James Barrie related that for days after the first publication of Peter Pan, he carried a volume with him wherever he went so that he could assure himself that the pixie dust wouldn't wear off and cause his words to disappear from the pages! I know just how he felt. I still marvel at the "magic" of each one of my novels. But I also know that on this side of Never Never Land, we writers need pixie dust and publishers to create that magic.

While I'd be the last person to put publishers in the same class as Captain Hook's pirate crew, I can't help but point out that their motives are similar. Pirates are in the business for the money, and frankly, ladies, so are publishers. Publishers love a truly unique story...if it sells. They appreciate fine writing...if people will buy it. They fall all over a truly gifted writer...after she's made them a whole pile of gold doubloons. To be perfectly blunt, if the only thing you expect from your prospective publisher is for their bottom line to run through a dollar sign, you probably won't be disappointed. You might even be pleasantly surprised.

If publishers are "pirates," we writers must be the "Lost Girls." I have yet to know an author in any genre or at any publishing house, who doesn't complain, on occasion, about her contract/royalties/marketing/editor/etc. (I've developed a theory that whining may be as integral to publishing as writing, and thus I keep my griping skills honed and ready. Most recently, I've been moaning about the cover of my new book, but I digress.)

Despite our erstwhile whining, I think published writers recognize that most contracts are, if not exactly generous, equitable. And they are remarkably similar. Most have a first right of refusal clause to protect the publisher from you taking your work elsewhere when you become as famous a storyteller as Wendy Darling. Most have a royalty scale on which the more you sell, the more you make. (Starting out, you will make almost nothing. If you're still not clear on why this is, re-read the paragraph about pirates. And if all you're interested in is money yourself, consider pursuing a career as a pirate instead of a writer.)

Finally, most contracts have a clause stipulating the publisher's rights to audio recording, screenplays, and cyber versions of the work. While largely unpopular with authors, each of the above mentioned terms is pretty much standard. For anyone to claim that she will "never" sign a contract under those terms, but will still publish successfully, makes about as much sense as declaring that she'll never grow up. (It might happen, but not in this world.)

My best advice, then, when your turn to "sign on the dotted line" comes along, is to read the contract carefully, ask for clarification of everything you don't understand, and try to negotiate anything that you find truly objectionable. Then take a deep breath, think happy thoughts, and sign your name in pixie dust. The magic has just begun!

Covenant Communications, Inc. recently published Kerry's fourth novel, Closing In.