One of the first things my Carolrhoda Lab editor said–beyond hello, I love this book, I must have it–was that, in his experience, titles always change. I have to admit, I was surprised. Sure, I can see that some titles are better than others; there are any number of articles out there about the best and worst movie/book titles. But whatever title I’ve chosen is one I think that, at the time, best captures what the book’s about– for me, at least.
Take Stalag Winter, for example. I know what stalag I’m talking about; I know what “stalag” means. But, as my editor astutely pointed out, the title makes the book sound as if it’s about a war (which it is, but only peripherally). More importantly, though, he suggested that many people might not know what a “stalag” is.
Well, that blew me away. After all, I know what a stalag is and I was going for this play on the idea that secrets are their own prison; the town has secrets; so, hello, the town’s a prison, blah, blah, blah. Now, as English-major-geek and interesting as that might be, though, would the title really grab anyone?
Now that I’m far away from that particular decision, the answer is . . . probably not.
Stalag eventually became DRAW THE DARK: a perfect title that both grabs your attention and describes what the story’s about. Notice something else, too. We used DRAW, not DRAWING or TO DRAW. We went for an active verb and there’s only one article and no conjunctions. The idea was to go for immediacy and action. To my mind, this is a much better title, one which highlights the importance of paying attention to your editor’s gut. Presumably, your editor was hired because the guy knows a) the market and b) how to read. If your editor’s bought your book, it’s because he loves your work and wants to showcase it in the very best possible light. Without my editor’s input, I would’ve gone for a less effective title that might not have gotten as much traction as DRAW eventually did.
What this also means is that you (I) have to be flexible and open to editorial input, period. That doesn’t mean you always agree and/or what the editor thinks is right. But it is important to take you, yourself and–yes–you out of the equation sometimes and try to see things from another point of view. This is not about you; it’s about making this the best bloody book you can.
I was challenged to do just that this past week. Now that I’m surfacing from sequel-mania, it’s time to gear up for other work, most notably the first round of edits for my Spring 2012 book through Carolrhoda Lab, SWEET.
Only . . . you know . . . my editor just wasn’t thrilled with the title. (Okay, I got a little spoiled because ASHES stayed ASHES; but, in that case, the title is perfect.) Thing is, I really liked SWEET. I thought it was a great title and said exactly what I wanted people to think when they picked up the book.
Unfortunately, I was the only one who liked the title. 🙁 My editor suggested a bunch of alternatives; I hated them all; one that he particularly liked I thought was just too science-geeky. Then I suggested a bunch, but except for one or two, I wasn’t HEPPED about any of them. While he was polite and professional and open-minded, we both knew my choices weren’t right either.
Then a very wise woman–yes, my agent–took an informal poll. Described the book and then listed all the titles we’d been tossing back and forth to a bunch of people who know a thing or two about this kind of stuff. Well, wouldn’t you know it but my editor’s favorite–and her second favorite, by the way–was the title that won, hands down. Like, it wasn’t even a contest.
I was floored. I mean, wow, I was THAT out of it? Possibly. I mean, my knickers were in a twist–and while a pro writer’s allowed to have feelings, it’s not PERSONAL. It’s not ABOUT YOU. So why did I feel that it was?
This is where being a shrink comes in handy. See, there’s a reason the better shrinks get themselves shrunk (and it’s not something that happens as much today as it did in my time, for all kinds of reasons). For me, it was a condition of my analytic training. You want to be an analyst? Then you have to know what’s your stuff versus what’s the patient’s. Now, analysis is an angst-filled experience; I won’t kid you about that. You try staring at acoustical tile four hours a week for several years and see what happens. But the reason you put up with it is that you have to be able to take a step back and see what you might be bringing to the dance. The last thing any patient needs is your mess on top of what he/she’s already dealing with.
So, looking back on it all and without getting all navel-gazey, I was just finishing up my own edits for SHADOWS, the sequel to ASHES; I’d spent two grueling weeks working on pacing, getting all angsty over my characters, crying my eyes out and not sleeping very much. Like, very not much: four hours, max, and most of it broken either with dreams (about the book) or awakenings when I bolted out of bed to go write down just one more thing. So my brain was in SHADOWS overdrive and the rest of my life went to seed. The cats were fed regularly, but they were the only ones who ate well. We lived off soup, sandwiches and stew so old it had freezer burn. If my poor, long-suffering husband was lucky, he got a terse hello when he got home after a hard day of slaving over a hot PCR machine.
In the end, I killed about 150 pages. Now, that’s a lot of words and a sizable chunk of book. More to the point, I was kind of an emotional basket-case. (News flash: This is nothing new. I always kill a lot of pages. I’m always an emotional basket-case when I finish a book. After living with and in these characters’ heads for the duration, letting go and learning to live without them is rough. In this case, I’m just thankful I have one more book to write. I’m not ready to say so long to these guys just yet.)
So, this morning, I was thinking about why it was that I had such a hard time seeing that not only were my editor and agent spot-on, but all these other people, with zip-investment in me or my book, could see what I couldn’t .
When I really think about it, I might not have been in the best frame of mind to see the forest for the bloody trees. I think I was so overwhelmed with having to lose the people over whom I’d expended so much emotion . . . I just didn’t want to let go of one more thing. In this case, I didn’t want to do away with SWEET as a title; I wasn’t irrational about it or mean. I was politely, like, uh, NO. But I was also simmering inside: like, what, WHAT? You talking to me? Are you talking to me? I even moaned about this to my youngest daughter–like, <moan, moan, kvetch, complain> why can’t they see how SWEET is so PERFECT? My daughter was righteously indignant for me, and that made me feel better. My husband was righteously indignant, too, but I suspect he just wanted to be fed. ( All of which points up another truism: never ask your family’s opinion; they love you and people who love you will lie. Or, if they’re not lying, they’re going to be very concerned about being supportive because they know on which side their bread’s buttered. You get what I’m saying.)
So, the long and the short of it: I got my head out of my butt. I let go of me and took a step back and realized–yet again–that not only is my agent a great agent, she is invested enough to take herself out of the equation, too. If she hadn’t been, she’d have tried to steer things the way she wanted. But she’s a pro. My editor’s a pro. Up to me to be a pro, too.
So, SWEET isn’t SWEET anymore–and it’s not a loss in any way, shape or form. The title is now DROWNING INSTINCT. Which, considering what the book’s about, is perfect.
So, what this really points up? Know what’s you and what isn’t. Saves on the angst factor, believe me, and your loved ones will thank you. So will your cats.
And for some fun: check out AMC’s pick for Top Ten Worst Movie Titles.
