Author: Karen

Sherylyn and I write as a team.

Back when we signed with our agent we also had to sign a collaboration agreement.

There are a number of standard collaboration agreement samples on the internet, and most major writing organisations have an agreement you can view or purchase. These standard agreements are mostly for a single book. Because we write as a single entity, we wanted an agreement that would cover multiple works, so we wrote our own.

The basics were easy. Decide how much each collaborator gets, who owns the copyright, who signs any papers, how you split the expenses, how your name appears on the book and so on.

It’s catering for the things you don’t expect to happen that cause more trouble.

As Lloyd Jassin says in an article on Absolute Write

Although collaborators might not feel comfortable discussing long-term financial issues or the eventuality of a dispute, or even the death of a co-author, it is always easier and less expensive to deal with these issues up front, rather than later, after a dispute arises.

Absolute Write — Collaboration Agreements in the Publishing Industry by Lloyd J. Jassin

The time to address the major issues confronting contributors and collaborators is before the actual creative process begins.

It was —’fun’ isn’t the right word, ‘interesting’ may be more appropriate—to consider what might happen to our writing in these cases.

There are the standard death and disability clauses. What if one author gets hit by a bus? Does the other author have to finish the book? What do we do about future novels in that case?

There are the other, more unpleasant scenarios to consider as well. What if we split acrimoniously? What if one of us gets a greedy life partner who wants that particular author to keep writing even after the other partner doesn’t, and so on. (Of course, these aren’t more unpleasant than being hit by a bus, but it’s a nasty end to what is currently a good writing partnership.) What if, after the bus incident, the dead person’s life partner wants to okay a d-grade porn movie based on a novel that has already been published?

They’re not questions you can ask when your relationship is already starting to crumble, and they’re definitely not questions that should be answered first-time by the collaborators’ lawyers in court.

If you can’t ask—and answer—questions like this before you start writing together, then you need to seriously ask yourselves whether you are ready to collaborate.

I watched the movie The Terminator the other night.

Despite it being one of ‘the’ great science fiction movies, I had never seen it before. I enjoyed it enough to watch through to the end but … we’ve come a long way in women’s equality and this movie proves it.

The movie starts well. The bad guys from the future send a (supposedly) indestructible cyborg back to our time to kill one Sarah Connor, a woman does something in our time to save the world. Kyle, one of the good guys from the same future, sacrifices his own future to come back to our time to save Sarah from the cyborg.

Going back in time to kill someone to change the future is a common enough theme in science fiction. It was used both before and after The Terminator.

What isn’t so common nowadays is how Sarah ‘saves’ the world.

How does she do it?

She has a son who leads the revolution that finally overthrows the totalitarian government.

That’s right. Her son saves the world.

It’s one of those paradoxical looping movies. If the terminator hadn’t come after her then Sarah wouldn’t have brought her son up knowing how to fight, and if she hadn’t brought her son up knowing how to fight then said son wouldn’t have been able to defeat the government, so no-one would have been sent back to kill her.

How it happens doesn’t matter. What does matter is that early in the movie Kyle tells her that she saves the world. For having a son who saves them.

I’m pleased to say that if they remade The Terminator today, this is one particular conversation they would drop or rewrite. Sure, tell her the terminator is here to kill her to prevent her son being born. That’s a common science fiction trope, and to most people perfectly acceptable. But don’t tell her she saves the world just because she has a son. Nowadays that isn’t acceptable.

Sometimes, it’s not what you say but how you say it.

It was Mark Twain who said:

“The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”

As I walked home the other night I tried to work out what words I would use to describe the weather.

It was late February. Summer, the hottest month and we’d had fifteen days straight of temperatures over 30 degrees Celsius.

It was hot, but it wasn’t scorching heat, because a scorching heat is a clear, burning heat that brings in mind the Drifter’s song Under the Boardwalk, where …

“your shoes get so hot you wish your tired feet were fireproof.”
[Kenny Young/Arthur Resnick]

Nor was it that variation of scorching heat that seems so uniquely Australian, maybe because I only ever come across it in the bush, usually in granite hills. That heat where each and every gum leaf is absolutely still, but is given the illusion of movement because the heat rising from underfoot makes the air shimmer; where the only things that moves are the ants, and the only sounds you can hear are the cicadas.

It wasn’t a dry heat at all. We’d had thunderstorms earlier in the day. It had stopped raining, but there were lowering black clouds with lots of moisture in the air, and while it was hot, it wasn’t as hot as it had been the last few days.

It wasn’t balmy, because balmy is warm, with just a of dampness in the air and ideally a light breeze that makes you want to dance.

Maybe muggy, but the clouds were very black and while I associate mugginess with clouds to me they’re usually higher up, and a not-so-dark grey when it’s muggy.

Sultry, I finally decided. The weather was sultry.

Novellas are making a comback

I love a good novel. A place where I can lose myself in a well constructed plot. Where the subplots add spice and colour to the story. Where the protagonist has a chance to grow, where the secondary characters can become as important to me as the main protagonist. Where I can lose myself in a different world.

You can’t do that in a short story. A short story follows one incident and, usually, one character. If you do any more the story falls apart.

You can’t even do it in a novella. In a novella there isn’t the room for sub-plots or secondary characters. The story has to be about the protagonist, and unless the author is truly skilled—or it’s a very long novella—when an author tries to include sub-plots the story come comes off as being an unfinished novel.

Thus while I read the occasional short story and novella, they’re not my favourite stories. I want something I can immerse myself in.

With the advent of ePublishing the novella has made a comeback. The self-publishing boom has also increased the number of novellas out there. Some of my favourite authors are writing novellas now.

I can’t say I like the trend, but I can understand it.

Why readers buy novellas

I would imagine that if you asked ePublishers why they publish novellas they will say, “There’s a demand for them,” and one can infer from that that people like them.

I buy them, although I don’t like doing it much.

Sometimes I don’t know what I’m buying. One of my biggest frustrations with eBooks is not realising that a story I have purchased is not on novel. Particularly when I pay nearly novel price for it.

Sometimes I do know and I buy them on price point. I will pay $2.99-$3.99 for novellas by authors I know and like.

Sometimes I buy them simply to support the author.

Why writers write novellas

Some writers prefer the format, in much the same way as some writers prefer to short stories while others prefer to write novels. Even so, I’d venture to say that most people write them for another reason.

Because they can make more money out of novellas.

A novella runs somewhere between 20,000 and 40,000 words, give or take 10,000. The average length seems to be around 30,000 words. The average length of a modern novel runs to 80,000+ words, and in our genre starts at 100,000 words and goes up.

How many novellas can you write in the time it takes to write a novel?

At least three, probably four.

Let’s say your novella sells in the eStore for $3.99, while your novel sells for $7.99. Sell two novellas and you have made the same money as you have on your novel. But given that you can write four novellas in the time it takes to write that novel, you can theoretically make double the income.

Not to mention you are delivering a story every three months, which helps with marketing. You always have something new to sell, and you get up a backlist really fast.

The novella dilemma

When I find a writer I like, I buy their books. A growing number of my favourite authors—especially in the smaller niche markets—are turning to novellas. Which is a pity, because many of them write delightful novels.

What do I do?

If I—and other readers—keep buying their novellas then they’ll keep writing them, because it’s easier, faster and more lucrative than writing novels. But I don’t like their novellas much. They don’t have the depth, the characterisation or the story that a novel has. They leave me dissatisfied.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this.

Novellas aren’t going to go away. Sometimes a story even suits that particular form.  But for me, as a favourite author switches their output from novel to novella I eventually stop buying their books.

I go and find myself other authors who write in the longer length I prefer.

Our agent came back to us last week recommending changes to our novel. Major changes, like ‘rewrite the last third of the book’. As an author, that’s the last thing you want to hear, and I can imagine how I’d feel if I was doing it alone. Luckily for me, I don’t write alone.

No matter how supportive they are, your spouse/partner/significant other can only talk so much about the story before their eyes glaze over. They definitely can’t read and reread and reread again. They can’t tell you the minutiae of how the lines work and why the bad guy isn’t really a bad guy, he’s just a guy. In fact, talk about the book too much and all you get is, “Yeah, yeah. What’s for dinner?” (There’s only one answer to that, by the way, and it’s, “I don’t know, you’re cooking it.”)

Your co-writer loves the book as much as you do. They know every character intimately. Better, they can talk for hours about it, just like you can. They will dissect the story with you, trying to work out what’s wrong, what’s right, what can go, what absolutely has to stay. Coming up with ideas of how we might fix problems.

When one of you can’t think of anything to fix a story, the other often can. Or you can bounce ideas off each other.  Stupid ideas, crazy ideas, ordinary ideas, until one sticks and you both say, “Yes, that might work.”

Better, she is going through the same things you are. While your family and friends are saying, “It’s just a story,” your co-writer is obsessing about the same things you’re obsessing about.

For pantsers like us, it’s easy (enough) to write a first draft. Turn on the computer, open your word processor and let the words pour out. Sure there are a few humps along the way but it’s relatively painless compared to the rewrites.

First drafts are fun. Rewrites are hard work, but the rewards are greater because rewrites are where you turn that rough piece of clay into a beautiful statue that you are proud to show off. (Believe me, you wouldn’t want to see our first drafts. They are terrible.)

It’s so much easier to do all that work when someone else is sharing the hard work alongside you.

We’ve all heard at least one story about the persistent author who follows the agent into the restrooms at a conference and tries to hand their manuscript to the agent under the toilet door.  Hopefully, most of us know this is outright not done, but I recently saw similar behaviour in my office when someone hassled one of our service-desk people and it struck me that a service-desk person is treated a lot like an agent when it comes to chance meetings.

So first, a bit of background for those who don’t know what I mean by service-desk, or who call it something different in their part of the world.

Businesses run on computers, and someone has to get those computers up and running, install software users want, manage computer security, protect us from our stupidity when we accidentally erase files, manage backups and so on.  This is the service desk, otherwise known as support, IT support, help-desk or by a myriad of other names.  I will call it the service desk.

In a small company, say 10 people or less, you can often get away with one knowledgeable computer person who does all of this as an adjunct to their own job.  Or maybe pull in an external company to do the work. As the company grows, however, you need a dedicated person; and then another; and then another.  Until finally, your company grows so big they outsource help-desk again, only this time it’s to a service desk in another country, and you can be stuck for days waiting for them to unlock your password or something else trivial.

In this blog I’m talking about in-house staff, where they still work inside the same building you do, so you know who they are.

Everyone wants to talk work

If you’re an agent or a publisher, as soon as someone knows you’re in the industry, what do they want to talk about? How can I get my book published?

Likewise, as soon as anyone knows you work in the service desk they want to talk about their computer problems.

Will you look at my work?

Leading on from that, the agent or publisher is often asked by friends and family—will you look at my book to see if you can publish/represent it?

Likewise, the first person friends and family turn to when their computer breaks down is the family member who works on the service-desk. (Failing that, it’s the family member who works in IT, any part of IT.)

Tell me what to write/buy

Many people ask agents and publishers about trends. What is the next big thing? (So they can write it.)

Service-desk people are expected to give advice on the best computer to buy, software to install, etc. They’re expected to be up with the latest hardware, and what’s coming.

Captive audience

There are the above-mentioned infamous toilet incidents, of course. But there are other places where the agent/service-desk staff member becomes a captive audience. The best place is the lift.  You just can’t escape.

The response by both is the same. The beleaguered agent/service desk person smiles and listens, and says,

“Send in a query. The information on how to do that is on the website.”

or

“Put in a service-desk request. The form is on the intranet.”

and they make their escape as soon as the lift door opens.