D.I.Why?

It was an okay-ish book by a hugely successful author that did it, in the end.

I'd been writing for years, submitting to agents with only a tiny hint of success - more on that later - but I was still convinced that the traditional route (being snapped up by an agent, who would then spark a frantic bidding war as publishers vied to snap up my sparkling prose) was the only way forward.

As I continued to polish draft after draft of what became 'How Soon Is Now?', I'd look jealously at books by published authors, all neatly stacked up in bookshops or at the supermarket. They'd all worked hard and paid their dues to get there by the legitimate route, right? Even the ones who, entirely coincidentally, also had high-profile jobs on the telly and radio.

And then a thought arose, and kept coming back to me. Why do the books on that display shelf all look the same? And why do those books over THERE all look like those books over THERE? When did everything become so homogenised? And if the books were all starting to look the same on the outside, what was happening between the covers?

It was a dispiriting enough spectacle for an outsider. What must it be like for someone who'd handed over their magnum opus to the high brains of the publishing world? Suppose I'd spent years labouring over my own cosy mystery, refining each and every twist and turn of the plot, adding pep and pizzazz to every character. Wouldn't I be a touch miffed if the publisher decided to slap my highly personal and utterly unique creation in a cover design with just enough slanty-writing and silhouetted objects to make the public think: 'That looks an awful lot like a Richard Osman book'?

Sales are important. I know that. Marketing is a science. We've all seen that. But books are personal. Books are special. Every book is different, and it just didn't feel right that the industry was, more and more, chasing the same look for the same kinds of stories to chase an ever-dwindling readership.

And then I read The Book.

I won't say who wrote it, because that's not fair. The author is gifted, successful and very much in a league of their own, but The Book was not good.

I was reading a lot of books in that particular genre to get a feel for the market while I came close to finishing my second novel (due out later this year, eager customers!). The Book touched on a current(ish) hot topic. Well, I say 'touched' - it tended more towards 'tiptoed nervously around the topic, for fear of upsetting anyone on either side'. It reached no conclusions and made no fresh observations. The topic was covered dutifully, almost resentfully, without risking anything that might make readers look at the subject in a new way.

The Book, when it wasn't poking tentatively at recent events, centred on a relationship which allowed the author to gingerly inspect a few more social issues before stepping away quickly. How did that central relationship work out in the end? Reader, I couldn't tell you. It's been some months now since I finished reading The Book, and I couldn't tell you how it ended for the life of me. That relationship on which the whole thing focused? Not a clue how it resolved itself. No idea which way he or she went or how they felt about things in the end. The entire thing departed my memory the instant I finished the final page.

This book - let's be honest - wasn't published due to its literary merits. It was published because of its author's (very fine) back catalogue. A new author would never get a work as lazy, beige, and timorous past the gatekeepers of the publishing business.

And publishing is, increasingly, about business more than art. As margins grow ever tighter, the business has to look after itself, refining ever more efficient ways to attract readers. And if that means dressing all books up in the same Osman-styled jackets, so be it. If it means narrowing production to a few clearly defined and market-tested genres, propped up a few best-sellers 'written' by someone everyone recognises from a beloved comedy show, then that's what the industry will do to survive.

What does that mean, though, for books that don't fit into a handy genre niche, or for readers who who want stories that'll do more than just sell?

I worked hard on 'How Soon Is Now?' and I'm very proud of it. There's a lot packed into it, and it tells all the stories I wanted to tell, in the way I wanted to tell them. It attracted praise from agents, one of whom came close to taking me - and the book - on but was ultimately wary, having been burned on a similarly themed project. Which is fine - agents have to sell books to publishers, and publishers have to sell books to readers.

They're all (very cautiously) playing their allotted roles.

Once I'd submitted 'How Soon Is Now?' to almost every agent in Britain without success, I went straight back to work on another book. Something shorter, sunnier, more straightforward but equally heartfelt.'They can't resist this one,' I thought. 'It's sharp and funny and sweet, fits easily into one of those categories they love so much ... it's a winner'

But then it went off to meet its fate in the 'not right for us at this time' section of literary agents' inboxes. It's a lovely book and, when you get to meet it later this year, it will entertain you, make you laugh and possibly make you very happy. I love it, and I think other people will, too. More so, for instance, than The Book by The Big Author, which seems to exist out of habit on the author's part, rather than any burning desire to tell an intriguing story or create vivid characters.

As soon as I had finished The Book, I knew it was time to do things differently. That was the point when I decided it wouldn't be up to an increasingly conservative and self-imitative industry whether I get to share my books or not. The publishing world is too busy selling sub-par versions of things that sold before and not willing - or able - to take risks on new things. In the past, we'd have to put up with that state of affairs, and 'How Soon Is Now?', a big, complex, genre-fluid and subtly emotional book of which I am (did I mention this?) immensely proud, would just sit forgotten on a hard drive because no one would know what to do with it.

But writers and readers don't have to rely on the old ways anymore. We can share stories more quickly, efficiently, and eclectically than ever before, so why not do that and leave traditional publishing to do what it does (slowly and increasingly cautiously)?

There are good and bad books published in the traditional manner, and good and bad books issued via the self-publishing model. It would be absolutely lovely to have the backing and marketing muscle of agents and publishers behind the stories I want to tell, but I'm tired of waiting to be invited to a party which is, anyway, starting to look a little stuffy and lacking in atmosphere.

At least over here, at our own party, we get to tell the stories we want, the way we want to tell them - and we don't all have to dress up as Richard Osman to get in.