My Books, Rescuing the Prince

Rescuing the Prince: An Impromptu Interview

My pal Quinn Edelson recently read my book Rescuing the Prince, a royal romantic comedy, and asked if I’d be happy to answer a few questions about it. This all actually happened in a flurry of private messages, but we realised I could jazz it up with some nice formatting and call it an interview, so here it is!

Before we get started, though, I should tell you that Quinn is also an author! Her book, The Star of Time, is a young adult time travel adventure and you should definitely check it out, and also take a look at her blog.

the cover for "rescuing the prince": a girl holds a bunch of pink tulips, looking surprised

Rescuing the Prince

Quinn: I always am curious how much of an author goes into their character and the same holds true here. How much is Rhian based on you?

Victoria: Rhian isn’t particularly based on me. I used to write characters that were pretty transparent self-inserts back in my teenage fanfiction days and, having cringed over that for a while, I now make a conscious effort to make characters different from me in at least a few important areas.

In many ways, Rhian is a better person than I am. For instance, she’s genuinely, purely happy for her best friend, Jaya, when she gets a lead role in a West End musical, when she also dreamed of being an actress. A parallel for me would probably be one of my friends writing and publishing a novel that was better and/or more successful than any of mine—and, while I would be happy for them, I would also definitely have to go and cry about it in a corner for a while.

She’s also a much sweeter, less cynical person in general. I decided early on that she would have to be in order to be happy as a princess, and then for a long time I was worried that she was boring, because I’m typically drawn to snarky characters. But I did eventually find her sweetness likeable. I suppose, in a way, I’d like to be more like her.

I actually think I put as much of myself into my heroes as the heroines. I’d write introverted, awkward but drily funny heroes non-stop if I thought I could get away with it, and that’s pretty close to how I see myself!

Rhian and Cor and unusual names (at least here in the States. I’ve only met one Ryane and never a Cornelius). How did you come to choose those names? Are they common where you’re from and if not, was the choice deliberate?

Initially, I think I just picked Rhian because I liked the sound of it, although it’s a Welsh name and my grandfather was Welsh, so I was also glad to be paying that small tribute to my heritage. I decided that Rhian’s absent dad was Welsh (his name’s Matt Jones, and Jones is an incredibly common name in Wales), so that’s why her parents gave her a Welsh name.

As for Cor, I wanted to give the prince a very fancy, royal-sounding name, but I also wanted to be able to shorten it to something vaguely cool. I’m steering sharply towards short names for main characters after working with “Faustina” and “Benedetto” for several years! As far as I remember, Cornelius/Cor was actually the first name I thought of that fit the bill and I really liked it, so it stuck.

I didn’t deliberately pick the names to be unusual—I don’t think Rhian is unusual in Wales. But I’ve noticed that some people actually particularly like to read books with names they haven’t heard before. Maybe it adds to the escapism of a book like this.

Is there anything you’d do differently with the book now that you’ve gotten some reviews?

That’s a really interesting question! I firmly believe that reviews are for readers, not authors, so there’s always a sense, if I read them, that I’m eavesdropping on a conversation I wasn’t meant to overhear. Having said that, I did end up peeking at some of the reviews for Rescuing the Prince, but I don’t think I’ve asked myself this question.

Honestly… no, I don’t think I would change anything based on the reviews. I took a lot of feedback from my editor and other trusted sources while I was finishing it and, thanks to them, I think the finished book is exactly what I set out to write. Most of the negative comments I’ve seen are from people who wanted it to be something else. And I think that’s okay. It does feel awful to know your work disappointed someone—and it’s not that I don’t care—but you really can’t please all of the people all of the time and changing part of the book might have made it less enjoyable for the people who did like it. Also, I’m still just really psyched that there are people who liked it!

We talked on Twitter about the importance of having both the H1 and h2 perspectives as a genre trope. Do you think the book would have changed significantly if you had included Cor’s point of view? Have you considered re-writing the story from his point of view (cause I’d read that!).

Another good question! I know one thing that did bother some readers about this book has been that Cor seems distant or cold, and that would have been different if his POV had been present. Even if he hadn’t acted any differently, I think seeing into his head, getting to see that he really did like Rhian all along but was struggling to balance that with his duty and broken heart, would have solved that problem, to some extent. I actually gave that a lot of thought early on, and spent a lot of time trying to decide between first-person and third-person close with alternating viewpoints. (Alternating between first-person viewpoints is another option but I’ve tried it before and I don’t think it suits my style.)

In the end, I decided to just go with Rhian’s POV for two reasons. Firstly, because I decided that her story (regaining her confidence and finding her place in the world) was more compelling than his, and easier for the reader to identify with. And second, because I actually wanted the reader to share Rhian’s first impressions of the characters, to be drawn to the overtly-charming Hugo and a little put-off by cold, distant Cor, until they got to know both of them better.

While I was writing it, I actually did consider redoing it from Cor’s POV, yes! But I think that’s because I just really loved the characters and didn’t want to let them go. I don’t think it would really add anything meaningful to the story, so I have no plans to actually do it—but I guess you never know when inspiration might strike!

I know there’s a novella out (in fact, I’m going to sign up for your list to get it) but do you have plans to continue with stories about the Seingalt Court? I feel like Remy and Sebastian need their stories. Also (and this is out there, but I really kinda liked her) Amandine. Thom? Jaya?

I’d like to! When I planned this book, my intention was for this to be a series about Cor and his cousins—the novella is about Evar, but there’s also Alex and the twins. I started work on Alex’s story over the summer, but I kind of stalled. It just wasn’t working, and so far I can’t figure out if it was a problem with the book, or just my state of mind. (It’s been a bit of a rough year!) I did recently come up with a new idea for that story that I’m quite excited about, though, so it’s not over yet!

As for the non-royals like Thom and Jaya, it might prove a little harder to fold them into a series of royal romances, but I would like to see them again. And I’m glad I’m not the only person who likes Amandine! It was important to me that Cor’s ex-girlfriend wasn’t a one-dimensional Mean Girl, the way possible romantic rivals sometimes are, so I’m really pleased you liked her.

Thanks so much for these questions, Quinn!

Rescuing the Prince is available in ebook and paperback from Amazon.

Publishing

Vanity publishing: a word (or several) of warning.

Hello, lovely reader. You look nice. You do something with your hair? I like it.

You may remember that, when last we spoke, I told you that there were two kinds of publishing: traditional publishing and indie publishing. I then went on to explain the differences between them, and probably talk about pizza too much.

Well, there’s something I haven’t told you. Something I have kept from you, to preserve your precious innocence. But I can shield you from the truth no longer: there is a third kind of publishing. And while there are good and bad points to weigh up when considering traditional or indie publishing, this one just plain suuuuuucks.

a row of seven peacocks under spotlights

What is a vanity publisher?

A vanity publisher is a publishing company, in the sense that they make money by publishing books. However, whereas a traditional publisher makes its money by selling books to readers, a vanity publisher makes its money by selling services to authors. In some cases, this means that the author will be required to buy x copies of their own book, where x equals “a really, honkingly huge number”. Others will charge for services like editing or marketing. They are, essentially, scams.

“But wait!” I hear you cry. “Didn’t your last post say that indie publishing is all about authors paying for stuff? And didn’t you also say that indie publishing was one of my two excellent options? And now you’re saying that vanity publishing is bad because it involves paying for stuff? I’m confused!”

My love, I’m sorry. Here, take a seat. Have this slice of pizza I was saving for later. No, no, I insist.

You’re right, of course, this is confusing—and vanity publishers rely on that confusion to keep reeling people in. Vanity publishers have historically masqueraded as traditional publishers but, now that self-publishing has become a viable alternative, you’ll find plenty that market themselves as “self-publishing companies”, too. They want you to be confused.

I don’t, though. And, fortunately, vanities are actually quite easy to spot if you know what you’re looking for.

The difference between vanity publishing and traditional publishing

If a company asks you for money, they’re not a traditional publisher. It really is that simple.

Traditional publishing houses invest money in books for the same reason any other company invests in their products: because they believe they can sell enough of them to their customers to make a profit.

Most of us have a general idea of how this works with other products. A company that makes clothes buys fabric from their suppliers, pays people to turn the fabric into clothes, and then sells those clothes to customers.

A publisher’s customers are readers. (Well, actually they’re often wholesalers and bookshops, but we won’t get into that now!) The author supplies the words and gets paid for them. They’re not charged for the pleasure of supplying them, any more than the editor pays for the privilege of editing them, or fabric suppliers pay clothing manufacturers to use their fabric. That’s just not how it works!

Of course, not being a traditional publishing house doesn’t necessarily mean that something is a scam. But, if a company is representing themselves as one and asking you for money, they’re lying to you, and that should raise some red flags.

The difference between vanity publishing and self-publishing

If a company publishes your book for you, you’re not self-publishing.

Self-publishing, is exactly what it sounds like. The author is the publisher, and will invest time and money in creating a book in the hope of selling enough copies to make a profit.

Given that, there shouldn’t really be any such thing as a “self-publishing company” or a “self-publishing service”. Self-publishing means publishing yourself, so, by definition, a company or service can’t do it for you.

This sounds like it’s just semantics, but it’s actually quite important. When an author signs a contract with a traditional publisher, they’re signing over the publication rights in return for payment. If you sign a contract with a company that charges you to publish your book, you’re signing over your rights, which have monetary value, and also giving them money. Imagine running a shop where you paid customers to walk out with your goods.

That’s not to say that you shouldn’t be paying for services at all. Self-publishers can (and should, if possible) pay other people to edit their work, design their covers and so on. But those people won’t get your publication rights. In fact, with the designer, you’re buying the rights to the image they make for you. The editor works on your text and suggests ways to make it better, but the text still belongs to you. When you publish, all the royalties will come to you, and you’ll still own, for instance, your audiobook rights, which means you can either commission an audiobook or sell the rights to an audiobook publisher. Again, the rights to your work have value, and you should receive something in return if you sign them away.

The rights thing is the biggest reason to avoid vanity publishing, but there’s another one: the price. Remember, a vanity publisher’s customer is the author, not the reader—and their customers often don’t come back, so they need to take as much money from each one as they can. You’ll therefore be looking at a pretty hefty markup on those services. For instance, I paid a cover artist $200 (USD) each for these beauties:

the covers for "the rose and the mask" and "the murano glass slipper"

Shoutout to the very talented Arel at BZN Design Studios!

A glance at one vanity’s website shows me that they’re charging $600 for custom cover design, and their existing covers are distinctly sub-awesome. And that’s if you can get the services à la carte—it’s common for vanities to sell publishing “packages” containing an impressive-sounding list of services and products. Some of these are completely bogus, like making your ebook available for sale on Amazon, which you can do yourself, easily and for free, using Kindle Direct Publishing. Some will presumably get you something, but it’ll be useless, like marketing materials to encourage bookshops to stock your books (not how that works).

The rest will just be overpriced, costing upwards of $800 for a basic package (of thing you could probably do yourself for next to nothing). I’m looking at a “deluxe” package right now that costs over $15,000, which is just… I mean… no. ɴᴏ. ⁿᵒᴼᵒᵒᵒᴼᵒᵒᵒ

As for those author copies, print-on-demand means that there’s actually no need for self-published authors to buy bulk quantities of their books in order to make them available in print. If an author does want a supply of them (usually for an event), they can buy the exact number they want from the POD company at a reasonable price. A vanity publisher making most of their money from these author copies is likely to force you to take a garage-load of them (by putting that in your contract), and they won’t be cheap.

“What if I don’t mind paying?”

Okay, look, I’m 27 and my retirement plan is “try not to live too long”, so the fact that vanity publishers charge a lot of money without providing much in return seems like a big deal to me. This obviously isn’t the case for everyone, or the vanities would go out of business. There are people who just want to get their books published, money no object. Doesn’t a publishing “package” make sense for them?

Well, it depends what your goals are for publishing. If you literally just want to get a bunch of your books printed so you can be a published author and you don’t care what that costs, then sure! I actually wouldn’t have a problem with vanity publishers if they presented themselves as a way to pay for a kind of “author experience”. My partner once spent a very impressive amount of money so that he and I could be zookeepers for a day and it was one of the best things I’ve ever done. A lemur put its tail up my nose. But the zoo never pretended that the experience would actually make us professional zookeepers—we knew we were paying to pretend.

But that’s not what most vanities promise, nor is it what most authors want. Aspiring professional authors want to be read, and they want to be paid. They might want one of those things more than the other, but they want both—and pretty badly, because you can get readers by posting your work for free online, and earn money more reliably by doing pretty much anything else. And a vanity publisher won’t get you either.

We’ve already established that they’re taking money from you, not passing it to you. As for getting your book in front of readers? Well, they may not even try. Why would they? They already have your money. Unlike a traditional publisher, which will have invested significantly in editing and designing a book by the time it’s ready to market and be keen to recoup that money, a vanity publisher is already in profit by that point, because they charged the author for the services. (Unless it’s the kind that forces you to buy books, in which case they do need to sell them—to you!)

If they do try—because they sold you a marketing service, for example—they probably won’t succeed. Again, many of the marketing services will be overpriced or useless, like a PDF guide to setting up your social media (there are plenty of free guides online) or a paid review with a service you’ve never heard of. The fact is that selling books is immensely complicated and just plain hard. For instance, it’s not enough for a cover to be nice to look at, it also has to stand out against a shelf or webpage full of other covers and immediately appeal to exactly the type of reader who will enjoy the book. That means that the person commissioning the cover needs to know exactly what genre the book fits into and who it appeals to, which requires research.

That work is worth doing if you’re relying on making a profit from a book, the way traditional publishers and self-publishers are. For a vanity publisher? Not so much. If your contract with them says they’ll supply you with a cover, you’ll get a cover, but that’s as far as their obligation goes. They don’t care if it helps to sell your book to readers, because selling your book to readers isn’t their problem.

How to spot a vanity publisher

If you’ve read this far, you’ll know that vanities are bad news. Fortunately, as I said, they’re pretty easy to identify if you know what to look for.

  1. They’re a publisher that asks authors for money, or a “self-publishing service” that publishes your book for you. Once more for the people in the cheap seats.
  2. They’re a publisher that markets to authors. Traditional publishers don’t need to do this, because they’re already overwhelmed with submissions—their websites and other marketing will be aimed at readers because that’s who their customers are. A publisher that spends money on a website or adverts designed to appeal to authors is making its money from authors.
  3. They want to make your dreams come true. A lot of the “marketing to authors” I just mentioned is selling the fantasy of being a published author, of seeing your name in print, inviting your friends to your book launches and reacting modestly to their praise, entertaining offers from Hollywood producers, using your royalties to hire a team of ferocious attack ostriches to be your personal bodyguards, whatever your dream is. (Just me on that ostrich thing?) Legitimate publishers and service providers don’t need to do that, because their work speaks for itself. Which brings me to…
  4. You can’t find evidence of their good work. A reputable cover designer will have a portfolio you can look at. An editor should be able to put you in touch with their other clients for a reference, or offer you a sample edit on a few pages of your work. For a publisher, you should be able to find books they’ve already published. Do they look appealing and well-presented? Can you find independent evidence that people are buying and reading them? (Start by looking at their sales rank on Amazon, or ratings on Goodreads, and compare that with other books of a similar age and in the same genre.)

These aren’t the only red flags, but they should get you asking the right questions.

Be careful out there

I’ll be honest, vanity publishing really gets under my skin—hence the 2000-word blog post. Writing is a very special, very weird profession, especially writing fiction. People ache to be professional authors. They yearn for it. I’m not saying that people don’t also yearn to be, say, chartered accountants, but there’s a name for those people. They’re chartered accountants. They studied chartered accountancy and now they’re out there, accounting for charters like nobody’s business. (Note to self: find out what a chartered accountant is.)

But writing is different. There’s no recognised training programme or career path. You can’t get hired as a novelist, can’t start out as an intern and write your way up to CEO of Making Crap Up. All you can do is keep writing books and trying to sell them, which requires a lot of talent and luck—both of which are out of your control and impossible to measure. You can try your whole life to “make it” as a author and never get there, and that makes people desperate. Vanity publishers prey on that desperation, sometimes to the point of driving people into debt, and that disgusts me.

It’s tough out there, dear reader. If you’re an author, or an aspiring author, I hope this has given you an idea of what to look out for as you venture into the world of publishing. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask them in the comments. I’m by no means an expert, but I read a lot and I have a lot of opinions!

 

Peacock image credit: GregMontani on Pixabay. It came up under a search for “vanity” but I actually think the peacocks’ startlingly judgemental stares are what makes it so appropriate.

Publishing

Traditional vs Indie Publishing: What’s the difference?

Darling reader, I shan’t waste your time with lengthy preamble. For the purposes of this post, I’m going to assume your name is Authorisus Novelard de Writersberg, you’ve just finished your first novel, and you’re wondering how to get it out into the world—preferably in exchange for some cold, hard cash.

Well, Mr de Writersberg, I’m pleased to tell you that you have two equally excellent choices: traditional publishing, or indie publishing. There are pros and cons to each but, before we get into that, you’ll probably want to know what each of those terms means.

Traditional Publishing

Also called “trade publishing”, and often shortened to “tradpub” either way.

the harpercollins stand at the london book fair

You’ve probably heard of at least a few traditional publishing houses. The biggest ones, known as the “Big 5”, are Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, Hachette and Macmillan, but there are plenty of others. These are companies that make their money, basically, by buying books from authors and selling them to readers. It’s as simple as that, except that it’s also much more complicated.

From an author’s perspective, the main thing to know about the tradpubs is that they all receive about eleventy squillion manuscripts every year, and they can only publish, you know, a normal number that actually exists. Now you and I, Mr de Writersberg, we are men (well, a woman and a rhetorical construct) of the world, so I’m sure you know as well as I do that writing is 1% inspiration and 99% weeping softly in a corner. However, I do occasionally encounter people who think tradpubs will publish anything an author deigns to send them, so, just to confirm:

You are going to get rejected. A lot.

I’m not saying don’t do it. I’m just saying, maybe pimp out the ol’ weeping corner a little in preparation. Add more pillows and fuzzy blankets. Perhaps a few stuffed animals, I’m not here to judge.

While you work on that, let’s talk about money, because that’s the biggest difference between trad and indie publishing. In traditional publishing, money should flow toward the author. This is called “Yog’s Law” and you’ll see it a lot if you make a habit of reading about publishing, so you might as well go ahead and get comfortable with it now. Embroider it on one of your new pillows or something. It’s a nice phrase, because it means you don’t pay for anything. Money makes its way into your pocket, not out.

Here’s how that breaks down. Readeria von Likesbooks goes to her local bookstore, which, for convenience, and because I’m a bit peckish, is in a country that has eschewed coins in favour of a currency system based on pizzas. She buys your book for the very reasonable sum of one pizza.

a whole pizza, cut into 8 slices

The bookshop has a lot of overheads to cover, and I really am quite hungry, so they take about half the pizza, and the rest makes its way to the publisher.

half of the pizza is now missing. the remaining half looks pretty good, though

The publisher, meanwhile, has paid for all the editing and cover design and marketing, and this is a really tasty pizza, so they’ll keep some too.

there is only one slice left.

The rest is for you, Authorisus—you don’t mind if I call you Authorisus, do you? Well, almost all of it. A little bit goes to your agent. See, because of the whole “eleventy squillion manuscripts” thing, a lot of publishers only accept submissions from agents. Literary agents sign up authors with promising manuscripts, then pitch them to editors who might be interested in them. Essentially, they’ll help you to get a publishing deal in return for a share of the money you make.

But the rest of that pizza is all yours. Or it would be, except that I ate it while I was writing the last paragraph, which is where this analogy falls apart.

And that, more or less, is traditional publishing. A publishing company takes responsibility for turning your work into a published book, sells that book to readers, and you collect your share of the proceeds (and try to stop me from eating it).

Indie Publishing

Also called “self-publishing” and frequently abbreviated, at least by me, to “selfpub”.

a kindle direct publishing stand in a conference hall

Independent publishing isn’t new. It’s always been theoretically possible—it’s just that, until recently, it was also a huge pain in the proverbial. Once upon a time, if you wanted to publish a novel without the help of a traditional publisher, all you could really do was order a bunch of copies from your local printer and sell them out of your handbag when you cornered people at parties.

This was, for most people, wildly impractical. For one thing, it was expensive—the per-copy cost of printing a small number of books was so high that it didn’t make sense, so the only thing to do was to order an eye-watering quantity of them and then convert your house into a sort of book warehouse with beds. For another, people who spend most of their time hunched over keyboards making things up just don’t get invited to that many parties.

That’s enough of the history lesson. If I know you, Authorisus, and I think I do, you’re not a chap who cares to dwell on the past. You want to know what selfpub is like today. Right now. This very second.

Well, for one thing, it’s much easier. The advent of print on demand (POD) means that it’s now possible to print books one at a time—and, crucially, only after someone has ordered one, which means you don’t have to fill your house with them. However, by far the biggest opportunity that’s opened up for indie authors is the ebook. Many major ebook retailers, including Amazon, Apple, Kobo and Barnes & Noble, offer tools that allow authors to make their ebooks available for sale through those stores, and this is how the vast majority of indie authors make most of their money.

With POD paperbacks printed within hours of ordering them and ebooks available to download instantly, self-published books are now almost as easy to get hold of as traditionally-published ones—at least online. In fact, a well-produced indie book is now indistinguishable, to the average reader, from a tradpubbed one.

That “well-produced” part is what brings us back to money. It is possible to self-publish without spending any money at all—and, in the early days, plenty of people did just that and sold a lot of books. But, as the market has matured, it has become much, much more competitive. I’m sure you, Authorisus, thought you knew what competitive was when you tried to race me to that last slice of pizza just now, but we’re talking more competitive even than that. As a result, most successful indie authors are now investing quite a lot of money in things like editing and cover design, to create a more professional product, as well as in marketing.

And that’s the big difference, from an author’s point of view. Under the traditional publishing model, all of that investment is done by a publisher. Indie authors are their own publishers, and have to pay for those services themselves—and they’ll generally set you back quite a few pizzas.

Of course, bearing more risk also means potentially reaping greater rewards, but we’ll come back to that when we talk about pros and cons. Until then, Authorisus, I bid you adieu. It’s been a blast, and I’m sorry I ate all your metaphorical royalties.

Photo credits: London Book Fair 2014 and Amazon by ActuaLitté on Flickr, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0