Traditional, Indie and Self: Publication Routes and the Author’s Unique Voice

“Everyone has a book in them”. If you’re an author, established or aspiring, you’ll no doubt have heard this when introduced as such. Most likely, you’ve been met with an eyebrow raise, credibility immediately under scrutiny, followed by, “oh, you’re a writer? You know, I’ve always wanted to write a book, if only I had the time. One day.” As if all that stands between a literary masterpiece receiving global acclaim is, for the vast population, allocating in the diary The Day to put pen to paper.

It’s a phrase we commonly hear, in part because writing is such an accessible activity: there’s flexibility which other pursuits rarely offer. One can easily begin a book, crafted around an unyielding 9-5, allowing idle creativity to spark their imagination without an immediate sense of urgency for completion. There are no age restrictions on publication. A blank piece of paper is enticing precisely as is a lottery ticket: the promise of a simple object transforming one's life, except rather than winning numbers, it is winning words formed on the page to shape influential and inspiring prose.

Especially with the boom of self-publishing, the apparent pre-qualifying barriers have dissolved, eradicating the necessity of the “gatekeepers”, aka traditional publishing houses – notably, the Big Five: Penguin Random House, Hachette, HarperCollins, Macmillan, Simon & Schuster. If anything, traditional publishing is seen by the majority as consisting of far too many obstacles to overcome, and they’d rather simply opt for the route of least resistance, self or indie.

A lot of this comes down to one’s overarching vision. Even if multifaceted with many talents, one pursuit is typically prioritised and seen as an indicator of identity. We have not simply written a book, instead wear the identity of author. We haven’t learnt how to play the violin, instead are a musician. When it comes to the legacy we wish to leave, a potential source of both immortality (provided our artistic endeavours outlive us) and expression of self, labelling ourselves as a specific profession can help shift our self image and thus cause as to behave as if we’ve already achieved that recognition, upholding our existing reputation in doing so.

If one’s primary identity, therefore, isn’t “author” per say but instead they write as a pastime, then self publishing is the convenient option. For some – myself included – it can bridge the gap while waiting patiently for the trad pub deal to be actualised, sometimes a necessity considering the majority of other industries allow the artist to publicise their achievements along the way.

With writers, there is more of a clear before / after divide due to delayed gratification, of patiently waiting to be taken seriously as a writer while working on feature-length novels with the constant awareness the finished manuscript may end up collecting dust in a drawer. After all, we are all aware – or should be – that we judge ourselves based on our potential, whereas others do for what we have already achieved. Therein lies the struggle of the traditional author who spends hours writing in solitude with no guarantee that said efforts will come to fruition.

Traditional publishing does include numerous stages. First of all, representation from a literary agent. Submission guidelines for each should be researched, though most follow the standard formula: synopsis, pitch, first three chapters. Attending festivals can also be beneficial to meet agents and editors in person and explain your premise. Do consider the agent’s pre-existing list and preferred genre in relation to your own hypothetical positioning. Do they already represent an author penning a similar genre and style to you? What about the longevity of your career, are you happy to write numerous psychological thrillers, or contemporary literary speculative, or high concept science fiction novels etcetera? Authors typically have an established brand and identifiable flair to their writing. Know yours, and really consider your “voice”. More on this later, because it is possible – with a pen name – to explore other genres and styles.

Of course if you reach a level of acclaim where your name alone carries status, you can branch into any category you so wish. However the first traditional book you publish may not necessarily be the product of your writing with full abandon and free of restrictions. It may have to partially be strategic, an intentional manoeuvre to promote your voice in the market without forcing the publisher to take extreme risks, with your better material stored away for the time being. This is all part of the process. Patience is your best friend.

The odds of securing a literary agent are slim – estimated at 1 in 6,000 which increases dependent on said agent’s pre-existing status – so don’t be disheartened if you receive rejections during the first (few) rounds of submissions: the standard procedure is to send 3-4 pitches at a time and inform the agents of how many others you’ve currently submitted to. If you don’t hear back within a 3 month time frame, fine to send out the next batch.

However having an agent by no means ensures that your novel will hit the shelves. There are still further hurdles to overcome before that coveted traditional publishing deal can be secured. Once your agent has provided editorial feedback, you’ve revised the manuscript and it’s at the best possible quality you can achieve, your agent will send it out to a list of editors positioned at various publishing houses, typically ten at a time.

Yet, having both an agent and editor is still not a guarantee. The editor has to convince the rest of not only editorial, but additionally the marketing/publicity and sales divisions of their imprint via an acquisition meeting, that the book is a worthy candidate for publication. This is where the editor pitches the book and discusses with editorial and marketing the quality and potential profitability of the proposed manuscript. If all teams Ok the book, then you should be at the stage where you can sign your traditional publishing deal, which will likely include film/TV and international rights.

There’s also the possibility that the editor will change their mind before they reach the acquisitions stage because they lose faith in being able to sell the book, despite showing initial interest in the manuscript and proposing a publication date. This was my own experience, with the book that secured my literary agent – which to this day, I keep under wraps (as my agent and I are still planning to revisit the manuscript later down the line; actually quite common for an author’s initial manuscript to be published later on, once they’ve established a name for themselves).

Your agent may decide to submit to another round of editors, or perhaps not – it depends on the intended goal, and whether that’s to hold out for a bigger publishing deal or opt for a smaller publishing house with this specific book. Either way, once you do have a traditional deal, the publication date will be scheduled generally a year / year and a half ahead of time. Yes, you’ll only keep a fraction of the royalties compared to self-published (70% via KDP), or indie which is generally around 30%, yet a smaller percentage of a much bigger sum is, in my opinion, absolutely worth it – particularly for the acclaim and prestige associated with traditional publishers, the gatekeepers of quality.

Given the amount of hurdles, the degree of patience required, and the already questionable ambiguous status of “author”, some opt to publish what they would consider expendable material. To improve one’s craft, of course practice is necessary – and this includes writing full manuscripts for the rite of passage of the act of completion itself. In doing so, you may wish to publicise this otherwise never-exposed-to-the-light-of-day work.

This is exactly what I myself have opted for with a trilogy called The Bell Books written under the pseudonym Elizabeth D. Bell, in order to have material out there, to tide the gap as such until traditional publication – which again requires years of patience. Essentially, self publishing the work not up to one’s usual standard while reserving higher quality work for trad pub. The Bell Books fill this gap and provide credibility to the status of author in the meantime.

I think this is actually a valuable tool for many aspiring writers, because given the pseudonym it’s easy to disassociate with this material if and when the time comes for a traditional deal under one’s own name, and also removes that all-encompassing mounting pressure on the book to solidify one’s status via the coveted Debut.

Speaking of, often it’s around the book three, four or five mark that authors “make it” as such, so debut publication is simply another stepping stone, by no means an end destination. (In fact my aim is to achieve the continuous rhythm of writing and editing a new book every year, which will then take roughly a year through traditional avenues to be published, and so on and so forth every couple of years). This is, in my opinion, as someone who knows and has communicated with several well-known fiction authors, a better strategy than being a perfectionist about one single book. Writing several will actually improve your prose more than editing and re-editing the same story until the original voice is likely written out altogether.

A book which is convoluted and overwritten will be praised by friends and family, but never reach the masses because of its degree of self-consciousness. Overindulgent prose keeps the reader actively aware of the act of reading itself, their own interpretation of the work, and thus prevents full immersion. Show not tell also translates to complex themes via simple prose. Characters are as of yet unaware of the realisations they will undergo. Viewpoint is not omniscient, but rather trained on the protagonist (ideally third person past tense) providing dramatic irony for the reader when purposeful reveals are seen by them alone due to the blind spots created via the character’s fundamental flaws. Such as, defence mechanism manifesting as rage prevents their understanding the well-intention actions of another, until perhaps it is too late, thus learning a valuable lesson via lived experience. Another reason why it’s important not to pin all hopes on one book, singular.

So what of voice? Where is the relevance?

Beyond beautiful writing and extensive vocabulary, beyond meticulous plotting and chapter-by-chapter breakdowns, of plot twists and original high concept ideas, there exists the voice of the main character. The personality of your novel, without which the reader feels no investment, no care or concern for the actions which transpire and how it directly affects said protagonist. Your voice is, above all, honest. Stripped bare of superfluous prose.

Truly finding your literary voice requires letting go of perceptual awareness, of writing to seem impressive, intelligent, knowledgeable; in fact it should be devoid of any pretentiousness whatsoever. A perfect example of this would be my former favourite author, Nick Hornby – whose notable books include High Fidelity, About a Boy, A Long Way Down, How to Be Good, Fever Pitch etcetera – a.k.a. the witty, down-to-earth, charmingly flawed voice of anecdotal, British realism. Hornby’s books capture seemingly average individuals imprisoned by the banality of normality, and yet his flair for voice, for perfectly timed humour, for simple relatability, easily makes his work as compelling as award-winning literary darlings, gripping thrillers and speculative high-concept masterpieces. Similar examples include David Nicholls – Starter for Ten, One Day, Us – and more recently, Matt Haig – The Midnight Library, How to Stop Time, Notes On a Nervous Planet etcetera. Each of these authors find wit and pessimism, beauty and fascination, in the mundane. These observations typically overlooked capture the universal moments that unite us all. (This contemporary “uplit” style is reflective of my own literary voice when writing as Morgan rather than Elizabeth, despite The Bell Books being commercial psychological thrillers).

Writing to prove oneself, to create distance between who you are now and who you wish to be, will only push you away from that voice. Reading, solitude, taking a break from technology, all remove distractions from simply facing yourself. Hearing your own voice.

Each of us has our own. The humour. The observations. The self doubts, and self praise. That voice is your USP. Character, is your USP. So start with him or her. Let them tell their story, with you the impassive observer. Good writing is selfless because it isn’t actually about the author at all. Instead, the character is centre stage. If you can master voice, if you can find your strengths by writing that which comes naturally, then those seemingly impossible hurdles discussed at the beginning of the post between you and that coveted publishing deal are that much more attainable. Authentic voice wins every time.