Return Home to Write the Book AKA So What Took You So Long?

After my research trip to Italy, I returned to Toronto with a basic plan. I had to transcribe all my handwritten notes into my computer. And organize them properly. And research some more. And then actually start writing the thing. I had no idea on how long it would take? One year? I was back to freelancing around town at various TV stations, so I had the time.

However, it took two years to write the monstrous first draft. Because I got a fulltime job. I didn’t prepare for it. I didn’t count on it. I responded to an ad posted inside one of the TV studios: “writer needed for an entertainment show.” And I got it.

(I could write an exhaustive blog about my adventures inside that entertainment show. But I still work there. Propriety dictates that I keep my mouth shut for now. But don’t worry; I mention much of its mess and chaos inside my second book. Details to come through this website!)

After writing all day at my entertainment job, I wasn’t exactly motivated to write much more at night. So I vowed to dedicate every weekend to the book. But my social life got in the way. And errands had to be done. And I still took every opportunity to travel and explore.

So when I trimmed down the original 400+ manuscript to a reasonable length of 320 pages (albeit without proper margins, so who knows how long it really was), I approached agents. I knew the manuscript still needed some work, but now I needed the voice and the pen of an experienced editor to guide me.

Some agents ignored me; some were quick to point out that they were quite busy with their current clientele. Some agents requested the first chapter and a synopsis. And I waited for months. Then the agents from Toronto, New York, and London trickled in with their responses. And they all said the same thing, “We don’t know how to sell it.” Not, “it was good or bad or needed work.” They just didn’t know how to sell it. Because it wasn’t a travel book. Nor a novel. It was a combination of both. And, I guess, people just don’t do that. And they weren’t willing to add me to their stable of rule-abiding authors and take a chance on me. But good luck, just the same.

Fair enough. No agent means I was shut out from the big publishers. The Random Houses. The Penguins. They require an agent. And not just any agent. An agent they’ve done business with in the past. But small publishers don’t necessarily require the correspondence of an agent. They prefer it—but it’s not a business killer. So I approached small publishers.

Some publishers ignored me; some were quick to point out that they were quite busy with their current clientele. And I waited for months. Then the publishers from Canada, the USA, and the UK trickled in with their responses. And they all said the same thing, “We don’t know how to sell it.” If John Grisham phones them and tells them he has another book about a young lawyer, they can sell that. They know how to sell a John Grisham. But not a John Meyer. If a reality show star from “Jersey Shore” texts them and tell them she has a book about… anything, they can sell that. They can sell a Snooki. But I’m no Snooki. But good luck, just the same.

I approached, pitched, and then waited eighteen months for agents and publishers to ignore me, consider me, and reject me. I still didn’t know if I had written a good book or not. All I knew was that I had created a book that the traditional book industry didn’t know how to sell.

So during the winter of 2010, I made a decision—without an agent, without a traditional publisher, and without Snooki… to self-publish. And I haven’t looked back.
 
For the rest of the story, check out:

https://www.johnmeyerbooks.com/robbed-in-rome/

https://www.johnmeyerbooks.com/fictional-travel-memoir/