February 11, 2020 § 12 Comments
Thank you for your submission. We’d like to publish your essay.
The words every writer wants to hear. And yet…
I’d submitted the essay to a contest. I’d gotten free entry to the contest by participating in a thing, because I don’t normally pay to submit my work. I had not won the contest. In fact, I hadn’t heard who’d won until I looked up the results. But now, the nonfiction editor really liked my piece and would like to publish it.
The contest first prize: $500
What the magazine paid for non-contest publication: $0
I agonized about this in a writers’ group. I felt good about the piece, proud of it. Was it better to take the offer of publication, or to give myself the obligation of submitting to other, paying markets?
Money isn’t the only reason I write, although for me, and at least some other writers, whether or not a venue pays is a primary consideration when determining where to send my work. I also don’t believe that money is a determiner of “good writing.” Many things can identify good writing: whether or not a writer publishes, whether they have the good opinion of other writers or the approval of their teachers, whether they feel good themselves about work that shows growth, that they’re proud of. But simply getting paid is not an indicator of quality writing. Nor is reaching a wide readership.
(Fifty Shades of Grey: roughly 125 million copies sold. The Empathy Exams: 80,000 copies sold.)
Even publication itself is no guarantee of quality. Some writers are published due to gumption, drive, persistence, connections, genre, subject matter, and sheer luck. It is not external validation that determines the quality of our work or anyone else’s. So why do I care whether or not I get paid?
Cash vs. Stuff.
Every job an artist takes, every piece of creative work we make, leads to cash or stuff.
Early-career writers need stuff. Resume credits. Journal titles to list as “work forthcoming in…” in cover letters and queries. Social media clicks and comments, the ego-strokes of seeing our name in print and knowing we wrote something a stranger liked—loved! Showing our mom a magazine and thinking, I did not either waste my time in college.
But mid-career artists need cash. Cash lets us spend less time working our day job, because a $200 check can cover 4-20 hours, depending on what we do. Cash lets us buy Scrivener to organize our manuscript, or upgrade to that pretty Macbook Air so we can write at little Susie’s soccer game. Cash lets us sit in Starbucks all afternoon on a $4 latte while we type-type-type away. Cash buys conferences to connect with agents, and workshops to learn from writers who are a bigger deal than ourselves.
As our work progresses, we need a balance of cash and better stuff. Publication isn’t enough—we want to move from mid-level literary journals to big names, or make the jump to mass media. We want to spend our time drafting a whole book instead of revising an essay for $50. Or if we’re revising the essay, we want it to appear where readers and social clicks are counted in the hundreds of thousands, where we might be noticed by an agent, or somewhere we could be chosen/nominated for an award.
If we’re lucky and privileged, perhaps living somewhere with a low cost of living or with a fully-employed corporate spouse, or on sabbatical, we can focus our search on better stuff, fueled by the safety of having enough cash.
As I debated whether to accept the offer of publication in the journal that didn’t pay, one of the wisest writers I know, Joanne Lozar Glenn, offered another take: Were this journal’s readers my best audience? Was this a chance to share work that would make a difference to an audience that needed to read it?
Joanne’s words helped me decide. The journal, as beautiful as it was, as much as I respected and admired their work and their aesthetic, as much as my essay harmonized with their goals, did not have the size of readership I sought for a piece I cared this strongly about. (Note: I am not that important, but I am that vain.) Giving up a sure thing, a welcome home, was worth the risk of the essay going unpublished, or the hassle of sending it out to more journals. I’d rather take a chance for more cash, or better stuff.
The value of cash vs stuff can only be calculated by the recipient. Your small potatoes may be the largest check another writer has ever received. Your prestigious journal may be someone else’s safety submission. Think about what you need, what makes you feel good, what advances your career. What will make you feel you’ve profited.
Cash, or stuff?
February 4, 2020 § 10 Comments
Around the publication, fury, backpedaling, and consistent sales of American Dirt, another issue has arisen. Who gets to tell their story? Who gets to tell it first? Who gets to tell it with the support of the publishing industry?
Publishing’s whiteness is a problem. Publishing’s classism is a problem. These barriers deprive readers of color literary experiences similar to their own, as well as denying people of privilege the opportunity of discovery of other lives without burdening our friends with “please teach me to be better, person of color!” If we don’t publish, purchase and support books from marginalized communities, we are all poorer for it.
But springing from the issue of a previously-white-identifying author’s romantic thriller poorly marketed as a defining literary and cultural experience comes another problem: seeing a story like one’s own and assuming it’s been appropriated.
Responding to the American Dirt controversy, and expanding on her personal experience as a WOC publishing and marketing her memoir, Excavation, Wendy C. Ortiz wrote in Gay Mag:
When I learned of the book My Dark Vanessa, via synopsis online it sounded so much like Excavation I thought I was going to pass out. Stephen King had blurbed it, so I knew immediately it was a book that had been given a major book deal…I felt faint with disappointment and rage. Readers of my book reached out to let me know they saw it, too. The similarity of the stories, and how the book was being marketed, were too obvious to ignore. As much as I would like to avoid a book that fictionalizes an experience I lived, it will be difficult to… It will be placed, sponsored, touted, “dementedly praised” and more, because it has to — there was a seven figure deal.
Excavation, published in 2014, is an adult woman looking back on a five-year sexual relationship that started between her eighth-grade self and her adult English teacher, and trying to reconcile the youthful feelings of “a ‘relationship’ with a man I loved” with the adult realization that the relationship was abusive and harmful.
My Dark Vanessa, just published, is a novel about a woman who “suddenly finds herself facing an impossible choice: remain silent, firm in the belief that her teenage self willingly engaged in this relationship, or redefine herself and the events of her past. But how can Vanessa reject her first love, the man who fundamentally transformed her and has been a persistent presence in her life?”
Gosh, that sounds familiar. In fact, it sounds a lot like…
Tiger Tiger (2011) describes the relationship between author Margaux Fragoso, then prepubescent, who meets a 51-year-old-man who “tunes into her likes and dislikes with exquisite enthusiasm, with the result that she comes to see him as a soul mate. The unwavering laser of his attention makes her feel wanted and alive. In a prologue to her [memoir], the adult Margaux writes that spending time with a paedophile ‘can be like a drug high.’ In her own case, it was a drug she was unable to give up.”
Huh. Oh, wait, maybe the one I’m thinking of is a movie?
In The Tale (2018) Jennifer Fox is in her 40s when her mother discovers an essay, written when Jennifer was 13, about a “relationship” with her adult coach. Jennifer, played by Laura Dern, dismisses her mother’s concern, but after re-reading the essay Jennifer looks back on her life. While she remembers herself being older and sophisticated, she discovers old photos showing how small and childlike she was. The movie is based on the director (Jennifer Fox)’s own life.
Or that other movie, An Education, based on Lynn Barbor’s 2003 essay for Granta, her 2009 essay for The Guardian and her memoir about being seduced by an older man at age 16, and shown the sparkling life of cosmopolitan London before realizing her ‘boyfriend’ was a married con man?
Or maybe the plots of all these women’s stories just ring true for me, because ten years ago, I looked back and thought, Maybe that 28-year-old dating 15-year-old me did not have my best interests at heart…but I’m still friends with the 45-year-old who dated 18-year-old me, so what’s the difference?
It’s (sadly) not uncommon to look back as an adult and realize a childhood/very-young-adulthood relationship we believed ourselves an active participant in was not as subject to our own volition as we thought. It’s not uncommon to feel that we gained some positive things from unequal and abusive relationships. It’s less common to write a whole book about it, but I still wouldn’t call four books and two movies in the space of ten years (off the top of my head) rare.
It is not sour grapes to advocate for representation, or even to point out that a memoir by a woman of color was a harder sell than a novel about the same subject, seven years later, by a white author. Those are valid, important and necessary concerns. But when we look for the reasons one book was more embraced by publishing than another, it’s usually not “somebody stole my life.”
As memoirists, we are constantly mining our own experience to find an original telling of a universal tale. It is not our life’s singularity, but the individuality of our voice, our approach, and our personal revelations that make our memoir new. A truly one-of-a-kind story might not even resonate with readers, because part of the value of memoir is seeing ourselves in someone else’s world. True stories change lives because they show, You’re not alone. You’re not the only one who felt like that. You’re not the only one that happened to.
Allison K Williams is Brevity‘s Social Media Manager. Find her on Instagram for true stories that may be just like yours.
January 30, 2020 § 2 Comments
Wondering what conference is best for you as a writer, your book and your career? Trying to figure out if pitching agents in person will get more return for your efforts, or hoping to build some speaking credits with your writing-related expertise? The comprehensive guide is here!
Jane Friedman, author of The Business of Being a Writer and publisher of industry newsletter The Hot Sheet, has one of the most valuable websites in the business. With posts on querying, book proposals, writing craft and professional practices, it’s worth your time to browse the archives and keep up with her daily posts, both from Jane herself and a series of guest experts. Now, Jane’s Guide to Getting the Most Out of a Writing Conference gives a terrific overview of just about everything you need to know before choosing, attending, and spending money on a conference.
Key points include:
- Determining the conference size and focus best for you
- Connecting with other attendees on social media, even before you arrive
- Planning your time onsite
- Why panels are such a crapshoot for sharing expertise, and how moderators and conference organizers can do panels well
…and much more. I especially love Jane’s tips for socializing, even if you’re shy (top tip – carry a paper book, it’s a great conversation starter) and how to follow up socially with writers you want to keep knowing. And of course the number-one thing for presenters to remember: use the microphone. No matter how small the room or how terrific your theatrical training, there’s going to be at least one person with a hearing disability or who becomes a victim of weird acoustics. I’d add, from experience, using the mic means not having to yell everything you say (find those levels!).
Whether you’re packing for AWP or trying to decide if Hippocamp Creative Nonfiction Conference is part of your summer, check this guide first—and enjoy browsing the rest of www.janefriedman.com.
December 10, 2019 § 7 Comments
As the season approaches, you may want to notify your family, friends, and colleagues that you’ve been wealthy, successful, powerful and loved this year. Or at least didn’t fail as badly as it was suggested you would with that MFA in Creative Writing. (I am totally on the track to my own parking permit in the Remote Lot and teaching six adjunct classes a semester instead of seven, so suck it, Aunt Carol!)
Hence, the holiday newsletter. A chance to share those meaningful, intimate moments of your life, dreams, and family with all the people you don’t care about quite enough to send an individual card. It’s also a chance to show your mastery of the power of a well-chosen word or a scintillating sentence. Even the tiniest punctuation mark can convey worlds of meaning, and at gatherings of rivals and relatives, punctuation can spice up the most pedestrian conversation. Whether in writing or speech, herewith is your armor for the season—wear it wisely.
Apostrophe: A properly placed apostrophe is a symbol of your membership in the bourgeoisie. Sure, Cousin Ahmed owns a regional chain of successful halal butchers. But a gentle suggestion about his “lamb chop’s” sign demonstrates the value of your years of grammatical training. Try not to describe it as a “grocer’s apostrophe”—that’s just gauche.
Question Mark: A powerful deflector for all arguments. Best coupled with a distant look and a humble reference to one’s own virtue. For example, “Oh, Uncle Jim-Bob, did you mention something political? I was just thinking about whether to spend Boxing Day donating blood or working at the Habitat for Humanity project. Which would you pick?”
Interrobang: You just have to know what it is, then watch for a chance to drop it into conversation. Won’t your co-workers eyes widen when you suggest ending the company Secret Santa email with one of these bad boys!?
Ellipses: The magician of implication. Use it to suggest you couldn’t possibly list every wonderful thing in your world right now. After our trip to Iowa, little Josie won some prizes at the state fair…Jacob joined a few clubs…lots going on! Here, those three tiny dots punch above their weight, handling a fifth-runner-up for Quilting: Beginners Single Patch and the weekly Scared Straight meetings with ease.
With fellow writers, you may need to bring out the big guns. Enjoying a holiday book-gathering, but the conversation has started to flag? Bust out your opinion on the Oxford Comma. Once you mention the strippers, Stalin and JFK, the party takes care of itself.
Finally, remember to always take your notebook to holiday dinners. Then, when Aunt Carol asks “Do any memoirs actually sell, I mean, if they aren’t by celebrities?” frown distractedly, scribble, and ask her “Can you repeat that please? It’s perfect for Chapter Three…”
Allison K Williams is Brevity‘s Social Media Editor. Follow her on Instagram for more mild humor and devastating punctuation.
December 3, 2019 § 7 Comments
Back when I was a professional circus performer, most of my shows were at “busker festivals”—large community events where a street or streets are closed to traffic, and shows happen throughout downtown.
(Not seeing it? Here’s an uplifting two-minute montage of the busker festival in Ontario I now direct, check out the flip at :52!)
A tradition at busker festivals is the Group Show, a closing performance with all the acts presenting 3-5 minutes each. Group Shows are fun for the performers as well as the audience—buskers bring out new material, tricks too difficult or dangerous for their regular shows, or they combine acts with other artists.
Sometimes there’s an inside joke. At a festival in Canada, performers swapped costumes and did bits of each others’ acts. Funniest of all was emcee Sharon, a not-contortionist dressed as a contortionist, running around shouting “I’m Suzie Splits! Buy my merchandise!” As she introduced each act, she added the slogan: “Next up, the amazing Aerial Angels! Did I mention you could buy my merchandise?” or “Wasn’t that juggling terrific! Buy my merchandise!”
We all loved Suzie Splits (not her real name). But what we remembered from her show was not her amazing bendy skills, but her constant merchandise pitching.
You may not be hawking souvenir t-shirts, bumper stickers or can cozies, but you might be selling something else. Workshops. Editorial services. Coaching. Writing retreats. Chances are, you’re also part of some pretty great writing communities. Which means you’ve seen the equivalent of Suzie Splits, tweeting about her book (now available on Amazon!), Instagramming about her retreat (look how pretty!), or posting about her great new service in a Facebook group (discounts for members!).
When you need that service, or have been meaning to buy that book, those announcements can be great. But most of the time, let’s face it, they’re kind of irritating. And irritation doesn’t sell books—or anything else.
How can you connect your services with your audience, without alienating the very clients you’re seeking? Some best practices:
1) Revise your bio. Every time someone sees you or your writing online, your bio should contain a clickable link to the most important thing you’re selling right now. If your website isn’t selling anything NOW, send people to the social media you enjoy the most, or a recent publication. Update Twitter/Instagram bios regularly to highlight your current work, whether that’s a new essay published or a service you’re offering.
2) Use your email signature. An automatic email signature saves time and reaches people outside your writing community. Responding to your lawn service? Maybe their daughter’s getting her MFA, or the main mower has a deep love of reading you don’t know about.
3) Promote one thing at a time. When I add my bio to a Brevity blog, I rotate what I’m pitching. Some weeks it’s “follow me on Instagram” or “join my newsletter.” Sometimes I’ll mention a conference I’m speaking at, or a workshop I’m teaching. But if I listed my whole calendar, readers would get lost in a mass of information.
4) Promote your friends…one at a time. Twitter feeds full of retweets of books for sale are worse than no promotion at all, because people mute or ignore spammy accounts. If I’m promoting a friend’s event or service, I skip promoting myself for a couple of days before and after, because I want the information to stick.
5) Ask your friends to promote you. When a friend mentions you in their newsletter, or on social media, that’s an endorsement, far more valuable than self-promotion. People want advice from their trusted friends more than an ad from you.
6) Guest blog. Writing a post for a blog with a substantial following raises your profile. Look for leaders in the writing community, like Jane Friedman, and browse their blogs. What can you write for that audience? Can you angle that topic to establish your own expertise or mention your service in the context of valuable information?
7) Most important of all: timing. At least 10 “gives” for every “ask.” This establishes you as a valuable, contributing member of the community, rather than a drive-by using the group as a captive audience. Gives can be sharing links or information, answering questions you have expertise or even just an opinion on, posting thoughtful questions for discussion, sharing funny/meaningful/frustrating/triumphant moments from your own writing process, making jokes or participating in Twitter threads.
The very best self-promotion is offering something people already want and are delighted to discover that you sell, because they already like you. They trust you. Because you’ve shown you want their community, not just their cash.
I once explained how street performers make money to a reality-show investor: “We do the very best show we can, for free. At the end of the show, people like us so much, they joyfully give us money, even though they could easily just walk away. Our job is to make them thrilled they have the opportunity to pay us.”
As creatives, that’s our job. Hang our paintings on the gallery wall for everyone to see until a buyer walks in. Donate our time and information to groups who need it, as we can afford to give it. Establish our skills and knowledge and ethos so clearly that when we do (finally!) announce a product, our audience is excited we’re letting them buy.
Allison K Williams is Brevity‘s Social Media Editor. Rebirth Your Book retreat in Costa Rica with Allison and Dinty W. Moore coming May 2020 (please buy our merchandise).
November 19, 2019 § 11 Comments
In a query, comps help the agent understand where your book fits in the market. Comps can be titles or authors:
My memoir, Not Just Good Hair: The True Story of an Anchorman will appeal to readers of Walter Cronkite’s A Reporter’s Life and Rather Outspoken: My Life in the News
Complete at 70,000 words, Plummeting Beats Paperwork: How I Survived Everest and My Million-Dollar Divorce combines the humor of Tori Spelling’s Unknown TerriTori with the adrenaline rush of Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air.
Lydia Yuknavitch meets Marie Kondo in this memoir of decluttering my own psyche after trauma.
In a query, pop culture, movies and TV are fair game, if and only if you are confident your manuscript will wow the agent like the show does, or it truly ties into a major cultural moment.
Parking Daniel Craig’s Lambo: My Celebrity Assistant Life will appeal to Bond movie fans with my behind-the-scenes stories from the Skyfall set, and to readers of Page Six, for whom I debunk rumors about Craig’s underwear, tattoos, and what really happened at the Oscars.
Big Little Lies meets The Parent Trap in I Would Have Killed Her Myself: Mourning the Twin Sister I Hated.
Remember, if you use non-book comps, you are literally comparing your work to media with million-dollar budgets and saying “my book’s that good.” You’ll need a very strong hook to make a non-book comp seem logical, rather than overly aspirational or flat-out deluded.
In a proposal, comps show how your book fits a pre-existing market and appeals to the same readers. Describe the content, what’s great about that book, and (gently!) express how your own manuscript is different/better/fills an unmet need. For example:
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, Second Edition: How To Edit Yourself Into Print by Renni Browne and Dave King (1994, reprinted 2004, revised edition HarperCollins: 2010)
With chapters on dialogue, exposition, POV and interior monologue, this book seeks to replicate the process of working with a professional editor. Some reviewers complained the book seemed overly compressed and “hard to follow.”
SEVEN DRAFTS: Self-Edit Like a Pro From Blank Page to Book is clear about how each type of draft builds on the previous round, and lays out specific steps for the writer to take in each draft.
At Home in the World: Reflections on Belonging While Wandering the Globe by Tsh Oxenreider (Thomas Nelson 2017)
“In this candid, funny, thought-provoking account, Tsh shows that it’s possible to combine a love for adventure with a love for home” (publisher’s description). This book embodies the travel-without-itinerary concept, but with a focus on family travel and homeschooling rather than GO EAST YOUNG WOMAN’s solo expeditions.
Your proposal’s comps section includes 3-5 titles that are:
- Current within the last 1-4 years.
- Good sellers, to show a healthy market…
- …but not bestsellers. Eat Pray Love is a phenomenon, not a realistic comp. The exception is if you have a clever/fun comparison, or it’s unavoidable, i.e., you wrote about going to Italy, India and Indonesia as a deliberate recreation of Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey.
- Not written by celebrities, because “famous person speaks” is its own genre.
How to find your comps:
- Walk into your local chain and indie bookstores and figure out where your book will be shelved. Write down the other titles on that shelf.
- Repeat step 1 at the library, then ask the librarian what other books she’d recommend like those.
- Enter the writers’ names at Literature-Map, to find similar authors.
- Look the books up on Amazon. Or, if you’ve skipped directly to this step, look up a big-deal book in your category. Scroll down to Product Details a ranking section that looks like this:
Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #108,983 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
Each of those subjects is a clickable link that will take you to the rankings of all the books in that category. Look at the top 50 books on each list.
- If a book is not in the top 50, it is probably not popular enough to be a good comp. If a book is in the top 5, it may be too popular. Choose titles with ranks <200,000 in Books and <5000 in their smaller categories. It’s also a good sign if the book has 50+ reviews.
- Read reviews and note what readers love and what they complain about, and the book’s description. Use these to sum up the content, say what’s great about the book, and a respectful statement of what this book lacks that your book brings. Remember that book’s agent may read your proposal, and you want them to nod in agreement, not get irritated at your criticism.
- Think laterally. The best comps may mirror one of your themes or plot arcs, rather than being a similar story. For example, an author writing about learning to be a good parent might use comps about climbing a mountain, negotiating with terrorists, or running a restaurant, rather than strictly parenting memoirs.
Finding comps can be tedious, but it doesn’t have to be painful. It’s a series of bite-size tasks to do when you want to work on your book but you’re getting interrupted a lot. And hey, make sure to say hello and buy a book when you’re in that indie store—they’ll be hosting your reading in a year or two.
Allison K Williams is Brevity‘s Social Media Editor. She would like to inform you that after the fun of six months of proposal writing, it’s entirely likely you’ll be revising the whole thing with your agent (thanks, Janet!). Follow Allison on Instagram for writing, memoir, and writing retreat news!
November 14, 2019 § 11 Comments
It’s the siren song of self-publishing, and it’s calling you.
Leap over the gatekeepers! Look at all the crap they publish every year!
How many more celebrity tell-alls do we need?
Good writing should be what counts!
Sometimes it feels like bad or even just average writing is published every day while one’s own quality work goes begging. We worry that it’s all about who you know—and it partly is. Whether we have an MFA—and it partly is. Whether we’re already famous—and it definitely is. If you’ve truly “done the work,” why wait for someone else’s permission to live the dream? Especially if you’re sitting on a stack of query rejections.
But the magic combination of quality and marketability that makes a memoir sellable to a traditional publisher is also the key to self-publishing success.
It’s very, very hard to sell a self-published memoir without a clear hook and a specific reader demographic. (For fiction, books must fit a narrow genre that sells ebooks like mad). Authors may self-publish because they believe “the establishment” is overlooking their vast talent or snobbishly closing the doors to success. But traditional publishing wants to make money. If a book is likely to make money, the establishment will buy it and try their best to sell it. Meanwhile, presses large and small buy quite a few brilliantly written, medium-marketable books, hoping sales will surprise them as they enjoy the warm glow of nurturing new talent. Tremendously marketable books may not be great from a literary standpoint—but saying a popular, badly-written book is a bad thing is like insisting everyone finish their broccoli before having ice cream. Financially, every ghostwritten celebrity memoir keeps afloat a whole raft of mid-level authors.
Maybe agents and publishers focus too much on “platform.” Why should you have to be a speaker or a widely-quoted expert or write op-eds or be a social-media star? Can’t you just write a good book? But the paradox is that if your book is truly fresh, well-written and strong enough to sell without platform, agents and publishers will snap you up. The horrible, unspoken second part of “sorry, you don’t have enough platform” is “and your book isn’t groundbreaking enough to spur me to overcome that challenge.”
Excellent and painstaking writers often miss that crucial variable, and it’s heartbreaking to pour tremendous time and effort into an unsellable book. And unless you hit big—50,000+ copies sold—self-publishing poisons your numbers. Low previous sales make it considerably harder to traditionally publish later; you also spend the “debut” excitement that sometimes sells a book.
A publishing deal is a corporate investment in your career, an endorsement that tells readers, “We bought this book and you should, too.” True, publishers aren’t bringing as much sales clout to the table as they used to. But if you’re not ready to hustle for your traditionally published book, self-publishing isn’t going to help.
Flying solo might still be right for you. Consider:
- Do you have the money/skills to make a professional cover that fits the genre and serves as clickbait? Do you have the judgment to let your favorite image go in favor of a cover that sells books?
- Do you have the money/skills to design the book interior and handle ebook conversions to multiple formats?
- Do you have substantial personal clout in a field or organization strongly and specifically interested in your book, with 5000+ members who will purchase your books and evangelize on your behalf?
- Do you have 10-20 hours a week to follow up on press releases, place supporting articles in mass media, chase interviews, and urge friends, family and strangers to review your book on Amazon and Goodreads?
- Do you have the money/skills to build a website with a secure e-commerce portal?
- Can you pay a PR person to do some of this stuff, or put in another 10 hours a week?
- Will you wholesale to bookstores at the standard discount, even though intuition screams “why do I have to give up another $2/copy?”
There’s more—a lot more—to successful self-publishing, but contemplating this list is a good start.
The publishing world is not full of cruel gatekeepers, but people who genuinely value beautiful work and also need to make a buck. Very few writers create work of transcendent beauty surpassing the need for clear connection to an existing market. Ask yourself, is this the best book I can write? Do I know exactly who will want to read it? Do I have a realistic and extensive plan to reach those people? For both traditional and self-publishing, the gate is only open when the answer is yes, yes, yes.
Allison K Williams is Brevity‘s Social Media Editor and leads the Rebirth Your Book writing retreats. Join her in Dubai Feb 26-March 4, or with Dinty W. Moore in Costa Rica May 18-24. Or follow her adventures in writing on Instagram.
November 7, 2019 § 4 Comments
I thought I’d misheard the number when the Consul General of the United States mentioned the attendance of the eleven-day Sharjah International Book Fair in his welcome speech at the American Authors Reception. The same number showed up on Wikipedia—I figured maybe it was inflated for PR purposes.
“Where would they all park?” asked my agent.
Then I read the program. Almost 2000 exhibitors are here—publishers, distributors, government culture agencies, bookstores. (If you’ve been to the annual AWP Conference, they have around 500 exhibitors. So multiply that overwhelm by 4.) Admission is free. There’s a Comic Station, a Cookery Corner, and a Social Media Station, a weird blue cube in which I talked to a deeply attentive audience about writing for social media. The main lobby outside was so crowd-loud I needed a handheld mic in what was functionally a closed room. Today’s Women in Publishing Summit is expected to have nearly 300 people, including yours truly.
The entire publishing industries of the Middle East and North Africa are here; two full days are devoted to international rights sales. The region includes 411 million people; it’s not a stretch to imagine six-tenths of a percent of them work in publishing or government agencies promoting their national literary tradition. Throw in India (at least 80 Indian publishers are here) and you’re selecting bookstore owners, editors and readers from another 1.3 billion people. And they don’t need to park—most of them flew here and Uber-ed to the convention center. Many of the locals have drivers.
On the exhibit floor, there were books in Arabic, English, Hindi, French, German, Spanish, Italian, and Japanese. A local chain bookstore displayed new books at 40% off. A historic publisher from the UK displayed priceless engraved first editions in glass cases. Here, Borders still lives and they’ve got a booth. There are names I’ve heard: Anita Nair, Steve Harvey, Orhan Pamuk, Bernice McFadden, Amitabh Bachchan, Macmillan, Amazon, the American Library Association. Vikram Seth explained to a hall packed with schoolchildren that he’d have written more books if he stopped playing Candy Crush.
There are a lot more names I haven’t heard, Arabic, Indian and Persian authors packing the auditorium, their book-signing lines snaking through the cavernous main hall. Then again, I hadn’t heard of Sharjah until I moved to Dubai. The United Arab Emirates is actually seven independent units—I’d call them city-states if they weren’t plopped in the middle of spacious desert, but the principle is the same. Everyone’s heard of Dubai and most people know Abu Dhabi. There’s also Ras al Khaimah, Ajman, Fujairah, Umm al Quain, and Sharjah. Sharjah is next-door to Dubai, it’s 100% dry (no alcohol or rain), and it loves books.
UNESCO named Sharjah the World Book Capital for 2019, recognizing “the best city program aimed at promoting books.” The Book Fair is under the patronage of the ruler of Sharjah, Sheikh Sultan bin Muhammad Al-Qasimi. The Sheikh (who holds doctorates in History and Political Geography) not only opened the Book Fair and hung out (or whatever one calls casual royal interaction), he welcomed the American authors at a reception at the US Consul General’s house.
Can you imagine the highest government official in your home country not only making time for the big cultural event photo op, but sticking around to enjoy the scene, then heading over to a house party to personally welcome another country’s visiting authors? (Maybe if you’re Icelandic.)
This gives me hope in the world. That even in an absolute monarchy, in a region of the world where human rights as we conceive them in the West are not a particularly high priority, even in a place where a lot of women write books because it’s a socially acceptable activity when you live with your parents until you get married and something’s gotta fill that time, there is a love of literature so profound that high society, top officials, royalty, Nobel laureates and movie stars have all showed up to celebrate it.
It also gives me hope that keynote speaker Steve Harvey earned a negative review for his “outdated views about family and the roles of men and women” in local paper The National. Free speech is not a right in the UAE. Newspaper stories are approved, and people with power are condoning that statement. Books published locally go through a three-permit process, including submitting one’s manuscript for government approval—but plenty of books published elsewhere are distributed in the Emirates. We all know words can change the world, bring communities together and cross international borders. Honoring literature is honoring ideas, and it’s moving to watch that happen here.
November 5, 2019 § 16 Comments
I’m taking an Instagram course. Which is the sort of ridiculous thing that exists these days—you paid real money to learn about Instagram? From who, some kind of Instagram guru? Wait, don’t you already teach about Instagram?
I’ve argued before that writers don’t need ten thousand followers for our literary community and/or platform; we need about a thousand engaged followers. People who actually want to have a conversation with us, and for whom Instagram is a free and convenient way to do that. My captions aspire to mini-essay status, and I do, in fact, have conversations with other writers. People I admire; people who (I hope) admire me right back. I’d like to have more conversations (please join me!), and I’m missing a key ingredient: better photos.
While I love and advocate for words on Instagram, there’s no escaping that it’s still primarily a visual medium. Many of the people I interact with I’ve already met in real life, at a writing conference or an event. If I want strangers to slow their scroll and interact, I need photos that pop, that say “there’s more to find out here.”
The course teacher’s photos are amazing. The visual impact is such that scrollers become readers, pausing to look at Sara Tasker’s posts and read her words, click over to her blog, maybe buy her book. One key concept she teaches is “Moments not things.” For example, a plate of beautiful cupcakes, arranged just so, pink frosting sculpted into dainty swirls. It’s a pretty picture, but it’s just a picture. Add a child’s hand reaching into the frame, one finger sneaking some icing, and now it’s a moment, the first sentence of a story, with the rest told in the caption.
This applies to people, too. What’s more precious: The photo of a kid posed stiffly in front of a photo backdrop? Or the hurried shot of “First day of school but she’s late for the bus so I’ve got her running and waving while I thrust the 7TH GRADE sign into the frame”? One is a moment. One is a thing.
As writers, this is the difference between telling and showing:
We were so poor we qualified for public assistance and had to buy the cheapest groceries. My mom was ashamed and tried to hide our broke and hungry state.
It’s not bad, but it’s still telling. An exercise I learned from Andre Dubus III was to take a series of abstract concepts and express them through a concrete situation or action.
We made dollar-store macaroni and cheese with water instead of milk.
We went through Justice, Fatherly Love, Motherly Love, Betrayal, Jealousy, Sexual Deception, Shame, Pride, Loyalty and a few more. I took the workshop two years in a row, and both times, every writer in the room had vivid, concrete experiences that could be turned into useful elements of their memoir or novel. Sometimes, pinpointing the moment led to an even larger theme:
My mom resewed her underwear for us…but we weren’t poor, it was that dad controlled the money and wouldn’t let her have it.
As I take the lessons of the course into both my writing and my photography, I’m looking at the world differently. The huge, shiny food court I see every day? Sure it’s part of my world, very “Dubai,” and different from many people’s experience, but it’s a thing. The janitor resting, head down on his arms on the plastic table before the mall opens, because he’s dropped off by a van that gets here too early? That’s a moment. If I do the research, maybe it’s also a story.
Whether you’re writing only in words, or including photos in your work, your Instagram, or your personal album, find what’s outside the frame that belongs in the story. Find the meaning in the thing. Find the moment.