It’s a common question I hear among writers, especially among those who are starting out in the long journey toward publication: “Will someone steal my book?” Or “my idea?” Or “my plot?” And so on.
Some writers are loath to show their work to a critique group or submit to an agent or editor, for fear that someone will take their title or idea or writing and pass it off as their own. Believe it or not, the estimable Steve Laube (He Who Insists I Call Him That) has had people slide a Nondisclosure Agreement across the table at a writers conference, saying, “Please sign this NDA before I pitch my idea to you.” (To which Steve responded by sliding it back, unsigned, saying, “If we can’t trust each other now, we never will.”)
Having someone snitch your pitch could happen, I suppose, if the people you’re dealing with are unprincipled lowlifes. But I’ve been writing, publishing, and hanging around writers a lot for more than four decades, and I’ve never had an unpublished work of mine—or anyone of my acquaintance—end up as someone else’s published work. I think this is true for several reasons:
First, you can’t copyright a title. Sure, some titles become so well-known that it might be unwise to try to sell a manuscript with the title Harvey Platter and the Philosopher’s Stone. But otherwise, you needn’t worry about someone stealing your title.
Second, ideas (that can’t be copyrighted either) are a dime a dozen. I once had an editor tell me that, and then explain, “What I need are writers who can execute great ideas.” Noted.
Third, though your idea or manuscript or title, etc., may be so brilliant that others are just waiting to snatch it up and skulk away, cackling maniacally, it’s a little more likely that you still have a few things to learn before your brilliance is irresistible to literary thieves, plunderers, and scalawags.
Fourth, reputable agents and editors are usually too busy to take your piece of work and—what, put their name on it? Assign it to someone else? Wouldn’t it be easier to sign you?
Now, having said all that, once your work is published (and therefore your ownership established by the copyright and publication date of the magazine or book publisher), it is incumbent upon you to become the curator of your own intellectual property. For example, I was once (in my four-plus decades) thumbing through a magazine and was surprised to see an article of mine—every word, including the title—published under someone else’s name. To make matters worse, I had not submitted nor been paid for that work; I assume the “someone else” had been. So I contacted the editor of the magazine, informed her of the situation, and was paid handsomely and a correction issued in a subsequent issue of the magazine.
I also have a friend (yes, I have friends) who once wrote an article that has often been presented in other people’s work as an “anonymous” story. But, of course, it’s his intellectual property. So, every time he finds such a reproduction of his story, he follows up, as he should.
So, don’t sweat too much about the possibility of someone stealing your idea, title, book, or plot. Go ahead and share your works-in-progress with your critique group and submit them (when ready) to reputable agents and editors who might recognize their value and publish them, possibly making you as rich and famous as me (though it might take a few acceptances for you to reach that lofty perch). Then you can start keeping an eye out for any unauthorized use.
The Never-Ending Stories
If somebody stole my book,
I wonder what he’d use it for?
Do you think dastardly crook
needs to stop open hideout door?
Or maybe he is very short
(that’s just the way things sometimes are),
and with other tomes mine gives support
to see out of the getaway car.
But I think it’s likeliest
(and here I shall place my bet)
that it’s carried in his robber-vest
and forms the basis of a threat:
‘If you don’t do what I say to do,
I’m going to read some POEMS to you!’
Andrew, I love the humor in that poem. Thanks for today’s chuckle. 🙂
Roberta, thank YOU.
I live by a simple motto: laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and your mascara runs.
Uh, figuratively.
Andrew, you always make my day. Even if my mascara stays intact.
As you have just made my day, Karen.
I am from Pakistsn living last thirty five years in New York
I write poetry film scripts
People steel potty at large
Publishers in Pakistan reprint any best seller book and sell in Pennies
Bob, this is refreshing and reassuring! I am one of those who, for fear of thievery, has withheld getting into writers’ groups, etc. Thank you for your wisdom, hard won as it is.
Oh, Andrew! You made me laugh out loud, and that hasn’t happened much lately. It’s been a TOUGH six months! Thank you!
Linda, I’m delighted to give you a laugh, and you’re in my prayers.
While the information is mostly not news to me, what I like most is your humor throughout.
I take this opportunity to say that I missed your column in the latest Guideposts magazine. And I don’t why you are not added to the masthead.
You had me at the “Harvey Platter and the Philosopher’s Stone.”
Bob, How cool is this! I’m currently working on a film project I’ve titled, ‘Will Someone Steal my Looks.’
Here’s a sample.
“Will Someone Steal My Looks,” the crowd busts out of the gate with a hearty laugh, I hope. And pray.
“What I need are writers who can execute great ideas.”
I had a similar thought to your editor, Bob. A competitor had ripped a film from my website, and was showing it to potential clients.
Anger, rage, filled my soul, “this is war,” I told my wife.
“Please work it out, We don’t want negative publicity, ‘Wife Bails out lunatic filmmaker,’ my wife smeared. Um, I mean sneered, darn spellcheck.
****
A potential client desired to have a promotional film produced, which had been my expertise–I’d produced dozens of promos for Silicon Valley Tech clients.
Face to face was how we conducted business in the early 2000’s. A VP from nearby ebay visited my office. I played my three minute, demo, sizzle-reel, that had helped garner much business. This is going to be a slam dunk, I thought.
“Is this your work?” she asked, after watching.
“Yes,” I said, confused.
“I just left a different filmmaker, he showed the same film.”
“Whaat!” I thought.
****
“Yes sugarplum, but maybe a stranger showing my work would not be able to explain how to produce such a film, where to start, what path to take, not be able to expand on the clients vision, or provide excellent customer service. He/she may have the best film camera, but, it it’s not the camera that made the great film, it was the person behind the camera, that made the film great. And most importantly, no-one in Silicon Valley tries to steal my looks, and gets away with it.”
****
I showed another short film, booked the gig, used photos from the filming as free marketing and promotion for years. I’d ordered the theif to stop using my film, via a letter from my lawyer, and the following year befriended him. He became a fine filmmaker, prolly learned much of it from me, which made me feel good.
“The guy was obviously an amateur,” the CEO said. “He didn’t have a website, an office, nor did he provide any direction on how to start, where to go. Chris was a no-brainer, slam dunk, two points, we win–our entire journey was enriching, creative, productive fun,” the CEO said, like a polished, his shoes, tv sportscaster, after I slipped him a fifty.
“I knew Chris would do it,” my wife smeared. Um, I mean sneered, darn spellcheck, looking into the camera, pumped her right fist,
“You sure did.” I’d turned at the camera, and had done a perfect Bogart, not quite as good as dad used too. I winked and said, “Hey baby, you’re the greatest.” I practically threw her to the ground, we froze there for two seconds, and I yelled, “cut!” The next day I began a two week journey, joyfully, tediously, sometimes brutally, crafted a great film after 75 hours of editing. It felt like finishing the marathon, a fine runners high feeling, “Such accomplishments never left, they became a part of my core,” I thought, turned to the camera and said, “Good night Madison Square Garden!” and the crowd erupted.