rounds of editors and agents? It means each of them must learnrnto write for category’, to figure out what’s hot, and to deHver itrnpromptly before the category cools. They must forget aboutrnwriting well and learn to write popular. They must abandonrnany notions they ever had about merely telling a good story withrnintereshng characters or even writing what they want. Theyrnshould be studying what’s in the top ten and trying to imitate it.rnAdditionally, they must be more careful than ever of grammar,rnstyle, organization, construction, and all the other elementsrnthat editors used to take care of after a book was delivered. If itrnis wrong in manuscript, it will be wrong in the galleys, and itrnwill be wrong in the publication, and reviewers will fall on itrnwith the bloody enthusiasm of feral dogs. Craft is everything today;rnart don’t count.rnSure, there are always exceptions, and it is great to believernthat hard work, perseverance, and a dedicated belief in thernquality of one’s own work will pay off, that literary attention willrnsucceed, and that quality will triumph over machine-stampedrntrash. But the bottom line is that the state of American publishingrnis not going to improve any time soon; in fact, it willrnprobably get worse. The Nancy Taylor Rosenbergs and MaryrnHiggins Clarks will inherit the earth, or at least the big contiacts,rnand the W.P. Kinsellas and Winston Grooms will findrncomfortable university presses to publish their work. Meanwhile,rnthe whoever elses out there will continue to scraprnaround for a low five figures and be damned glad to have it.rnAnyone who tries to sell a book based on literary quality, not onrnmarketability and category appeal, will have trouble, will mostrnlikely fail-rnOne woman tried to argue this point with me at a talk I gavernrecently. She kept telling me I was all wet in my characterizationrnof the publishing industry as being only interested in commereiallvrnviable properties, that literature was still king. I thenrnasked her to name three major literary novels, by Americans,rnpublished in the past five years. She said “Salman Rushdie.” Irnsaid, “He’s not American.” She said, “Umberto Eco.” I said,rn”He’s not American.” And so it went. Remember, it was NormanrnMailer, one of our most prominent literarv’ figures, whornsupposedly said that in America, a “writer can make a killing,rnbut not a living.”rnIf a writer is European, Asian, or Oriental (without the hyphenatedrnAmerican behind it), there is a chance of success, butrnif you are an American writer, get back. Even black and Hispanicrnwriters are feeling the pinch. And distaff writers, whilernpopular at the moment, will probably fade as well. Editors willrnaver that women buy more books than men, but women readingrnwomen has never been a reliable tiend according to longrangern”market surveys.”rnMost of the few American literary writers who are still producingrnregularly find that they must bolster their income byrnaligning themselves with special interest groups (feminist, gay,rnenvironmental, etc.). Most receive comparatively modest advances,rnmust be highly prolific, and supplement their incomesrnby teaching in universities or consulting for institutes and televisionrnnetworks. The big money losers in the past half decaderninclude a veritable Who’s Who of “major contemporar}’ Americanrnwriters” who have failed to put up impressive numbers.rnSome “great American authors” cannot even get contracts,rnthough their names are virtual icons among those who worshiprnthe contemporary American literary pantheon.rnIt is simply getting harder and harder even to get in, to stay in,rnand to make money once you are in. As I said, almost everyrncontract issued now has an “escape clause” in it, an effectivern”quit claim” that puts the responsibility for a book’s success onrnthe writer’s shoulders, even if the publisher fails to promote it.rnAn editor told me, “They’re turning us into a low-rent Hollywood.rnWe’re supposed to make ‘B’ movies and sell each onernlike it’s Gone With the Wind, even though we get zip for distribution,rnpromotion, or advertising.” Another editor said that it isrnworse than that: “More thought goes into a pilot for a TV commercialrnthan effort goes into editing a new book.”rnSo why bother writing at all? Why not just get into a warmrntub and open up a fat vein rather than slave away writing a bookrnprobably no one will want? The results of the former actionrnwill not be particularly stimulating, but at least there is a finiternsense of purpose about it. The answer is that writing is still —inrnspite of the narrow-minded, profit-mongering, myopic andrnfrightened editors’ and publishers’ demands —an art, an impulse,rnone of the oldest forms of human expression. At the momentrnthe philistines are in charge of the temple, the moneychangersrnin charge of what will or will not be seen and read; butrnmost of us who continue to assault it with our best work keeprnhoping that somehow, somewhere, there will be a breakthrough,rna sudden awareness that qualit)-, care, and talent arernmore valuable than crass imitation or the quick buck.rnFROM AGENTS TO CONTRACTS…rnTwenty Questions:rnAnswers for the Inquiring Writerrnby Clay ReynoldsrnBrowder Springs Pressrn132 pp., $12.95 (plus S+H)rnTo ORDER, CALLrn214-368-4360rnMAY 1998/21rnrnrn