As you’ll see, there are no easy answers to the questions Pam is asking, and she invites new thinking into her paradox.

The Publicity Paradox

After four book releases at two different publishers (a status I would call not-quite-new-to-this-business yet far from a seasoned veteran), one of the issues that still vexes me the most is book publicity. What works? How much should I do myself, or pay to have done? How much should I rely on outside help and, if so, what kind?

I suspect I’m not alone in my confusion and if I could find the answers, they might be worth more than the remuneration from actual writing. With each book release, I put forth my best efforts, beating the pavement from one bookstore or library event to the next, well or sparsely attended. I shake the trees of my alumni and regional publications, mill the Facebook network and mailing lists. But aside from the time that it takes (a whole third job, it seems on top of the day job and the writing), I’m aware that there is only so much I can do on my own. The in-house publicists with whom I’ve worked are talented and dedicated professionals, but in many cases, they are overworked. How then to supplement?

Seemingly in response to this question and the needs of their clients, some literary agencies have developed a publicity department which can supplement their authors’ efforts. These services are generally not part of the agency’s included services to clients, but cost an extra fee depending upon the scope of the publicity campaign. I am not in favor of this model because I believe that when a client pays for agency services, it threatens the alignment of interests between author and agent that is generally in place under the commission model and creates a conflict of interests. For example, if a publicist who works independently or for your publisher does a less than adequate job, your agent can — and should– advocate zealously on your behalf. However, if a publicist who works for your literary agency doesn’t perform, the agent is placed in the position of defending that person’s work at the same time as he or she is trying to secure you good publicity.

I am also wary of hiring independent publicists. Aside from the very significant costs associated with doing so, I always have this nagging (perhaps unsubstantiated) fear that the overworked in-house publicist might be tempted to do less if he or she know that I am paying someone to supplement his or her efforts. Additionally, a bigger problem seems to be that there is no way to hold publicists accountable – they are often unwilling, understandably, to share their proprietary lists of contacts to whom publicity materials are being sent, leaving the author in the dark as to the scope and nature of the publicity campaign. And the effectiveness of their work is difficult, if not, impossible to assess. My pie-in-the-sky solution to this problem would be to have publicists work on a contingency model based on the results achieved. For example, a publicist would get paid x for every media placement he or she secured and y for every “bounce” or secondary placement. Difficult to quantify? Perhaps. Unpalatable to the publicists? Definitely. But it’s the best solution I’ve got and I bet a lot more authors would be willing to invest their hard earned money with some certainty of return.

But in the absence of such a solution, what is a writer to do? As for me, I approach the publicity for each book release like a cake recipe that I didn’t quite get right the last time: a little more of this and less of that, taste and repeat, hoping this time it comes outs better. This blog tour, for example, is a new ingredient and is proving delicious, though the effect is yet to be seen. And if you have a recipe for publicity you’d like to share, I’d love to hear about it.

Learn more about Pam Jenoff at her website. Her new novel Almost Home is available now.

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Since the announcement in June that my first novel, The Kommandantâ€s Girl, was up for a Quill Award, I have heard from many readers who are surprised that the book, which depicts a young Jewish womanâ€s struggle in World War II Poland , was nominated in the romance category. I can only laugh and shrug. From the time my book was accepted for publication in April 2005, I have watched as the industry batted it between genres like a ping-pong ball.

The first indication of this came a few months after acceptance when my publisher told me that they wanted to change the title from The Kommandantâ€s Girl to something “less historical.” I hurriedly submitted a list of 40-plus alternative titles and the publisher selected half of one of my suggestions, renaming the book A Fine Crack of Light (causing many friends and family members to say “huh?” and teaching me to never include anything on a suggested title list that you arenâ€t willing to live with). They also gave it a gorgeous, albeit decidedly romantic cover. So perhaps I should not have been surprised when Publishers Weekly, giving the book a starred review, dubbed it “historical romance at its finest.”

But the genre debate was not over. In the summer of 2006, my publisher informed me that feedback from key accounts indicated that they loved the story, but were not enthusiastic about the cover and title. The release date was set back six months, and the book was given its present, more literary cover, becoming The Kommandantâ€s Girl once more. Barnes and Noble featured it as a book club selection for April 2007 in the genre of historical fiction. Romance was dead, or so it seemed, until the Quill nomination revived the debate.

So after two years, two covers, two title changes and too many genres to count, I have to ask: Is there a difference? The story itself has not changed. The book has been well received by mainstream, romance and historical reviewers and readers alike. Being called romance has its ups — sales have been great and Iâ€ve gained many enthusiastic readers — and downs — Iâ€ve arguably gotten less review coverage and respect from the independent book stores, and some would-be male readers have expressed hesitation (which always disappears when they pick up the book.) Based on my experience and my observations of and conversations with many talented writers, I cannot help but wonder if genre is a distinction without a difference, a line that has blurred to the point where it is no longer meaningful.

And then I look to my British publisher, which decided to go with the best of both worlds: a historical title (Kommandantâ€s Girl) and a salacious romantic cover (Nazi passionately kissing woman). The result was a bestseller.

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