Sometimes weird coincidences just happen. The annual Book Expo America (BEA) convention gets a fair amount of coverage in the mainstream press so many people learn about it for the first time. After the book world’s BEA frenzy recently, several aspiring authors emailed me to ask if they should attend next year. “With so many editors and agents under one roof, isn’t BEA a great to network and pitch my book?” a writer from Sacramento wondered.
The short answer is no.
But as I was crafting my reply to Writer from Sacramento and the other emailers, someone pointed me to this post about why aspiring authors should avoid BEA. Don’t just take my answer for it. Here’s a real, live publishing professional telling you the truth so you can save your travel money for that trip to Kings Island amusement park in Ohio.
I know so many other publishing folks who feel the same way. BEA is simply too crowded, too chaotic, and too jam-packed for of people you need to see for existing business purposes to be able to concentrate on potentially taking up new business.
If you’re just dying to make a literary trip and use that tax deduction, try attending a workshop or conference somewhere. Many of these events feature editor and agent pitch meetings where you get one on one time with the gatekeepers of the industry.
You are quite right that BEA is no place for aspiring authors. BEA is a marketing arena, not an editorial arena. The few editors who happen to be around are there to help promote books they’ve already signed. And the vast majority of the people on the floor from publishing companies are either marketing executives or representatives selling various rights (translation, book club, paperback, e-book, etc.) All best, - EJR
I’ve always felt like nothing is more poisonous than the glassy-eyed wannabe who feels impelled to “network” and “market” in public gatherings. Nothing clears a room faster than one of these people who is going to shake every hand, grin like a frozen jack-o’-lantern, etc. They are the literary equivalent of lounge lizards (”Don’t I know you from somewhere? Has anyone ever told you you have great, uh, adjectives? How ’bout a little quickie, huh, just a few pages?”)
If you stare deeply into the glassy eyes of the jack-’o-lanterns, you can see the gears grinding: “Is this person of immediate use to me?” If you are the writer, agent, or editor on the receiving end of this treatment, it’s actually quite degrading. You start to feel like a piece of meat. Or a hamster caught in a Kafka novel. The jack-o-lantern fails to see you as fully human, only in utilitarian terms.
If the “writer” has to resort to badgering others in public places, something’s very, very wrong. Why doesn’t this person have an agent, you have to ask yourself. The answer is usually that the agents won’t touch this person with the proverbial ten-foot pole. I think people are more willing to help someone like you, Scott, who always has the big picture in mind, because you seem to work for the wellbeing of all writers, and you’re not just looking out for Number One.