I work with many authors, helping them fine-tune their novels ready for submission to agents and publishers. In the main, most of them have a fairly good idea of the odds against success. For every headline-making debut author there must be thousands of hopefuls who never make it. Then there are those who earn a relatively low return on the years of hard work before catching the eye of a publisher.
Just recently, though, I was contacted by a writer who reminded me so much of my own naivety in the early days of my writing career that my heart went out to him. Way back when, I believed that all I needed was an agent (and, of course, there would be several fighting to represent me) who would submit my work to the top publishers. A three-book deal and six-figure advance would follow and that would be that. It didn’t take long for reality to set in. After more rejections than I care to remember, I did manage to secure a top agent, but she couldn’t sell my work and we eventually parted with mutual relief a couple of years later. Since then I have found another agent and my books sell, but I’m still waiting for an advance that would make my bank manager delirious with joy (or even crack a smile).