What's an ARC?

I will readily admit to the fact that up until about three months ago I had NO idea what an ARC was. But the answer to my question above is actually pretty simple.

ARC stands for Advance Reading Copy (though I've also seen a few variations, like Advanced Readers Copy) and basically looks like a paperback version of the hardcover first edition. A limited number are printed up, usually about six months or so before the book's release, and are then sent to reviewers, book bloggers, librarians and the such.

Here's an example of an ARC for The Sweetest Thing by Christina Mandelski.

Front Cover

Note the 'Uncorrected Bound Proofs' warning. ARCs often have some typos and formatting issues in them as they're not the final version of the book. Also, the reason it's 'Not For Sale' is that they wouldn't count in the author's sales numbers nor give them any royalties.

Spine

This gives the date of release. (Incidentally, next week!)

Back Cover

The back, I think, is the most interesting. Besides the usual flap copy and author bio, it also gives you some technical info about the book (number of pages, price, ISBN etc.).

And there's a bit of information about the marketing plan behind the book, in this case: local author publicity, author blog tour, etc.

That's pretty much it! You may see ARC giveaways posted (sometimes by the author/publisher and sometimes by reviewers, etc.), so now you know what you'd be getting.

Also, thanks to Christina Mandelski for letting me make an example of her ARC. Her book comes out next week and if you're a fan of Ace of Cakes, romance, and heartfelt family stories, may I suggest you pick it up! (She's actually also running a giveaway here.)

Seasons of...Boooooooooks

It's really hard to get all those 'Seasons of Love' trills and arpeggios across in writing.

Anyway...

If you look around at some debut author's sites, Twitter feeds, etc., you might notice that instead of a release date for their books, they will have listed a season. Mine for example says Winter 2012.

For the most part, actual release dates don't come into play until pretty late in the process. But, usually, an author will know what season they're being published in.

To add just a bit more confusion, publishing seasons don't exactly follow calendar seasons AND the dates do vary from publishing house to publishing house. Here's a list of some the seasons at a few publishing houses as I understand them to be. (Most information sourced from EarlyWord.com)

Bloomsbury (mine)
Winter: January - April
Spring: May - August
Fall: September - December

Harper Collins
Winter: January - April
Summer: May - August
Fall: September - December

Random House
Spring: December - March
Fall: September - November
Summer: April - August

Simon & Schuster
Spring: February - May
Summer: June - September
Fall: October - January

Candlewick
Spring: February - July
Fall: August - January

Hachette 
Spring/Summer: April - August
Fall/Winter: September - March

Houghton Mifflin
Spring: April - August
Fall: September - March

Hyperion
Winter: January - April
Summer: May - August
Fall: September - December

Macmillan
Winter: January - April
Spring: May - August
Fall: September - December

Penguin
Winter: January - April
Summer: May - August
Fall: September - December

Sourcebooks
Spring: March - July
Fall: August - February


Are you an author/editor with a different publishing season than the ones listed above? Chime in!

PB, MG, YA...What Does It All Mean?

When I tell friends that I've written a children's book, but that it's novel-length, they sometimes look confused. But once I mention Roald Dahl, they instantly get it.

Of course, almost everyone knows what a picture book is and I think, at this point, YA (Young Adult) has made enough of a splash that most people know what it is, too. But there are books that fall in between that are called terms most people don't hear every day. For example, I am a Middle Grade (often abbreviated as MG) writer.

Here is a handy cheat sheet breakdown of the five levels of children's books:

Board Books
Age Range: 0-2
The Skinny: These books are made to chew on as well as to read. They often involve bright primary colors, very few words, and sometimes even textures.
Examples: Pat the Bunny by Dorothy Kunhardt; Where is Baby's Belly Button by Karen Katz

Picture Books (PB)
Age Range: 0-5
The Skinny: Pretty self-explanatory. These books are usually under 1000 words, filled with full-color illustrations, and are read to kids because they are too young to read on their own. The illustrations are often equally as important as the text.
Examples: The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss; The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle; Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems

Chapter Books
Age Range: 5-8
The Skinny: These are often the first books that kids are reading by themselves and focus on teaching kids how to read as well as telling a story. They involve short chapters and, often, larger type. They also usually have quite a bit of interior illustrations though not as many as picture books.
Examples: Frog and Toad Are Friends by Arnold Lobel; Amelia Bedelia by Peggy Parish; Junie B. Jones by Barbara Park

Middle Grade (MG)
Age Range: 8-12
The Skinny: These books are usually children's first introduction to full-length novels. They often involve faster-paced plots and more in-depth characters than either picture books or chapter books and focus primarily on story development.
Examples: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl; Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling; The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

Young Adult (YA)
Age Range: 12 and up
The Skinny: These books almost always involve teenagers as protagonists and can deal with a lot heavier and more adult issues than the other levels of children's books.
Examples: Twilight by Stephenie Meyer; The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie; Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Now you can use in-the-know acronyms like PB, MG and YA, too. So go forth and talk children's books!

My Manuscript Just Called Me a Dingbat, a.k.a. Adventures in Copyediting

On Tuesday, I arrived to a rather thick envelope at my door. It was the copyedited version of my manuscript.

Here are a few things I didn't know. These are literally the pages of the manuscript that both my editor and the copy editor have gone over, probably at least a couple of times each. So it looks a little, shall we say, loved - in the Velveteen Rabbit sense of the word.

Secondly, each of them have used a different colored pencil to make their edits. Now my job is to go through with yet another colored pencil and make sure I accept all their changes. If I disagree with something, I have to underline it with a dotted line and write the word STET directly in the margin.

Copyediting language requires a Merriam-Webster dictionary. Literally. My editor actually sent me a Merriam-Webster link to help decipher all the squiggles and scary acronyms.

And then, about 10 pages into my manuscript, I came across this:

Yup, that says Dingbat. It's kind of halfheartedly crossed out, but not crossed out enough to be in the slightest bit illegible. Kind of like when you mutter something degrading that you, in your heart of hearts, intend for your mom to hear.

Now, my editor ensures me this is some sort of design term that has something to do with chapter breaks. I gotta be honest with you. I'm not quite sure I believe her. What if this is how the copy editor truly feels about my writing? What if this is the most horrendous grammar/sentence structure she's ever seen and at one point she just had to throw her arms up in the air and write out her real feelings on my manuscript? And then, for the sake of professionalism, sorta cross it out afterward. (Stacy, if you're reading this...I'm kidding, of course. I totally believe you. Even though my manservant, Google, can't seem to find any mention of this editing term per se.)

Anyway, copyediting is weird. You know what else is weird? Writing with pencil on paper. It's so...permanent. If I wanted to cut and paste anything, I would literally have to cut and then paste it, like with glue and scissors.

Though, frankly, it's a good way to keep me from rearranging whole chapters. I'm wondering if my editor figured out that I was never very good with scissors.

Huge Caveat: Most of this blog post is meant to be humorous and in no way, shape or form should be taken as disparaging to my editor, who is in fact amazing, or the excellent copy editor, who in fact caught every discrepancy and bit of poor grammar I was silly enough to have in my manuscript.

I WIP My Book Back and Forth

Like any other business, publishing comes with its own set of terms. Some of which I know - like querying, that painful process where you have to describe yourself and your project in two perfect, glittering paragraphs to a prospective agent or editor. But there are many terms I'm still learning about. Like a few days ago, I came across WIP.

WIP stands for work-in-progress, and its something (as I mentioned before) I have a lot of. In fact, it's hard for me to consider anything I write NOT a WIP.

I found out about WIPs through another debut writer's blog my editor sent me when I told her I was starting this one. Once I saw the word WIP and starting clicking around, I noticed that a lot of writers use it.

The only problem is, the Internet has yet been unable to tell me how to pronounce it. It's an acronym, so do you pronounce each letter: W-I-P? Or do you pronounce it as one word: wip.

I gotta be honest with you. I don't know if I can go around talking about my wips without conjuring up an image of me running away from a giant boulder and bickering with Sean Connery. Though I suppose there could be worse things. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm now going to be calling it wip no matter how you really pronounce it. Wait for me, Indy!

(Out of curiosity's sake though, does anyone know how to actually pronounce this elusive word? Help me out in the comments section if you do!)