Consenting Adults

Everybody needs approval, but nobody needs it more than authors: approval of editorial alterations of manuscripts; approval of cover art and copy; approval over reprint, book-club, and foreign licenses; approval of titles, ad texts, and more.

New authors quickly discover that they have very little leverage when it comes to controlling the fate of their books. As they become more and more successful, however, they develop the clout to demand the right to approve many procedures. In fact, a concise biography of a successful author might read something like this:

His first contract gave his publisher total control of everything. When he achieved modest popularity, his publisher gave him consultation rights. After he became very popular, he secured “approval not to be unreasonably withheld.” At length he became a star, and his publisher gave him total control of everything.

Which processes are subject to author consultation or consent? And what kinds of concessions may an author expect from his publisher as he rises to the top of his profession? Are there limits to those concessions? Are there some issues so hot that a publisher would risk losing a superstar before yielding the right of approval?

The foundation stone of the author-publisher relationship is the text. Today we take it pretty much for granted that book publishers will make no substantive changes in the text of a book without the author’s express consent. This state of mind is of relatively recent vintage, however. Well into this century Even as late as the 1980s, a widely held attitude was that the editor was the best judge of what an author intended to say and how well he said it. And, though that assumption still prevails at the copy-editing level in such areas as grammar and house style, when it comes to the overall text, today’s editors prefer to reason with authors than coerce them. Even new authors consider it their natural right to review copy-edited manuscripts and galley proofs of their books. In hardcover publishing, where the production process moves at a courtly pace, it is easy to grant this right to authors. In the frenetic world of paperbacks, however, authors are not always granted such courtesy, and books may be rushed into print without review by the author. Few publishers retain, in the boilerplate of their contracts, the right to alter an author’s text without his approval, but in practice it is commonplace, at least on the paperback level.

Approval over textual changes is about as far as the tyro author can expect to go when it comes to control over publication of his work. Although some publishers may informally consult with new authors about such matters as cover art, it’s considered out of line for them to demand a voice in the selection of the cover artist, or be allowed input in such matters as cover art and blurbs, book design, style, or typeface, or negotiations over subsidiary rights. For a new author, the life of his first book is full of surprises, not all of them pleasant by any means. He sees his cover and cover copy for the first time only after the book is printed, learns about reprint and other subsidiary rights deals only after they have been closed (if then; sometimes he learns about them through inexplicable entries on royalty statements), or first sees the text of an ad for his book at the same time that the public does. If there are embarrassing typographical errors, if the cover is a horrible misrepresentation of the author’s vision, if the subsidiary rights deal is disappointing, if the book ad is dumb – well, tough luck, kid, be thankful we're not asking you to pay us to publish your book.

Actually, most publishers are not callous about authors’ rights in these areas. They simply feel that authors are not necessarily wise when it comes to making those decisions, and I have to say there is some merit in this judgment. Many authors do not hold a strong suit in grammar, have decidedly bizarre notions about what should go on their covers, are poorly informed about appropriate terms for book-club, reprint, and foreign deals, or have little feel for advertising, publicity, and promotion.

Such shortcomings do not prevent them, however, from demanding a say in those activities, and as they gain experience, achieve success and build comfortable relationships with their publishers, some contractual prohibitions will inevitably be relaxed. Veteran authors are assumed to have acquired a degree of professionalism, restraint, and respect for the problems of publishers, and can be expected not to insist that David Hockney be commissioned to paint an original cover, or that the publisher take out half a million dollars in television advertising.

This growing tolerance for author input is reflected in the language of contracts by use of the term “consultation.” Consultation is of course one of those vague words that carries as much meaning and good faith as a publisher wishes to instill in it, so it is not much skin off a publisher’s nose to grant it to an author. It must be understood, though, that while “consultation” might well mean, “We're eager to please you, so if you don’t like what we’ve done we’ll try our level best to improve the situation,” it can also mean, “I called you and you weren’t home, so consider yourself consulted.” The phrase "meaningful consultation" has been instituted in recent times to thwart that particular ploy and give authors more of a legal leg to stand on if the publisher abuses your right to having some sort of say about a procedure.

Publishers’ policies are frequently resistant to the formal granting of consultation rights to authors, but they might agree to what is called a side letter, an informal statement of good intentions. Although such letters are not seldom binding, they are better than nothing, and are particularly useful if there is a change of personnel and an author wants to show his new editor that his former editor wished to accommodate him.

The closer to stardom that an author moves, the more accommodating his publisher is willing to become, and this attitude is manifested in contractual language giving the author explicit approval over certain aspects of the publishing process. For the first time there may be some real teeth in the author’s right to say yes or no to subsidiary licenses, cover art and copy, and ad campaigns. Nevertheless, publishers will fight against conceding absolute power to an author, even an important author, and will hedge their contractual language by granting approval only on the condition that such approval is not to be withheld unreasonably. The adverb “unreasonably” restores a degree of ambiguity to the author’s right of consent, giving the publisher a fighting chance if a dispute turns nasty and ends up in court. By demonstrating that an author withheld his consent spitefully, whimsically, or in some other fashion that injured the publisher’s opportunities to maximize a book’s literary or commercial value, a publisher can negate the power conveyed to the author with the term “approval.” (On reflection, I realize that over the many years I have been in the publishing business, I have never seen the phrase “consent not to be unreasonably withheld” litigated or even invoked by a publisher. I’m not sure why, but I would like to think it speaks well of the reasonableness and responsibility of authors.)

Of course, the hardest victory to achieve is absolute and unhindered approval by an author in the areas we have been discussing, and its stipulation in a contract invariably bespeaks a star author, a tough agent, or an agreeable publisher – probably all three. I should stress that such control is not of necessity the goal of all authors. Some are indifferent to what goes on the covers of their books, or to the design and style, or to the size of ads. Others entrust such matters to their publishers and try not to second-guess or criticize them. They take the attitude, “I write the best books I can, and if everybody else does his or her job as conscientiously as I do mine, I can’t ask for more than that.”

A growing number of authors and agents is not content to cast their destinies to such capricious winds. As one writer expressed it to me recently, “With the midlist emerging as the trash heap of the publishing business, ambitious authors are obligated to involve themselves in every aspect of their publishers’ activities, from titles to typography, to help give their books a big feel and image.” If you feel compelled to get involved in those activities, and to bid for a measure of control over them, there are a number of concrete measures you can take.

The first is to educate yourself about your publisher’s tasks. By studying catalogues, examining the design, typography, and covers of books, scrutinizing ads and ad campaigns, and above all by talking to your editors and other staff professionals, you learn what is possible, reasonable, and economical. You do not want to come on to your publisher as ignorant about such matters as the cost of an ad campaign or the technical difficulties of producing die-cut covers. If you can speak knowledgeably about such matters, your publisher will feel a little more comfortable about soliciting your input or giving you a measure of control over certain decisions.

The second thing to do is learn how to deal with your publisher in a non-confrontational way. Find opportunities to spend some time with your editor and with the various specialists at your publisher, such as the art director, sales manager, and the head of publicity and promotion. If you can’t meet the top man or woman, an assistant will do, as long as you have the ear of someone who might serve to sponsor your wishes at the company. You can accomplish this by having your editor introduce you to these people when you visit your publisher’s offices or attend such publishing functions as parties, conferences, sales meetings, and conventions. It is important to be a good listener, and to couch your wishes as unthreateningly as possible.

Publishing people being among the busier breeds in the corporate kingdom, one-on-one discussions may not always be possible. You may be able to communicate some of your ideas in writing. Publishers’ publicity questionnaires are an underutilized source of persuasion, I’ve observed. These questionnaires, usually sent out with contracts, invite authors to furnish their publishers with suggestions about approaches to exploit the promotional value of their books. By taking time to answer the form’s questions in detail, you give yourself a perfect opportunity to contact the appropriate staff members with offers to implement your ideas. Letters or emails rather than phone calls, at least at the outset, will give your publisher an opportunity to think about your ideas and circulate them among the movers and shakers at the company. Be polite, helpful, knowledgeable, and reasonable, and you may find yourself acquiring de facto control over many publishing decisions that have not been granted to you contractually.

A time may come, however, when all of your graciousness, diplomacy, and reason are incapable of winning your publisher over on an important issue, and you are forced to take a stand. It might be hoped that by now you have an agent who can go to bat for you. That’s fine, but your agent might have reservations about taking a hard stand on your behalf. Talk it over with him and listen carefully. Talk to friends and professional colleagues, gathering as much information as you can in order to make as informed and effective a decision as possible.

It is important that you prioritize the items over which you seek approval. Which are borderline, which serious, and which will you martyr yourself for? Be prepared to trade those of lesser weight in exchange for the dealbreakers. Exhaust all avenues of persuasion before taking the hard stand, but if push comes to shove you must state, as clearly and firmly as you know how, that you cannot sign the contract, cannot permit your book to be published, will not countenance a title change, will not suffer this cover or that advertisement. For most authors, and even for agents, taking a tough stand can be anxiety-making, but once you have made up your mind and prepared to gamble everything to win your point, there must be no backing down. Publishers who discover that your bottom line is not chiseled in granite will quickly find you out, exploit your ambivalence, and never again take “no” for an answer from you.

Though you risk losing a deal, and maybe a lot more than that, by taking a hard stand, you may be surprised to learn that as often as not it is your publishers who back down. Their bottom line may be more flexible than they led you to believe. Or they may not want to risk losing money that they have already paid to you or invested in your work. You never know until you try. If you win, you will push your relationship with your publishers to a higher plateau. And if you lose, you at least walk away with your pride, dignity, and integrity. And nothing is more important than that, right? Right?

Why are you looking at me that way?

- Richard Curtis

Let's Have Lunch! was originally written for Locus, The Newspaper of the Science Fiction Field. It's reprinted in How to be Your Own Literary Agent, published by Houghton Mifflin, Copyright © 1983, 1984, 1996, 2003 by Richard Curtis. All Rights Reserved.