The Truth About Publishing.

It's a dog's life. Even dogs know that.

“If it wasn’t for received ideas, the publishing industry wouldn’t have any ideas at all.” Donald E. Westlake

Last week I joined an online writer’s forum figuring I should rub shoulders with literary folk. You have to make the effort these days, or you’ll end up talking to your dog more than you should.

Kurt Vonnegut Jr. once said, “I tend to spend too long on the rug chatting with our dog. He eventually moves away, looking thoroughly embarrassed.”

I’ve embarrassed a few dogs myself — not to mention a guinea pig and a rabbit named Pierre (after the Canadian prime minister at the time).

Now that I’m older, I’ve decided to stick to embarrassing people. Not that I take any particular delight in embarrassing people, but it seems hard to avoid when you read some of the comments on Reddit forums.

For all I know, she’s probably writing query letters right now, getting a jump on what she calls “the boring stuff.”

My favourite came in the other day: “I WILL HAVE A BOOK PUBLISHED IN 2022. I don’t know what the story is going to be; but I will do it.”

For all I know, she’s probably writing query letters right now, getting a jump on what she calls “the boring stuff.”

Sort of like the guy who wrote: “I’m still trying to turn my amazing dream into a book. Will publishers accept point form?”

We’re all anxious to be published — even if we are published. Some of us are currently on the bookshelves (and in public libraries). But that doesn’t stop our anxiety. One book hardly represents a career, although that’s cold comfort to people still wanting to be published.

To read some of their comments, though, you get the impression they wouldn’t mind embarrassing a few dogs if it gets their names in print.

It used to be that you “learned to write by writing,” Today, it’s “You learn to write by publishing.”

How we got to this stage is a bit of a mystery. I know it has something to do with the ease of self-publishing today. Why waste time waiting for a publisher when you can publish now — even before dinner.

With one simple keystroke, you’re a novelist. You can stand with other novelists and say you’re a novelist.

In our current mad dash world, this seems utterly practical. With one simple keystroke, you’re a novelist. You can stand with other novelists and say you’re a novelist. If someone doesn’t believe you’re a novelist, you can pull out a copy of your book and prove you’re a novelist.

Then, according to some writing articles, it’s only a matter of time before a publisher sees your book online and snaps you up.

Well, first of all, publishers rarely snap up self-published books. Most only accept agented manuscripts. Agents are rarer than hen’s teeth. In fact, you’re more likely to run into a hen with teeth than an agent.

Even if you do find one, this isn’t the end of the publishing process. By the time you finish, you’ll wonder which is harder, writing a book or publishing one.

Here’s what happened to me (and thousands of other published writers). Between the time I finished my first novel and found an agent, it was well over a year. In that time, I rewrote my book four times. Then I had to rewrite it again before it went to the Frankfurt Book Fair (the largest trade fair in the world).

The rewrite required me to change the location of my novel since my agent claimed he couldn’t sell Canadian landmarks. So I relocated it to Chicago, using virtual Google maps, since I couldn’t afford to go to the Windy City — or any city, for that matter. I was severely broke.

There was no interest in my book in Frankfurt. That meant two more complete rewrites. At the same time, I had to provide book cover copy, hire a book designer, a proofreader, then apply for copyright.

In most publishing contracts, you’re required to spend at least 6 hours a week promoting your book, which includes having an official website.

And that was still just the beginning. In most publishing contracts, you’re required to spend at least 6 hours a week promoting your book, which includes having an official website.

Then you have to do giveaways, handing over author copies to people more interested in getting something free than writing a review. Out of those eight copies, you might get back one review. It could be glowing — like something your mother might write — or a vicious attack, like something your father would write.

That still means eight copies of your book are in the wind (costing about $4.99 each with postage, which is often more than the book itself).

Nobody’s saying it isn’t great to see your novel on the shelves. But, by then, you really don’t care anymore. The anxiety you felt worrying about getting published is now replaced with the anxiety of getting sales.

Every day you check your sales rankings, waiting for that moment when it skyrockets to the best seller list.

I tried cozying up to one salesperson, but obviously it takes more than two subway tokens, and that’s all I was prepared to offer.

Meanwhile, some people pay for the best seller lists, just like publishers pay to have certain books on the tables at major bookstores.

I tried cozying up to one salesperson, but obviously it takes more than two subway tokens, and that’s all I was prepared to offer.

If you’re saying now, “Well, that’s why I’m self-publishing. I don’t have to go through that hassle. Amazon prints it, throws it up online, and the next thing you know, I’m replacing Fifty Shades of Grey.”

Well, even my dog knows that’s nonsense. Self publishing requires just as much forethought as any agented book.

It’s a process of persistence, subject matter, luck, and possibly cologne. I’ve never actually met my agent (he lives in New Mexico), or my publisher (New York), but I’m sure cologne enters into the mix somehow.

Publishing a novel is a long game at best, and if you’re broke when you started, there’s every chance you’ll stay broke when you’re published. Very few writers make money on their first book.

The stuff I buy my dog says, “Could be meat — who knows?”

Fortunately, a small royalty cheque came in yesterday, so my dog gets to eat, or he thinks he’s going to eat. Once he realizes he’s getting more kibble than meat, he’ll go back to the window, envying the dog next door who gets food with names like Natural Grain and Pro Nutrition.

The stuff I buy my dog says, “Could be meat — who knows?”

He’s a fool, though, envying that dog next door. She’s put in a kennel every time her owners go skiing or on some Caribbean cruise. That will never happen to my mutt. Our last vacation was spent in the back yard, both of us using the dog door because I lost the house key.

I know this embarrasses my pooch. I can’t help that. I’m a writer, he’s a dog. We have to accept some realities, resignation being one of them.

At least I’m not like the guy who wrote: “I sent out ten query letters last week. Should be getting good news any time now. Wish me luck.”

You wouldn’t believe how many people wrote “Congratulations!” in the comment section. To my mind, these are very sick individuals.

I’m not trying dampen this guy’s spirit. Maybe he will end up on the New York Times Best Seller List with a villa on the Costa del Sol.

Not that my dog believes that for one second. He knows a goner when he sees one. He yawns and flops down, and soon he’s dreaming of great battles, his feet and lips going like crazy.

I’d do the same, but I’ve got these literary forums to follow. One person asked how it felt to be an author. “You must be thrilled,” she said. I told her I was at first. Now I’m thrilled by the fact that I can still get through the dog door.

This embarrasses my dog, too, seeing as it’s his door, and I’ve got my own door (if I had the key). Them’s the breaks, I guess.

When you’re a writer’s dog, you should expect these things.

Robert Cormack is a satirist, blogger and author of “You Can Lead A Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive).”