Authors who pay to have their books published often live to regret it. Barry Turner explains why.
It says a lot for the myths and mystique of the book trade that writers still show surprise when they encounter a publisher who wants money up front. Publishers are supposed to pay authors, aren't they? Ideally, yes, but for those of us who are unable to meet the demands of the high-street purveyors of popular literature, there is another rank of publisher who, for a consideration, will put into print what might otherwise be lost to posterity. There is nothing wrong in this. The trouble comes if the author, having signed a hefty cheque, is led to expect that his book will be treated in the same way as all the other books coming onto the market. At this point he is liable to find himself out of luck. To pay for publication is no guarantee that a single copy will appear on the shelves of even the local bookshop. The satisfaction, such as it is, will be limited to seeing his work between hard covers and knowing that for one year at least there will be no difficulty in choosing Christmas presents.
For some authors this is enough. Others feel they have been conned, persuaded to part with money for services not rendered. Those unfortunates have landed at the sleazy end of what is known derisively as vanity publishing. The hook for the unwary author is a small ad in the literary pages. ‘If your book deserves publication, write now to ...’ ‘American publisher seeks manuscripts for UK and USA …’ Those authors who take the bait do not have to wait long for a glowing response to their submission. No matter how illiterate, misconceived or downright boring the manuscript, the vanity merchant will offer praise and encouragement. The letter will also point out the mounting costs of book production - a terrible burden for a small idealistic company to bear. It is surely, therefore, only reasonable to invite the author, standing as he is on the brink of fame and fortune, to invest in his own success. What is missing and what is never admitted is that since the vanity publisher can make a profit without donating a penny of the company’s money to the book, he has no incentive to sell it.
Reality is kept at bay until after the signing of the contract. This usually binds the author to pay 30 per cent of the fee upfront, 30 per cent on receipt of proofs, and the remainder upon publication. So much for the nitty-gritty part. The rest of the contract will positively glow with promise: what will be paid to the author for subsequent reprintings, subsidiary and foreign rights, and so on. He will also note with joy that the vanity publisher offers him royalties of up to 40 per cent of the retail price of his book’s first printing, when he has been told that commercial publishers offer only 10 to 15 per cent. There are a couple of fallacies here. First, vanity books might sell in dozens, possibly hundreds – but never, with rare exceptions, in thousands. There have been some books that failed, to the author’s dismay although not the publisher’s, to sell a single copy. So the vanity house, having been paid to print, say, 1,500 copies of a book, is well protected against it selling more than a small proportion of the edition. In any case, in the unlikely event of royalties becoming payable, the author is merely receiving 40 per cent of his own money.
Other fairly standard clauses in a vanity contract include a quota of ‘free’ copies to the author; if he requires more, he has to pay for them. In reality, he is paying for them twice! The stock of unsold books usually remains the property of the publisher, so if there is a chance to remainder them later, he takes the proceeds. Then there is a fine-print definition of printing or publishing a book. In vanity-speak, this does not necessarily include the binding of a book. Unless otherwise directed, only a certain number of copies in an edition will actually be bound; the rest will remain as flat printed sheets until required, which is probably never. Of an edition of 1,500 copies, perhaps as few as 200 will emerge from the bindery. If these are sold and there are cash orders for more (including the author’s cash order), the requisite number will be bound, but no more.
Another impressive-looking clause in a typical contract has the publisher offering to publish a second edition at his own expense – providing the entire original edition is sold first. As the clever combination of quantity and retail price will virtually ensure this will never happen, the offer is purely hypothetical.
The service a vanity house provides – which the author pays for – includes such things as editing, design, sending out review copies, marketing and sometimes advertising. These services sound better than they really are. It is almost impossible to improve a really bad idea or wretched writing, so no great effort is expended here. But the vanity client is really let down when the day of publication arrives. A former editor with a vanity publisher explains what happens. ‘It is at this point, just as the book is about to be published, that the author’s interest in its fate is at its most intense. Authors are keenly interested in the promotion and distribution of their books, and vanity authors especially so. It is the vanity author’s only chance of recovering the thousands of pounds he has paid the publisher, and it is just here, when for the first time the circle broadens to include others in addition to the author and publisher that the fraud of vanity publishing becomes the most obvious. It is not now the author who must be convinced, but the reviewers, booksellers and the reading public.’ Which is as unlikely as the vanity author winning the Booker Prize.
A vanity publisher will undertake to distribute a certain number of review copies, but this task is pretty academic; vanity books are invariably consigned to the wastebasket on sight, although the regional press might run notices if there is some local interest in the book. It is equally rare for a vanity book to be advertised and, if it is, it is usually an additional cost to the author.
Finally, and crucially, we arrive at the distribution and marketing operation. For most vanity books, neither exists. Again, unless the book reflects local interest or occupies some marketable niche – say, a book about hospital humour designed for sale at hospital gift shops or nearby bookstores – retailers will not be interested. Most vanity books are therefore sold through the vanity house’s mail-order operation, with most of the work – circularizing friends, common interest groups – done by the author. In practice, unless the vanity house has an efficient and proven distribution and sales set-up, the author might as well take all the copies, because if they are going to be sold he is going to have to do it himself.
Despite the evidence, there are still writers who believe what they want to believe. That is why as soon as one vanity publisher goes out of business, another soon fills the gap. But for those who are prepared to take heed, the Society of Authors offers a few tips on what to look out for:
- Do not take a flattering report on your manuscript at face value. The publisher may simply be motivated by a desire to do business at your expense.
- Be suspicious of vague promises of quality production. Subsidized books are often tatty books.
- Regard with suspicion promises to sell television and film rights, serialization and other money-making options. The chances of getting your money back from subsidiary rights are remote.
- Be wary of cop-out clauses in the contract which enable the publisher to renege on his initial pitch. For example, if he tells you that he can sell 2,000 copies, do not believe him when he says it makes sense to try the market with a first print-run of 500 copies. Or rather, do believe him but do not expect him to reprint if the market does not respond.
Above all, keep one hand on your wallet and the other on your chequebook.
Copyright: Macmillan Publishers
