My emancipation don’t fit your equation
Lauryn Hill, “Lost Ones”
Among the many early decisions emerging writers have to make, one of the most important is what publishers to pursue for a first book. Nothing in the business of literary publishing is guaranteed—as the poet Phillip B. Williams says, “No one owes you a first book.” But there are ways fellow writers can help one another. Tough Questions is a project that hopes to be a helpful voice in that chorus, seeking to demystify parts of publishing and the literary community. All writers encounter moments that generate inertia, and that is why I wanted to speak with DeMisty Bellinger. She is in the somewhat rare position of having three books published with three different small, independent presses. Her experience creates a context to compare and contrast, directly, different models of publishing; different contract expectations; and the different personal outcomes. DeMisty is also a multi-genre writer, so she’s able to avoid the sometimes prose-only bent that arises in some discussions about publishing. We aren’t after any prescriptive advice, but rather, one more arrow of wisdom in your quiver, dear reader.
What follows is a practicum (the tough questions I took away from the interview) and our conversation on how to navigate independent publishing as an author.
The Practicum
Small independent presses play a vital role in publishing new writers, but every writer’s needs, hopes, and dreams will differ. What do you want your first press to establish for you?
Not all small presses are created equally, and each have a different contract model. Do you want your press to be a partner, a distributor, a guide, or something else? How will you feel if your book doesn’t sell well? How does the contract layout your responsibilities as the author?
Answer the question “Why do you want a first book?” for yourself. Recognize there are practical benefits (like invitations to read and being solicited) as well as philosophical/aesthetic considerations.
Steven Leyva: Well, welcome. I'm so glad to talk to you about independent publishing in general, and thank you for being a part of Tough Questions as a Mason Jar Press project, which I know you have a relationship with. You have three books that have currently been published: a novel, a chapbook, and a book of poems. They're all from three different, independent, and I should probably clarify by saying, small, independent publishers.
Why did you decide to go with small indie presses rather than potentially hold out for something bigger?
DeMisty Bellinger: I like small presses. Personally, I like—and i'm not saying that this is not the case with bigger presses—but I do think that the editors and the other employees at small presses really champion the work that they publish, and they really care about the work that they publish. You know money is an issue for everyone. But I've noticed with Mason Jar, where I published a poetry book, and Unnamed, where I published a novel, that they are much more interested in the art.
SL: What are some things that made it seem that way to you? How was that legible to you, that they were interested in the art?
DB: They seemed to actually really love the work that I sent them. With Mason Jar, especially when I told them I was really worried about not earning my advance back, or the cost of the book. They kind of laughed at that. They said, “We don't really care.” They were more interested in the book itself, and just the love of the work, and I got that feeling from them over and over. That's one of the reasons why I chose to send that manuscript to Mason Jar, because they put so much energy into the few books that they publish, it seems, with marketing and supporting their writers, and just being champions of the work.
And I saw that with Unnamed, too. When I first signed with them, and that was with through an agent. They were happy to send me copies of books from their other authors, and talk about their other authors, and talk about the aesthetic that they're trying to get across, and this is not to say that it is not important at places like Random or Simon and Schuster, but which might become Random-Schuster. I don't know…
SL: The great big beast, right?
DB: …but it's like the difference between a gallery, like a small local gallery that curates with a certain aesthetic, a seed, and a large museum that is collecting or exhibiting it as much as possible from various backgrounds. And I like that it’s kind of not necessarily niche, but this curated feel of publishing…not to say I wouldn't mind getting much bigger, but I like that I have started off with smaller presses.
SL: Can I ask you a bit more about that? Where did that question and concern you asked of Mason Jar, "I'm concerned about, you know, not making back my advance,” come from? Was that in response to a previous experience that you had, or something that you absorbed as an idea about publishing? What was prompting that concern, or that question to them?
DB: I think it's just my background, my working-class background. Just any question about money, any money that is given to me or where I earn it. I want to feel like I earned it. So I probably sound really cheesy, but that's it. And you hear about authors not earning back or making their advance. Would they want to publish you again if you do not sell enough books? But would another press want to pick you up if you don't sell enough books? So it was a concern, and I did earn out so that was great.
Also. I have this, this dread of being remaindered when I go into the bookstore, and you see all the books are like two dollars, and you're just like “Oh, my gosh!” I never want to be that person, and I think that's one of those things. It happens to all of us, probably.
But there's another reason why I think I gravitated towards small presses initially, because big presses tend to have large print runs and small presses have much more, I think, reasonable projections, for new authors especially.
SL: Yeah. I mean, it's so interesting that you're sharing that about not wanting to be remaindered because it is somewhat out of your control when a bookstore decides to do that, or how. Yeah, I'm sure, like you, like all authors, and like myself, we hope to have written the best book possible at the time.
So can I ask you about the three different kinds of contracts you signed? They may be very similar. I’d love to know what you signed across three presses, and whether or not, at the time, you thought they were fair, or if you had any way of evaluating or knowing whether or not you were being treated fairly.
DB: Well, I think I had an advantage in that. I worked as a grad student at the University of Nebraska Press, albeit in the marketing department. But I had some idea how contracts work, because of my experience at Nebraska. I didn't go in expecting like a large events for any of these books, and I did not go in expecting, I don't know…yeah, let's just leave it there for now. But the first press that I signed with, Finishing Line Press, I entered into a contest and did not win, but they wanted to publish the book anyway.
And I don't know if you would consider them…It's not necessarily a hybrid press. They are a small press, although I think they put out too many titles. I do think that they like the books, I do, but it seems like their model is to make money. It seems like that is a big part of their model. So, with that contract, I had to sell a certain amount of books before print, which made me feel like a saleswoman. It made me feel very anxious, to be honest, and I think they have since changed that model a little bit, but they do still require a certain amount of sales.
I think some people are fine with that and with Finishing Line. But, for me, it just did not work out, and the other thing is that the book itself was pretty expensive. I feel weird selling a chapbook for fifteen dollars. You know, there were a lot of issues, like I didn't get a lot of copies of the book, which is fine.
I don't get any money from a book at all, unless I buy copies and sell it, so. Um, and that's generally the case with poetry. But even with poetry, some people get advances, or, if you like, win a poetry contest, you’re going to get that money.
SL: Right, right. Can I ask you how many books they expected you to sell before publication.
DB: I think it was fifty—at least fifty—which is not a lot, I guess. But it's also a lot of books, especially for someone who is unknown and may not have that audience yet.
SL: Which is also what finishing line sort of specializes in, right? They often are publishing first-time authors.
DB: It was. It was a very, very uncomfortable in that way, and I do see people publish with them more than once. So, my assumption is that some people have better experiences. I think you have to be sort of like a salesperson to do it.
And the people at the press were very kind and very helpful, and they did do a little bit of publicity. Not a lot. Well, any book, even if you sell to one of the big five, you have to be able to market yourself. But, yeah, it was kind of like we published your book, and then after that year, it's kind of like, “Now we're done,” and i'm not noticing that with Mason Jar, I think I published that book in 2019, and I'm still working with them with some marketing things. And I’m not noticing that, although it has not yet been a year, with Unnamed. I don't feel like they are hands off, either. Now those contracts with Mason jar and Unnamed. They seemed a lot more what I was used to. They explained the events, and all three contracts, of course, explained rights. They explained the publishing schedule, and what they are expected to do after the book is published, and what happens after so much time and so on. With Mason Jar, I negotiated the contract with them. It was pretty congenial, and I actually, they’re a young press, so I had some suggestions for them.
SL: What suggestions?
DB: Ah, it was something about rights, I think. It was one of the suggestions that I had for them, because it seems like they were they were offering too much to the author. Of course, you want to champion your authors right, but you…I don't know…it was something along the lines of, “What happens after this point it reverts back to you,” and I said, “Well, this seems like it will hurt you to have it that way.”
But it was really congenial, and the money and everything was fine. I had no problem. That's not what I negotiated for.
And the contract with Unnamed was much different, because, well, one, I had an agent that does fiction, and she is the person who did most of looking over it and negotiating like, for instance, foreign rights. She didn't want them to have foreign rights. She wanted them.
SL: Because then the agent could sell the book again Right?
DB: Right. Yes, so in that way it was different, but I still had a say in certain things, and that, again, was very congenial and very easy. The first book, I was just like, I want a book, because you know, it's a chapbook. So I didn't really think that much of it, but the thing with that sales model, though; of not getting an advance, at all, makes you not want to sell the book. I shouldn't say not want to, but it doesn't make you as excited to sell the book.
I don't know that sounds really bad.
SL: Yeah. Well, I mean, it is what it is.
When you published with Finishing Line, were you already a tenure-track professor?
DB: Yes, yes, I was. I was on tenure track, and that was one of the concerns that, you know, it's a regional university. So publications are publications. They don't really care if you have a full, like, book, but they wanted publications, and having a book will make it harder for them not to give you tenure.
So I wanted something, and I think that really pushed me towards publishing with Finishing Line, too.
SL: You were anticipating my question there. But I was curious about the urgency of “a wolf at the door” when it comes to that.
DB: I also think, like, “Well, I wonder if I wasn't a professor who wasn't in academia: would I be self-published?” I probably would have published my novel a long time ago, and published my other novels, too. Because, really, the reason why we publish—well, one of the reasons why I publish with a press—is because it's a line on your CV.
SL: Yeah. I mean, there's the sort of hegemony of legitimacy. That's very real to me, you know. I was gonna say I had a mentor and friend when my book was accepted by Washington Writer's Publishing House—she was writing a blurb for the book—and she said, “Steven, you know this book is really good, you know you could have held out for a bigger press,” and I said to her, “Those bigger presses that you're imagining. I sent it to them. They didn't want it.”
So, I guess, what I'm really want to ask is, how do we reckon with that way in which some people think that independent presses are a second choice? Are a kind of, like a utilitarian choice in the same way you described, for maybe getting a line on the CV. What are the ways you would describe or push back on that idea? If someone said, “Well, an independent, a small, independent press, it's kind of second tier.”
DB: I don't see that as second tier. I think that there are tiers within the independent community. I really do, like I don't see, for instance, Finishing Line on the same tier as I do Graywolf. But some of those big indies that are not big, but you know, like, the big name indies, I guess, like Coffeehouse or Graywolf, I think they are as far as caliber and respectability in the writing community are on par with the Big five, if not more celebrated. I think people outside of the industry maybe don't recognize that. And I was in a talk the other day where someone said, “No one cares where your book is published. Your readers don't care,” and they really don't. How many readers know that there is a big five, if you're not in the industry itself as a writer or a publisher? But I guess I don't see it as second tier. I know people at R1s [doctoral universities] worry about that a little bit more than I do at a regional State university.
But even at R1s, I think, like we're saying with those names like Graywolf, probably would get more weight than someplace like Finishing Line, or even, I hate to say, Mason Jar. But, having said that about Mason Jar, I think that Mason Jar, because of the writers they have published—like Tyrese Coleman—you know, I think, that they are establishing themselves as an eventual, powerhouse in the community. I'm not to kiss butt, but I really do. I think you know.
SL: The proof is in the stickers on the books, generally. I would also agree that folks don’t care where your book was published, but that can also obscure a little bit the fact that the next publisher does care where your book was published. Right? So it’s how you sell the next book, you know.
But would you agree?
DB: I completely agree.
SL: This will have to be the last question, but often I've heard from various folks who have already long-established careers, a question put to authors who don't yet have a book, “Why do you want a first book?” And it's often kind of positioned in a philosophical way, like, “What are you trying to do. What are you trying to say in the field of American arts and letters? What's your contribution to literature?” I think something the question obscures, maybe intentionally or unintentionally, the basic premise of what a first book, no matter what it is, or where it is, does for you.
So for me, right, like for two years, you know, pandemic years, or whatever. I probably have had more things published, individual poems published, than I had in the five years prior. And not one of them was through the slush pile. The were all solicited. Yeah, every single one of them was solicited. The only difference was that, at one point, I didn't have a book.
I wonder if you could talk a little bit about whether there was a demonstrable, measurable, legible change from when you didn't have a book to when you had your first book, even though it was with Finishing Line?
DB: Yes. So one of the reasons why I really, really wanted a book beyond the CV, is when I go to readings, people often ask for a book. I did not have one to sell, so I just thought, you know, “Why not? Why not try to have a book also?”
I actually ask myself the question a lot. Why do I want to write? Why do I want to publish? And is it as simple as, I think I made something beautiful, and I want other people to see it; I want to share it? Or is it something deeper than that, like a lot of my book Peculiar Heritage, it was a reaction to the political climate at the time, and I didn't know how to talk about that climate, except, well, first through essay and then through poetry. But I think, having the book…Yes, I am invited to more readings. Even with that first one, I am solicited more.