Author Archives: fictorians

A guest post by Suzanne Helmigh.

Two Aliens walked into a bar,one an author and one an artist.The author alien makes his order:”Could you serve me a smooth but strong beverage that will burn like gentle oil from Neptune as it slides through my throat?” The artist alien orders, “I’d like that purple stuff with the bubbles, can I get it in one of those spiral glasses with the sugar coating?”

Many of my artist friends and I share similar experiences when it comes to working with authors on their book covers. It seems like misunderstandings or misinterpretations are a common problem, because we simply have different ways of describing things. Both authors and artists are creative people, though one thinks in words and the other thinks in imagery.

Authors tend to over-detail their descriptions, but the artist simply needs a still/fraction of the story, as if putting a movie on pause. Often, the artist gets more information than needed, which can make their vision of the image cloudy.

An artist only needs 3 things.

The synopsis of your story.
A movie frame instance for the cover. (If it portrays a scene/keymoment.)
Physical description of the main object or person.

When you’ve worked on a story for a long time, it becomes dear to you. Artists make stories,too, yet they rarely get portrayed into words, so we understand how precious specific details can get. You’ve had times where you share a quick run of your story to a non-creative friend,but they drown in the details and enthusiasm of your world, loosing the plot line because they’re simply not experienced with keeping track of such things. It’s like explaining to my mother how Skype works; she’ll get parts of it, yet still tries to video-call me over Facebook.

My point with this: when you make your idea for the book cover clear to the artist, treat them like you would treat that non-creative friend or I would treat my mother about Skype. Spare them the copious amounts of detail and keep it limited to a simple synopsis, spoilers included (so a little different from the back blurb of a book.)

The next thing the artist needs is the “movieframe”.

Maybe it’s just me, as I’ve done film school and my first passion towards drawing came from wanting to become a story-boarder for films. Though most artists I know do seem to work with the same method, a simple list:

Who: (What object or character is the main element and or side elements.)
What: (What is going on??)
Where: (Where are they, small description of the environment.)
When: (This is needed for lighting; colors are different during sunset than at noon. If it’s an interior scene, simply describe what the light source is. candle light- neonlight… you see my point?)

Now the character portrayed or the object needs some description, too. We don’t need to know about the person’s history or the fact he/she is a bird lover, unless it clearly shows by all the feathers in their outfit. Let me show you a sample of a character we probably all know, and explain what’s relevant and what’s not.

Aragorn (Lord of the Rings.)
Middle aged. Rugged by living outdoors. Adventurer. Dark hair, blue eyes, Caucasian.
Carries sword and elvish necklace. Color scheme of clothing matches nature.
He’s a hero, traveler, calm and mysterious.

That’s all an artist needs. Even though we know Aragorn is actually 87 years of age, it has no relevance as he looks in his 40’s because he’s a Dunedine. Dunedine? The artist probably has no clue about any race/type/planet/order/organization names you mention, so simply don’t. He has the elvish necklace from Arwen which contains her immortality, not something of relevance for the image unless, of course, the image is a portrait of his head and shoulders and the necklace becomes a center piece. Though an image of Aragorn wielding his sword against a bunch of Orcs makes the source of the necklace far from relevant. The less items are shown in an image, the less we need to know about its details.

The big “Don’ts”.

Naming fictional elements such as races/types/planets/orders/organisations etc. When you say “Vera is a half Funderon and half human…” we have no idea how to image that. When you say, “Vera looks like a human but with rabbit ears and a flat rabbit- like face,” that brings us much closer to the visual appearance.

Don’t send the artist pages of the book unless they ask for it.Sometimes 1 page can be fine if it perfectly portrays the scene for the cover. Though, I’ve had entire chapters with highlighted portions before, and it’s one of those drown-in-the-details moments.Suddenly sneaking into a movie in the cinema midway through, and then leaving after 15 minutes, will make you very confused about the story.

Please don’t get too nit-picky about the tiniest points. The last thing an artist wants is to become a machine that loses their own vision and simply copies. The 3 different eye colors of the octo-alien in the distance really won’t be bigger than a pixel.

Another helpful thing: send the artist imagerythey can use. Maybe you fancy the look of a certain actor or you’ve seen a lasergun that really comes close to the style you’d like. Heck, you can even make a mood-board! It will only help the artist’s vision match yours better, presenting it to them in a form they understand.

I hope this will help you communicate with your artists. I’m curious to read your point of view as a writer so I can better understand you as well.

Suzanne Helmigh Bio:

At 24 years old, Suzanne Helmigh is a professional artist who went from film to concept art and illustration. She always wrote stories as a hobby, but found her words get lost compared to her ability to create images.

Currently, she’s working on an Artbook titled Caldyra, which will show a story portrayed into illustrations and key element concept designs–a bit of a mix between a graphic novel without words and a concept art book for animation or games. You can have a look at her Facebook fan page and let her know what you think!

https://www.facebook.com/Caldyra

Understanding Accents

April 15, 2014

fictorians

Character Craft & Skills Guest Posts Guy Anthony De Marco 4 Comments

A guest post by Guy Anthony De Marco.

Cthulu peasant — Coming soon from Bear Paw Press, benefiting a Fort Collins, Colorado woman’s shelter.

A friend of mine, born and raised in Scotland, once complained about how the Scots are portrayed in books. “It’s not the characters, for the most part. It’s the way authors try to write with a brogue. To me, it makes Scotland look like a bunch of uneducated people mumbling under their breath.”

I never thought of it that way. I picked up some genre fiction that included heavy accents, and I had to agree.

In general, there are only two rules when portraying accents in literature. The first is the dialog must be done in a consistent manner. If a character says canna for can not, the words ‘can not’ shouldn’t appear when she talks. The only things that can change the way someone speaks is if there is some influence modifying the character, such as if the character is possessed, has multiple personalities, or, like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, they get training or adapt to the environment over a long period. Changing the way one speaks takes a lot of effort and time. I’m originally from Brooklyn, New York, and it took a few years to rid myself of the heavy Brooklyn accent. I still sometimes trip up and say “New Yawk” or “Gimme a cuppa cawfee, please.”

The second rule of accents, and one that tends to get bent, is the character must say things that the reader can translate. If it looks like the character accidently chewed up the words before spewing them, the reader may decide to pick up a different story to read. The line between legible and undecipherable can be thin, and it adjusts according to the reader. An author must balance the way a character speaks so the audience can extract the important elements necessary for the enjoyment of the story.

Some writers decide on a few words to give a particular character a recognizable speech characteristic. Others set up certain vowels or patterns to modify. Take, for example, Hagrid, from the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling, when he first tells the boy he’s a wizard:

“A wizard, o’ course,” said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, “an’ a thumpin’ good’un, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit.”

In the example, Hagrid uses o’ for of, an’ for and, yeh for you, and words ending with ing are modified to in’. Ms. Rowling uses these speech patterns consistently, throughout all seven books. The rest of the words Hagrid speaks are spelled normally, in Standard English.

In Uncle Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe, the author uses accents to distinguish the characters and their class.

“Poor critturs! What made ’em cruel?–and, if I give out, I shall get used to ‘t, and grow, little by little, just like ’em! No, no, Missis! I’ve lost everything,–wife and children, and home, and a kind Mas’r,–and he would have set me free, if he’d only lived a week longer; I’ve lost everything in this world, and it’s clean gone, forever,–and now I can’t lose Heaven, too; no, I can’t get to be wicked, besides all!”

In this example, the author only uses a couple of dialog modifiers, but the effect is powerful, especially when compared to the way the slave owners speak. The sentences are stilted, but the reader can easily extract what the character is trying to say.

Look closely at both excerpts. Notice that the authors chose the most obvious speaking differences. The rest of the dialog appears ‘normal’. These speech characteristics give the characters flavor and life, and set them apart from the rest of the cast. Note that the respective authors did not try to force every spoken word to fit a particular speech pattern. Attempting to do so will result in inconsistencies and dialog that is difficult to comprehend, let alone translate.

One additional item to watch for is how the reader will react to your dialog. My Scottish friend refuses to read any novel that makes an accent look like an accident at the printing shop. An author should be aware of the sensibilities of the audience, especially beyond North American borders.

As my friend said, “It’s you Yanks who have the funny accents. We all talk normally in Edinburgh.”

References: Uncle Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe; W.W. Norton, 1^st Edition, ISBN 978-0393963038

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, by J. K. Rowling; Bloomsbury Children’s, ISBN 978-0747571667

Guy Anthony De Marco Bio:
DeMarco_Web-5963

Guy Anthony De Marco is a speculative fiction author; a Graphic Novel Bram Stoker Award^® finalist; winner of the HWA Silver Hammer Award; a prolific short story and flash fiction crafter; a novelist; an invisible man with superhero powers; a game writer (Sojourner Tales modules, Interface Zero 2.0 core team, D&D modules); and a coffee addict. One of these is false.A writer since 1977, Guy is a member of the following organizations: SFWA, WWA, SFPA, IAMTW, ASCAP, RMFW, NCW, HWA. He hopes to collect the rest of the letters of the alphabet one day. Additional information can be found at Wikipedia, GuyAndTonya.com, and GuyAnthonyDeMarco.com.

Option and Right of Refusal Clauses in Book Contracts

March 24, 2014

fictorians

Business Guest Posts Publishing The Writing Life 7 Comments

A guest post by Scott Boone.

In Nancy DiMauro’s excellent post on reversion clauses from a week or so back, she mentioned the four critical clauses in your book contract: the granting clause, the payment clause, the indemnification clause and the reversion clause. This is the fifth critical clause with which you need to be extremely careful. Nancy knows all about option-type clauses, but she was nice enough not to steal the thunder from my post today.

Option-type clauses are the clauses in your publishing contract that refer not to the work being published, but to the work or works you create after the one being sold in that contract. Essentially, what rights does the publisher have in your next work or works? I’m going to talk about three main types: options, rights of first refusal, and rights of last refusal.

Publishers believe that they will not make any money off your first book. That is the received conventional wisdom. So in publishing you, they are investing in you as an author as much as or more than they are investing in that particular book. If they are going to take that risk and make that investment, they have a legitimate reason for wanting some sort of rights in the works you create after that first book. However, too often, these clauses put all the risk on the author without any risk on the publisher.

There is a question of how enforceable these types of clauses are in court. One that is unlimited in time and scope might stand a good chance of not being enforceable. The more limited in terms of time and scope, the more likely it is to be enforceable. However, you don’t want to put your eggs in that basket. None of them. If you end up in court fighting one of these, then in the big picture you’ve pretty much lost even if the court finds in your favor. Get it right on the front end during the contract negotiation.

So here are the three main types and how you need to think about with each one.

Options

Option clauses give the publisher the right to purchase a later work at already set terms. They do not give the publisher the right to look at them first and make the first offer; instead, the publisher just has the right to purchase your next work on already specified terms. You’ve already agreed to it by giving them an option.

In their worst (and perhaps too common) incarnation, they specify that the publisher has the right to buy your next work on the same terms as the first. This is bad for you for at least two reasons. First, it means you cannot get any better terms, including royalty rates and advances, in your next contract. Remember that with a true option clause, the publisher can exercise it without any need to negotiate with you on terms. Those are already set. Second, if the option clause states that they can purchase the next work on the same terms as the first, those same terms include the option clause. The option propagates forward with each book, with no escape for the author. This can be incredibly insidious, and if you dig deeply enough, you can find horror stories of new authors stuck in these sorts of traps.

Look, it is not uncommon for a new author to get a relatively bad contract as their first contract. But an option clause that locks in future terms means that every contract after that will be a bad contract. Avoid these at all costs.

To make it clear, let’s look at them from another angle. An option clause obligates you but not the publisher. Therefore, you bear all of the risk and the publisher bears none. Let’s say your first book bombs. The publisher is not obligated by an option clause to buy your second book. On the other hand, if your first book is a big success, the publisher can buy the second book without having to give better terms. That’s a risk you bear. So you bear that risk while the publisher bears none.

If a publisher wants to lock in the right to your next work or works at set terms, then make them buy them with a multi-book contract. That way both parties bear some risk and it’s not all on you the author.

So what do you do if the contract you’re offered has an option clause? First, get rid of it. Get them to switch it to a right of first refusal or get them to make it a multi-book contract (if you are happy with the terms). If you can’t get rid of it, then either walk away or try to get the terms for the second work that are much better than the first and make sure an option clause will not be included in the contract for second work.

Further, make sure the clause is more limited than simply “your next work” or “future work.” That would include short stories, books in different series or even in different genres. If you are going to sign one, make sure it is limited to a certain form (long vs. short) and to that genre (or even better that series).

Finally, as with any clause conditioned upon the publisher doing anything, make sure the publisher has an objectively defined timeframe in which to exercise the right before losing that right.

The final word on options: Be very wary. Don’t even think of signing a contract with one unless the terms are good, do not include another option, and improve with the next work.

Right of Last Refusal

The right of last refusal is a clause that gives the publisher the right to match any offer for your future work made by another publisher. It’s a bit deceptive in how bad these are for the author. On first glance, they might seem to be not as bad as a straight option clause, but once we dig into how they work, we’ll see how they can actually be worse.

The right to last refusal basically gives the publisher the right to match any other offer. That means they have the right to buy the book at terms that match the other publisher’s terms.

They don’t seem too bad until you start to think about what such clauses do to your ability to get another offer. Put yourself in the shoes of the editor at the other publishing house. In order to make an offer to buy a book, you have to put in a lot of work. You have to read and evaluate the book. Then you have to champion that book to several other constituencies in house. Are you going to want to invest in that book, both in terms of time and workplace capital, if the first publisher can snipe the book out from under you for the same terms? Not likely.

So, while it appears that a last refusal clause gives you the ability to improve the terms of the next contract by getting a better offer somewhere else, that’s not a very realistic option.

Additionally, because the original publisher does not have to make a yes or no decision as they do with an option clause, you might actually get worse terms in the second contract. An option clause at least locks terms in. If your ability to go anywhere else is blocked because no other editor wants to invest the time to make an offer on a book subject to a last refusal, the original publisher can actually offer you worse terms because they know you don’t have any other options.

The final word on rights of last refusal: Don’t.

Right of First Refusal

The right of first refusal gives the publisher the right to be the first publisher to see your next work and the right to make the first offer on it. Unlike the option clause, the publisher cannot unilaterally purchase your next work. You have to agree to their terms. That’s not a bad deal for you as an author provided the right is limited.

You want a good and prosperous relationship with your publisher that spans multiple books. One in which both of you do well. And if you are writing a series, you really don’t want to switch publishers mid-series.

While the presence of this clause should not cause you to reconsider the contract, you should seek to limit it in at least two ways.

First, you should limit what works it covers. It should specify novels and not short works, unless your publisher does in fact publish short works and on terms you would like. It should also be limited to that specific series, or if you can’t negotiate for limiting it to that series, it should be limited to books in that particular genre.

Second, you should limit how much time the publisher has to respond once you have submitted the new work to them. The traditional publishing process is incredibly slow as it is. You don’t want it slowed down even further.

The final word on first rights of refusal: Fine if properly limited.

The Takeaway

Work to limit a right of first refusal in scope to a particular series or genre and in the amount of time the publisher has to make the offer. Avoid options and rights of last refusal.

Guest Writer Bio:
M. Scott Boone lives in Atlanta, Georgia, where he works as a law professor in order to support a clowder of cats. He writes about legal issues affecting writers at writerinlaw.com. When not writing or teaching, he is a self-proclaimed soccervangelist.

Partnership Considerations

March 20, 2014

fictorians

Business Guest Posts The Writing Life 1 Comment

A guest post by Sandra Fitzpatrick.

Greetings!

Thanks to the Fictorians for letting me have some space on their blog. I hope this can help people understand partnerships. There are tax and legal implications that differ slightly between Canada and the US, but I hope to give everyone a starting point.

Partnerships are when two or more people get together for a purpose. For this blog, the basis of the partnership is that you want to share a writing project with other people. It can be the best thing that ever happened to all of you or the worst.

Partnerships need to be thought out carefully. It may seem to wreck the mood of creativity and joy to think about what might happen if things go wrong. Partnerships can range in size from two people to any number. They may grow. They don’t have to be registered with the government but everyone has to pay taxes on the profits and can deduct many expenses if there isn’t. If there is significant income, you should think about registering it or forming a corporation to hold the rights to the work. Either gives everyone involved protection and more structure that makes the bookkeeping and who’s responsible for what easier.

Think of this as a prenuptial agreement. The excitement of starting a new life with someone you love. You’ll never have any troubles. And then the lawyers get involved. Yuck. Bummer. But… The most import question a writer can ask: What if?

Some discussion topics are:

Who owns the project?

Who are the writers, editors, illustrators or publishers of the project? For writers, are you a plotter or a pantser? Can you work with someone who is the opposite?

What percentage of the work and what type will be done by each person? If you are doing a children’s picture book, pairing with an artist may be the obvious division of labor. But is the artist the writer’s partner or an employee? It makes a legal difference.

Communication is key to a partnership in the arts or any other endeavor. Living in different cities makes sitting down and brainstorming difficult. How will you arrange those meetings? Skype is cheaper than long distance phone calls. Emoticons only go so far in showing your passion on a topic in email. Recording your sessions eliminates the ‘Didn’t I write down that fantastic idea?’ blues. Or the ‘I said, you said’ memory lapses.

How will you fund the project to get the book to a publisher or self-publishing? Do a Kickstarter campaign or each contribute an equal amount? An arts grant to help cover printing costs of your new magazine? What happens if that isn’t enough to cover the expenses?

How are royalties split? Evenly? In the case of an anthology, the stories may be purchased and only the editors get royalties. How much can you afford to pay for the stories?

If one person drops out of a larger partnership, what compensation will they get in the future? How do new people join? Or can they?

Who is the final authority on what happens to the overall plot line of the series? Who decides on the little details of adding characters or major plot threads?

If one partner dies, who inherits their share? This supposes that you have a finished book. Or an unfinished one but lots of notes. (Everyone should have a will. Really.)

For an anthology or a magazine, who makes the final decision on what stories to include? Who gets to deal with the slush pile? Who is the faster reader? The better line editor?

How will you shut down the partnership if everyone gets tired of it and wants out? What if not everyone does?

The lawyers’ fees. Who pays them? Can you sit down and go ‘what if’ with each other? And still remain friends and complete the project? A lawyer is a neutral party. If you know a publisher, ask them for a referral to their lawyer. You can look up information on the net, but most articles have limited information for a writing partnership.

Examples:

Two people write a book together. They thrash out the general plot line and take turns writing chapters. Each edits the other’s chapters. What is the time limit on writing your chapter? Or they could alternate books, or have subplots within the novel, each following their own main character. Each has expertise that makes the book(s) better.

A big name and a newcomer collaborate on a book. This can boost sales because the big name will sell the book. The newcomer will be noticed. Be careful. Is the newcomer putting in 90% of the work and getting 10% of the profit? How much does the big name make just because his name was on a book someone else wrote?

Anthologies can be fun. Choose a theme, a publisher and send out word for submissions. Are the editors guaranteed a story spot? Is there a set fee for each story and/or a percentage of royalties? Who’s the better copy editor?

Shared universe series. The overall coordinator supervises the universe with veto power over plot lines. New authors can be invited in or just ask. These series can get very large and complex. More plot and character oversight is needed once you get past three or four partners.

Enjoy your writing partnership!

Guest Writer Bio:

I’m a tax preparer and financial advisor in Canada with eight years experience in the trenches of business tax returns. I’ve done tax seminars for writers, artists and other creative folk over the years. I write sf and fantasy in my non-tax months. My husband Gary is working on a detective series when not confusing medical students.