Posted Wednesday February 17th 2010
by Nikesh Shukla

I’ve finally found a publisher for my debut novel. Exciting, exhilarating, amazing news. I’ve been telling everyone and anyone, crow-barring it into conversations at any opportunity. It’s amazing- especially given the gloomy predictions for the book trade making it tougher for first-time novelists. It’s been a long slog of sending, waiting, not hassling, prompting, networking, smiling and growing a thick skin. One of the great things I’ve learnt throughout the process is how to be pragmatic about my work and sell it to people who will ultimately be looking at the book and wondering how they in turn can sell it. Another is how to take criticisms of the book, not personally but constructively. If you get beyond a standard template and receive a personal response from an agent or editor, it’s because they liked something in it. They may even include what was good about it, they might include what may need work. This is a good thing. This is a road forward.

In the spirit of celebration coupled with pragmatism, I thought it might be interesting to aspiring writers and writers getting ready to submit their own work to get a behind-the-scenes look at the process from now until publication (and maybe a bit afterwards) because I’ve learnt that getting a publisher to agree to publish your book may be difficult and time-consuming, but it’s just the first bit. The bit that comes afterwards is just as difficult.

Week 1

I’ve told my wife, that’s the most important phonecall to make. My next phonecall is to mum. She asks exactly who is going to read a book by me. Thanks for the support, I think. An hour later, I’m phoned back by Gavin from my publisher, who asks if I’ve calmed down yet because we have some serious things to discuss. I pretend I’m not still grinning from ear to ear and say yes, I’m calm now. Let’s talk specifics.

‘Well,’ he says. ‘Before anything happens, you’ve got to understand you need to work on the book with us.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I know it needs work.’

‘Yes, it really does.’

This doesn’t really have any tangible impact for me until four days later, we meet. It’s after four days of celebrations, dinners out and drinks with friends and family. I’m meeting with the CEO of the publisher and Gavin who will be editing the book. We meet in a gorgeous space in Mayfair. I’m sat down in a gorgeous old office teeming with framed photographs and books and trinkets and am given a list of what doesn’t work with the book. It’s too long, they say. You over-egg the comedy, they say. The first third has some pacing issues, they say. I sit there and take all this in. My first reaction is, oh I thought you liked it. I have to keep reminding myself that they do like it, they want to put it out- this is about shaping it into something they want to put out. But positive they are nonetheless and after agreeing to work on the weaker parts of the book, edit it in line with editorial directives and to invest some time in helping to promote the book, we all walk away happy.

As Gavin and I walk away, he offers me a nugget of advice: ‘You’re not editing it to impress an editor or agent now. We’ve agreed to put it out. You’re editing it to make it the best book you can, a book that the public want to read. Remember who’s telling the story. Remember why they’re telling the story. Ask if every anecdote, tangent and conversation is helping the narrator to tell the story he wants to tell.’ It’s good advice, especially for a book based on tangents, humorous asides and rip-roaring dialogue like it’s lifted out of a Tarantino film.

So the edit begins. I have some time to work on the manuscript in light of initial editorial feedback and send it back, at which point the editors will take over and work their magic. This edit is much more intensive and interesting than previous ones. I can now see what was put in to show off style and flair, what is in there for the easy laugh, what slows things down. Slowly a tighter version of my original manuscript is emerging. And it’s all down to those simple pieces of advice. I feel less precious about some of the tangents, those little flourishes where you tell a supplemental story about peripheral character for the sake of it- sometimes they work, sometimes they slow the action.

Then it comes, that moment where I have to decide how much I am prepared to commit to this process. I arrive at a scene that I adore, a scene based on a real incident, a scene based on a real life personality in my life. It serves no function other than to amuse; it doesn’t drive the plot forward. But I love the scene, it makes me laugh, it will make readers laugh. I never return to the character. His cameo is... ultimately... filler. I have to extract it and hope I can use it somewhere else.

The other things I’m thinking about are the jacket, as it offers the only visual identity for the book; what to do to promote the book virally; and just how many more times will I stare at these same words before they lose all meaning- I’ve lived with them for a few years now. I’m sinking into the edit. I’ve been asked to start gathering quotes for the jacket and my editor and I have a grandiose plan to use Google Wave to edit the book remotely as a collaborative process. It’s all incredibly exciting. There’s just so much to do. This is just the beginning.