How to Get Published

Or, How to Keep an Editor from Tossing Your Book in the Trash before She Even Reads the Title.


This is the first of what is probably going to be a series of posts about what a writer can do to make the best possible impression when he or she submits a manuscript to a publishing house.

Note: I am not saying you will get published because of what you read here. I’m not even saying that your manuscript will get a second glance if you follow these rules--that part is up to you, because the only way a manuscript gets a second glance is if it’s any good. I’m just laying out the rules you should follow so that an editor doesn’t automatically trash it without even looking at it.

Because oh yes, editors will trash things without turning the first page. Publishing houses have this thing called a slush pile, which is where all unsolicited manuscripts (i.e., everything that gets mailed in without an editor indicating interest in it first) go when they arrive. That slush pile can get huge, and generally editors will ignore it as long as they can (more on this later) until one day their managing editor comes in and says, “Hey, go through the slush pile, will you? It’s going to eat us all if we don’t do something about it.” And after ignoring it for a few more weeks, an editor will finally trudge over to the slush pile, give it the stink-eye for a good minute or two, and then, when the pile doesn’t miraculously disappear, sigh heavily, plop down, and grab a bunch of papers at random off the top of the stack.

Because the thing is, the vast majority of stuff in the slush pile is crap. It’s personal memoirs from people who have never done anything worth memoir-ing. It’s children’s books written by people who know nothing about children. It’s epic fantasy novels featuring thinly veiled versions of the authors as the main characters, who ride off into sunsets on white unicorns and use their telekinetic powers to communicate with their lovers named Biff. It’s bad. And it’s almost never worth an editor’s time to go through it.

So what an editor does is sift that slush pile as fast as possible. A good editor can look at how a manuscript is submitted and decide right away whether it’s going to get tossed immediately or put into the “eh, I’ll think about it eventually” pile. A good editor uses time-tested ways to separate the wheat from the chaff, the good from the bad, the bad from the ugly.

And these are the time-tested ways I’m going to share with you, dear reader.

And a bit about my credentials: I’m not claiming to be an expert. I’m not claiming that I know everything about how publishing works, or how every single publisher in the world handles its submissions process. But I’ve been a non-fiction book editor for ten years now, and I’ve gone through a lot of slush piles, and talked to a lot of other editors, and all our stories seem to match, and most of what I’m talking about would seem like obvious common sense anyway. (I say “seem” because you wouldn’t believe some of the ridiculous things that have been submitted to the publishers where I’ve worked.) So this is do-what-you-want-with-it advice. But if I can keep one more person from sending in a manuscript submission written in pencil and decorated with careful glue-and-glitter illustrations, I’ll consider my time here well spent.

(Oh yeah, it happens.)

So without further ado:

Step 1.

Buy (or borrow) Writer’s Market.

Writer’s Market is the Bible of publishing submissions. It has a list of just about every publisher in the world, complete with mailing address and what the publisher specializes in. This is very important information, because you do not want to send a children’s book to, say, a gardening publisher. Or a book on Reiki to a publisher of anthropology textbooks. This would seem obvious, but it happens all the time. A lot of people just throw their book at as many publishers as possible, apparently not caring whether their subject material is at all relevant. I used to work at a New Age publisher, and we’d get submissions for romance novels, DIY carpentry, you name it. All you had to do with these was glance at the title, and if it was 50 Easy Ways to Replumb Your Bathroom! or She Loved Him, He Left Her, it went straight into the recycling bin.

Writer’s Market also has a big section in the beginning that outlines exactly how you want to format your submission, if you don’t find instructions on the websites of the publishers you’ve decided to contact. Lots of publishers do that now—put up their submission guidelines—and you need to follow them to the letter. I mean it. If the website says double-spaced one-sided 8.5 x 11 pages, then do that. If it says two-sided pages, do that. If it says submit it in dark green ink on pale green paper that has been blessed by the Dalai Lama himself, you go to Kinko’s, get the paper and ink, fly to Tibet, dodge the Chinese authorities, and get His Holiness to wave at your manuscript. This is the way that publishing companies weed out the nutjobs who can’t follow directions, and they use it as their first criterion. And as I said, if the website doesn’t list guidelines, Writer’s Market has a whole section on it. Follow it.

And while we’re at it—resist the temptation to “jazz up” the submission. It doesn’t need illustrations, it doesn’t need accessories, and it definitely doesn’t need cute little fuzzy animals stuffed in the envelope that spill out and scare the editor half to death because she thinks in that split second that the manuscript has been in the pile long enough to host its own colony of mice. Your MS (I’m tired of writing “manuscript,” so here’s your first bit of editing jargon) should be able to stand on its own. Any cutesy stuff just advertises that you’re either A) not serious, or B) not confident in your work. Again, straight to the recycling bin (after we remove the fuzzy animals, butterfly wings, plant leaves, origami cranes, etc., and use them as decorations in our offices).

That should be enough to get you started. Next time, we’ll discuss the wisdom of sending in the only copy of your hand-illustrated, gold-leafed, block-lettered masterpiece without also including proper return postage.