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One year for the holidays, my in-laws donated, in my name, a flock of chicks to help in the fight against world hunger, courtesy of Heifer International. I thought that was mighty cool.
So how could I resist jumping on the bandwagon when I saw literary agent Nathan Bransford’s giving challenge today?
Exactly. I couldn’t resist. So here we are. I am shamelessly copying in the spirit of giving. Here are the details.
Heifer International is a nonprofit organization that collects donations from people like you and me, and in turn uses those funds to provide livestock–think chickens, or geese, or cows, or honeybees, or llamas–to families around the world who are living hand-to-mouth and could use the gift of livestock to start micro-farming as a way of filling their, and maybe their neighbors’, bellies.
With this post, I’m committing to donate one share of a llama to Heifer International. Because I have a soft spot in my heart for alpacas, but HI doesn’t do alpacas and the closest thing is a llama.
For each comment made on this post between now and 12/30/2009, I’ll add an additional $1 to my pledge (up to $50–that’s $20 for the alpaca share, plus up to an additional $30! I wish it could be more but hey, I’m dipping into my meager editor’s savings to do this.)
In your comment, please note the following:
1) Your name
2) Where you are
3) What you think the extra funds should go toward (look here)–maybe a flock of geese? Some honeybees? To fund a particular project?
And by all means, make me pay the full amount–spread the word to your friends and colleagues!
If you’re feeling like an especially poor academic/publishing type but want to help the cause, go visit the other folks who are taking on Nathan’s challenge and add to their commitment, too. Some of the participants extending the challenge over the next few days include*:
The Book Designer
Houndrat
Ink Spells
Anna’s Attitude
Kathryn Jankowski
Fishing for Words (note: her husband is a beekeeper, so she’s going to donate some bees; given the state of the bee population of late, I say anything to support the bees is beneficial!)
[*If you want to add your own challenge to the list, include that in your comment and I'll do my best to update this post with links to your challenge for any and all who are interested. Just remember it's the thick of the holidays/family togetherness, so there may be a little delay. Cover all bases by mentioning your own challenge in your comment.]
While searching out advice on nonfiction book proposals for you, I came across this tidbit:
Acquisitions editors, your publisher’s “gate-keepers,”… are notoriously risk adverse. If a book doesn’t sell, or if an author doesn’t perform, they’re the one who has to answer their co-workers and superiors. On the other hand, even if a book turns out to be very successful, the editor’s rewards are long-range and intangible, (a “good track record,” etc.), rather than immediate and spendable (i.e., bonuses and promotion).
While I wouldn’t necessarily say we’re “risk adverse”—a phrase that conjures shy, beige people and doesn’t accurately reflect any of the acquisitions editors I know—the rest of Parker’s comment is spot-on.
In the academic publishing world, it is rare that one book failing to sell will lead to an editor getting sacked. But an accumulation of titles that don’t bring in enough bank can definitely get him fired.
The underperforming books may not even be “bad.” I’ve known plenty of theoretically strong and thoughtfully written books that failed to sell “enough” copies to be considered economically successful. In those instances, I’ve always prayed for really stellar post-publication reviews because having good external validation of my opinion (i.e., that the book was worthy of publication) can go a long way toward mitigating any behind-the-scenes fallout from poor sales.
Similarly, at some point during the year (and often more than once during the year) every editor has to account for what she’s been doing. That often involves creating a list of what she’s published in the past year, and what she expects to be publishing in the coming year. The conversation with her higher-ups does get awkward when the same names, tied to the same projects, appear on her “due in the coming year” list… year after year after year.
And the rewards for acquiring a bestseller? Yep, those are often intangible. If an editor generates lots and lots of revenue for the company, he might expect a raise—but a revenue bump from a single book often gets lost in the big picture. (Translation: some twist on Murphy’s Law seems to dictate that the year an editor has one or two “bestsellers,” he also has plenty of underperformers, so his overall revenue becomes a wash.)
Whenever my books did well, the biggest benefit I saw was a temporary ability to push a little harder—and a little more successfully—for books I believed in, but about which my colleagues might have had reservations.
Why am I telling you this? Two reasons.
- Just like you have to deal with the pressures of tenure and promotion, your editor is facing similar performance-based pressures. They just happen more frequently.
- There are lots of things going on behind-the-scenes at your preferred press that have little to do with your project per se, and yet may impact whether or not the editor decides to pursue it, and you.
My advice? Try not to take it personally, and try not to let it get to you. That’s always been my approach. 
NOTE:
I’ll be taking a little break for the rest of the week. Hope you all enjoy(ed) your holidays—Hannukah, Winter Solstice, & Christmas!
I’ve added a new feature to the site: Ask the Editor!
Use the query form if you:
- want to ask a question without risk of “looking dumb”…
- are curious whether a contract clause is “standard issue”…
- are curious whether a contract clause might be negotiable…
- want a second opinion on what someone else told you about publishing…
- want me to clarify terminology…
- or have any other burning questions about the publishing process.
I’ll answer any and all questions to the best of my ability. And if I don’t know the answer, I’ll do my best to find out from my publishing colleagues.
I may decide to streamline your question and answer it publicly for the benefit of all the readers, but rest assured I’ll do my best to retain your anonymity. And if that’s not possible… I’ll certainly clear any public response with you first!
Thanks for playing. 
When it comes to book proposals, one thing that I think is often overlooked discounted in the academic world is that your book proposal is a sales tool.
I know, I know: In life-of-the-mind circles, talk about marketing and sales is a little… distasteful. But when it comes to getting your book published, paying attention to how you present sell it is vital. So roll your eyes or give a little shudder or do whatever you must to let your distaste for the phrase “sales tool” have its moment in the sun… and then let it go.
So… what’s the best way to get your sales-and-marketing groove on?
If you’ve already sought out book proposal guidelines on publishers’ websites, you may have noticed that just about every press wants to see a summary or overview of your book’s contribution. This isn’t a request for a four-page disquisition of your research minutia. It is the publisher’s understated way of begging you to sell them on the project.
Your summary needs a hook. The hook is probably the idea that wormed into your brain and set you on this path of research in the first place. That idea may have been in the form of a question—or the question(s) may have evolved as you dug into your topic. In either case, you can’t go wrong by opening your summary with the core question(s) driving your research project.
Your summary also needs to convey the arc of your story—and yes, even if you’re writing a very intellectual research monograph, you still have a story to tell. It has a beginning (your question), a middle (the research), and an end (an answer to your question in the conclusion.) There may even be complicating characters (variables adding whole new layers of meaning) and unexpected plot twists (processes that unexpectedly turn out to be vital to understanding the big picture.) Remember that your story doesn’t have to follow the steps of your research; in fact, it will likely be more interesting if it doesn’t!
As a general rule, I think academic authors should steer clear of advice on writing proposals that comes from the trade world; academic and trade publishing are two different beasts with rather different economics and conventions. But when it comes to thinking about your overview as a sales tool, I’d definitely make an exception. Just be sure to look for information on writing nonfiction proposals.
Here are a few links to get you started:
I like Nathan Bransford’s advice on writing an overview, market analysis, and biography. I’m less in agreement with him on chapter outlines (which I think are very important) and sample chapters (which are important—but don’t forget that your proposal is a sample of your writing so don’t focus the fine-tuning of your writing solely on your sample chapters.)
The Shepard Agency offers a great advice about “The Proposal’s Mission.” I couldn’t agree more—especially with the comment that acquisitions editors are often looking for a “handle” (the hook!) that they can use in selling the project to their colleagues—and eventually, to readers.
To wrap up the conversation, here’s the third thing you should know—or remember—about peer review. (Item 1 is here; Item 2 is here.)
Yes…
(to confirm Aqua Regia)
From a purely monetary perspective, most referees provide essentially free labor.
But…
Editors have a vested interest in identifying referees who will care about the scholarship under consideration. Reviewers often benefit by getting paid a small sum of money to read something that they probably ought to read anyway. Not enough to go on vacation, but maybe enough to go out for a nice dinner.
There’s also an element of pay-it-forward here. The scholars who are generous with their time and feedback are more often than not the scholars who themselves have benefitted—or will benefit—from advice received in the peer review process.
Translation: as a general rule and in my experience, academic publishers aren’t out to take advantage of academics—either through the review process or through the cost of books. Really.
So what do you think? What has your experience of peer review—or the pricing of academic books—been like?
To continue the discussion from Thursday, in response to this comment, here is the second of three things you should know—or remember—about peer review, and how it relates to the cost of academic books.
Most reviewers are paid between $100 and $200 to read an average-length manuscript.
The editorial director of a well-known foundation once told me that she pays her reviewers $1000—but she also insists on very quick turnaround and docks the pay by $100 for each day that a review is late.
Many presses solicit a minimum of two peer reviews for each manuscript, so the review outlay on any given project ranges between $200 and $400. This does not include the overhead involved in arranging for peer review—rent, phone and internet bills, photocopying costs, employee time, etc.
Editors tend to pre-screen book manuscripts and aim to send out for peer review only the projects they expect or hope will receive a recommendation to publish. (I gather that this may be different in the journals world?)
But sometimes, a manuscript doesn’t pass muster. The cost of those peer reviews, in terms of readers’ fees and overhead, must be recouped somehow— but it won’t come from sales of that particular book.
As I said, I was rankled by several of the comments in response to Yglesias’ post about The High Price of Scholarship. For example, Aqua Regia noted:
“I’m pretty sure peer-reviewing is a pretty negligible cost of publishing. All the editor has to do is select a few names and send them the submitted paper. Like the research itself, its a pretty sweet set-up in that most referees are providing free labour.”
I wish it were as simple as Aqua Regia makes out… !
Rather than rant about how editors have a love/hate relationship with the process of peer review, I’d like to offer up three things you should know—or remember—about peer review, and how that relates to the cost of academic books. Here’s the first; items two and three will follow next week.
Editors often ask authors for the names of 2 to 4 readers who would be qualified to review your manuscript.
Why?
Certainly not because your editor intends to pick two names from the list and send out the manuscript unannounced! (Think about it: if a random manuscript landed on your desk, would you give it more than a passing glance?).
Your editor asks so she can compare your list of potential referees with her own, to ensure that she’s targeting the right people. She may call some of the people you recommended—but she knows there’s a very good chance none of the people on either of your initial lists will say yes.
Most of the time, she’ll talk to 5 or 8 or 10 people—with one name leading to the next—before she speaks with the right reviewer, the one possessing the winning combination of an applicable research agenda, compatible leanings both theoretical and methodological, and time to read and thoughtfully respond to the manuscript.
It is a time-consuming process—and the publisher is paying for your editor’s time here, not to mention all the related overhead (think internet and phone service charges, the cost of photocopying, postage/shipping, rent on the office, health insurance for your editor…)
As an aside: this dynamic of one name leading to another and yet another is one of the main reasons why you shouldn’t assume, without very strong evidence or confirmation from your editor, that you know who your peer reviewers are.
Catching up on my blog reading yesterday, I came across these posts on the high cost of academic books:
John Holbo opened with this:
I hereby declare – for the benefit of anyone at Oxford UP who might be reading – that I was going to require my (probably 50-or-so) students next semester to buy [two of] your serviceable little paperback volumes…. But now that I see they cost $45 each…. There is such a thing as charging too much…
Matthew Yglesias picked up on Holbo’s declaration; the comments make for interesting (although often—from my perspective—infuriating) reading.
Then Philip Klinkner at PolySigh, where I first encountered the string of commentary, chimed in with this:
Let me second his complaint with my own recent experience…. Pearson Publishing wants $86.67 for the book. Amazon is offering it for about $60, but that’s still way too expensive for a paperback. Plus, it shows that Pearson is already marking it up by $25 or 40% for those, like college bookstores, who buy directly from them.
I may be late to the party, but I still feel the need to add a different perspective here.
First, if you missed it before, I suggest you take a peek at all the behind-the-scenes costs that contribute to the list price of academic books.
Second, yes, as Holbo said, there is such a thing as charging too much for a book. And without being privy to the numbers behind the books Holbo—or Klinkner—wanted to assign, I can’t say whether or not these books cost too much. In all honesty, I suspect both Holbo and Klinkner are right; these particular books may be overpriced. But I doubt they are quite as overpriced as the professors make out.
Holbo noted that he hasn’t taught the class for “a few years.” There could be tons of reasons why this is the case. But let’s say—based on reasonable assumption—that he hasn’t taught it more recently because demand for the course isn’t high enough to justify its being taught more than once every two years.
Alas, I don’t currently have access to my book of mailing lists—a nifty resource that tells me how many courses are taught on any given subject at any given level—but stabbing wildly in the dark I would take a generous guess that there are 200 “History of Modern Philosophy” courses being taught at institutions of higher education in the US. And say a generous third of those, 66, require (not just recommend) these books regularly.
Let’s also say that of the 50 expected students in Holbo’s course, 35 bother to buy the required books. These aren’t brand-new titles; there are plenty of used copies available. Meaning maybe 15 of Holbo’s students will actually buy the new, $45 copy.
Third, in response to Klinker: Pearson didn’t “mark up” the book by 40% (although actually it’s more like a 30% difference between Pearson’s price and Amazon’s). They priced it at $86.67. They sold it to Amazon at a discount, just as they sell it to your college bookstore at a discount. Amazon decided, most likely in an effort to capture as much of the market as possible, to sell the book to readers at a loss, although, of course, they’re still making money in the deal—maybe 10-15% of list.
In other words, the list price of the book is not an accurate reflection of the amount of money that comes back to the publisher.
So, to bring it full circle:
If the book Holbo wanted to use was listed at, say, $19.95, OUP would bring in about $14 per book (after average discounts but before any costs—or royalties—are taken into account). At 66 courses and 15 sales per course, that translates into less than $14000.
I’m betting that’s not enough to pay the bills that went into producing the book in the first place, let alone subsidize the cost of producing the hardcover monographs OUP also publishes (as course-use paperbacks are generally expected to do.) Hence the $45 pricetag.
More on the Yglesias comments in a future post, I promise!
I recently received the following question from a reader:
Two different editors asked to see my manuscript in order to decide whether to send it out for review. Needless to say, I was quite pleased. My question is now — how long do I wait before getting antsy and asking for feedback? It’s been almost 2 months since I sent the manucript…. I don’t want to appear pushy or obnoxious to potential editors, but I am eager to know where it stands, and also I want to move on if they are not interested. Do you have any advice?
It’s a great question, and one I know people sometimes struggle with All The Time.
I say email both editors now. You have every right to know where things stand, and after nearly two months, these editors shouldn’t feel “pushed” by your inquiry.
I do mean email; don’t call just yet. An email serves as a gentle reminder, and can usually be answered quickly — much appreciated by your editor if she’s behind in her correspondence. Plus, an email can quickly be flagged for follow up or added to a computer-based calendar if somehow your project isn’t already there.
- Keep the tone of your email confident and amiable.
- Convey your enthusiasm for the possibility of working with this editor at this press while also keeping the ball rolling.
- You might offer the editor an “out”–not to give her infinite time to consider your project, but because doing so gives you a perfect reason to ask for a timeline.
- Finally, use the two interested presses to instill a little urgency to the situation.
For example:
I am following up on the manuscript you asked me to submit back in early October… Have you had a chance to look over it? As you can imagine, I’m excited about moving ahead with you on the project, and would be delighted to hear any suggestions you may have for polishing it before it goes out for review.
If you’re still in the midst of your internal review, I understand. But in that case, could you let me know when I should expect more feedback on the manuscript?
By the way, I also wanted to let you know that another press is looking at my manuscript internally. Of course, should they decide to send it out for peer review, I’ll be in touch to discuss the matter with you first.
There are several things worth calling attention to in this possible response.
- It’s okay to remind the editor that she asked you for the manuscript. Really.
- It’s beneficial to casually mention when you submitted the manuscript. Please don’t exaggerate (eight weeks does not equal “it’s been several months!”).
- Okay, you may not be delighted to hear that your editor thinks you need to polish prior to review, but saying this conveys that you’re open to suggestions — which is a valuable thing to convey if she is at all on the fence about the project now that she has it in her hands.
- You’re under the impression that they’re still doing an internal review. Use that language — “internal review” — to confirm that you’re both on the same page, and to make sure she didn’t send it out for peer review a month ago without notifying you. [As a general rule, internal review should take much less time than external peer review.]
- If you haven’t already mentioned the other press, feel free to do so. But be careful about how you do so. Make it sound like a courtesy announcement rather than an effort to instill a sense of competition.
- Don’t call out your desire to move on if they’re not interested… or at least, don’t do it yet. Right now, you want to preserve the feeling that you two are meant to publish this book together.
If several days pass without a response, resend your message with a new header saying “Hi, Just wanted to be sure you got my message of DATE, below, since I haven’t heard from you. Could you give me an update on where things stand sometime this week?”
If that doesn’t generate a fairly quick response (36-48 hours, please!), do call your editor. Try to retain the confidence and amiability of your original email in any conversation or voicemail — but this would be the time to say, “If this project isn’t right for you after all, I’d like to know so I can move on.”
Does anyone have further advice for this reader? And/or give a shout if my advice raised further questions!
So how do you avoid inadvertently offending your editor in the acknowledgments?
A few rules of thumb:
- Exercise variety in the extent of your thanks. By all means, feel free to thank key people at greater length and in finer detail than the colleagues at your brand-new institution who gave you a course reduction so you could complete your book. But if you thank everybody–except one lone somebody–in great detail…? Well… remember the phrase “damning with faint praise”…? Try not to do that.
- Be specific. Call your editor out by name. Mention something he did that you found reassuring, or particularly helpful. For example, “He believed in this project from the start.” Or, “He accepted my calls without fail, and helped me remember the forest when I was in the midst of the trees.”
- Remember that The Press = more than just the editor. There are plenty of moments when the production team has worked hard to give a messy manuscript the sort of design that will enhance the experience of reading it… and they get little recognition. Similarly, the marketing department often gets left out because they’re not heavily involved at the time the book goes to press, but they are going to be vital in the success or failure of your book. If you don’t know their names yet, don’t hesitate to ask your editor for guidance.
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The Academic Editor will be taking a brief hiatus for the holiday. Hope you get to enjoy the break and partake of some delicious eating and festivitating!
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