Translators are writers, too.

One of the perks of working in a publishing house is the ability to ask anyone a question that should be common knowledge, but isn't, either to you or to the general public.  (These could also be called "stupid" questions, but let's be nice here.)  I asked a question to the senior editor recently that I thought was relatively benign: "How many of your translators have literary agents?"

Well, as it turns out...none.

Well, one does, but he's more of a foreign rights go-between from France.

Why does this matter?  Not all authors have agents.  But many do, including all the big bestsellers.  And look closer: the contract for a book-length translation is, more often than not, paid with a certain sum per 1000 words.  In most instances, literary translators are contractors, providing work-for-hire.  Which maybe makes some semblance of sense to some people, but not for me, and not for many others.

Literary translators are authors.  They are creative minds.  Literary translation is not a process of "what does this mean?", which is similar to summaries and reviews and college-level literature classes.  Instead, it is a process of "how can I best convey the words, the style, the meaning, the metaphors, the language, the feel of this work of art into my own language?".  It is a creative process, albeit a transformative one.

I'm not going to belabor this point, mostly because there are others out there (*cough cough Chad Post at Three Percent**) who expound this point much more lucidly and better informed than I can.  But why is it general consensus -- so much so that I shared this opinion before I seriously considered translation as a career -- that translators perform a service instead of creating a piece of their own?  It's not something commonly thought of.

Think of that today.  Think of a book you love that was only made possible by a translator: Don Quixote for Americans, Shakespeare for Germans, Proust for Russians, Tolstoy for Chinese.  Think of that, and you have my blessing and thanks.

From out of the blue

Sometimes, people call you from out of the blue.  Completely.    There's absolutely no connection to an existing client, or personal friend, or cousin's ex-husband's business partner's mother's sister-in-law's lawyer*, or anyone else.  

I just finalized a small job for a woman who I cannot for the life of me figure out how she knows I exist. But as I thought about it, there are actually many ways she could have found me.  Maybe she was directed to my website by someone.  Maybe she looked up the ATA database, or the NYCT database, and just started down the list.  Maybe she saw an article I wrote for one of the ATA division newsletters.  She could have even Googled "French translator Brooklyn", although I'm not entirely sure where I pop up on that list.  Maybe someone threw one of my business cards away and the trash can fell over and my card happened to catch her eye.  Who knows, really?

The point is, those are only a few ways that she could have found me.  All of them are valid, and all of them are useful (except for maybe that last one with the garbage).  I personally don't use every service available to me (I've almost given up on Twitter, I only spend limited time on LinkedIn, etc.), but apparently, all those avenues of promotion pay off.  It's a nice ego boost to know you're doing something right.

------

*I will bake you cookies if you figure out who this person is in your life.

Go little guys!

(Slightly OT)

In my spare time (haha), I work at a small, non-profit publishing house, The New Press.  They're really cool, see here: http://thenewpress.com/

It's not often that one of our books pops up on any bestseller list.  Let alone the New York Times' paperback non-fiction shortlist.  But after The New Jim Crow started with a modest print run of 3,000 back in 2010, here it is now at #5 on the bestseller list, for the second week running, in the company of Tina Fey and Malcolm Gladwell:

http://www.nytimes.com/best-sellers-books/paperback-nonfiction/list.html

Go Michelle Alexander, go The New Jim Crow, and go The New Press!  We may be small, but we're playing in the big leagues now.

I'm a published writer!

This is a huge deal for anyone, especially those just starting out.  And look at me!  I've gotten a review published in the newsletter of the ATA's Slavic Languages Division.  Woohoo!! See page 26: http://www.ata-divisions.org/SLD/slavfile/SlavFile_vol.21.no.1.Winter.pdf

But wait, you say.  Aren't you a French speaker?  Do you know anything about Russian?

Well, I've sung in Russian before, but I don't think that counts.  But...I'm a singer.  I'm interested in music, and the translation thereof.  Just read the fracking review, you'll understand.

Now, please excuse me while I jump around and squeal in sheer delight.

A How-To Guide

(Not my own.  Sorry.)

There is a lot of advice out there on how to get started as a translator.  Some very nice people have written some very nice blog posts about tidy little steps you can take to break into the world of translation.  I am eternally grateful to all of them for making my life (and, undoubtedly, other newbie translators' lives) that much easier.

The instant you ask about literary translation, though, the mood changes.  People clam up.  They spew spitfire warnings about the dying industry.  Excuses appear: "well, I'm not really a literary translator -- I just do that on the side."

Well, not everyone.  Literary translation is a niche subset of the translation field, so there are considerably fewer blogs and articles written about it.  But resources exist, even online: ALTA's guides are fantastic.  Other people may not have a blog, so you have to -- the horror, the horror! -- search them out in person and actually talk to them.  But they're quite nice.

And then, there's this guy:

Literary Translation in Quebec

He's Peter McCambridge, and he's a newly minted literary translator.  He humbly presents a very frank and open list of rather specific steps and extremely pertinent resources to use.  How cool is that?

I raise my glass to you, good sir.  You do us a great honor.

Just Say No

Drugs are harmful to your body.  Just say "no" when offered them.  It's as simple as that.  Or so all elementary-aged American children were told in the 80s and 90s.  Simple?  Maybe.  Peer pressure builds up, though. Now, we're older.  Some of us are freelancers.  Sometimes, we get offered jobs -- or offered the possibility of jobs -- that we know we shouldn't take.  Why?  We'll have to deal with demeaning project managers.  The work is mindless.  We'd be translating very poorly written copy from the source language.  We'll lose an entire night's sleep to get the job done.  It's harmful to our bodies, and to our sanity, and especially to our happiness.

Even so, when a new agency approached me with the offer of possibly working together, we haggled on rates a bit, I listed my specializations (at their request, which is important for later), and I agreed to do a small test for them.  I stipulated that, since the test would be unpaid, I'd only do a small one, less than 250 words.  A reasonable amount of work for a test.

They then sent me three tests to choose from (nice!).  But wait...all the tests were over 500 words, and none of them fell even remotely within my specializations.

Enter the psychological pressure: "I'd really like the work."  The brain rushes through countless excuses for why I should just buckle down and slog through the test, but they all boil down to "I'd really like the work."

Let's be clear.  I don't know if I'd get any work, or if I'd be at all qualified for the work I'd receive (based on these tests), or if I'd enjoy the work that I was qualified for.  But still, brain goes, "I'd really like the work."

Fortunately, I have an Other Half.  He reminds me that I can, in fact, overrule my worried brain with logic.  What's the point of doing a long, unpaid test that may lead to work that's most likely not in my area that I probably wouldn't enjoy for a lower rate than I normally charge?  None.  There's no point at all.

Just say no.

(Do so respectfully, of course.  But just say no.)

Putting it together

And now, a message from the man who I would choose as my favorite Broadway composer if you put a gun to my head: http://youtu.be/rJFz-ucuTvs?t=5m27s

The last few days and weeks have been accidentally dedicated to making connections and crafting some foundations to build upon as I work towards what I really want to do.  My agenda said benign things like "lunch seminar with CL" or "DN after work" or "NYCT Holiday Brunch".  Benign scribbles become major opportunities, though:

Lunch seminar with CL = Meet the person who does exactly what you want to do; talk as best you can without stumbling over words too many times; she lives six blocks from you? great. get lunch sometime; get contacts; try not to drool

DN after work = Talk for an hour about nothing and everything with colleague of a colleague, then have her ask "What can I do to help you?"...try not to admit that just hearing her talk about the industry was enough, but now she'll reread your cover letter/marketing pitch

NYCT Holiday Brunch = Network, network, network; volunteer for things you didn't know existed or were available; now I'm probably the assistant editor of the association's newsletter? wait, how did that happen? That's...cool.

Putting it all together will take time, marinating, and a dash of luck.  Possibly a whole cup.  Maybe more.  I just have to make the right preparations to be ready for when that perfect opportunity falls into my lap.  There seems to be little other way to do it.

Very few people can make their living doing literary translation.  Even fewer who are not in academia.  But they do exist.  Would that I should be one someday.

Operation Holiday Business. Gameplan: Questionable

So many different bloggers, from the T&I industry or elsewhere, talk about client loyalty around the holidays:

It's easy: you send nice cards to your clients, thanking them for working with you and wishing them well for the new year.  At the same time, you're reminding them you exist and putting a smile on their face that links back to you.  If you do it right.  You can even send thoughtful little gifts to your favorites.  It's a nice thing to do, and it's on the fun end of marketing.

But what do you do when the holidays come around and there are agencies who you want to work for, but aren't yet?  When there are clients you've presented yourself to, but nothing's happened?  Is it a good idea, or even appropriate, to send a card to them?

I think it might be, so long as you've had two-way contact with an actual person there.  If you just submitted your resume to a company and didn't hear diddlysquat from them, who are you going to send the card to?  "Dear Hiring Manager"?  What would you do if you got a holiday card from someone you didn't recognize?

But if you have communicated directly with someone at the company and they haven't completely written you off, sure!  Send a card.  It can put you back on their radar, remind them that you exist, and prime them to think of your name when their next project in your language pair pops up.

"Dear so-and-so: Best wishes to you and your loved ones this holiday season.  I look forward to developing our working relationship together in the coming year. "

Why not?  It seems like a good idea...right?

Now, to find cards at the beginning of December.

My First ATA Conference

Like a baby's first word, or the first day of school: such is the importance of attending one's first major industry conference. It provides a huge (and needed) boost in the attempt to form a full-time career out of a part-time passion.

For three days at the end of October, I went to Boston to see what I could learn, who I could meet, what connections I could forge. And I have to say, it was a rousing success. I've been so busy taking action based on what happened at the conference that I've only now been able to put my thoughts down in the ether ("on paper" being a bit of a misnomer...).

So, here follows, in tidbit/interview form, a general conference review, from the highly biased opinion of a starry-eyed first-timer:

Scariest/best decision: skipping the first-time-attendee orientation session in favor of a seminar on "Translating for Quebec," given by Grant Hamilton. He knows his stuff. I know Québecois is a bit different (so is Canadian English), but he pointed out so many things you must know. Geography. Politics. News. "La fleuve" is not "the river," but the St. Lawrence River. Obviously...

Worst decision: not bringing a winter hat, gloves, and snowboots.  Oh, Nor'easters, how you make life more interesting!

Proudest moment: reading poetry I had translated while living in France, from a dear friend of mine's collection.  And having people give genuine compliments on both the translation and my stage presence.  Thank you, choir/theatre training.

Strangest connection: meeting a French>English translator who lives just across the river in New Jersey, and finding out we had the same professor at NYU -- eccentric Anne-Marie.  She had her in New York, but by the time I came along, Anne-Marie had been politely shuttled to the Paris campus, to finish her dissertation.  25 years in the making.

Best celebrity sighting: Chris Durban. No, no, this isn't your normal star, but a very highly respected French>English translator who is renowned and revered among most in this profession. She is smart, sharp as a whip, and takes no nonsense from whiners. I want to be like her when I grow up.

Most interesting audience member moment: watching the discussion go way off its rails at the Arabic session on theory and framework.  I think it's a cultural thing that makes people who have grown up in Arabic-speaking countries less tactful when butting into a presentation intended to give them useful information.  The presenter, a native-English-speaking professor of Islamic Studies who learned Arabic along the way, was trying to give the by-necessity-generally-amateur Arabic translators a bit of theoretical framework, and they pushed back the whole while.  Not because they didn't think his ideas were useful, but because it just seems to be in their nature.  And at the end, most of them congratulated the presenter on surviving his trial by fire and said they would be taking some of the techniques into account while translating.  Interesting.

First moment I thought "hey, I actually belong here": Friday lunch with some of the French translators I had met the prior evening at the French Language Division dinner.  The dinner had been lovely, fun, and informative, and I had met some great people.  The next day, finding some of those people for lunch, was proof that they weren't just humoring me.  (Some people could have probably realized that during the FLD dinner.  I am, occasionally, harder to convince.)

And now, for the list of awesome things that came from the conference: - personal contacts - an invitation to write a review for the Slavic Language Division's newsletter on a session on translating Rachmaninov's art songs (seems random, but isn't: the request came from the woman who ran the literary readings After Hours Cafe) - the initiative to get involved with my local chapter, the NY Circle of Translators - two possible job offers! - a strong desire to go to next year's conference in San Diego (starting to save money now...) - the knowledge that yes, I can do this

Excellent?  Yes, I would definitely say so.

On the brink...

I feel as though I've climbed a mountain to get here. It is midnight. Eight hours until I wake up for my first day of my first professional conference. I've done more prep work than I imagined possible (and have invariably missed many things). I'm on the brink, waiting to step out into nothingness... Except not quite. I've climbed one mountain, but just a foothill, really. Compare it to the McKinley of the conference, the Everest of a career, all this prep work was really just training. A rock climbing wall.

Here's hoping I remember my not-too-corny elevator pitch by morning!