(E________, first draft: 17,600 words)
Book titles change for a variety of reasons. British readers, steeped as they are in medieval culture, know a little bit about alchemy. As such, they are reasonably familiar with the concept of the philosopher’s stone, a prerequisite for the elixir of life or turning lead into gold. American readers (for whom, the British will tell you, history starts in 1776) have no such advantage. Accordingly, while Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was viewed as an acceptable title in the UK, in the US it was changed to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone instead. (Incidentally, if you want a glimpse of how nonsense like alchemy managed to survive for so long, you could do a good deal worse than read the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer. It is a brilliant documentation of medieval fraud.)
In similar vein, it is said that Joseph Heller wanted to call the book for which he is most famous Catch-18 but didn’t want it confused with Mila 18 by Leon Uris. He then considered Catch-11 but ran into the same problem because of Ocean’s 11 (the 1960 Frank Sinatra movie, not the George Clooney remake). His editor settled on Catch-22 because 22 was a “funnier” number than 18.
Some books, however, get their titles changed because the author’s original choice was replaced by something better. Jane Austen’s First Impressions is better known as Pride and Prejudice, no one has read The Last Man In Europe by George Orwell, although they are familiar with 1984, and John Steinbeck eventually decided to go with Of Mice and Men instead of Something That Happened.
And then, there’s yours truly. While I am reasonably confident that I am an OK writer, it is becoming more and more clear to me that I am absolutely terrible at book titles. My original title for Braking Day was Starship 4. Almost the first thing my original agent said to me when I spoke to her on the phone was, “How do you feel about the title?” I took the hint.
One of the reasons I use initials to identify works in progress is that the working title I love so much is probably cringeworthy. I am very pleased with how my second novel, V______ R___, has turned out. But when my agent, the estimable Brady, and his assistant James came back to me the other day with some very minor edits, they also appended a list of 25 (twenty-five!) alternative titles.
Having read through them, I was left with the distinct impression that the two of them had cracked open a bottle of vodka, come up with a list of titles ranging from sensibly sober to bombed out drunk, and then rearranged said list to disguise the progression. Unfortunately for me, but not surprising in any way, at least half of them (including some of the bombed out drunk ones) were way better than V______ R___. Having consulted with my family (who treacherously side with my agent), V______ R___ has now become T__ S__ W__C___ I___ T__ C________, a terrible acronym but a great title. TSW for short (and still initialized because, who knows, it might change again!).
Despite what I’ve just said, I fervently believe that E________, the novel I’m working on at the moment, is a really good name for a book and will stand the test of time. However, as my fervent belief has never survived contact with reality, E________ will remain E________ only until further notice.