Publishing has learned to move at the speed of its spreadsheets. A manuscript is acquired in spring, announced by summer, jacketed by autumn and shelved — in both senses — by the following spring. Nine months, deal to shelf, is now the industry median for a lead title. We would like to register, politely and permanently, our refusal.
Our books take fourteen months. This is not inefficiency; it is the schedule arrived at when every stage is allowed to finish. Structural edits that end when the structure works, not when the calendar says so. Covers that are argued about for a month because they will be looked at for a decade. Proofs read twice by two different people because the second proofreader catches what the first one's fatigue missed — reliably, measurably, every single time.
Backlist is where publishing's money actually lives — and backlist is built from books that were finished properly.
There is a commercial argument too, though we arrived at it backwards. Books published on our schedule earn out at nearly twice the rate of the industry's nine-month sprints, because backlist is where publishing's money actually lives, and backlist is built from books that were finished properly.
The lighthouse is our logo for a reason beyond geography. It does one thing, without hurry, on a schedule that does not negotiate. Ships set their watches by it. So do we.