Somewhere in the nadir of 2020, I was riding the bike trainer in my garage, attending a GrubStreet class (camera off, obvs). In it, Steve Almond discussed the pros and cons of different publishing avenues. Self-publication? Small press? Big Five? He’d done it all, and he recommended all of them—each situation had been a good fit for his goals at the time. The goals varied: money, literary peers’ regard, prizes, the fierce loyalty of an indie publisher, total artistic control, etc.

It got me thinking about what really mattered to me. I’d written since college with only a smattering of wins. I’d just finished writing The Skin and Its Girl and was hearing almost nothing from agents, despite stubborn hopes. Sweating, head down, I asked myself, “If I could choose only one single good thing that could come from publishing this novel, what is it, right now?” Months before, in the tipsy thrill of creation, it was so easy to say, All of it sounds good, why not? But anyone who’s ever sent their pages up to the New York aerie will confirm, silence produces a kind of clarity.

I want people to care that this story exists. The thought turned over in my head. But what people? Peers who knew about fiction, sure, but that was any professional’s wish to be valued at work—and writers at work care mostly about their own work. What people, really? I write for the people who don’t fit in. People whose ears can hear that almost-silent tick of an asterisk in any conversation, knowing it’s about you or folks you love. A novel for those readers. And I also wanted folks who aren’t those readers to love this story too, because otherwise, when else do they listen to what we have to say—about Palestine, about queerness, about bullying and exclusion, about anything? Storytelling is—has always been—the human species’ gentlest mode of asking for someone’s ear.

I want a big audience.

No, just the chance of one, I amended, scared of untempered wishes.

It meant trying to get an agent again and hoping for a deal with a big publisher. This was like saying I wanted to win the lottery, but frankly, odds are better with New York publishers than with the convenience-store scratchers. So I revised the manuscript again and kept sending it out.

So, here’s what happened after signing with an agent and preparing the novel for acquiring editors: More than one publisher liked my novel, and there was going to be an auction. What happens after that? It was all new to me, so in case you find yourself in the same situation, maybe this will help.

Enjoying this? Read the rest over on my free Substack, “The Bird’s Eye” now!