great) and then nothing else. There is no advertising or promotion budget, so the little bit that gets done is by me. I’ve done everything I can think of to drum up interest in this book, which has yet to see a negative review. Still nothing. Oh, it sells a bit, and my booksignings are going well, but I’m not really taking the industry by storm. I’d go through this whole story, but it’s actually told better (and in a very funny way), in this article, by authors Lawrence Douglas and Alexander George.

Over lunch at the publishing giant's corporate headquarters in Manhattan, our publicist revealed a highly confidential fact: "Advertisements don't sell books." When we registered our surprise, he assured us that this was the typical reaction of first-time trade authors. "Ads are totally passé," he said. We were therefore immensely relieved when, over dessert, he revealed that Simon & Schuster was not planning on running any ads for our book whatsoever. "Let the publisher of Eats, Shoots & Leaves waste its money on full-page color spreads in The New York Times," we snickered. We knew better!

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Over at TWL, we’ve been having a most interesting discussion about “branding,” courtesy of Mel Foster, author of Shaking Hands with Lefkowitz. It began when someone posted their worries about being “typecast” as a certain type of writer, and not being allowed to write in other genres. The reality, of course, is that this is exactly what happens, to almost every author, and rarely can one shake it. Doesn’t make it a less real fear, I guess.

So should we be upset about this? Here is Mel’s take:

I have a dark confession to make. One of the many freelance jobs I do to pay the bills -- besides being the performer on audiobooks and commercials -- is writing for a small ad agency. One of the agency's clients is a fairly large, fairly well known niche publisher of fiction and nonfiction books.

The agency's role for this publisher is to develop a "Brand Plan" for some of their more successful authors.

I spent many years at J. Walter Thompson. So did James Patterson. He was the first author, I believe, who spoke of an author as a brand. (He did this, in part I think, to justify the books co-written with another author. "If it has the name James Patterson on the cover, then the reader knows to expect a certain level of writing.")

Building and maintaining a brand is not inherently "evil" for a writer. A brand creates expectations and delivers on them consistently. It has an identity. It can become your friend. (Think of McDonald's. No matter what exit on what freeway in which state, you know what to expect when you pull into a McDonald's. That doesn't mean you have to like it. It just means that you "know" it. And, if you enjoyed your last couple of Big Macs, chances are you'll try another one soon.)

The first few Brand Plans I did were for nonfiction authors. We found elements in their writing that "separated" them from other authors writing on the same subjects. We picked out the elements that seemed to fit their voice best. We said, if you have these same two or three elements in your next three books, then your sales will continue to climb with each one. And you will probably get backlist sales, too.

The authors were very pleased. The publisher was very pleased. They had a Plan. And a sales goal. And they knew how much they were going to invest in those authors because their audiences were just going to continue to grow.

I've now done a Brand Plan for two novelists. That's when I felt icky.

In discussions with the publisher, we identified was seemed to be "working" in their books, and what wasn't. This was based primarily on sales, but also on reader feedback via emails and fan letters.

It was kind of like telling a stand up comic, "Look, do the blond jokes. When you tell them, people love it. Just, maybe, you should stay away from the Irish jokes. Because the reaction ... eh, not so much."

At the end of the day, both authors were pleased with the process. With one, it came down to agreeing that his next few books would all have a certain style of suspense to them. With the other, it came down to agreeing that instead of writing in two genres, the author would stick to just one. (This was not written in the Plan, but discussed at the meeting and readily agreed to.)

Bottom line. When you reach the stage of having published a book or two and your publisher says, "Hey, listen, I know you're dying to write a sci-fi novel, but if you crank out five more romance novels, I'd be willing to invest money into your career -- buy you front placements at Barnes & Noble, get you television interviews, etc.," I think you'll probably be so flattered that you'd be willing to back-burner the other genres.

Anyway, that's been my experience as a Brand Planner. Icky as it is.

Would you like fries with that?

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And finally, I am about halfway through Joshilyn Jackson’s highly-touted and rabidly-promoted book, gods in Alabama, which is scheduled to be published by Warner in April. The amount of publicity and promotion that has gone into Joss’s “first” book is extremely rare, and I’m sure it brings with it its own angst. It’s hard enough to live up to a small advance and no publicity.

So, will it be worth it?

Based on what I’ve read, yes. As I beat back those green evil monsters I must admit I see the vision. All of my readers have mentioned that my book is impossible to put down. Like glue, it sticks with a reader until finished, sometimes until the wee hours of the morning. It's a "fast read." Joss’s book MUST be put down, digested, pondered.

I am the fast food of the literary world. She is the gourmet meal. (Back, GEMs, BACK!)