All hard work and no biscuits


I’d written a children’s book, attempted and failed to get an agent or traditional publisher, and had finally decided to go for the self-publishing option. What to do next?

I naively thought it might be a case of simply sending the manuscript off to my chosen publisher, Matador, and then sitting back with a cup of coffee and some biscuits, with the dog at my feet. I assumed that after we had relaxed for a while, a parcel would come in the post, full of beautifully produced books.

It seemed we still had much to learn. First of all, the publisher strongly advised that I have the manuscript copy-edited to check for mistakes, grammatical errors, etc. They could do this for me, or they could recommend a list of independent companies to do it; I selected Cornerstones, one of the independent ones, and sent my manuscript off. I soon had an email back to let me know that they’d have it back to me in about a month. In the mean-time, the publisher advised me that I would also need a front-cover illustration. I googled around until I came across an illustrator called Ian R. Ward, whose work I liked, and I got in touch with him. I sent him some excerpts from the book so he could get an idea of the characters, and he was soon working on some initial sketches.

I thought at this point that biscuit-time might have arrived, but the copy-edited manuscript came back sooner than I’d expected. Now I needed to sit down and go through it word by word, looking at each change that the copy-editor had suggested, and deciding whether I wanted to accept each one or not. I did that and sent it off to the publisher. Was it biscuit-time at last? With the dog’s tail wagging, we headed towards the tin.

But before we could get the lid off, an email arrived from the illustrator, to say that the cover illustration was finished. I explain to the dog that we need to hold off on the biscuits until I’d had a look at it. The illustration was great, and completely captured the feel of the book. Fantastic! Off to the publishers with that as well!

Surely now, the dog pleaded, we could put the kettle on and get the biscuits out? But wait – another email arrived from the publisher to say that I needed to look at a style proof, to see what I thought about the font, font size and general page layout they’d suggested for the main text.

Right, done that as well. The dog and I sat down, and even had the biscuits half way to our mouths before another email pinged into my in-box. The dog raised his eye-brows and gave me his best and most exasperated ‘Harrumph’. Whatever now? It was a suggested front-cover design from the publisher’s graphic designer, incorporating my illustrator’s cover illustration. What did I think about the lay-out, font, etc., for that?

The dog put his head down and wandered dejectedly off towards his bed. He could only assume that the biscuits would be stale before we got to them. Who would have thought that self-publishing was such hard work? I kept quiet, not wanting to lower his spirits further by telling him that it wasn’t over yet…

Keeping on trying – alternative routes to publication


I had written a children’s chapter book, edited it and had sent it out to every literary agent I could find. With the dog smiling confidently at me from his position near the fridge, I sat back and waited to see which agents would respond positively – I was in for a lot of disappointment.

Over the course of several weeks, a few agents emailed me back to say that my book wasn’t right for them, and many more didn’t respond at all. At the end of a few weeks, I had to accept that I wasn’t going to be getting an agent any time soon. I tried to see each rejection as just part of the learning process on the path towards publication, but it wasn’t easy. Somehow, even the dog’s wagging tail and trusting eyes were starting to lose their ability to boost my confidence.

Clearly the only people with an easy route to publication were either writers who had already successfully published at least one book, or celebrities, who presumably came with an existing fan-base to guarantee sales. I was neither a celebrity, nor in a position to guarantee that my children’s book would break all known book-sales records. Seemingly agents and publishers were not keen these days to take risks. What did other people do in these circumstances? I could just stick my book on a shelf and forget about it, but I’d developed a strong sense of loyalty to my book’s characters, and I felt I’d be letting them down if I didn’t look for other publishing options.

What about self-publishing? Again, I turned to the internet and the Children’s Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook. It seemed that there were lots of self-publishing companies out there. I looked up reviews of a few of them, and found that some would offer to, supposedly, publish un-agented writers in a traditional way, but then later ask for money to complete the publication process. These were the so-called ‘vanity’ publishers, who it seemed could easily take advantage of inexperienced writers, and fleece them for money while producing a poor quality book. I definitely didn’t want that to happen to me. The dog looked questioningly at me. I told him firmly that I would keep well away from those types of publishers, and he licked my hand in agreement.

Then there was the option of putting my book on Kindle, via Kindle Direct Publishing. I looked into this and then realised that for a children’s book this might not be ideal – as far as I could see, most children still bought traditional printed books. Also, this involved some degree of technical know-how, and although my IT knowledge had come on in leaps and bounds, I was reluctant to risk producing something low-quality through lack of expertise.

Again, the Children’s Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook came to the rescue. They recommended Matador, a self-publishing imprint of Troubador, based in Leicestershire. I had a look at a few more reviews and discovered that other people had found this self-publisher helpful and, importantly, not pushy. It also looked as though they produced high-quality, self-published books. I asked the dog whether he thought I should give them a try. He stared into space as he considered the question before nodding solemnly at me, and then lifting one paw in the gesture he uses to say ‘please’. I saw this as a good sign, and put together an email to send to Matador, including my manuscript. This time I received a positive response, with a list of options to consider – did I want to produce a large print-run of books and have professional marketing and distribution, or did I want to keep it all much more low-key, go for ‘print-on-demand’, and do my own marketing and distribution? What a lot to think about!

There were so many decisions I needed to make, but one thing was clear – I had finally started on my journey to becoming a published author – the dog and I couldn’t have been more delighted!

The learning curve – the long, steep road to getting published




I’d started on my journey as a writer! I’d put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), and written the first draft of a children’s chapter book. When the first draft was finished, I sat at the dining-room table, with the dog curled up loyally at my feet, and edited it to within an inch of its life – and then I wondered what to do next.

At the start of the process I had assumed that finishing one book would be all I would do, but while working on the book I had got to know and like the characters and I wanted to see what else might happen to them. I had some ideas in my head for more stories, and so I carried on writing whenever the kids were at school. Over the course of a few months I wrote a further three books, all featuring the same characters. Each time a book seemed finished, I’d read it aloud to make sure it ‘flowed’ properly, which the dog evidently enjoyed, judging by the way he gazed at me adoringly while I read. Now I had four books – but how should I get the first one out there, and under the noses of the general public?

I had a little browse on the internet for advice as to how to get published, and bought a copy of the Children’s Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook. This was really helpful, with sections on everything I needed to know. The first advice I picked up from it, was that that I needed to develop a thick skin and get used to rejection. The second, was that in order to get my books traditionally published I needed to first have an agent.

That didn’t sound too difficult – I would choose one from the long list of agents that was very helpfully included in the Yearbook. I made my choice and read the submission guidelines carefully. Within a few days, I had emailed this lucky agent the first three chapters of my first book, along with a carefully crafted cover-letter. It said on their website that, if interested, they would respond within six weeks, so I waited impatiently, checking my emails regularly. I couldn’t wait for them to get back to me – I was pretty sure that they would be delighted to have the chance to represent me and my book, so I was surprised and very disappointed when I suddenly realised that six weeks had gone, and I had had no response.

Oh well, not to worry – I needed to develop a thick skin, after all. The dog reassured me that it was their loss, not mine, and I recovered from my disappointment and had another look at the list of agents. Within a few days I had sent an email with the required first three chapters and cover letter, this time to my second choice agent. This one said that they would respond within two weeks, so I didn’t have too long to wait, but I decided to hedge my bets, and sent a submission out to another agent, my third choice, at the same time.

This time I had a response from both agents, but unfortunately not the one I was hoping for. It seemed that in both cases my book wasn’t ‘right for their list’, but they were very kind and said that they hoped that I would persevere and find a home for my book elsewhere.

This was terrible – how thick did my skin need to get, for goodness sake! Maybe my book wasn’t any good, after all. After wallowing in self-pity for a while, I went back to the Children’s Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook and looked at the list again. There were just so many agents on it. I identified all those that I would be prepared to allow to represent me, even including some that weren’t based in fancy offices in London or the south of the country, and over the course of a few weeks I blasted them all with submissions – then I sat back and waited, my confidence boosted by the rapt expression on the dog’s face as he stared earnestly at me. This was enough to assure me that I would get my first book published in the end, even if it wasn’t going to be in the traditional way I expected…

Disappointing the dog.


A year ago, I decided to have a go at writing a children’s book. This was something that I had always wanted to do ever since I was small but I had never had time to try, with work, children, and everything else keeping me too busy. It seemed that I would never get a chance to have any free time, but when my husband and I moved to a different part of the country a year and a bit ago, I had to give up my job. We decided that I’d have a bit of time off before looking for another job – I’d spend some time concentrating on settling the children into their new school, and sort out any building work needed on the new house. I thought it was a nice idea, and the dog was excited too – there would be plenty of time for extra walks, and we could widen our search for the perfect dog biscuit. But, taking a gap between jobs seemed like the ideal chance to give writing a go – after all, I had time on my hands while the children were at school, so if I didn’t make an effort at this point, when would I?

I’d had an idea for a children’s chapter book floating around in my head for a few years, but I hadn’t pinned down the details. I knew that it would involve a child meeting a mysterious, retired person, who would turn out to have some secret that involved magic.  As a friendship developed between them, the child would be let into the secret, and the two of them would have some magical adventures.

It all sounded fabulous and I was excited to get started. I chose a day in my diary and in large letters wrote ‘writing day’ across it. Nothing else would happen while the kids were at school that day, apart from writing! I took a trip to a local stationary shop, and bought notebooks, pencils, memory sticks, and anything else I could think of that a ‘writer’ would need to keep handy. I finished the trip by buying a nice smart folder to keep it all in – I was all set to start. I just needed to take the next step – actually try to write. I was going to have to sit down with a pencil in my hand and face the possibility that I might not be able to string a story, or even a sentence, together.

I felt strangely nervous when I went to bed the night before my first ‘writing day’. What if I couldn’t think what to write? What if I couldn’t develop the characters into likeable people? What if I couldn’t finish the first paragraph? I didn’t sleep very well that night, but when I opened my eyes the next morning, amazingly, the first sentence was already waiting in my head.

I leapt out of bed, wrote it down, rushed the kids to school and then settled down at the dining-room table with a note book and pencil in my hand, and the laptop in front of me. The dog sat expectantly next to me, licking his lips – surely I was about to make myself a coffee and get him some dog biscuits out of the cupboard, as I always did straight after the morning school run? He was disappointed. I worked hard all that day, and the next day. By the end of the week, I had a chapter plan drawn up and I knew the names of the main characters. Three weeks later, I’d finished the first draft.

I printed it off and let my children read it. On the whole they were encouraging – they liked the story and the characters, and they wanted to know what happened next. But they also pointed out a few mistakes and suggested some changes, my daughter wielding her red pen particularly enthusiastically. I was surprised and slightly offended at this – surely what I had written was great, wasn’t it? Did I need to re-write or edit it? That sounded like hard work.

I started the process of re-writing and editing, and the dog got used to me sitting down at the table every morning. He still raised a quizzical eyebrow if I went into the kitchen, but otherwise settled down for some long, boring stretches of time at home. Little did he know that there would be plenty more of that ahead…