Picture Books

After spending so much time basking in the brilliance of Rick Walton (and of course Will Terry, Kristyn Crow, Guy Francis, Nathan Hale, and Sharlee Glenn), I figured I had the system of creating a picture book down.

But last week I got invited to a number of picture book meetings at Candlewick, and found all sorts of new details. (Not to imply that there’s anything Rick & Co. don’t know—as far as I can tell they’ve solved most of the universe’s problems—I just missed some of what they said.)

In one meeting, I watched the editors discuss some of their favorite manuscripts they’d received. Several of them had received submissions they didn’t care for but wanted to offer to another editor if anyone at our press was the right person for it—and in several cases another editor took the manuscript. We also looked at several books previously published in other countries and considered buying the rights to the book (and all that would imply—translation, cover design, reworking, fees, etc.).

I also learned that Candlewick is unusual in how much input the authors get on their book’s illustrator. Generally, once a manuscript is accepted, the editor and designers hold a meeting to discuss illustrator options. They pull out sample art they have on file, offer suggestions, and debate possibilities. When they’ve chosen three possible illustrators, they’ll often consult with the author to see what the author thinks. This privilege for the author isn’t in the contract, but is offered as a courtesy (after all, you wouldn’t want the author to hate his or her published work). The author also gets to approve the sketches.

Oftentimes the publisher will work out the page turns and trims size before sending the manuscript to the illustrator, although some illustrators, especially the more experienced ones, work directly from the manuscript and choose the spreads themselves. Among many things a publishing house is looking for in an editor is the ability to maintain character consistency—to draw the same character doing a variety of things, over the course of an entire book. On average, the illustrator gets about six to eight months to go from the sketches to the final artwork.

Can't Judge a Book

This week I’ve faced the age-old conundrum: too much going on and therefore no time to write about it (it’s either that or lots of time to write and nothing to say). But I’ll stick to one topic per post, and start with the most exciting one first: the covers meeting!

Since, in defiance of the adage, the cover of a book is one of its most important selling points, the covers meeting is one of the company’s most important, and certainly the most exciting I’ve attended. For the meeting, the heads of marketing and design and editing and probably many more all gather around a table with book stands and shout out the names of the books they’re discussing. Then the editors and designers assigned to the book run over (literally run) and set up a printout of the book’s cover at whatever stage it is, from initial sketch to ready-for-press. Everyone scrutinizes the cover, offers suggestions and direction, and then, usually, sends it back for revision.

I was dazzled by the range of issues discussed. They talked about paper weight, about embossing, gloss, and foil. For one book they liked the color scheme but thought it might be too bright for the theme, for another they altered details of the border so it wouldn’t look too similar to another series from our press. They looked at books that had been previously published in other countries and recommended either slight adjustments or altogether new art to appeal to an American audience.

They debated for several of the titles whether we were trying to sell the name of the author, the illustrator, or the book. For some books they suggested subtitles and for others they removed them. In one case, they even passed around a blank, bound sample of a book that was to have nonstandard stitching, and everyone tried holding it to get a literal feel for the book.

The designers repeatedly accused covers of being too flat, and though flat seemed to refer to everything from static figures to matte ink, it often seemed an apt description.

It was clear that some of the designers worked on a very detailed scale. These designers worked within a specific framework and asked about tiny variations such as various croppings of the art, showing it larger or smaller in relationship to the type. Or they brought in different versions of the art with slightly different shadows.

Others worked more flexibly. One designer brought five different cover possibilities, each with a different image, color scheme, and typeface, and asked for general reactions and critiques. Another brought in a variety of photos of the subject of the book and requested suggestions.

For a number of books people cited precedents from similar genres or companies—things that had worked before and things that hadn’t. But what was most important for each discussion was whether the cover matched the book. Would a child know, from the cover, what sort of story was inside? Although I had thought this would be a fairly simple task, I was surprised by how challenging it could be. Editor/designers teams who were stuck would describe a manuscript to us and ask what to emphasize. How do you capture the complexities of a novel, which is funny and dramatic, romantic and scary, quirky and profound, all in a single image? It’s easier to critique existing ones than to invent them from scratch. And as long as we’re critiquing, a classic example of a cover that does not capture its contents is the latest edition of Ender’s Game (not a Candlewick title).

After the meeting, an editor mentioned in passing that she’d been told you know you’ve found the manuscript for you when you can picture the cover.

To Market, To Market

Yesterday at my internship I got to visit marketing. Very exciting.

When I asked one of the editors what the people in marketing do she said, “They seem to send a lot of mail.” Mysterious. I pictured a clandestine organization, scurrying through corridors, loaded down by large piles of misshapen brown packages being sent to unpronounceable destinations like Ulaanbaatar and Putrajaya. No one knows what goes in or out.

This image was more appealing than my secret fear that those in marketing might actually be retired shoe salesmen. I like shoes as much as the next person, but there’s a reason I own only one pair of tennis shoes and three pairs of the same shoes in different colors. Pinstriped suits, oiled hair, too-friendly smiles: the sales approach isn’t really my thing.

So I was relieved that when I arrived yesterday morning that the people in marketing weren’t visibly much different from those in editing three rows over. No trench coats. No bow ties.

They did have real-friendly smiles, and they answered all my questions. They were in the middle of getting ready for the next big book conference: NCTE in the middle of this month. In the morning I got to write a cover letter for advance copies of a novel being sent to a select group of reviewers. It was fun! I didn’t have to put on the wheedling selling voice and drip with dishonesty. Instead, I just wrote about a new book we had and why we liked it, which was easy to do. I also got to read through a number of marketing plans and promotional materials, write an excited introduction for an book review site, and pull together cover letters and copies of some of our picture books to be sent to the Caldecott committee. I knew my experience was complete when I got to take it all to the mailroom and pack the books up myself, sending them off to all sorts of places . . . like Provo, Utah.

Some general observations about what it might be like to work in marketing:

• Money pressures: Not only are those in marketing constantly looking for ways to get the book to sell, but they are also doing so in a tight budget. You’d be always looking to place ads that would enable you to reach the right people, but you’d have to do so for as cost as possible so you could also advertise your other books.
• Human dimension: While, from my observations, the bulk of the editors’ work is focused on manuscripts, the people in marketing seem to spend a lot of time making phone calls, organizing events, etc. They do some writing, but much more talking.
• Fleeting approach: I was surprised by the dramatic temporal shift I felt from editorial marketing. The sense of time and the books we talk about in both places was really different. While the editors are looking at manuscripts that may appear on shelves in two years, and are also celebrating recently released titles, the focus in marketing was concentrated on the more immediate: how are the new releases being received right now, and what are we doing for the books coming out in the next six months.
• Glowing view: While I personally have felt, reading through the submissions stack, that I’m on the look out for any serious problems with manuscripts that would prevent us from accepting them, the people in marketing are looking at nearly finished books and have to look for what they like about them so they can talk about it. Yesterday I read one of our new titles that I had previously skimmed while in editorial, and was surprised by how different my reading experience was both times. During the editing read, I was on the lookout for elements that worked and didn’t, and I found both; during the marketing read, I discovered more and more things about it that I loved.

Last night I wrote Alicia, my missionary sister, about my day in marketing and she replied: “go be a sales man who cna spell.” I just might.

What do I do, anyway?

The universal response to “I’m an English major” is, “So what are you going to do with that—teach?” As a student I tried to sidestep this inevitable reply with more elaborate explanations like, “I’m majoring in English and minoring in editing and plan to work as an editor for a living.” But then when people still said, “So . . . English major . . . what are you going to do with that—teach?” I gave up.

Now when I tell people I work for a publishing house as an editor of children’s books the response I get it, “Oh? Do children’s books need to be edited?”

So . . . if I’m an English major who doesn’t teach and who edits things that don’t need it, what on earth do I do all day?

Most of my time at the internship is devoted to reading new manuscripts. Candlewick doesn’t accept unsolicited submissions, so these are books recommended by agents or sent in by authors who have previously met with our editors. I read the entire manuscript and write a critique (about two a day), which I pass on to the editors. Most of the books I’ve read have been just fine—neither amazing nor terrible. I’ve only gone through two truly dreadful manuscript, both written by authors who had previously self published.

I’ve also gotten to write a little jacket copy (the blurbs on the covers of books), transcribe the notes of other editors, sort through old drafts of now-published books, and fact check an anatomy picture book. My most baffling experiences involve sitting through the weekly coordination meetings, where we check on the progress of about 130 books scheduled for release up through the fall of 2012. It takes more than 40 major steps involving half a dozen departments and parties to get the book from manuscript to bookstore, and this is all after editing.

So is there work to be done, even by English majors? Plenty!