(First entry in an occasional series in which we bandy about useful terms for the industry. Want to contribute your own? Please email your entries to podcast@upstartcrowliterary.com. This first is inspired by Michael Pollan's useful thoughts about food.]

Book-like product. These are high-profile (and high-priced) projects: Books that are purchased by publishers and published but that are not sold to the traditional book audience, or are sold on some appeal that is extra-literary.They may be books "written" by celebrities (such as the recent deal for Hilary Duff, or Lauren Conrad's two novels, or Jerry Seinfeld's Halloween "picture book" from a few years back). Or books that no one outside of the celebrity's following (mostly non book buyers) would purchase. (Think of Madonna's The English Roses. Or Glenn Beck's picture book.)Such projects are written and bound and jacketed and look like the rest of the books a publisher may have in its catalogue, sure. They may even read wonderfully well. But make no mistake: They are Something Else. Book-like products don't behave in the marketplace like regular old books, and so should never be used as a point of comparison in discussions of the marketplace. Publishers spend more money on these projects, and the projects have a much higher profile in the world. But neither the advance nor the buzz about the book have any bearing on regular old books and publishing. And these kinds of projects have been around for as long as publishing has been a business.Instead, book-like products should be seen as a lucrative side-line that publishers engage in to help them earn in the marketplace. For all it matters, Usually, the book-like products come out of different branches of the publisher that don't really mix with the more literary minded part of the company, and for all their bookishness, may as well be jigsaw puzzles. Or Beanie Babies. Or Colorforms.All of which is to say, we shouldn't get up in arms because Hilary Duff (or Lauren Conrad or Madonna or Britney Spears or whichever glamorpuss of the moment) got a big deal for a book-like product. That is just one more of the crappy products that orbit her celebrity, and its success or failure affects the real book marketplace not at all.But am I going far enough in defining this category? Or too far? What about books that become phenomenons and leave the rest of publishing behind? Surely they no longer count as representative of anything useful, right?

Yes, yes, BIG DEAL, you say. (Really, you should be nicer.)But we are simple folk and made proud by all sorts of little things, and we're proud that we've (mostly) kept up with this here group endeavor.And so my long explanation of what subsidiary rights are and why authors should hold on to them will have to wait. (Sorry, Steve.) Instead, a wee celebratory tune from Frank Turner, the greatest musician you do not know. This song, "Photosynthesis," is from his achingly awesome record Love, Ire & Song. I love this guy so much. Just saw him perform last week in a record store here in New York. He was tremendous.As is this song. Here he and these kids are speaking for all of us in children's books. But especially for us here at Upstart Crow.As I always say on the mixes I make for friends: Don't be afraid to play it LOUD.Have a happy Friday and a good weekend.

Back at the start of this year, Jonathan Galassi wrote an awesome editorial for the New York Times about the value that a publishing house actually provides for a book and an author—those ineffable quality enhancers that make a book cost more than its printing, paper, and binding. Editing. Marketing. Publicity. Design. Attention to detail. Vision.Galassi's piece is the perfect counter to those who suggest publishers are going the way of the T-rex, that authors need only throw their manuscripts onto the Kindle. Seventy percent royalty rates! these people crow. Take that, Legacy Publishers! My audience will not be bound by the old paradigms! And then they—I don't know, twirl the ends of their moustaches while they count their doubloons.

But is Amazon's self-publication plan truly the first death knell for traditional publishers? One writer friend who has worn an THE END IS COMING sandwich board for the past thirty years sees it as— Well, here's what he wrote:

The big six are irrelevant long-term, even medium-term. Why would I sell my book to them so they could place it in some projected Apple e-book store? Amazon is offering a 70% royalty. Can the Big 6 plus Apple offer that? No. Because the downward price pressure will squeeze out any superfluous element in the supply chain. And that's the publishers.

But I've borne witness to the fruits of self-publication, and I can testify to you all that it is no threat to books from publishers. It's the opposite in fact, and some kind of spectacular ugly. An anecdote [that Will Entrekin astutely points out below isn't entirely salient]:Long ago, when I was desperately poor and pretty much willing to whore my talents out to anyone, I worked for the idiotically named iUniverse, a print-on-demand vanity press. Among its investors were the Author's Guild and B&N, so it had the appearance of legitimacy; some titles even got distribution to B&N stores. But it was a vanity press, and even the appearance of legitimacy could not disguise the fact that 99.9% of its list was nearly unreadable dreck.But the people who ran the outfit wanted to create a filter, something to offer the illusion to potential authors (and readers!) that there were some quality controls in place. This is, I'd argue, the issue and where traditional publishers come in: Quality control, and giving an imprimatur of some base quality to a book.That's where I came in.To help potential readers sort through the hundreds of yahoos who published their books through iUniverse, there was something called Editor's Choice. Or Editor's Seal. Or Editor's Paycheck. I don't recall what the program was called, as I never saw a manuscript or finished book after my review of 100 pages.I was paid some amount of money—seems super miniscule in memory, but maybe it was fifty dollars? seventy-five dollars?—to read 100 pages and fill out a form providing possible revision direction, and "approving" the manuscript. A couple lines of tepid praise along the lines of "The reader is aware of the author's painstaking labor every step of the way." Or whatever. You get the idea.Only the most egregiously incomprehensible books were rejected, and those were almost more work to reject, because the iUniverse reps would come back to you and say, Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure you're not just being snobby? Because they were more interested in taking that author's money than they were in putting out quality books. Just about everyone who paid the extra fee for the Editor's Stain of Disdain got approved, because that's what the customer paid for, and these were vanity publications, make no doubt.The customer in any self-publishing venture is always going to be the author, not the reader. But publishers are there for the rea— Well, no, publishers are there for themselves, clearly, but also for readers. Editors don't work their jobs to get rich, they do it because they love making good books. And that is not only what makes the books we buy things of quality, it's also what drives up the cost and eats into author's potential royalties.Of course, I could be wrong. (It happens often, I'm told.) Has anyone downloaded any Amazon original titles? Were the books worthwhile? Or did you long to get back those lost hours of your life?

(Was going to post this after seeing this movie in preview, but then decided that would be a bit of a spoiler. Lots of people probably wanted to see this movie as much as I had; no reason to kill their joy early. So I drafted it and set it aside til now, when it appears that Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief will be lucky to gross a hundred million dollars. Effectively, this film franchise is already over.)

The wretchedness of some bad movies is forgivable.You know the ones I mean: There is an artistic vision of some kind behind the mess, a storyteller who got terribly lost. And even though the end result is painful to behold, it still feels like it came from someone who cared. About the wrong things, sure; or about a story no one in their right mind could be bothered to give a damn about, maybe—but whatever the case, you sense someone behind the shambles. The unwatchable hot mess that is Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus falls under this category. As does John Boorman's Zardoz, and Boorman's Exorcist II: The Heretic, and—well, a lot of Boorman. You get the picture.And then there are movies made by witless mediocrities such as Chris Columbus.His refrigerated blandness has been with us since the eighties, when he wrote the screenplays for Gremlins, The Goonies, and Young Sherlock Holmes; later he directed Mrs. Doubtfire and Nine Months and lots of other stuff that is memorable only in how unmemorable the movies were. His work is distinguished by a glib commerciality, a lack of any real sense of the world: Divorced from anything genuine, their only touchstones are other movies.Even if you don't know those movies, you know well the bland stamp of his work. Before steamrolling the joy out of Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief, he brought his leaden touch to the first two installments in the Harry Potter franchise.I remember well watching the first one in the theater and muttering aloud, "Cut. Cut. CUT, damnit!" when he'd hold long, long shots on Harry's face as Harry registered wonder. Or joy. Or dismay. Or indigestion. God only knows. I stopped believing in the characters in such moments and started sensing the director behind the camera saying, "Okay, Daniel, now show me SENSE OF WONDER! Come on, raise your eyebrows higher! That's it! Oh, God, yes!" Overacting in close-up is never the fault of the actor, but of the person who is guiding him.And I know Chris Columbus is to blame because there are similar moments in Percy Jackson. Not as many and nowhere near as egregious—because the actors here are older, more experienced, doubtless confident enough to shrug off the insecurities of a director who has no idea how real people look and act when they feel emotion.But the sins of the filmmaking extend beyond even that. The fight scenes are wholly unconvincing. The interplay between the leads feels underscripted and false. The whole enterprise feels undertaken by someone who didn't have the decency to treat the material as a serious source. Instead, this feels like hackwork plain and simple. The movie's biggest sin? It's witless. The novels are very witty—that's part of the great pleasure of reading them—but this movie is about as clever as an old David and Goliath cartoon. Which is a damn shame, because the series of novels is pretty great.What about you, what did you all think of it?.

An agent typically works with manuscripts in two different ways.The first is when an author comes to me with a completed manuscript. If we decide to work together, we’ll spend time revising—focusing on character development, style, and storytelling. It is always exciting to help a writer best achieve his or her vision, and as many of my authors know, the revision process is one of my greatest joys.The second is when an author comes to me with an idea. There is no manuscript—just the spark of something wonderful inside that curious (and thrilling!) thing known as the Author’s Brain. In that case, it is my job to help the author translate the idea onto the page, and then work with him or her to craft the arc of the story, develop the characters from the ground up, and prepare a proposal that allows an editor to see the same magical thing that I do.I have been privileged to have many of both experiences since I began agenting. Today, though, I would like to talk about one of the latter experiences—a writer with an idea—that resulted in a fantastic book, Knightly Academy, that hits bookstore shelves today. The author, Violet Haberdasher, approached me with a concept she’d been thinking about for years, and we worked together to turn her dream into a reality.As anyone who has ever written one knows, crafting a proposal takes a lot of work. There were a lot of times when I asked for “more,” or “less,” or … both. Many e-mails, phone calls, and coffee dates. She worked tirelessly until we both felt that her vision had been captured. And then, once it was “perfect” … we edited some more. It was a collaborative back and forth that (I hope!) was as fulfilling for her as it was for me.Knightly Academy was sold to Simon and Schuster in 2008, survived the departure of its editor, and has generated a lot of in-house excitement. And today, March 9, 2010, it is at last done and published and out there. I am so incredibly proud of the work the author has done, and feel privileged that I was able to help shepherd this idea into a novel, and this novel into the world.Our most heartfelt congratulations, Ms. Haberdasher, from all of us here at Upstart Crow.And remember, writers—every novel has to start somewhere.

As some of you know, I came to agenting through a bit of a side-hatch. I'm not a former editor. I didn't complete UC Santa Barbara's nine week literary agent training program. I wrote and tried to place my own material before moving to NYC to find a job in publishing. Once here, I applied for an internship at a literary agency, worked hard (and for free), and accepted a position once it was offered.When I started as an agent, I made several lofty pledges to myself. Since I'd been on the receiving end of form rejections, I vowed to try and avoid them as much as possible. Because I, too, had waited for months to hear back from agents, I held my hand over my heart and said "Three weeks! I'll respond in three weeks!" I promised I'd never become jaded because I was going to be an agent of the people, who would break the mold and be a hero and etc etc etc.Folks, I've now realized that all those pledges are simple to say, and harder to do. As much as I want to honor those sacred vows I took, it's become increasingly more difficult as the volume of queries has increased and I've focused more on my own clients. Then there's conferences, and contests to judge, and lunches...I know, I know, I'm making excuses, but I simply wanted to address why things have been taking longer than usual.I'm trying to catch up. I'm trying to put queries a bit higher on my list of priorities (you'll notice, perhaps, that I haven't been updating the blog as much recently). I do still yearn for more terrific projects to pass across my desk (virtually, of course). I've just come to realize that the superhero agent of the people is a bit harder to pull off than I imagined. But hey, if I can't be Batman, Robin ain't so bad, right?Love,Your friendly neighborhood Agentman.

Writers generally hate being asked where they get their ideas. Neil Gaiman tackled the issue on his website (my favorite reply he used to give to the question is "From a little ideas shop in Bognor Regis"). In On Writing Stephen King quipped that he got his ideas from "a small, bloodthirsty elf who lives in a hole under my desk." Of course, if you can't afford trips to Bognor Regis and you feel the imprisonment of elves, however thirsty for blood they are, to be inhumane, you're likely forced to come up with more creative ways to speed the muse.King (after the elf admission) recommended asking "what if" questions for inspiration. Other authors scour the news for ideas, and look for simple stories they can then adapt and personalize. Some writers look to prompts for inspiration. I recently plucked Jack Heffron's The Writer's Idea Book off my shelf, a book given as a gift that I'd never opened before. Flipping through the pages, I found that Heffron's book is filled with over 400 prompts and exercises to get the ideas flowing. The exercises vary from things like, "Put a character in a place where he doesn't speak the native language" to "Write about a time you did something hurtful but did not feel guilty."Are these useful? To some, maybe, but my immediate reaction was to say, "Oh, right! THAT'S why I never opened this book before." But that's just me. Maybe you'll write a terrific story about an American girl in Venice who doesn't speak Italian and keeps pushing people into the canals without feeling bad about it.So how about you? What gets the ideas flowing when it comes to your writing? Is it "What if" questions? Watching the news? Pulling prompts from a book? A combination, or none of these?

Today Scholastic released the title and cover for Mockingjay, the final installment in Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games trilogy. If you're a fan of the series, you know why this title works. If you're not, why are you reading this blog post and not the first two books? What's wrong with you?To help build anticipation, Scholastic won't be printing advanced reader copies for Mockingjay. This makes perfect sense, of course, but it also just about kills me. When the ARC of the first book was first brought into the office, it changed hands between four of us in the span of ten days. When the ARC of Book II was released, it quickly became the most talked about YA title at last year's Book Expo America conference. Eager fans lined up for hours to get their hands on a copy. Thinking myself too cool to wait in a line, I strolled in at around 11 in the morning to grab a copy to find I'd missed out. Suddenly less cool, I had to borrow a friend's galley (that she had already borrowed) with the promise I'd return it within a week. Although Mockingjay probably won't achieve the same sort of frantic anticipation as, say, The Deathly Hollows or Breaking Dawn, many readers, myself included, will be counting the days until its release. From a professional standpoint, it's always wonderful to see that a book can still whip people into a frenzy.So I wonder: What have been some of your most anticipated titles over the years?

Congrats to Josh Berk on his... Unless you're stuck under three tons of elephant, you should be on your way to the store to pick up your own copy of THE DARK DAYS OF HAMBURGER HALPIN.From JoshBerkBooks.com:

THE DARK DAYS OF HAMBURGER HALPIN tells the hilarious story of Will Halpin, an overweight deaf teen who spends his first year at a mainstream high school looking for love, failing Algebra, unraveling the school's social scene, trying to get invited to the greatest party ever … and, oh yeah, solving a murder.

Last night I had the place to myself and fired up the first two episodes in the latest season of Fox's long-running, melodramatic, completely unrealistic counter-terrorism show 24. And I loved it.I resisted the adventures of Jack Bauer for a while, despite the claims of friends and family that I'd eventually come to not only enjoy the show, but also yell at the screen in joy, anger, or pure, raw emotion. A friend said, "Trust me, if you watch it, you'll find yourself screaming out Jack's name." He was completely correct.24 is not art. Let's get that straight right away. In my DVD collection, the seasons I own are hidden away behind things of more merit. And to be honest, it hasn't been great since Day 5. But what can I say? I enjoy it.We all have our guilty pleasures. Whether a show about the ridiculous adventures of a gun-toting patriot, films featuring talking animals, or Shania Twain albums secretly mislabeled in our iTunes library as Megadeth (these are just hypothetical, people!), we all have those indulgences we enjoy but we're a bit embarrassed by.This happens to me with books, too (in case you were wondering where I was going with all of this rambling). For my job, I try to read books that have been successful so I can get an idea of why they work and how they fit in the children's market. With many successful books, including most involving vampires, I'll read one in a series and put it down, content that I understand the appeal or, in some cases, remain completely baffled, without having to know if the heroine choices the one bad guy with fangs, the other bad guy who also has fangs but they're different or something, or maybe some third bad guy who is like made of fangs or some junk.In truth, I don't have time to get overly invested in a series, since I have manuscripts and queries to read, blog posts to write, and episodes of 24 to watch. Sometimes, however, I'll find myself reading the first in a series with the intention of seeing how a work fits into the market and find myself being pulled in. These, too, I consider to be guilty pleasures, because I'm no longer reading for work, but because I find myself enjoying a story aimed at 10 year-olds and want to see what happens. I can't help it, people, if Greg Heffley is so darned funny or I need to know what crazy situation Percy Jackson will find himself wrapped up in next!So how about you? What books do you hide away and pull out when no one is around? And what appeals to you about these little secrets?