How do I know when to leave? (my publisher)

These last few months I have been posting a lot about the very first stages of writing, because that is the place I am currently dwelling. But my previous experience is all very much on the other end of things; seven years spent at Penguin, publishing my own list, and before that four years at other major UK publishers learning how to. So I thought I’d try and tackle one of the questions I’ve been asked the most over the last months by published authors.

Much like life-long marriage, long-term publishing relationships have mostly become a thing of the past. We no longer have to put up with bad relationships; but we also flee situations far sooner than may always be necessary. Sometimes we have to work through the hard times. The trouble is, the breaking up in this scenario is nearly always on one side: the publisher’s. I’d like to try to shift that balance, because sometimes, it is the only power an author has. But how do we know when the right moment is? How do we know we’re not quitting too soon?

The romantic relationship metaphor is I think an apt one — it’s not uncommon for me to hear authors say that their time with their publisher has been ‘like an abusive relationship’. The pattern goes something like this: they are wooed, love-bombed at first, multiple publishers competing for their manuscript, and often this lasts until the first novel is published (though not always). Then, as statistically nearly always happens, when the book isn’t a bestseller, attention declines and small pricks start to occur: fewer replies to messages, a longer time until the editor reads the new manuscript, less time spent on the cover, etc etc. In more severe cases editors have simply stopped editing their author’s work, or passed it onto junior colleagues who are overworked and under-experienced. The author’s career then follows the law of diminishing returns, with the end result being incredibly destructive, not just for their livelihood but for their sense of self. 

The thing to understand, having been on the other side of this scenario, is that it isn’t personal. That may be hard to hear, but the thing is, in a society where we sell art for money, the artist becomes part of an equation, and there is a price at which they are no longer worth the effort. It’s baked into the system, because the industry is structured around profitability and value for shareholders, and while there is no science to making a first novel a success, what we do know is that if that first one doesn’t ‘work,’ then it is most likely the second won’t. So the inevitable happens. Here’s another often-unsaid fact: even if the first works, it is still statistically most likely that the second will sell significantly fewer than the first, because of the nature of the way retailers work – they like to give debuts promotional space, they rarely do it for second novels. A successful book career must therefore either have one of the biggest sales ever at its start, (not just a number 1, I’m talking record-breaking sales), or it must be long, one forged out of gritted teeth, on author and publisher’s part. 

I must add to this an important caveat: in literary fiction, on special hallowed literary lists, profitability is not the main driver of a relationship. It is understood that the worth of the novel is in its literary merit. In other words, publishers are holding on for a Booker win, and sometimes, pure honest belief in its worth as a work of art. But don’t be fooled: there is still a monetary value assigned, it is just a sideways one: a much-lauded novel and author add status to the publisher, increases brand value, which allows them to seduce other authors: come and join the list that houses X and Y. It also allows them greater clout with the more literary retailers, like Waterstones: we’ll give you a special edition of X if you also consider Y. 

Despite all this, my experience is that most authors stay to the bitter end. As most of us do in any job; it’s a type of cognitive bias that favours the known against the unknown. Here are my rules for when to think about moving publisher:

• If money isn’t a problem for you, then it’s all about what your other goals are. Do you want freedom to create unfettered? Do you want prestige? Do you want to go to lots of nice lunches? All you need to do is find and stick with the publisher who can give you these things; preferably one financially supported by being within a large organisation. Beware, you may still become a casualty if your books consistently don’t sell, but if you aren’t in this to earn, then the pressure is distinctly off. 

• That circumstance out of the way, let’s start with a general guiding principle: you need to act like your novel writing is a business and you are a partner in it. While you might feel like CEO, the money says otherwise: you have copyright, but financially speaking you get a royalty that’s far less than half the profit. In very simplistic terms, you have about that much say in what happens to your book. Let’s say you’re a legacy partner, one who started things off and then brought in investors to help your product sell more widely. You do however have veto, i.e. you can leave and take your product with you. Be aware of this strange balance of power. You will mostly be in the role of producer and beleaguered creative, but occasionally you may use your veto power to say ‘this is how I believe my book should be published.’ You don’t get to use it often, so remember that you brought the experts and investors in for a reason. And if you do decide to use it, use it wisely and be prepared to follow through on your implicit threat, i.e. leaving for another publisher. It's all about being clear-eyed about your position, and for that, your agent is absolutely key, as they are most motivated to give you an honest answer. You need to be able to ask them questions and get facts in return. Information is power in any business decision.

• The above said, this balance of power only lasts as long as your contract. Most book contracts are for two or three books. One of the best, most successful agents I worked with used to only agree one book at a time, which to me makes absolute sense. It’s like the way some people refer to co-habiting rather than marriage: instead of being chained together, you continually choose to be together. Both partners must work hard to convince the other to stay. If your publisher wants to continue the relationship, they must pay fairly for it. If you are in a multi-book contract, you have less power; although your advance income is secured, the way the publisher sells your book — and thus the way you earn more than your advance — is not. So you become more of the supplicant in this equation. But you do still have the power to leave mid-contract, if you can afford to pay back your advance. And you can, importantly, become free and single again after your contract is up. The following are some of the ways you can figure out whether now is the time. 

• Follow your gut. Are you feeling like something’s changed in your relationship with your publisher? It may sound unscientific, but our bodies pick up much more subtle cues than our minds — and it’s the subtle cues you want, because no one is going to tell you that you are no longer a focus author. If you have spent a year or two feeling ‘gaslit’, as many authors I’ve worked with have said, then first of all tackle it head on. Gather evidence before you jump to conclusions. Ask your agent, and then talk to your editor. Don’t be accusatory, just ask: I am feeling like something has changed. Could you talk to me honestly about where you see my books going with X imprint? What sales are you hoping for with the next? Do you think I’m writing the right kinds of books for the market now? If you don’t get a straight answer backed by facts (again your gut will know), then it’s time to look at your options.

• Leave before your sales have diminished to the point you will struggle to get a new publisher and they will struggle to sell your books. What an author needs for freedom of choice — what we all need in capitalist economies — is perceived value. If your value has gone down too far, then you won’t have the bargaining power you need to get a good new deal. In my eyes, this is two books with sales that diminish by more than a third each time, but each agent will have their own view on this, as will you. A new publisher will look at a decline in sales and think: there’s a trend, and demur, or at least offer a much lower advance. This isn’t because they don't think you’re a good writer, but that they know retailers will look at the track record and will be unlikely to put in a decent order. It’s a bit like leaving a relationship when you’ve already had your self-esteem so diminished that you are unable to have another one. Leave while you still have value to others and yourself. 

• The caveat to the above is this: if your publisher is the one who talks to you proactively about these diminishing sales, and tells you what they’re going to do to tackle it, and you are convinced, then it may be worth staying. Particularly if they have proof that this downturn in sales is due to other market forces. This may even involve some difficult changes for you: you may need to modify the direction of your writing, or accept that your covers need to change to something you don’t like. Again, there are two parties in this relationship. The main thing is this: whether your publisher is being proactive and shows their commitment in a way your gut believes and your mind sees proof of. 

• Notice when it is unequal. As in any relationship, if you are doing all the work, then that is a warning sign. Beware though of thinking you are doing all the work without proof. Many publishers do a lot but they don’t have the time to communicate it. A way of dealing with this is asking for a yearly check-in, where you talk through the previous year’s sales and their plans for the following year. If you aren’t convinced the publisher is putting up their half of the bargain, and you are still turning out potential bestsellers, then it’s time to talk to your agent about other options. 

• And finally, a special case: if your editor has left. I’m not saying you should immediately jump ship, but to beware that this a flash point. Often a replacement comes some weeks after your old editor has left, and they will simply be a different person: different personality, different priorities, different career goals, different relationship with their team, different working style. I can’t find any reliable data on this, but in my experience around a third of authors on an editor’s list end up leaving in the year or so after they have, either of their own volition (sometimes to follow that editor), or more sadly as a casualty of strategic change or simple personality clash. In this case, it is important to be aware and read the room for any of the above signs. Ask your agent to be honest with you about what they think your future looks like with this editor. Just like when you’re in a normal job and a recession hits, start preparing yourself, whilst not divesting in the job you’re already doing. And know that just because one person sees you as less, it doesn’t mean other editors at other publishers will think the same way. It could be the start of something new and profitable for you.

I know that some published authors will read this and say: actually, my relationship with my publisher is honest and good. For some authors, a combination of your books doing well enough, an editor will truly admires your work and, crucially, has power in-house, and a publisher who is seeing you as a brand author, knowing there will be some ups and downs along the way, all lead to a fulfilling long-term relationship. I definitely don’t want to encourage anyone in such a relationship to think about leaving. Rather, prize that thing!

My heart often warms when I see the result of such a relationship; Kate Atkinson springs to mind, who has been with Doubleday at Transworld since her first novel. Behind the Scenes at the Museum won the Whitbread prize in 1995, but it took another seven novels and fourteen years before another significant prize win came. Transworld are one of the top players at the long-haul, in my eyes. I worked there as a fledgling editor, and witnessed it first-hand. Their crime and thriller list in particular contains many authors who’ve been there a long time, through thick and thin (on both sides). It’s not so much about loyalty, in my eyes, as recognising when you are publishing someone with talent, and knowing that your investment will pay off at some point in the future. A list can’t sustain many writers like this, though, unless they have a whole welter of bestsellers also, balancing that yearly budget. Many publishers don’t or aren’t able to think like this, and this is the situation I want to prepare you for.

Finally, hold this knowledge close: you are not your book sales. Don’t equate your personal value with your business’s. You are not your book sales. (And repeat.)

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This is as much as I have time to share this week, and I feel I’ve barely scratched the surface! I would love to know your thoughts, particularly any published authors and agents (you can write to me privately if you want to preserve anonymity).

Photo by Tolu Akinyemi 🇳🇬 on Unsplash