TITLE FIGHT

by Deborah Elliott-Upton

When I signed with my first agent, I knew little about the world of publishing. I did know that titles weren’t copyrighted and if I’d wanted to name my novel Gone With the Wind, I could certainly do so, but it wasn’t a smart idea.

I found that editors most likely would rename my brilliantly thought-out titles to whatever they analyzed would sell better. My first published short story began as “The Sure Thing,” but found print as “The Perfect Crime.” A national magazine, pay on acceptance instead of at publishing time, and a large paycheck for a short story allowed me to not fight about such trivial things. When the same story was reprinted in a magazine in Great Britain, they changed the title to “The Mickey Finn Caper” and my characters of Al & Carlos to Ed & Sam. A mug of beer became a pint of stout. I cashed the check.

By the time I’d finished my first novel, I’d learned a few more things. When my agent produced a contract of representation, she asked specifically if there was anything I’d want her to fight for considering this particular book. Initially, I was just happy to be able to say I had an agent and know my mystery novel would be making the rounds among editors who could make or break my career plan.

After I slept on the idea, I phoned my agent. (At the time, I probably worked the words “my agent” into as many conversations as possible because it made me feel so good. Now that I’ve matured a bit, I sprinkle them in only occasionally.)

“I want you to fight for the right to retain my title until it becomes a deal breaker,” I told her.

“It’s that important?”

“Actually, yes.” I’d written the title when I was fifteen years old and not all that certain I would ever write a book, but if I did, I knew the exact wording I wanted to see across the cover.”

“Okay, we’ll go with that,” she said. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all for now.”

I’m sure she realized I didn’t know enough to ask the right questions. It’s like when my gynecologist confirmed I was pregnant with my first child and then asked if I had any questions. There again, I didn’t know what to ask. By the time I had my second (and last) child, I had some questions, but had learned the hard way most of the answers I’d need for the next eight months.

Still willing to fight for my titles? Yes and no.

I’ve had nonfiction articles and short stories published with my original titles and with the editor’s choices. Their choices were their choices and who can say whether one is better than another except that they were the ones paying for the privilege. I was merely the creator. One article I wrote for Writer’s Digest was “Looking Good to Editors and Agents Even If You Aren’t Good-Looking.” Maybe it was too long. They changed it to “Best Foot Forward.”

Of the stories I read, some have titles I recall better than others, but often I remember the storyline or characters and not the title. Or perhaps the author’s name.

For some time, I have been trying to find the title and author’s name of a short story I read in a 9th grade English textbook. The theme was, “The clothes make the man.” The gist was two burglars decided to rob a store. The “brains” determined the “not-so-brainy” would don a policeman’s uniform to gain entry into the store and then they’d take what they wanted and if they got caught, they could waltz out with the “evidence” unscathed since the criminal would be “caught” by the officer. Unfortunately for Brains, when his crony puts on the uniform, he not only looked like a cop, he started feeling like a cop and worse, acted like a cop. At the conclusion, the “new man in the cop’s clothing” ended up taking the “burglar he caught” to the jailhouse.

I loved the story, but can’t remember title nor author. None of my friends remember the story at all. I have Googled until my fingers were raw, but haven’t yet found the identity I seek.

In answer to Paul’s questions:

• My titles usually arrive in my mind at the time I am considering the What if? of the story. Sometimes, I am without an idea until I’m writing about halfway down the first page and then a working title pops into my head. I like working on a project with a title. It doesn’t mean I will keep it, but I like knowing it has a name so it will come to me when I call.
• I don’t worry about finding a title. They sort of find me, so I don’t spend a lot of time trying to find one. To paraphrase Heidi Klum, “They are either in or they’re out.”

Perhaps an author’s titles aren’t worth the fight. A lot of good novels have been saved by an editor’s good eye for just the perfect title.

• TREASURE ISLAND was originally THE SEA-COOK
• THE TIME MACHINE was THE CHRONIC ARGONAUTS
• THE GREAT GATSBY was INCIDENT AT WEST EGG
• THE SUN ALSO RISES was FIESTA
• LADY CHATTERLY’S LOVER was TENDERNESS
• THE SOUND AND THE FURY was TWILIGHT (I’m sure that Stephenie Meyer is happy that title wasn’t already “taken” on the best-seller list.)

Fight for my titles in the future? I don’t know, but I’m keeping my boxing gloves handy just in case.