Thomas Wolfe had, by any measure, a successful debut novel in "Look Homeward, Angel." It went through six printings in this country and was a finalist for the 1930 Pulitzer Prize in fiction. Though some of the reviews in this country were harsh, he got many favorable ones. But when "Angel" was published in England the following year, it received some nasty reviews in newspapers there, and Wolfe was ready to chuck it all.

"Life is not worth the pounding I have taken from private and public sources . . . ." Wolfe complained at the time. According to his biographer, David Herbert Donald, Wolfe "demanded of [editor Max] Perkins an accounting of any royalties due to him and informed Scribners [his publisher]: 'I have stopped writing and do not want ever to write again.' "

Ellicott City writer Mary Cahill didn't react quite as dramatically to reviews of "Carpool," her 1991 first novel. But they did puzzle her.

"My editor would accumulate a bunch of reviews and send them along to me," says Ms. Cahill, 49, her face wrinkling into a smile at the memory. "The first would say, 'The characters were cardboard but the plot was great.' The second would then say, "The plot was ridiculous but I liked the characters." I realized after a while that everybody brings what they bring to a book and you can't do anything about it."

Glen Burnie native Brent Wade, 34, had a similar experience with reviewers of his 1991 first novel, "Company Man." So did A. Gallatin Warfield III, when his Maryland-based thriller, "State v. Justice," was published in December 1992.

"You start wondering: Are these people all reading the same book?' " Mr. Warfield, 47, a former Howard County prosecutor, asks in good-humored exasperation.

The whims and vagaries of reviewers are but a small element of the writing life, these three Marylanders have discovered -- like thousands of first-time novelists before them. There are frustrations, surprises and successes.

Their own successes followed years of plugging along, writing the book without knowing if anyone would buy it, let alone read it. But as they have made the transition from dreamer to aspiring writer to successful first novelist, something else has happened, along with the publicity and the money and the feelings of self-affirmation.

They've entered a far more competitive field than they had imagined -- the world of 1990s publishing, with its ruthless, bottom-line approach.

A TASTE OF TRIUMPH

The first novels of Brent Wade, Gally Warfield and Mary Cahill experienced success far greater than that of most aspiring writers. Many of the hundreds of first novels published each year are seldom reviewed, bought only by family and friends and perhaps several hundred readers of fiction around the country and quickly forgotten. But in a publishing world that grows steadily more difficult for writers to succeed in, these three did.

Ms. Cahill, a former elementary school teacher and free-lance writer, sent "Carpool" out unsolicited to several publishers. An editorial assistant at Random House, one of the giant New York publishing houses, plucked it out of the slush pile, launching one of the literary success stories of 1991. A brightly written comic mystery set in Howard County, "Carpool" sold close to 15,000 copies in hardback and landed Ms. Cahill a slew of publicity, including an appearance on "The Today Show."

Ms. Cahill worked on her book for more than five years, writing portions of "Carpool" on legal pads during free moments while she was on carpool duty for her two children. She readily concedes that many people around her wouldn't take her novel-writing seriously -- but not anymore.

" 'Carpool's' success improved my credibility, especially around my family," says Ms. Cahill, whose husband, Ed, is a pediatrician. They have a son, 22, and a daughter, 18. "Now when I say I have a deadline, they're more likely to respect it." She pauses and closes her eyes for a second. "But they're still not respecting my office supplies."

She plugs along now knowing her first triumph doesn't $l guarantee a second. Already, her editor has left Random House, and though she is under contract there for her second novel, "Alma Mater," she doesn't have a new editor. She's also had to change agents.

Mr. Wade, a computer systems manager for AT&T;, wrote a novel about a black Baltimore executive who has trouble dealing with the white corporate world. He would write at night after coming home from work, and Fridays usually meant writing until dawn. When it was published, "Company Man" got Mr. Wade national coverage: He was included in a Newsweek article on new black writers and he appeared on "Good Morning America."

He continues to work full time for AT&T.; "When I go to work, I'm Faceless Bureaucrat No. 6536," he says wryly. "But it keeps me humble."

When Mr. Warfield quit his job in December 1989 to write full time, fellow lawyers teased him about wanting to be another John Grisham. Three years later, his legal thriller, "State v. Justice," was published by Warner Books. Now there are more than 300,000 copies of his first book in print, and his second, "Silent Son," will be published in June.

After "State v. Justice" was published, Mr. Warfield attended a Literary Guild reception in New York. He was one of the invited authors, along with best-selling mystery writer Nelson De Mille and Mr. Grisham himself.

"I remember thinking, 'You're equals with them, at least on this setting tonight.' My excitement was almost overwhelming."

Mr. Warfield, who lives in western Howard County with his wife, Diana, says he's been able to make a living by writing books -- but he has kept a part-time private law practice for the past few years.

A SHORT SHELF LIFE

It's generally estimated that no more than 200 to 300 American authors make their living writing full time. In the increasingly brutally competitive world of publishing, making a career of fiction writing has become even harder -- and most observers say it will only get worse.

Certainly it has always been difficult to be a writer in the United States. Irwin Shaw told an interviewer many years ago that "an absolutely necessary part of a writer's equipment, almost as necessary as talent, is the ability to stand up under punishment, both the punishment the world hands out and the punishment he inflicts upon himself. If he doesn't have the faith in himself . . .

he'll wind up a one-book or a two-book man, and hitting the bottle instead of the typewriter."

Faith in oneself may not enough anymore. Listen to Phil Spitzer, the New York agent who is one of the best in the business. His client James Lee Burke, the gifted crime writer, from the mid-1970s to the mid-1980s had one book turned down by nearly 100 publishers before it found a home. Mr. Spitzer knows as much as anyone how important perseverence is in the book business, but he's increasingly pessimistic about what he sees.

"I've been in publishing 32 years, and I've never felt more than now that luck and guesswork were more important than your own judgment and knowledge of the business," Mr. Spitzer says with a note of resignation. "Things seem to happen for the wrong reasons.

"Everything is so uncertain. I have had more people in the past couple of years who have not sold their second or third novels even if their first or second sold. It seems to me that publishers more than ever are having the blockbuster mentality -- all or nothing."

He and others observe that in recent years, most publishers have been taken over by large conglomerates much more interested in recouping investments quickly than working with a writer over a period of years and several books, as was the tradition until the past decade. Not only do publishers demand impressive results quickly, they are less apt to take on books that may not sell, even books of undeniable merit.

"They want to start with a Howard Stern, because he'll make a lot of money right away," Ms. Cahill's agent, Alice Martell, says with a sigh. "I'm very realistic with my authors. I tell them for most books of literary fiction, there's very little publicity, and a very short shelf life. Books might stay there for a few weeks and that's it."

"Increasingly, you can have only one good chance," says Madison Smartt Bell, the Baltimore author of seven novels who teaches writing at Goucher College and Johns Hopkins University. "If your first book tanks [does poorly] or has even a respectable performance for a literary novel, you cannot simply assume that you will go on to the next book."

Ironically, "It's much easier to sell a first novel" than a later one, Mr. Spitzer says. "A publisher would much rather publish a terrific first novel and say it's bringing out something fresh. If it's your second or third book, the bookstore chains can just tap into the computer and say, 'The last one didn't do so well, so we'll pass.' "

AGAINST THE ODDS

When her first novel, "If Morning Ever Comes," was published in 1964, Baltimore novelist Anne Tyler recalls, "My agent, Diarmuid Russell, told me I had to start work on a second novel even before the first was in print. He seemed to feel that young novelists tended to drift permanently from their desks if they lost their initial momentum."

She was dubious at the time. "I remember thinking, 'What: I have to do it all over again?' But I followed his advice, and now I'm glad I did. For one thing, writing a second book kept me too busy to worry about how my first would be received -- which may have been his whole point."

Ms. Tyler, of course, went on to write 11 other novels, including "Breathing Lessons," which won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1989. But the path her career took is almost extinct in conteporary publishing: She has had the same publisher (Alfred A. Knopf) and the same editor (Judith Jones) during a 30-year career as a published author.

Mr. Bell also advises writers to get going quickly on their second novel -- something he didn't do after his debut novel, "The Washington Square Ensemble," was published in 1983.

"It was hard for me to acknowledge that I didn't know it all, because I was a published author, and it was six to eight months before I could start another," he says. "I think there is likely a certain psychological disappointment if you just sit on your hands and wait for reviews to come pouring in. Disregarding the outside world is something you have to do."

It's advice that Mr. Warfield, Ms. Cahill and Mr. Wade have heeded. Mr. Wade's just sent off his second novel (untitled) to his publisher, Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, where he is considered an emerging star. Mr. Wade says he's fortunate to have Algonquin as his publisher, given its reputation as one of the few houses that will stay with a writer through several books.

"We definitely try to work with our writers over the long term," says Robert Rubin, Mr. Wade's editor. "When we sign a writer up, what we are committing ourselves to is working with them, not necessarily publishing all their novels. We have rejected second or fourth novels by people we've published, but what we're trying to do is build writers over the long term. With a literary novelist, how you achieve success is by building an audience over four to five books."

"You need stamina," Mr. Wade acknowledges. "Sometimes I'll work a 10-hour day and then come home and write 'til 2 in the morning. But I'll make it on my own terms."

His second novel is set in Southern Maryland and concerns a man who returns to his hometown after many years away in self-imposed exile from it.

"It's about the nature of families and being involved in the whole process of living and dying with children," Mr. Wade says.

Growing up in semi-rural Anne Arundel County in the 1950s and '60s has made a him a lover of the country -- he recently planted 10 apple trees on the two acres in Gambrills in Anne Arundel County where he lives with his wife, Yvette, and their two sons. But the dream of making enough money to quit his job, buy a little farm, and write full time remains just that.

"I made some money off 'Company Man,' but nothing like people might think," Mr. Wade says, grimacing. "That starving-artist stuff is very overrated."

Says his editor, Mr. Rubin, "Very few people who write what is called literary fiction make a living out of doing so.

"We have at Algonquin only one writer who doesn't have to teach or hold another job to support himself. It's very demoralizing, sure, and I know Brent has chafed at it. He would like to be able to just write. But I don't see it getting any better -- the market for literary fiction is not growing."

THE QUIRKS OF PUBLISHING

The market can be a lot better for mystery and thriller writers such as Mr. Warfield. Mysteries are almost always more commercially viable than literary fiction; their authors generally sell more books and make more money.

For example, "Company Man" had a very respectable showing for a first literary novel, selling about 15,000 copies; "State v. Justice" has 38,000 copies in hardback and more than 300,000 copies in paperback. "Silent Son," Mr. Warfield's second thriller featuring Western Maryland prosecutor Gardner Lawson, will be published with a strong first printing of 35,000, says Larry Kirschbaum, his editor at Warner.

"We think he's a real talent," says Mr. Kirschbaum. "When you start with a first-time novelist in the legal genre, there's a lot of comparison with Scott Turow and John Grisham. Gally's first book was much better than average, and by the third or fourth book he should really take off."

In his law office in Ellicott City, Mr. Warfield shows off proudly the Japanese- and Portuguese-language paperback editions of "State v. Justice." He has great hopes for "Silent Son," and the books after that:

"I want to be an author people will read on name recognition. Once your name gets around, people will continue to read you -- Clancy, Turow, Grisham, Mary Higgins Clark."

He pauses.

"And Warfield," he says with a laugh that's somewhat embarrassed and somewhat giddy.

So eager, in fact, is he to spread the gospel of Gally that he will walk into bookstores, introduce himself to the manager or owner, and tout "State v. Justice." He'll do the same on an airplane.

He learns forward at his desk.

"On planes, if I see someone reading a Grisham book, I'll ask: 'Do you like Grisham? If you like legal thrillers, you'll like my books.' I have no problems going up to people."

Nor does he have any problem thinking of himself as -- finally -- a writer. "Not at all," he says quickly. "I think my best work is yet to come. I don't want to be limited to this genre. I don't want just to be a lawyer who writes books."

Mary Cahill, too, has several more books in mind. "My books are about characters," she explains, "and I always have a lot of

people roaring around in my head." On the morning of this interview, she's taking a break from revising "Alma Mater."

"When kids hit their senior year of high school, they really go to crap," says Ms. Cahill, rolling her eyes in bemusement. "It's nature's way of helping the parent let go. The book came about when I was thinking one day: Wouldn't it be funny if the mother wound up attending the same college as her son?"

Does she ever think about what would have happened if that bright, ambitious editorial assistant hadn't grabbed her unsolicited manuscript at Random House and championed it? Or if the book had died a quick and silent death in America's bookstores?

"I know all about the quirks of publishing," Ms. Cahill says, nodding. "This is what you hear about when you belong to a professional writers group -- I belong to two -- because all a writer does is whine, anyway."

After reflecting a moment, she goes on: "I would still be writing. Maybe I wouldn't have as much support from the people around me, but writing is the way I express myself."

"I don't think of myself as a negative person," she says. But Mary Cahill acknowledges later that underneath the resolve and faith in what she is doing, the anxiety remains when she thinks about the uncertain fate of her second book.

L "A nervous breakdown might be in order," she says, jokingly.

TIM WARREN is the book editor and a features writer for The Sun.