I’m an indie author, so every decision relating to my novels is mine and mine alone. However, in the traditional publishing world, when an author signs a contract, they’re giving up more than just a chunk of their royalties. You’d think that a novelist, having wrung ninety thousand words out of thin air, surely earns the right to slap whatever name they fancy on the cover. It seems only fair. You built the house, so you should be the one hanging the sign over the door.
The truth, like most truths in publishing, sits somewhere between “yes” and “not on your life.” It hinges almost entirely on how your book reaches the shelf, and on how much clout you carry when with the publisher. In most cases, that’s very little.
The short answer nobody enjoys hearing
If a traditional publisher prints your book, your contract will usually promise some degree of consultation on the title. The wording tends towards “mutually agreed.” That sounds cosy until you notice what it quietly means: the publisher cannot bolt a title you loathe onto your book, but you cannot force yours through either. Somebody has to blink, and it tends not to be the party holding the marketing budget.
A debut novelist with no track record rarely holds the final say. You have a voice in the room. You do not hold the gavel.
The working title, and why it so rarely survives
Most books limp through their early drafts under a “working title,” a placeholder everyone treats like a rescue dog nobody plans to keep. Some of the most famous novels in English began life wearing a name you would never recognise.
Jane Austen first called Pride and Prejudice something far blander: First Impressions. George Orwell tapped away at a manuscript he titled The Last Man in Europe until his publisher steered him towards four numbers instead, giving us 1984. John Steinbeck came within a whisker of releasing Something That Happened, which reads less like a novel and more like a shrug, before he settled on Of Mice and Men.
When the publisher wins (even if you have a Nobel)
You might assume enough literary firepower buys you the final word. It does not always. Toni Morrison, fresh from her Nobel Prize, wanted to call the novel we now know as Paradise something starker: War. Her editor overruled her. If a Nobel laureate cannot keep the title she wants, the rest of us should probably manage our expectations accordingly.
The title that changed for the daftest reason of all
My favourite example owes nothing to art and everything to a scheduling clash. Joseph Heller spent years writing a novel he called Catch-18. Shortly before it appeared, Leon Uris published Mila 18, and Heller’s team feared readers would muddle the two. His editor, Robert Gottlieb, plucked a different number from the air: twenty-two. One of the most celebrated titles in modern fiction exists, essentially, because another book bagged the number one first. A masterpiece named by process of elimination.
Some titles you dodged without ever knowing
Spare a thought for the alternatives that never made the cover. Before The Great Gatsby settled into its dust jacket, F. Scott Fitzgerald agonised over a shortlist that included Trimalchio in West Egg, The High-Bouncing Lover and Gold-Hatted Gatsby. Picture a nervous student in an exam hall a century from now, chewing the end of a biro, trying to fill four sides on the symbolism of The High-Bouncing Lover. William Golding’s Lord of the Flies once carried the deeply un-sinister title Strangers from Within, which sounds less like a novel about savagery on a desert island and more like a self-help book.
None of these titles fell into place by magic. Behind each sat an argument, a compromise, and usually somebody in an office insisting the author’s beloved first choice would never fit on a spine.
The strange freedom of naming your own
Here is where I come clean about my own corner of the trade. I self-publish, through my own imprint, Inchgate Publishing. No committee sits in a room deciding my work should go out as Big Feelings before breaking for a sandwich. Every title on my covers, for better or worse, I chose myself.
I will not pretend that freedom feels purely like a gift. When a title lands, the credit sits with me. When one baffles a reader squinting at a page on Amazon’s website, there is nobody in marketing to blame. It is the difference between cooking for yourself and cooking on the TV; the meal might taste identical, but only one version leaves you fully exposed when it flops. Naming a book you have bled over turns out to feel a lot like naming a child, except the child will one day sit face-out on a Kindle store next to four hundred rivals, and you rather want it to stand out.
So the answer depends entirely on where you stand. If you sign with a big house, you argue your corner, and then you defer. If you go it alone, the whole delicious, terrifying decision belongs to you and nobody else. I know which one keeps me up at night, and I would not swap it. If you ever wonder where the stories themselves come from, the answer turns out to be even messier.
My books, all named by the bloke who wrote them
If you fancy testing whether I earned that freedom, my own titles are as good a place to start as any. The ’86 Fix is the one that started it all: a middle-aged man handed one weekend back in 1986 to unpick exactly where his life went wrong. And The Last Stop Video Shop finds a man on the achy side of fifty stumbling into the last video shop in England, where a single VHS tape holds a memory of his late mother that nobody ever recorded. These are titles I picked myself, with only my own nerve to blame.
Frequently Asked Questions
Do authors choose their own book titles?
Sometimes. Traditionally published authors are usually promised consultation and a “mutually agreed” title, but the publisher holds an effective veto, especially over debut writers. Self-published authors keep full control and pick their own titles outright.
Who has the final say on a book title?
With a traditional publisher, the title is reached by consensus in editorial and marketing meetings, and the publisher’s preference tends to prevail if there is a genuine disagreement. Even established, award-winning authors have lost that argument.
What is a working title?
A working title is the temporary name a book carries during writing and editing before the final title is agreed. Many famous novels changed names late in the process; for example, Orwell’s 1984 began life as The Last Man in Europe.
Why did Catch-22 start out as Catch-18?
Joseph Heller wrote his novel as Catch-18, but Leon Uris published Mila 18 shortly beforehand, raising fears of confusion. Heller’s editor, Robert Gottlieb, suggested the number twenty-two instead, and the new title stuck.
Do self-published authors choose their own titles?
Yes. Without a publisher’s committee to satisfy, self-published and indie authors have complete freedom over their titles. That freedom cuts both ways: all the credit and all the blame land in the same place.