Author Peter Papathanasiou had a long struggle with his first book. Image supplied.
I’m fortunate to have my debut book – a memoir all about my international adoption – published in mid-2019. When I look back, I actually have to check myself when I realise that I first started writing the book 11 years ago. Back then people told me that it might take a decade to get published. I didn’t believe them. But well, there you go.
I first started writing the book in 2008. The first chapter detailed the moment I found out I was adopted, which was in 1999. I remember feeling so many emotions at the time that I just had to write them down. That tiny computer file – all of three pages in length – then followed me from one floppy disk another, always sitting there in the background while I worked on other, seemingly more important projects. Finally, I reopened the file in 2007 and used the notes as inspiration for a short story. I entered that story in three competitions and won two. A year later – and knowing I’d only scratched the surface – I embarked on a book.
It took me from 2008 to 2010 to write a full draft. During that time, I interviewed my mum to find out the family’s story, about her migration to Australia, and years of infertility. I then wrote my own chapters and ordered them in an alternating structure. It was a lot more work than I could have ever envisaged. And too massive in length, some 150,000 words.
Edit, edit then edit again
Editing took another year. I showed the manuscript to friends, my wife, and also paid professional editors. Some cost a few hundred dollars, others a few thousand. In the end, the best editor charged me rates that were around the median.
What made this editor so good? He was a bastard. He saw potential in me and encouraged me accordingly, but he also didn’t let me get away with anything sloppy and told me firmly and without self-censorship. It was confronting to hear at times, but deep down I knew he had my best interests at heart. Additionally, it also avoided arguments with my wife over why this chapter wasn’t working or why that character wasn’t compelling enough. Money well spent!
By 2011 – and after 13 drafts – I had a polished manuscript of 100,000 words with two narrators jumping back and forth in time, and a story which spanned a hundred years. Filled with optimism, I approached literary agents but received little interest. I must’ve submitted the opening chapters to a hundred agents in Australia and the UK, and only received requests for the full manuscript from a few. None offered contracts of representation. The vast majority didn’t reply at all.
Feeling slightly disheartened, I put the manuscript, and four years of work, in a bottom drawer. I then opened a fresh computer file and began writing again. This time, it was a novel. With a super-fit writing muscle, I wrote faster and with more relevance. After three years, there was less fat to trim in editing. Only seven more drafts followed this time. By now, I was living in London, and enrolled in a Master of Arts to write a third book. But first, I submitted my second to literary agents. After only 12 submissions, I had three offers of representation. I was overjoyed.
Publishing’s double agents
But my happiness was short-lived; after three months, my agent said she’d been unable to sell my novel to publishers. The familiar black cloud of rejection returned. I was told to push it away and instead write another novel. Easier said than done; but fortunately, I had a good idea brewing.
From 2015 to 2017, I wrote a third manuscript, and finished my MA. In that time, I returned to Australia, became a father – twice – and lost my own father. Those were deeply emotional years and major life events. Deaths and births always are.
2018 shaped as a defining year. My agent was going to send out my second novel and I didn’t know if I would get a third chance. And with a growing family, it was now getting harder to find the space and time to write at home.
It was then that I remembered my failed first manuscript based on my adoption story. Reopening the file, I gradually began to reacquaint myself with the words. I was soon seeing holes and deficiencies, but also things I really liked. Slowly, I began editing old chapters and adding new ones. A lot of new and significant life had been lived since 2011, which now also gave my story an ending. The first time I’d written it, I’d been forced to manufacture an ending, which technically made it a work of fiction. But it was all nonfiction now.
I finished my 14th draft in June 2018 and was pleased with the 90,000-word final product. I was keen to show it to my agent. But not long after, she informed me that she hadn’t been able to sell my new novel to publishers, and politely added that I might also want to find a new agent.
I subsequently spent the next few months in an existential hole. I’d now spent a decade writing half a million words but they were still just words sitting on my hard drive. Picking myself up, I started submitting to new agents. I thought having already signed with one agent would help my cause, but I was wrong. More rejections followed.
Going direct
Casting my net wider, I began submitting to publishers directly. There were still a few who allowed writers to do that, who opened up submission channels. Even more rejections followed. Those were dark days indeed.
But then, light emerged.
I had an offer from a UK publisher, Salt, for my memoir, and two separate offers from Australian publishers. I signed with Salt first and then Allen & Unwin. Allen & Unwin actually plucked my manuscript out of their ‘Friday Pitch’ pile, which apparently makes it 1 in a 1000. I also signed with a wonderful new agent.
Over the past few months, I was sent cover art and proofs from both publishers. I worked with copy editors and proofreaders and graphic designers, and now with publicists. I shared the proofs with fellow writers whom I admire, and who provided advance endorsements. I called bookshops to organise launches and events. It all fell into place. I still can’t quite believe it. I’d been on the brink of literary bankruptcy and had somehow won the lottery. Well, maybe not the lottery, but at least a scratchie.
I am deeply indebted to editors and also my fellow authors for their incredible support. I’ve found it especially amazing how the writing community embraces debut authors, perhaps because most writers remember how hard it was for them to get their break. For me, it’s been a roller-coaster ride of dizzying heights and heartbreaking lows. I know I won’t soon forget what I went through and be ready to give back to other emerging writers.
It’s been a long and winding road to publication, but one which has made me a better writer, and also richer for the experience. Everyone treads their own path and in their own time. I’ll always remember the stories of two writers I met in London when they told me their literary journeys. One writer wrote a short story, entered it into a competition, won second prize and was offered a publishing contract before she’d even started a book. Meanwhile, the other writer wrote four books before she secured an agent, and another four before she was offered a publishing contract.
For me, it was an 11-year gestation. And I’m only just getting started.
Peter Papathanasiou’s Little One is out now through Allen and Unwin.
