lnhammer and bondgwendabond say useful things about the problems with assuming YA and adult SF/fantasy publishing is a zero sum game in the first place. Because with the exception of a few lines like Starscape and Mirrorstone, YA SF/fantasy isn't sold by imprints of adult lines, but mostly by completely separate imprints of completely separate publishers that think of themselves as YA imprints first, with SF/fantasy, mysteries, adventure stories, gossipy contemporary novels, problem novels, and all the rest sold side by side.

From a YA imprint's point of view, that YA fantasy trilogy is competing not with the adult fantasy trilogy on the other side of the bookstore, but the bestselling Gossip Girls book and the award-winning animal story on the same shelf, as well as with other YA fantasy trilogies. A YA reader is debating between Stephanie Meyer and Judy Blume, not Scott Westerfeld and George R.R. Martin.

One could argue that in spite of this in the big-picture view adult sales are still dwindling because folks are shopping in the YA section, but I'm not sure I'm convinced it's quite so cause and effect. I think--especially since there are differences in the types of stories being told even when you factor out the coming-of-age thing--that it may be more like adult SF/fantasy is for complicated reasons failing to connect with older readers as well as it used to, at the same time YA SF/fantasy is succeeding in connecting with younger ones (and some adults) in greater numbers than before--that these two things are happening for two mostly different reasons.

As lnhammer and bondgwendabond say, the two "genres" really do act mostly independently of each other, and there are only a few people who even could decide to focus on YA instead of adult SF/fantasy because it sells better.

There's been a bit of talk online lately about the fact that YA SF/fantasy is selling better than the adult stuff.

There's an undercurrent here--not by all commenters (and the comments are interesting to read), but by some--that there's something disconcerting about this, that having the good stuff or the best-selling stuff winding up in the YA section somehow diminishes the adult section, because it means fewer of the best books wind up there.

And I've been trying to articulate just what bothers me about this, and I think it comes down to: You're begrudging teens the good stuff. More, you're begrudging teens the good stuff because you want it for yourself.

Cynical-me thinks what's going on here, at least a little, is that adults (especially those who don't particularly enjoy YA as a genre) just can't deal with things actually being in some small way better for teens than for adults.

Teens have to put up with enough nonsense. Why shouldn't the best books being written--or yes, even the books selling the best--be written for them? I have no problem with this, and I wouldn't even if I weren't a YA reader myself--even if these were books I couldn't, personally, enjoy.

Adults control enough of the cool stuff. I see no reason to begrudge teens SF/fantasy market share.

(Found this in my things-to-post-one-day file. I don't remember when exactly I wrote it anymore, but I still think it holds true, so I'm posting it. :-))

Every so often, I hear this notion--among published and unpublished writers alike--that a project someone's working on won't sell, to publishers or readers, because it's too different from whatever else is out there.

Ignoring the fact that often the books that seem daring or risky to their writers often don't really seem that way to readers ... I've been thinking about this, and, you know--it's not like the books that look just like everything out there automatically sell, either.

The reader in me wishes writers could get rid of this fear that if you dare to follow your voice and let your book be what it wants to be, you're somehow damaging your career. Because those are the books I want to read, and I don't think I'm alone in that.

At one point in my career, I remember trying to figure out what sort of books would sell, and writing lots of proposals in hopes of producing one of those books. It didn't work--writing the predictable book that everyone wants is not as easy as folks seem to think it is--but along the way I realized something: one of the most commercial things I could possibly do is write the books I want to be writing.

Because if I write just like everyone else, well, my book might sell today (or it might not), but tomorrow ... well, tomorrow I can be swapped out for any other writer writing the same stuff. And if the market becomes oversaturated with books like the book I'm writing, there's no reason to keep me around at all. Being predictable is as shaky a way to build a career as any other.

But if I write like myself ... well, it may be that not every book sells. But if someone actually does want the sort of books I write? They're not going to be able to get them from anyone but me.

And, well, I think there's commercial (not to mention literary) value in that, too.

So, when I saw writers posting their plot synopses as part of the jpsorrow's Plot Synopsis Project, my first reaction was to laugh hollowly, because I'm only half-joking when I say the best thing about having sold Bones of Faerie is that I'll never, ever have to write a synopsis of that book.

Anyway, even though I haven't actually formally signed up as part of said project, I'm going to babble about synopses--or my lack thereof--anyway. :-)

( Confession: I try to get out of them when I can )

( Secret of the Three Treasures synopsis, though it wasn't called Secret of the Three Treasures yet back then )

( Official participants in the Plot Synopsis Project )

So in some ways, copyedits are all about the question, "Will the reader care?"

(Well, they're also about the question "How did I manage fool not only myself but also a major publisher into believing I can write?" But I'm doing my best to ignore that one.)

I chose the words I chose for a reason. But the copyeditor is making all her changes--the ones that go beyond catching typos and such--for a reason, too. Hers has to do with grammar and usage and house style.

Mine has to do with all sorts of things. But for each phrase I see changed in copyedits that I instinctively want to change back, I have to ask myself: is it going to sound any different to the reader?

If it isn't--if I decide the subtle distinctions I was writing to actually won't come through to anyone but me anyway--then I go with the change. Or if I think one version is as good as another, ditto.

It's like some writers talking about the distinction between "gray" and "grey," and how they're really two different colors. I think they are, too--but I've come to realize that to most readers, they really are the same. And more, the two distinct colors I hear behind the words? Other writers who make a distinction hear different colors there.

So I'll be consistent, and go with one or the other--because the distinction I was making only really had meaning to me, and there's no way to convey it to anyone else anyway.

I don't hesitate to stet things, both for rhythm and flow and for clarity, if I feel I need to. And I read everything with a critical eye. But I do try to change back as little as I can.

Copyedits are all about the fact that the book isn't just about the writer.

Copyedits proceed. The copyeditor has some good notes there, and some excellent catches. And I see that she's onto me and my habit of repeating myself, too. (On the other hand, she likes semicolons too, and has added a few of her own, yay!)

Going through copyedits is rather like putting your book under a magnifying glass, though. Somehow I forget this each time, until they arrive. But suddenly all the small flaws jump out at you, and seem large, and it becomes hard to see the book clearly as a whole.

I'll take it on faith that the whole still holds together, though--just as I have every other time--and resist the urge to seize hold of the manuscript and rewrite it from the ground up.

Because at this stage of the process, that would be bad. :-) Also because I'd like to maintain the illusion that I'm of the sane species of writer.

So there's an anthology out now--it's a well-designed anthology, with a top-notch group of contributors ... and when I see the anthology on shelves (virtual or otherwise), I feel a little strange.

Because I had a story accepted for the anthology. And I withdrew it.

( Thoughts on the business of walking away )

Over on fangs_fur_fey, folks have been sharing their "how I became a writer" stories. I found this kind of challenging, because there's really been no one moment when I "became" a writer (though perhaps the day I got my first rejection slip--months after I sold my first story--shrugged, and got back to writing comes closest), but ...

( ... this is what I posted there )

cynleitichsmith gives a roundup of the children's track of this weekend's Wrangling with Writing conference. Said account includes a really nice list of middle grade writing resources from her talk on Imagining the Middle Grades.

Another day, another self-publishing company to propagate the same old myths about traditional publishing.

Specifically, this particular press tells us the following:

Without an established reputation, it is almost impossible to find a publishing house willing to invest in your talent by financing your first book.

( And other untruths )