Letter to Peter Cox regarding agent ethics and other matters

(Peter’s article, see below.)
Hello Peter,

I have just read with some fascination your argument regarding the ethics of the agent’s role. I can’t remember how I found it but my trail started with the Nosy Crow defence of the Sainsbury’s award.

As an outsider with neither an agent nor a publisher who has sold, mostly undiscounted, around 7,000 copies of my first, illustrated nonsense children’s, in hardback at £14.99and 1,200 of my second, adult gothic ghost tale, in paperback at £9.99, traditionally printed, I am merely an observer of the tribulations and machinations of both sides of the “added value” chain.

In her defence of Sainsbury’s I was a little shocked at the extremely modest figures, both in sales and revenue-to-author, of the examples she quoted: 3,000 copies sold through Sainsbury’s equating to 2,000 through an independent bookshop to realise £900 for her client (the creator as author or illustrator). I was not shocked at the percentage but at the low expectation of sales figures.

Is it really the case that a publisher, with connective, logistical and marketing power at their disposal, has such low expectations of sales volume while accepting such drastic discounting? (It may be that this was an abstract random example merely to show the relative sales between outlets but her introduction of the ALCS’s median author income figures leads me to believe otherwise. I realize the publisher benefits through the accumulated title income but this little helps the individual author. [Which relates to your issues with agents becoming publishers I guess])

Ok, she is one publisher, and a new one, but her ability to self-promote is peerless (she is everywhere to be found plugging NC or pontificating on publishing futures), so it is doubly disheartening to see that she, apparently, has such low volume expectations (I also read a sub-text into her article aimed squarely at her authors and illustrators), and I wonder if this translates to the major publishers for the majority of their new titles (we keep hearing about the onus incumbent on non-A-list authors to ‘get out there and promote your own work’)?

You, as an agent, should be in a position to answer this question and I hope you will be kind enough to do so.

How does this relate at all to your article? Indirectly, inasmuch as your discussion of agent integrity conflicting with the trend to agent-publishing leads me to the other half of my concern: the agent half of the value-added question.

Again, as an outsider I watch the publicised mega-deals which give no indication as to the median agent-struck deals with publishers. In the case of a non-mega deal what does the agent bring to the party? How does he/she justify his/her existence in a world where deals are struck with no advances to help the author live while penning his next book and where publishers do increasingly less to push the book, once published?

In such a situation and disregarding e-books for a moment, I would see a distinct opportunity for a new type of publishing concern – a developmental/copy-editing, proofreading and pre-production company working with authors to facilitate the production of their own work under the aegis of their own companies under one of the following agreements:

1. Prod Co contracted at straight flat-rate payment for work done for Author Co that pays the printing, shipment, and storage etc., costs. Author Co benefits by lowered print rates through Prod Co’s total printing volume.
2. For new or cash-strapped authors, Prod Co, after initial editorial viability vetting, enters an arrangement balanced between direct payment and royalties (i.e. in reverse of the current norm, with the possibility that some of these will achieve high volumes and continued income for the Prod Co)

Here the Author Co takes the 42.5-60% share of list price through wholesalers or bookshops direct for street sales or the equivalent through e-tailers.

Basically this is what I have been doing these past two years, paying for runs between 1,000 and 3,000, taking advantage of the print deals* through volume my production company provides (they merely check my pdfs for anomalies and negotiate prices), warehousing and distributing through wholesalers (no Amazon Advantage here – more from Amazon sold through Gardners).
[*Well, I thought they were providing such an advantage! After a falling out I was forced to find my own print deals and found an ace Chinese company, with a London office and an extremely nice and efficient representative here, that printed my Curd the Lion hardback book, retailing at £14.99 on a run of 2,000 at £1.75 including delivery to a UK warehouse – the cheapest by far I’ve had – and perfect quality. DIY strikes again!] 

Ok, I have to pay for printing up front, but I have geared it so that the profit from each pays for the next. Since Gardners take my books in batches between 200 and a thousand my warehousing costs are greatly reduced (and I have found a very cheap warehouse for the remainder).

I originally took the stance, having heard of the self-promotion being demanded of mid-list authors, that I would rather self-promote for 42% than 8% of each sale made. With that in mind I have established a great working relationship with the Waterstone’s chain at which I do signings every Saturday, through half-terms and holidays, just chatting to customers who have never heard of me and talking them into my stories with very consistent results. (Most Saturdays now over 40 books between the two and over 30 weekdays).

I work otherwise illustrating for a range of publishers adult non-fiction titles (Penguin Group, Osprey, Windmill, Hachette Partworks, Aurum, Ivy) plus occasionally for architects (John McAslan & Partners and others) and writing whenever I get free time.

I guess my activities parallel those of a lot of authors represented by agents and published by major companies with the exception that I reap a far greater reward per unit, even after printing, warehousing and distribution costs. (In my position the Gardners business model is so much more viable than the Bertrams where the latter overtly pay when they order, rather than when they sell, but in reality their 90 -120 day payment cycle coincides with an automated returns cycle so that one can be paid just prior to returns being notified and further orders placed for the same books coincidentally.)

It is obvious that everyone concedes that e-publishing is easy (with the caveats of the observed shortfall in proofreading/copyediting for each format in which the e-book is distributed) and in ignorance of that caveat, cheap. Apps are a different matter.

Agents, like authors, it seems, are tempted by the apparent lack of infrastructure needs to set themselves up as e-publishers.

In my case, to avoid the fraught contractual niceties, I have signed up to work under the aegis of Faber Factory (iBookstore deal announced today) – they chunder through the contractual mires while I pay a percentage for the privilege of collecting a cheque each month. Neither has worked out an effective pricing or marketing strategy though their (and others’) success in tactically lowering to 99c. leading to exponentially increasing sales to a plateau, followed by a slow decline, largely upholding sales after returning to the original or a price somewhere between, has worked very well.

But this is merely a short-term big deal for the early adopters, and already it is being said that reduction per se will not be enough, but that every book will have to find a ‘gimmick’ to raise its profile above the horizon, or by exploiting or creating interest-group communication and loyalty (‘verticality’ in Shatzkin’s jargon).

Here publishers are disadvantaged in that the main retailer, Amazon, and Apple, to a lesser but growing degree, know every purchase and the addresses etc., of every customer and can extrapolate from these their interests and tastes to a degree unheard of before. Publishers are left out in the cold and must find ways to generate their own feedback loop to and from their customers as some are trying.

The FT’s adoption of a pseudo-app (Majoobi – see Tech Digest for details) for all devices announced yesterday is a major step in this direction, if not quashed by Apple, in that they have what appears as an app downloadable but not subject to the App store conditions and vetting procedures. It gives them direct purchasing and access to what is read by whom, with all the information that carries

Whether this leads to the Android-style chaos that is a direct result of unvetted apps allowing malware onto their devices, has yet to be seen. If so, Apple will assuredly find a way of banning such pseudo apps. [Otherwise pretty damned exciting especially for small guys like me because cheap and cheerful but looking good.]

It is very difficult to see how publishers can catch up with direct sales or persuade the major e-tailers to divulge their customer preference databases since the latter would facilitate the former undermining their own information-advantage and market dominance.

Wow! I didn’t mean to get this carried away, but it all leads back to my basic question: what advantage, in the emerging ecosystems through which readers are connected to writers (and illustrators) have the massive (statistically-savvy but individually-ignorant) behemoths of the last publishing century over “early-mammalian” micro-publishers?

It seems a particularly fruitless quest for agents to aspire set up as publishers at the same time as the mega-e-tailers (Amazon, Apple, B&N, etc.) are doing precisely the same thing but with direct access to individual consumer taste, purchase frequency, type and price point, indicating wealth level and increasingly revealing social demographic status, permitting irresistible advertising, according to their evolving models, on an individual level.

As an outsider I would be only too pleased to have someone come along and say, “Hey, I’ll take all this load off your shoulders to let you get on with the task of creating,” but all I see from this side of the fence is seeming confusion and uncertainty fuelling panic and withdrawal of that real support, cultivating authors through time, that was a hallmark of the great editors and agents.

I would greatly appreciate it, if you have time, if you would give your viewpoint on these issues.

Best wishes,

Alan.

He very kindly and interestingly replied, agreeing with many of my points and giving me some fascinating insights, for which I am grateful.

I post this as a spur to debate, in the vain assumption that someone reads this blog!

Article: Your agent should not be your publisher. Peter Cox.
http://www.redhammer.info/news/agent-publisher/

Chichester signing equals record at 49 books sold.

But I could easily have beaten it if I hadn’t sold out of Curd the Lion at 25 (including my own) by 4.15pm. This is fourth time I’ve been stymied by not enough books to sell when I might have topped fifty. Oh well.
Guildford still hold top honours, now shared. Thanks to all those Waterstone’s branches who have supported by signings over last two years. Here’s one person who does not think it’s clever to knock Waterstone’s staff.

Mervyn Peake in Chichester - two exhibitions (to 17th July) and a conference (15-16 July)

For Peake fans in Sussex, a double-whammy in Chichester (you’ll pass Peake’s burial-place in Burpham on your left before Arundel if you travel by train from Victoria Station in London)

The Bishop Otter Gallery’s (University of Chichester, College Lane, Chichester, West Sussex PO19 6PE) new exhibition, Mervyn Peake: A Centenary Celebration, includes some of the most famous examples of Peake’s fantasy works, nonsense poetry and fiction. Among them are  The Hunting Of The Snark, a nonsense poem written by Lewis Carroll, and illustrations from Peake’s own nonsense work, Rhymes Without Reason, published in 1941. Drawings from another original work of fiction, Mr Pye – a fable about the battle between good and evil – are featured.

Other examples of Peake’s fiction – his first published book, Captain Slaughterboard Drops Anchor and Gormenghast, Peake’s best-selling Gothic fantasy series – are shared with Pallant House Gallery’s concurrent show. Both the Otter Gallery exhibition and the Pallant House show run until 17 July.

The exhibition at the Otter Gallery coincides with an international conference on 15 and 16 July entitled Mervyn Peake and the Fantasy Tradition: A Centenary Conference, hosted by the Sussex Centre for Folklore, Fairytales and Fantasy at the University of Chichester. Professor Gray will also lead a free public tour of the exhibition at the Otter Gallery at 3pm on Thursday, 30 June.

Mervyn Peake: A Centenary Celebration was originated by the Maison d’Ailleurs, Museum of Science Fiction, Utopia and Extraordinary Journeys in Switzerland. It is the first time the pictures have been on display in the UK since the 2009 exhibition ‘Lignes de Fuite’ (‘Lines of Flight’) at the Maison d’Ailleurs.

The Otter Gallery exhibition is open from 9am-5pm, Monday to Friday. Free admission. 

AND: Pallant House Gallery, 9 North Pallant
Chichester, PO19 1TJ.

Mervyn Peake, Our Lady’s Tales, Household Tales by the Brothers Grimm© Mervyn Peake Estate

The creator of the Gormenghast series of Gothic fantasies, Mervyn Peake was an extremely versatile creative force. As a writer, his surreal fiction has been likened to the work of Tolkien; as an illustrator, he brought to life some of the most famous works of fiction for generations of children, including iconic editions of Treasure Island, Alice in Wonderland and Household Tales by the Brothers Grimm.

To mark the centenary of his birth, Pallant House Gallery presents a display of his most famous illustrations and prints. 

Entry details: £4 with National Art Pass (standard entry charge is £7.50)

Opening times
Tuesday to Saturday: 10am – 5pm
Thursday: 10am – 8pm
Sunday/Bank Holidays: 11am – 5pm
Mondays: Closed

Booklaunch at Waterstone’s Chichester/booksigning Saturday ditto.

Went to launch of Isabel Ashdown’s* new book, ‘Hurry up and wait’ last night.
Met the usual bunch of people I didn’t know – now know more than I meant to meet and met more than I mean to know (exit Bilbo, stage left, in confusion).

It was fun, though, seeing a how real book is launched (mine are to the crackle of champagne and the popping of crisps in my kitchen).

We exchanged books, Isabel and I, sealing a friendship forged through the fiery intermediation of the Great Beast of @family of beasts (see earlier post) in the echoing abyss of Twitter not two days ago. Sealed, I said, signed and delivered.

*(her first book ‘Glasshopper’ won Mail on Sunday novel prize – http://isabelashdown.com)

Update on Ben Gilliland’s Arthur C Clarke nomination.

No news to relate but… (read the list of his recognitions by the worlds of science, aeronautics and astrophysics first, below)

(…and all this from my naughty boy who never qualified at anything at all – following the fine footsteps of father and grand-father… and there spirit of rebellion ends, for his great-great-grandfather was a civil engineer and dam-builder from Haweswater in the Lake District to Turkey and as far as South Africa where my father set fire to veldt when six, just as my younger brother brother did to a neighbouring rubber plantation in Malaya at around the same age. His great-great-great-grandfather was professor of mathematics at Calcutta University and Assistant Meteorologist of All India but his spirit of rebellion manifest in eloping with the younger daughter of his elder brother’s wife from Ireland. Prior to that assorted Gillilands mixed with the locals for several generations post the arrival on Ulster’s shores of the great rebel, Willy Gilliland, Scottish Covenanter rebel who crossed after the Battle Bothwell Brig*,  subject of that famous lay by Sir Samuel Fergusson, Northern Ireland’s premier Victorian poet, ‘The Ballad of Willy Gilliland’ as recited, even today, on the coaches laden with American tourists seeking their Irish roots as they traverse the great mountains of Antrim or descend to the gaunt castle of Carrickfergus.

*Coincidentally the family home of my mother’s grandfather.

WILLY GILLILAND.

AN ULSTER BALLAD.

Up in the mountain solitudes, and in a rebel ring,
He has worshipp'd God upon the hill, in spite of church and king;
And seal'd his treason with his blood on Bothwell bridge he hath;
So he must fly his father's land, or he must die the death;
For comely Claverhouse has come along with grim Dalzell,
And his smoking rooftree testifies they've done their errand well.
In vain to fly his enemies he fled his native land;
Hot persecution waited him upon the Carrick strand;
His name was on the Carrick cross, a price was on his head,
A fortune to the man that brings him in alive or dead!
And so on moor and mountain, from the Lagan to the Bann,
From house to house, and hill to hill, he lurk'd an out-law'd man.
At last, when in false company he might no longer bide,
He stay'd his houseless wanderings upon the Collon side,
There in a cave all underground he lair'd his heathy den,
Ah, many a gentleman was fain to earth like hill fox then!
With hound and fishing-rod he lived on hill and stream by day;
At night, betwixt his fleet greyhound and his bonny mare he lay.
It was a summer evening, and, mellowing and still,
Glen whirry to the setting sun lay bare from hill to hill;
For all that valley pastoral held neither house nor tree,
But spread abroad and open all, a full fair sight to see,
From Slemish foot to Collon top lay one unbroken green,
Save where in many a silver coil the river glanced between.
And on the river's grassy bank, even from the morning grey,
He at the angler's pleasant sport had spent the summer day;
Ah! many a time and oft I've spent the summer day from dawn,
And wonder'd, when the sunset came, where time and care had gone,
Along the reaches curling fresh, the wimpling pools and streams,
Where he that day his cares forgot in those delightful dreams.
His blithe work done, upon a bank the outlaw rested now,
And laid the basket from his back, the bonnet from his brow;
And there, his hand upon the Book, his knee upon the sod,
He fill'd the lonely valley with the gladsome word of God;
And for a persecuted kirk, and for her martyrs dear,
And against a godless church and king he spoke up loud and clear.
And now upon his homeward way, he cross'd the Collon high,
And over bush and bank and brae he sent abroad his eye;
But all was darkening peacefully in grey and purple haze,
The thrush was silent in the banks, the lark upon the braes—
When suddenly shot up a blaze, from the cave's mouth it came;
And troopers' steeds and troopers' caps are glancing in the same!
He couch'd among the heather, and he saw them, as he lay,
With three long yells at parting, ride lightly east away:
Then down with heavy heart he came, to sorry cheer came he,
For ashes black were crackling where the green whins used to be,
And stretch'd among the prickly comb, his heart's blood smoking round,
From slender nose to breast-bone cleft, lay dead his good greyhound!
“They've slain my dog, the Philistines! they've ta'en my bonny mare!”
He plunged into the smoking hole; no bonny beast was there—
He groped beneath his burning bed (it burn'd him to the bone,)
Where his good weapon used to be, but broadsword there was none;
He reel'd out of the stifling den, and sat down on a stone,
And in the shadows of the night 'twas thus he made his moan—
“I am a houseless outcast: I have neither bed nor board,
Nor living thing to look upon, nor comfort save the Lord:
Yet many a time were better men in worse extremity;
Who succour'd them in their distress, He now will succour me,—
He now will succour me, I know; and, by His holy Name,
I'll make the doers of this deed right dearly rue the same!
“My bonny mare! I've ridden you when Claver'se rode behind,
And from the thumbscrew and the boot you bore me like the wind;
And, while I have the life you saved, on your sleek flank I swear,
Episcopalian rowel shall never ruffle hair!
Though sword to wield they've left me none—yet Wallace wight, I wis,
Good battle did on Irvine side wi' waur weapon than this.”—
His fishing-rod with both his hands he griped it as he spoke,
And, where the butt and top were spliced, in pieces twain he broke;
The limber top he cast away, with all its gear abroad,
But, grasping the thick hickory butt, with spike of iron shod,
He ground the sharp spear to a point; then pull'd his bonnet down,
And, meditating black revenge, set forth for Carrick town.
The sun shines bright on Carrick wall and Carrick Castle grey,
And up thine aisle, St. Nicholas, has ta'en his morning way,
And to the North-Gate sentinel displayeth far and near
Sea, hill, and tower, and all thereon, in dewy freshness clear,
Save where, behind a ruin'd wall, himself alone to view,
Is peering from the ivy green a bonnet of the blue.
The sun shines red on Carrick wall and Carrick Castle old,
And all the western buttresses have changed their grey for gold;
And from thy shrine, Saint Nicholas, the pilgrim of the sky
Has gone in rich farewell, as fits such royal votary;
But, as his last red glance he takes down past black Slieve-a-true,
He leaveth where he found it first, the bonnet of the blue.
Again he makes the turrets grey stand out before the hill;
Constant as their foundation rock, there is the bonnet still!
And now the gates are open'd, and forth in gallant show
Prick jeering grooms and burghers blythe, and troopers in a row;
But one has little care for jest, so hard bested is he,
To ride the outlaw's bonny mare, for this at last is she!
Down comes her master with a roar, her rider with a groan,
The iron and the hickory are through and through him gone!
He lies a corpse; and where he sat, the outlaw sits again,
And once more to his bonny mare he gives the spur and rein;
Then some with sword, and some with gun, they ride and run amain!
But sword and gun, and whip and spur, that day they plied in vain!
Ah! little thought Willy Gilliland, when he on Skerry side
Drew bridle first, and wiped his brow after that weary ride,
That where he lay like hunted brute, a cavern'd outlaw lone,
Broad lands and yeoman tenantry should yet be there his own:
Yet so it was; and still from him descendants not a few
Draw birth and lands, and, let me trust, draw love of Freedom too.

How to miss making Hay.

  A week of signings at half-term booked guarantees no Hay Festivities for me – so annoying that they host it at half-term.
I think next year I’ll try to book shops in the Hay region then at least I can shoot back for the evenings.
Still, 207 books sold not bad for this amateur author/illustrator/designer/publisher/marketer (106 Curd the Lion at @14.99 and 101 Flight of Birds at £9.99) in the Cambridge/East Anglia region (Bedford, Bishop’s Stortford, Bury St. Edmunds, Cambridge and St Albans – thanks to all Waterstone’s branches who hosted me).
   Back to the shed under the apple tree to illustrate cutaways and birds’-eye-views of battles for Osprey, maps charts and diagrams for Penguin imprints and suchlike for Windmill, Aurum, etc.. What fun!
   Off to launch of Isabel Ashdown’s* new book, ‘Hurry up and Wait’, tomorrow eve at Waterstone’s, Chichester, and then, oddly, back there on Saturday to sign books all day.

   Grand-daughter, Tilly, three, trots in: “Dandad, I want you to find me Dawberries!” Drags me out to crawl around under the bushy borders to search underleaf for the tiny bright wild strawberries with their intense scented flavours (we have two types) to pile into her plastic pot before taking them back to the patio where my wife, Pauline, and Emily, my daughter are busy sanding, painting and distressing furniture for their little ‘Vintage Pixie’ enterprise. [This Pixie is growing so fast there is barely room for us downstairs anymore as dowdy items come and go, refreshed with a lick-o’-paint and rub-down to find a new home.]
   “I’m going to dare,” she declares, “with you and Nanny and Mummy,” and proceeds to pick out the little gems in order of size from the biggest – one for me, one you… “You know, Dandad, I’m going to ballet dool next week and dance and dance, like this”…until the bowl is empty.
  Treat over, I return to my travails, listening to the wind in the branches, the patter of squirrels and birds across my roof, watching out of the corner of my eye the sunlight flickering green and purple as the wind flicks leaf and flower into bright contrast with the undergrowth and discover, to my surprise, that I am writing this and not working!


* On which matter, after I discovered her artist-sister, Rebecca Ashdown (@FamilyOfBeasts), first introduced her to ‘Curd the Lion’ and we found each other there, she said:
“@OnundTreefoot @isabelashdown Aha - it's you! Thanks - I came upon ur book in Diss. Planning to read it to the small beasts soon. I LOVE it!”

I then tweeted to her:
“How nice, from our books, to find friends and engage,

Like mice, in the nooks of this wireless cage…”

to which she replied:

“And how here, with no fevvers, we flutter and glide. 

We can whistle and call without going outside!”

Aaah!

Ben Gilliland shortlisted for Arthur C Clarke Award

Congrats to my son Ben, who has just been shortlisted for his ‘Cosm’ page in the Metro newspaper and Cosm website  (http://www.cosmonline.co.uk/) for the Arthur C. Clarke award for the second year running.
Last year he was shortlisted along with BBC Online and BBC's Sky at Night magazine, for the 2010 Sir Arthur C Clarke award for Best Space Reporting.
The result will be made public on the 4th July.
[Just thought you ought to know this]

From his website “about me”:
Ben Gilliland joined the Metro newspaper in 1999 as graphics editor, and started the weekly MetroCosm science column in 2005. Since then MetroCosm has increased to a two-page feature and has become one of the paper's most popular sections. Its competitions have taken school children to Space Camps in America and Turkey and even as far afield as the Arctic ice cap. Ben Gilliland has spoken about science journalism at the Royal Aeronautical Society and regularly teaches at the Media Space Summer School at Queen Mary, University of London.