Category Archives: dialogue

1

Behind the numbers

Looking at a royalty statement for the first time can be a little confusing. While the math is never hard, certain terms like “reserve against returns” and “subsidiary rights” can cause headaches where there needn’t be. The layout of a royalty statement is important too—an unorganized format can make reading a royalty statement ten times harder. Since there is no standard format though, I’ll just touch upon some basics.

Reserve against returns. Yes, most publishers don’t pay authors all the royalties they earn in the one period covered by a statement. The reserve against returns shows the amount withheld by the publisher for a limited period of time against the expectation of returns. This reserve is then released on later statements (assuming the book continues to sell).

Subsidiary rights. This is the section of the royalty statement that lists the revenue accumulated from rights that the publisher has sold to third parties. For example, this could include any earnings accrued by foreign editions of a book.

Unearned balance. An advance is simply that ladies and gentlemen. An advance. In order for a book to start earning royalties, it must first earn out the advance payment. Only then will an author see a positive balance. Negative balances are usually portrayed in parentheses.

Royalties earned. This amount depends on both the net units sold, as well as the terms stipulated in the author’s contract. Royalty rates range, but earnings are generally calculated based on the net or retail price of the book.

So those are some basics. Have more questions about royalty statements? Bring ’em!

If You Had to Choose

Very recently, I had to play that desert island game—you know the one where you’re stranded on a desert island and have to choose what to bring? It’s all pretend, of course. Just a quick little skip through Imagination Town, a vacation in make believe. Except I was forced to make my desert island choices for real. I’ll explain.

No, I wasn’t stranded on a desert island. Quite the opposite actually: I moved to Manhattan. Granted, moving into a tiny apartment in Manhattan isn’t on the same level, hardship-wise, but coming from a spacious place in the suburbs certainly made things difficult, especially when it came to choosing what books to bring.

Smaller room = less shelf space = the fewer books I can bring. It’s that simple; yet, you find yourself considering some difficult choices. Do you bring that book you’ve read dozens of times with the hundreds of dog-eared pages and even greater number of coffee stains? Or do you bring leave those behind, as painful as that is, to make room for those new books you recently acquired (say at BEA, maybe) and haven’t had the chance to read yet?

In the end, I cheated. One conference call with my soon-to-be roommates, and we worked out a way to put together a respectable library. John brings the Hemingway, while Ryan is in charge of all non-fiction. We managed to make room for everything, from the favorites like Infinite Jest right down to your political thrillers, such as a couple of Vince Flynn’s Mitch Rapp books. Oh yeah, and we have Kindles too…

What would you bring?

14

No one would ever say that.

One would think that since we, as a population living in communities, speak almost every single day, often to several different people on various subjects in a multitude of tones and emotions, the easiest thing to sit down and write would be dialogue. One would think this, but then, one would be wrong. I receive a vast number of queries that are winners as far as synopsis or narrative introductions go, but fall devastatingly flat once any of the characters try to speak to one another. Even inner monologues are troublesome.

Why is that? We can write realistically about dragons and wizards and time travel and dangerous situations that none of us have ever or will ever experience, but when it comes to simple conversation, suddenly the words become wooden or entirely unnatural sounding. It takes a certain skill to be able to write dialogue that sounds right—that sounds as if it is something that each particular character would actually say.

Obviously, there have to be some liberties taken, as a novel that recorded absolutely realistic dialogue would get boring very quickly. I’m the first to say that not every conversation I have is riveting or full of interesting and witty phrases (don’t be too shocked), nor are the thoughts that I have constantly worthy of note. A good writer, however, will meld these two necessities together—one, that the characters sound like real people saying real things and two, that the pacing remains in sync with the rest of the narrative—and their book will be better for it.

Bad dialogue, I find, is often cliché-ridden, devoid of any contractions, too expository or explanatory, boring or any combination of these and more. How do you, as active writers avoid falling into these traps? How do you give your dialogue and monologue valuable and characteristic qualities? For my benefit, and for the benefit of readers everywhere, I implore you.

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Dialogue tips

by Jim

It’s my opinion that one of the elements that trips writers up more than any other is dialogue. Understandably so. Creating independent voices for each of your characters is hard enough. Also making sure that the natural flow of conversation is always present while simultaneously using it to move the plot forward? That’s damn tricky.

I went looking for a handy set of guidelines for dealing with dialogue and found a really impressive one on About.com. Who knew?

As always when it comes to writing, the rules are made to be broken, and blah, blah, blah. But really…follow the rules. They’re pretty dead on.