Jane Friedman's Blog: Jane Friedman, page 102

How to Lessen Your Chances of an Online Crisis

Photo credit: Bubba’s Bag of Photos on Visual Hunt / CC BY-NC-ND

Today’s guest post is by social media expert Chris Syme (@cksyme), author of Crisis Management for Authors: How to Manage an Online Disaster and Protect Your Reputation.

It can happen to you. Your carefully built author business and your reputation can come under attack and threaten to disrupt your livelihood and your personal life. But you can help prevent a crisis in the first place by using some simple engagement strategies.

When we think of engagement we usually think of social media and newsletter content, building relationships, and getting people to click on a link. But there are several benefits of developing engagement strategies that help prevent a crisis:

Building a family of invested ambassadors that will advocate for you in a crisis will give you the freedom to ask for help, if you need it.
Identifying and cultivating goodwill conversations with key influencers can help extend your reach in a crisis. Sometimes you may need help getting a message out quickly to as many people as possible on back channels.
Developing working relationships with media representatives in the social space who can also be advocates on your behalf may come in handy when you are being crucified in the arena of popular opinion.

You should develop a social media presence before a crisis hits so you won’t look like a novice or “pretender” in the social space. Communities don’t mind doing you the favor of advocacy in a crisis if you have nurtured the relationship already. But if you just “appear” on social media during a negative event, you will be ignored or even targeted for your behavior. Never try and “build a following” during a crisis. Use the following you’ve already built.

Build a Core Group When There Is No Crisis

Advocates can do more to shorten a crisis than anything you can say or do. I have personally seen many crises cut short or averted by purposeful planned intervention by engaged friends, fans, and press. The sum total of your engaged network constitutes your reputation. And reputation is your biggest asset in a crisis.

We’re not talking about taking to the internet to activate an army of positive-talking do-gooders here. We’re talking about building a network of core readers, author friends, media people, and industry friends who know you, like your books, and would do you a strategic favor if asked. Advocacy needs to be organic, not staged.

Side note: Having engaged readers means selling less and giving more. I am saddened by the practice of using social media, email, and websites to just say, “Buy my latest book.” That tactic builds zero loyalty. Followers are interested in building a relationship, in connecting with you as a person as well as an author. This can make authors uncomfortable, but it’s the best way to build a lifelong loyal fan. If you want to build a positive reputation as an author, give more than you take.

Lay the Groundwork for Prevention

Much cattle, much care, as the British say. The “other” side of engage is that you have to put measures in place to monitor your accounts and lay the groundwork for crisis prevention. This isn’t about being an online tyrant; it’s about creating an atmosphere of safety, transparency, and civility. Implement these procedures as part of crisis prevention. Here are the housekeeping tasks.

1. Create a posting policy on your blog and all your social media pages. Moderate comments on your blog instead of letting them auto-populate. This gives you the leverage to delete and block people who are trolls or exhibit inappropriate behavior. Make your commenting policy clear near the comments section and on your website’s privacy policy page.

On your Facebook page, note your commenting policy on the About tab. In Facebook groups, put posting and comment policy in your group description or on a document in your Files tab. You can also create Group Rules in the Manage Group tab in your group. Here is a link to my social media commenting policy as an example.

2. Monitor your pages and groups daily. Check your notifications to find out what is new. Don’t be afraid to hide or delete posts or block people who do not follow your page or group guidelines. I usually message people to let them know what I’ve done and why.

3. Familiarize yourself with deleting, blocking, and reporting features on all the social media channels where you maintain a presence. Know how to report inappropriate content and register a complaint or concern on every network where you’re active. It’ll save you a lot of time later when you need to use those features.

4. Don’t engage in dishonest online practices. For example, don’t buy followers or reviews or add email subscribers that haven’t opted in. Bad habits invite crisis. Be honest and transparent—and remember you don’t own that Facebook page. You’re renting it.

Crisis prevention strategies lower the chances of a negative event appearing on the horizon. But it something bad does happen, here are tips on managing an online crisis.

If you found this post helpful, check out Chris Syme’s Crisis Management for Authors: How to Manage an Online Disaster and Protect Your Reputation.

What to Look for in a Book Publicist—Plus Tips for Going It Alone

Photo credit: meeshypants on Visualhunt.com / CC BY

Today’s guest post is an excerpt adapted from Ideas, Influence, and Income by Tanya Hall.

A successful book publicity campaign can bring in a level of media coverage that lands more clients, more brand cachet, more book sales, and additional media opportunities. That makes hiring an outside publicity firm a big decision, and knowing what to expect on the front end can help you make the right selection and get more out of the experience. If you’re considering hiring a publicist, here are a few things you should keep in mind.

A good publicist will find multiple angles for pitching your story.

Each media outlet serves a different segment of your audience in a different way, so the hook of the publicity pitch needs to be tailored to their demographics and the tone of their content. Having multiple angles in your pitching arsenal is also necessary in case what seemed to be the most obvious angle just isn’t working. Whether due to a general lack of interest or competing current events, sometimes a pivot to a different angle can make or break a campaign.

A publicist does not burn valuable journalist relationships with off-target pitches.

A publicist’s contacts, and his or her relationship with those contacts, mean everything to the success of the pitch. Journalists are inundated with pitches from publicists who use a “spray and pray” approach to getting the word out versus thoughtful, well-crafted pitches that are built with the journalists’ audience in mind. For that reason, resist the urge to push your publicist to blast a useless press release. Work with them to find the most intriguing parts of your story and zero in on finding the audience that really cares.

A good publicist is strategic about the order in which they pitch the media.

In many cases, major outlets want an exclusive. So if you write a great opinion piece or information article, for example, your publicist would typically give the major publications first run at picking it up before approaching smaller outlets. This way, you’re getting maximum impact out of that content.

A publicist follows up with creativity and diplomacy.

It’s a rare pitch that captures a journalist’s attention at first glance. Journalists are busy trying to stay on top of current events and trends, plus the never-ending pitches from sources known and unknown. A good publicist will follow up with an added bit of relevance or demographic info to add new life to the pitch, and the publicist should provide you (and whoever else you feel needs it) with a weekly update detailing their pitches and follow-up efforts.

A publicist does not determine world events.

Unfortunately, sometimes the odds don’t work in your favor. Timing is critical to the success of a publicity campaign. It’s important to consider holidays, tie-ins, anniversaries, and other known events and important dates as you strategize your big push.

Even with highly thought-out timing and strategy, a campaign can be completely derailed by the weight of other newsworthy stories that simply monopolize the headlines. Major events like presidential elections will predictably dominate the news for a good length of time, but unforeseen events like natural disasters or celebrity deaths can also deal an unexpected blow to publicity efforts in certain media outlets.

A good publicist will tell you what you may not want to hear.

When choosing a publicist, stay away from the yes-man. You may need a dose of tough love from your publicist to ensure your expectations are reasonable. (We all think our stories are great, after all, and it’s hard to imagine that someone doesn’t care, isn’t it?)

Your publicist also needs to be frank with you about the areas where you need polish, whether that’s speaking on camera or being able to quickly crank out a great opinion article concerning trends in your business when a journalist requests it. Heed their advice, and work out those rough spots so that you make the most of these opportunities when they do arrive.

Like so many powerful relationships, the most effective publicists serve as partners to help you grow your brand. Keeping these points in mind will help ensure a smooth start and better working relationship so you can stay focused on your moment in the spotlight.

Going It Alone

Hiring a publicist is expensive. If funds prohibit engaging a publicist to support your book launch, it’s better to try it on your own than to do nothing at all—as long as you approach it strategically. Here are some tips to increase your likelihood of scoring powerful publicity.

Tailor your pitch to the journalist.

Reporters are slammed with pitches, sometimes upward of a hundred per day. They can smell a “spray and pray” mass pitch in no time flat and will throw it in the “pass” pile just as quickly.

Take the time to customize your pitch to be appropriate for the media outlet you’re targeting. This means you’ll need to think about their viewer or reader demographics and spin the pitch angle so that it resonates with that group. Make yourself familiar with their programming and stay close to that tone.

Additionally, larger outlets may have multiple reporters whom you’d like to pitch, with each handling a different beat. For instance, a growing health-oriented start-up might consider pitching separate reporters for the business and health beats at the same publication . . . and the pitch should be modified accordingly for these different audiences.

Provide proof of concept.

Busy reporters don’t have time to research you, your company, or your performance. Ultimately, they are looking for content that will drive views and readership—so establish that there’s demand for your story as soon as possible.

If you can point to a wave of awards, other recent media coverage, or growth numbers, working those into your pitch will help the reporter understand why an audience will care about your story and why it is news.

Keep it succinct.

Your pitch will be considered and reviewed in minutes, if not seconds. Set aside some time to write just the first few sentences of your pitch. Then rewrite them and rewrite them again, until these sentences hit the reader over the head with the compelling point of your pitch. If you don’t hook the reporter quickly, you don’t stand a chance to land coverage.

Make the reporter’s job easy.

Don’t you love it when someone walks into your office with a problem and then presents a well-thought-out solution or two for your consideration? Of course you do. It makes your job easier.

The same is true of reporters. The easier you can make it for them to pull together the story, the better. For example, note who is available for an interview and whether you have license-free footage or images available that could be used to build out the piece.

Don’t call.

No reporter is going to pick up the phone and take your pitch. Send an email or connect with the reporter via social media (Twitter is great for this), and ask how they prefer to be pitched.

Tie your pitch to an event or anniversary.

Media outlets often run stories around themes related to holidays, events, or anniversaries. Use tools like National Day Calendar to find day, week, or month observations that can be tied into your story. (Think “National Small Business Day”—but there are plenty of fun ones too!)

To capitalize on local news angles, create a calendar of major community events and anniversaries and pitch your story idea. Pitch lead times vary by outlet and format (print, broadcast, etc.)—but for a local story, one month of lead time should cover you.

Use online pitch resources.

Clearly, pitching effectively takes a lot of planning and effort. In between your strategic pitches, watch for opportunities for commentary and contributed pieces that may surface on sites like Help a Reporter Out (also called HARO, helpareporter.com) and Profnet.com. These sites exist to connect journalists with resources to help them build out stories for various publications.

These calls for contributions are usually very deadline oriented—so you’ll need to keep your content matrix handy in order to pull from and adapt pieces you’ve already created (unless you are a tireless, speedy writer).

Parting advice

As with any type of marketing, measuring the ROI (return on investment) of publicity can be a challenge. But a nice publicity hit can bring a surge of follow-on attention from other reporters to reward your efforts. As you secure media placements, be sure to share those articles, interviews, speaking engagements, and the like. Keep a running list of your activities on your website, along with an updated press kit and speaking menu so people can easily identify you as an expert source for their topic.

Ideas, Influence, and Income is a comprehensive guide to writing, publishing, and launching your book—and monetizing your content by Tanya Hall. Learn more.

Looking Back: A Retrospective Narrative That Appeals to the Senses

Photo credit: Mériol Lehmann on VisualHunt / CC BY-NC-SA

Today’s post is by regular contributor Peter Selgin, the award-winning author of Your First Page. He offers first-page critiques to show just how much useful critical commentary and helpful feedback can be extracted from a single page—the first page—of a work-in-progress. Learn more about getting a first-page critique.

First Page

They came to us with the mean December wind, three cars in all. We lived on a desolate country road where approaching sounds could be heard before things happened. There was the muffled rumble of their exhaust reverberating off mounds of snow, then the moaning of their engines. I rushed to the front living room window, pulled the drapery back, and pressed my nose to the pane. My breath fogged the glass and I could taste dust on my lips. Soon, boxed shadows appeared from around the bend. They turned into our long drive in a systematic order, each bumper connecting to the next. Their tires crunched the frozen ground in a slow, torturous grind.

Daddy told me they were relatives coming to pay their respects. We, my two brothers and I, didn’t need to bathe or put on school clothes. “They’re not that kind of company,” Daddy said. His voice quivered with anger.

It was the day after Christmas, 1956. I was only twelve years old, and I didn’t understand Daddy’s coldness towards our visitors. What I did understand was the fact that my mother had died, in the morning hours of Christmas Eve from what was described to me as “woman cancer.” The nurses at the hospital whispered it behind the shield of their hands, as though it was a dirty secret and by speaking the words out loud they too would be cursed with the same kind of cancer that claimed Mom.

Watching the cars approach, I wondered if that’s what they were coming for, to claim Mom, or what she’d left behind. The joke was on them. She didn’t have anything left, nothing of value. Just some old, worn dresses, a wedding ring Daddy said he got out of a Crackerjack box, and two fancy hairpins she wore to proper occasions: nothing worth bickering over.

First-Page Critique

The opening sentence of this first page puts us in capable hands: “They came to us with the mean December wind, three cars in all.”

The cunning juxtaposition of a personified wind (picture a cartoon character with furrowed brow, puffy ruddy cheeks, quivering jowls) with those three matter-of-fact cars, is unsettling, as it’s meant to be. It thrusts us into the psyche of the narrator, a child to whose home on Christmas Eve an uninvited visitor arrives. Not Santa, with his brimming sleigh of gifts, but the Grim Reaper who has come for his mother.

Several things account for the effectiveness of this opening. For one, it appeals immediately and thoroughly to the senses. First, we have that “mean” wind. I’ve said elsewhere that adjectives aren’t descriptions, but opinions. True. Yet thanks to that “mean” we don’t need to be told that the wind is cold, or harsh, that it lashes cheeks and draws tears.

Next, we’re treated to the ominous rumblings of those approaching cars, “their exhausts reverberating off mounds of snow, then the moaning of their engines.” Note the choice of words: “muffled rumble,” “moaning”—sounds that connote the mother’s final breaths and moans of agony during her death throes. Drawn by the “moaning” of those engines, the narrator (we’re not told her gender; I’ll assume she’s a girl) rushes into the living room where she “[pulls] the drapery back.” I can feel those heavy drapes parting under the influence of small hands as the girl “[presses her] nose to the pane.” What the character sees through that icy pane is no longer the benign world so familiar to her the day before, but a world transformed by death.

According to the narrator’s father, the cars hold “relatives coming to pay their respects.” And though the narrator may not say so, or even know it, we feel that for her those three cars with their ominous rumblings stand for death itself. 
Is it a stretch to assume that the breath with which the girl fogs the glass is as fleeting as the oval of fog itself? And that the dust she tastes on her lips is the dust from which we’re all born, and to which death will eventually return us all—and sooner than any of us care to think? I suspect not.

The narrative’s retrospective approach is likewise well handled. The story is set in the now fairly distant past—1956—before more than a few of today’s readers were born. And yet it opens with a sensual immediacy that brings the past into the present and makes it as real to us as our own breaths and sensations. By the time we learn that “It was the day after Christmas, 1956,” we are already there, inhabiting that past as though it were ours.

And that’s crucial, since, whether or not we admit it, ultimately the only stories that matter are those we inhabit personally, not just with our minds, but through our senses. Remember: the fiction writer’s job (or that of any storyteller, where the stories are imagined or real) isn’t to report experience, but to create it. And experience is processed in the mind by way of the senses.

Here, the author skillfully tucks exposition into narrative: “Watching the cars approach, I wondered …” Though background information is supplied (“It was the day after Christmas, 1956 …”), it never carries us out of the scene. Nor are we ever removed—by incongruous diction, extraneous exposition, or anachronistic awareness—from the psyche of the girl whose nose is pressed to the cold pane as he peers out at those arriving cars. Like a sponge, the vividly rendered moment soaks up all background exposition introduced into it.

This is a strong opening. I would keep reading. What about you?

Your turn: How would you assess this opening? (Be constructive.)

Join Me for Business of Writing Workshops in New York, San Francisco, and Ohio

Speaking at Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop in 2018

Earlier this year, my new book, The Business of Being Writer, released from University of Chicago Press. It received a starred review in Library Journal and has been featured on many podcasts and websites.

Spinning out of that work, I’ve created half-day and full-day workshops to teach the key principles of building a business model as a writer. Here are upcoming events so far this year.

New York City: in partnership with Catapult

Afternoon bootcamp: Saturday, June 2, 1-4 p.m. with reception following
Location: Catapult HQ, 1140 Broadway, Suite 704, NY NY
Limited to 18 students
$99 registration
Learn more

San Francisco: in partnership with the Mechanics’ Institute and the San Francisco Writers Conference

Full-day workshop: Friday, Aug. 10, 10:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
Location: Mechanics’ Institute, 4th Floor Meeting Room, San Francisco
Limited to 30 students
$289 registration
Learn more

Ohio (near Cincinnati): in partnership with Mad Anthony

Afternoon workshop: Sunday, Sept. 16, 1-5 p.m.
Location: Miami University Hamilton—Downtown Center
$45 registration, includes a copy of The Business of Being a Writer

Learn more

In addition to these solo workshops, I speak at a wide range of writers conferences. Here is the full listing.

When Your Opening Has an Excess of Nested Scenes, or Russian Doll Syndrome

Photo credit: Shereen M on VisualHunt / CC BY-NC-ND

Today’s post is by regular contributor Peter Selgin, the award-winning author of Your First Page. He offers first-page critiques to show just how much useful critical commentary and helpful feedback can be extracted from a single page—the first page—of a work-in-progress. Learn more about getting a first-page critique.

First Page

I sink deep into Scott’s couch and travel back thirty years to the duplex townhouse above the freeway. The one Sam and I rented after our house in Santa Cruz burned down.

The committee asks me about the fire. I guess I need to talk about it. I haven’t spoken out loud since the limp hoses were reeled back onto their drums, and one of the big sweaty firemen told us we were lucky to be alive.

“We expected to be pulling corpses outa here,” he says.

“Thank you for coming,” I whisper.

Just when we think we are so special. So smart. So lucky. Sam is on his way to a Ph.D. in Literature; I am scheduled to interview for a teaching job. Dad’s wedding gift buys us a very hip little Fiat Spyder convertible, British Racing Green. We live in the guesthouse attached to the garage of a popular English Professor. His wife takes me under her wing, shows me how to bake her signature New England sandwich bread. Harriet is a solid 5’11”, towering over the dough as she kneads and punches it into the proper consistency.

“Now, your turn,” she smiles.

I take her place at the counter. I try to bully the dough the way she does. I glance around for a step stool. Worn out with squeezing, I step aside so she can finish up. She chatters about baking bread from scratch since she was a little girl. Chop wood. Carry water. Take notes.

After the fire, these rooms are reduced to a six hundred square foot pile of smoldering stuff we used to care about. The walls are still standing, but blistered and black. My mother’s first batch of original oil paintings claim a spot in one of the layers of stinking rubble. She left them with us on her sudden return to Spain. The charred canvasses curl like French crepes.

We tour the Salvador Dali landscape of our former digs. The floor-to-ceiling shelves of classic writings are now soggy blackened globs of pulp. They have toppled into a jagged heap of literature. Humpty Dumpty.

The rotary telephone is solid again now, after melting into the silverware drawer. Spear-shaped timbers have pierced through quilts and mattresses and are lodged in the dog’s favorite spot under the bed. Clothes are welded together in the closet. My beloved Navy Pea Coat is slumped over my leather boots, until we poke it with a curtain rod. Then it disintegrates.

The stench is everywhere and deep. Burnt wet carpet. Burnt wet books. Burnt wet upholstery. Grotesque bricks of fabrics and nasty plastics. High on the kitchen counter, two scorched and petrified loaves of New England homemade bread.

We don’t have a thing to wear, literally.

First-Page Critique

As children most of us had them, a nest of little painted wooden dolls that opened, one after another, to reveal an ever-smaller doll within, until we arrived at the ultimate doll —typically an infant carved from a single piece of wood. Russian (“matryoshka”) dolls, they’re called. Beyond reiterating themselves, they serve no real purpose, which is what makes them so delightfully droll.

With one crucial difference, this first page of a memoir is structured like one of those Russian dolls. Here the hierarchy is reversed, with the nested “dolls” (read: scenes) becoming bigger and more substantial as we pass through them, starting with the least substantial scene of all, the one conveyed by the first sentence that finds us sinking “deep” into a couch with our narrator. No sooner am I settled into that cozy couch than it’s pulled out from under me, with the narrator (and me with her) transported “back thirty years to the duplex townhouse above the freeway. The one Sam and I rented after our house in Santa Cruz burned down.” As transitions go, it’s as jarring as the one that turned poor Gregor Samsa into a giant beetle in his bed.

But there are more transitions—more Russian dolls—to come. In fact no sooner are we relocated to that townhouse than we’ve left it for another setting in which the narrator responds to questions posed to her by a committee—presumably at an inquest of some sort occasioned by the fire. Though the venue of the inquiry isn’t given, it’s not likely to have been in that townhouse. Leaving me to wonder—where are we now?

The “bread baking scene” itself is no sooner introduced than it gives way to a scene shortly after the fire, when the narrator (accompanied by someone, presumably Sam), surveys the destruction, with its “blistered and black” walls, the charred canvases of her mother’s oil paintings “curl[ed] like French crepes.”

The description of the aftermath of the fire is extremely vivid and effective. I see those charred walls; I smell the sour ashes. Anyone who has lived through a house fire never forgets what it feels like to sift through the remains, the evidence of a lived life reduced to soggy ashes. With its acrid stench and burned sodden upholstery, this scene is so well-rendered (the charred clothes welded together in the closet), so sensuously specific in its inventory of tragic loss, it easily overwhelms all the halfheartedly engaged quasi-scenes that came before—the bread-baking, the committee/inquiry, the dialogue with the “big sweaty” fireman, moments that pass too quickly to leave much of an impression. As for the narrator sinking into that couch, who—having reached the bottom of this page—will still remember that?

The difference between this smartly written opening and Russian dolls is that ultimately it does give us something substantial. It’s the scenes leading up to the fire-aftermath scene that feel (relatively) empty. Why not plunge us straight into that aftermath scene, the one fully engaged scene offered by this opening? If the author wants to nest that scene in a more recent one in which the event is recalled—to frame it—that’s fine. But then there should be a greater investment in the frame (narrator sinking into couch or responding to questions at an inquest) as well.

A final note and a nit-pick:

If for whatever reason you’re determined to transition readers quickly through various scenes occurring at discordant times, skillful handling of tenses, and particularly of the no-longer-taught past perfect or pluperfect tense, becomes vital. If the primary scene—the moment from which the past is being looked back from—is present tense, then all moments being looked back upon should (probably, logically) be written in the past or the past perfect. Otherwise we court confusion as in this opening, where all scenes past and present are flattened onto the same present tense plane.

Nit-pick: Often writers tag dialogue with something like “she smiled” or “he laughed,” as if dialogue can be “laughed” or “smiled” (it’s not; it’s spoken). That it’s done all the time by reputable writers in published books makes it no less objectionable—to me.

“Now, your turn,” she said, smiling.

Your turn: How would you assess this opening? (Be constructive.)

Throat Clearing: When Your Story Opening Is in Search of Itself

Today’s post is by regular contributor Peter Selgin, the award-winning author of Your First Page. He offers first-page critiques to show just how much useful critical commentary and helpful feedback can be extracted from a single page—the first page—of a work-in-progress. Learn more about getting a first-page critique.

First Page

If I could know what I am, if I could see myself plainly, if there were a place that I could fit into like a bolt into a nut, if I wasn’t on this knife not knowing if the knife could go right though me, slicing me in two, if only I were not standing on this cliff about 
to fall right off into the flames below, then perhaps I could feel that I fitted into my skin, filled the cavity of my skull with my brain, but I know that these ifs are not about to be turned into certainties, I am not about to be one thing or another, not about to be circling complete as a person. Christ, this is all too Kafka for me, seeing myself as a turtle or the famous cockroach, I have to put all this shit aside and think of normal, everyday things.

Matti lifted a saucer and turned it over to examine the base. Not bad. Doulton Stellite, a reasonable restaurant product. Before she got married, she had worked as a buyer in a restaurant supply wholesale warehouse and she knows her china, does Matti. She placed the cutlery in precise order and folded and unfolded her napkin, while a slight breeze teased the terrace tempting her to lift her face into it.

It’s essential to present herself as especially elegant, chic, fashionable, sophisticated etc. for birthday lunches. Oh, God, her life is full of f—king clichés. Her butter-yellow silk Allendi suit glowed in the shadows as if her body was lit by a lamp inside it and for a change, her long, gold hair, just colored and streaked yesterday in a four-hour hair appointment …

First-Page Critique

Within the eight lines of its first paragraph, this opening scene presents readers with a mélange of no fewer than ten metaphors for the narrator’s frustrated desire to belong fully to something, to “fit in.” The writing is passionate, poetic, full of spit and vinegar—but what is it for?

“If I could see myself plainly,” the narrator laments at the inception of this hyperextended metaphor, then proceeds to describe her spiritual condition in terms of (a) a nut in a bolt, (b) a knife blade, (c) a cliff’s edge, overlooking flames, (d) an empty skull, and (e) something that “circles.”

Having exhausted nearly every available metaphor, the narrator throws her hands in the air, declares the whole affair Kafkaesque, tosses two more metaphors our way (one reptilian, one insectine), then ditches the metaphor parade in favor of “normal, everyday” thoughts—something some readers will wish she had done sooner.

As a nosedive into a neurotic narrator’s distraught thoughts, there’s something to be said for this opening, with its manic energy. On the other hand, less charitable readers will find it sentimental, brimming not only with mixed metaphors, but with feelings thrust at us with no basis, i.e. emotion[s] in excess of experience.

Whatever else this befuddled opening paragraph achieves, it convinces us, if we need convincing, that this first person narrator cannot see herself clearly.

But I suspect that the real purpose served by this opening may be even more basic. Stated by means of another serial metaphor, it’s to get the author’s pen rolling, to blow some warmth onto the icy blank page, to get the narrative blood flowing. Others less charitably inclined will call it “throat clearing.” In any case, for all its energy and passion, it should probably be cut, all of it. It’s there for the author, not for the reader.

The real beginning starts with Matti inspecting a piece of restaurant china at an event, a birthday lunch. Perhaps she’s an event planner of some kind. We don’t know, but she has a vested professional interest in the affair at hand and its dinnerware. To be sure, she is dressed to the hilt in her Allendi suit that “glow[s] in [its] shadows as if her body was lit by a lamp inside it”—making me wonder how much it would glow were it exposed to full sunlight.

Here the writing is comprehensible and much more effective. Still, we don’t quite know what’s going on; we have to guess. And some information provided seems misplaced. Do we really need to know that, before she married, Matti worked as a buyer for a restaurant supply wholesaler? Maybe, but within the context of so much more that remains unknown that bit of information seems more coy than generous, more like a tease than enlightenment. Most readers will prefer to know who Matti is and what she’s doing, rather than who she was and what she did.

In the final paragraph, again the author seems to throw her hands in the air (“Oh, God, her life is full of f—king clichés)—a comment that doesn’t seem to attach itself to anything, unless birthday lunches are a cliché, or Allendi suits, or certain types of restaurant china. But my guess is that the charge of “cliché” is a preemptive strike by the author against her material, as if by the end of this first page she’s grown disenchanted and declares defeat even before the first battle lines have been drawn.

In each of the sections that pattern is repeated, with the author undertaking a bold initiative, then questioning it, then renouncing her kingdom before the reader can engage in hostilities. This reads more like a talented author’s exploratory draft than like a finished manuscript.

Your turn: How would you assess this opening? (Be constructive.)

Starting Later & Starting Over: Launching a Writing Career When You’re No Longer “Young”

Today’s guest post is a literary agent Q&A by Sangeeta Mehta (@sangeeta_editor), a former acquiring editor of children’s books at Little, Brown and Simon & Schuster, who runs her own editorial services company.

Judging from the many organizations that offer awards and financial support to writers under 35 or 40 (The New York Public Library, The National Book Foundation, Granta), and the seven-figure deals that seem to be given to more 20-something debut writers than debut writers in any other age group, it would be tough to deny that book publishing is youth-focused. But if this is the case, what explains the success of Pulitzer Prize winner Annie Proulx, who at last fall’s National Book Awards ceremony shared that she started writing at 58? Or that of Frank McCourt, who didn’t begin writing until he was in his 60s? Were these writers more talented than younger writers trying to break in at the same time? Or has the industry started gravitating more toward younger writers in recent years?

I spoke with literary agents Sarah Davies and Dr. Uwe Stender about their thoughts on the publishing industry’s attitude toward age. As with my previous interviews, neither agent was aware of the other’s identity until after they submitted their answers.

Sangeeta Mehta: One advantage younger authors have is time—time to learn and improve their craft, time to start fresh in a new genre or category if their debut doesn’t meet sales expectations, time to write multiple books during their lifetimes and therefore recoup their publisher’s financial investment in them. Is this one of the reasons there seem to be so many book deals for 20- and 30-something writers?

Sarah Davies: Firstly, I’d like to say that I’m really happy to give my thoughts on this subject. As a “woman of a certain age” myself, it is something I’ve thought about quite a bit. Secondly, I only feel able to give a view on what I see within the children’s books world (from picture books through to YA) since that’s my specialization.

I think that we can to some extent separate out the YA world from that of picture books or middle grade. It’s true that YA is dominated by younger writers (i.e., I see fewer debut manuscripts from those over 50), but much less true of other areas of writing for children. Why is that? I think because teen fiction is seen to be very cool, very “now,” and perhaps also because it is highly networked via social media and other groups, which perhaps means that “like calls to like.” There are lots of younger authors, so other young authors are drawn to that world, which feels very attractive (and also potentially lucrative). It’s seen as an aspirational, even “glamorous” place to be as a writer. Maybe older authors look at this and think, “I just don’t have the confidence to try and break into this, and surely they wouldn’t want me.”

However, if you look at picture books, middle grade or nonfiction, there are lots of older writers around, and I receive submissions from many.

While it’s true that younger authors have time to learn and improve their craft, I’m not sure that has much bearing on the deals that are done. Hopefully middle-aged (and older) authors have time to learn and improve, too! Why not?

Uwe Stender: I honestly don’t know if there are many more deals for 20- to 30-something writers as there are for 40+ writers, as I don’t track that. And since I don’t know the facts, I cannot intelligently comment on that. However, I believe that both groups share the advantage of time, just in a different way. The younger group has a lot of life to experience, while the older group has experienced a lot of life! Both bring something to the table. At Triada US, I am pretty confident that we represent about as many writers that are under 40 as we do those that are over 40—though, admittedly, I don’t ask for their birth certificates when they sign with us! If they don’t volunteer their age, we don’t ask for it.

As for the number of book deals offered, when I look at the last ten or so deals that we made, I don’t see the scale tipping in favor of the under 40 writers; on the contrary, I find it to be rather balanced.

It’s no secret that many hiring managers prefer younger employees because of their (presumed) energy, eagerness to please, and potential to “fit in.” Today’s younger employees also tend to be more comfortable using social media and other digital tools than their older colleagues, a quality all authors should have to promote their work. Do you think younger writers are better able to adapt to today’s publishing climate for these same reasons, or is their ability to acclimate a common misconception?

Sarah Davies: Sorry, I’m not buying it!

There’s absolutely no reason why older people can’t be adept at social media or eager to work hard and fit in. A big reason for appointing younger employees is that they are cheaper hires. And there’s never a shortage of enthusiastic young people wanting to get into publishing.

I’m not saying we need a books industry entirely staffed by older people, but I do think a mix of ages is important and right, if we’re to reflect contemporary culture. The truth is, most of us will be looking to make it to retirement in some job or other, but very few are going to make it to that age in the books business (though it’s perhaps easier as an agent than in a highly structured publishing team). How many people of 55+ are still working in publishing offices? Very few, and the ones hanging on in there at 60 will almost always be right at the top.

In any media business (music, comedy, design, etc.) the relentless pressure for “the new, the different, the hot young talent” is always there, and always will be, but I think we should question that mantra and value talent and potential wherever we find it. I consciously try to do that when I read submissions. I simply look for talent, voice, and a potentially great story, whatever the apparent age of the author.

Uwe Stender: Whoa, let’s not sell older writers short! There are many examples of “older” people embracing digital tools and social media. Just turn on the news—lol!

On a serious note, promoting one’s project via social media is part of the publishing climate these days. Most all writers, both young and old, understand this and adapt.

As with the first question, I simply disagree that publishers are more focused on younger writers these days—at least that has not been our experience at Triada. As a matter of fact, I have never had an editor ask me for the age of a client before requesting to see their project! I think that publishers are finding the expression “what’s old is new again”—no pun or disrespect intended—just as relevant in their industry, as do many other outlets.

One advantage older writers have is experience, and for nonfiction writers this can translate into a solid platform. Can experience also give fiction writers an edge? For example, would a former lawyer have a better chance of publishing a legal thriller because of the authenticity she’s able to bring to the table? Would your interest be piqued if a former high school teacher pitched you a young adult novel since he clearly knows the market? Or is experience rarely a factor when it comes to fiction?

Sarah Davies: Your experience of life is vital if you’re writing about any subject where authenticity and knowledge is the bedrock. So yes, if you’re writing a legal thriller, a story about farming, a romance set in the South of France, then you’ve got to know what you’re writing about, and the reader can soon tell if you don’t.

But experience isn’t enough to create a good book. Agents encounter writers all the time who have specialist knowledge, but that doesn’t mean they can necessarily write great fiction. The two elements have to come together so that the “knowledge platform” is recast, via writing craft, into a fabulous work of art.

I receive submissions all the time from teens and teachers who say, “I’m young—I’ve worked with the young—and therefore my book is super-authentic!” Sadly, that’s not enough.

Uwe Stender: Talent, whether natural or experienced, piques my interest! For me, voice defines everything. Obviously, writing what one knows can be an advantage. On the other hand, one could have been a high school teacher for 20 years, but when they write they sound like the 45-year-old person that they really are, and not the 16-year-old student that they are trying to write. So, to me, in this case, experience (unlike in nonfiction) is not a factor.

When I first started out as an agent, I was an outsider coming into the industry. My only agenda was to find quality projects to represent. As a result of that focus, I discovered a lot of talented clients that had slipped through the cracks—writers whom other agents, not publishers, may have considered too old, too young, or simply not experienced enough. Don’t misunderstand me, I am not dismissing the value of experience. I am simply sharing that I am the ultimate proof that it is not an absolute necessity. That is where talent comes in!

According pieces in The Economist and The Washington Post , Hollywood is creating more films about older populations than ever before, but their depictions are clichéd and unrealistic. Is the book industry also falling short in terms of its representations of this demographic? Have you heard of any publishers asking for more submissions by, for, and about older populations? If not, is this because of the (inaccurate?) assumption that readers aren’t demanding such material?

Sarah Davies: This is a tricky one since I work specifically in the children’s and teen book industry, so our readers are necessarily young. However, my observation is that publishers do want stories that deal with family relationships, relationships between generations, and there are many picture books, for example, that deal with the affection between a child and their grandparent. In my experience, and especially in today’s climate, editors are keen to depict life as it is really lived, with stories that add to the real-world understanding of young people.

This being said, I always laugh when I see a story featuring a young child, their parents—and an incredibly elderly grandparent. When you work it out, the grandparent would probably be about 60, and quite likely these days to be trekking in the Himalayas, online dating, and doing Pilates—not behaving like a true geriatric and wearing “granny shoes.” So perhaps some of the change needs to happen with writers in their 30s and 40s, who still see the “grandparent” as the elderly figure they knew in their youth. People in the 60+ age group are vastly different from how they used to be and it’s time to recognize that. Hey, that ancient lady you’re depicting isn’t Granny, it’s Great-Granny!

Uwe Stender: Since I’ve been told by industry professionals that most book buyers and readers are women ages 40 to 60, I don’t think that this affects the publishing industry. Yes, oftentimes publishers are looking for specific types of projects, to which they may ask for a project about a specific subject. But I have never had one ask me for a project by an older writer, or a project for or about older populations. I could be wrong, but I don’t find that the older population is underserved in the publishing industry.

Many women aren’t able to pursue a career in writing when they’re young because they have demanding day jobs, are raising young children, or both. Others feel that they never had that proverbial room of their own. For British writer Joanna Walsh, age discrimination is a feminist issue, as the valorization of authors under 40 tends to push women (as well as minorities and the disabled) to the margins. Do you agree?

Sarah Davies: Yes, I think people easily and regularly underestimate older women (including other women). But we see that throughout society, amid our pervasive hang-up about youth and beauty (which we associate with energy). However, I also think older people can play a big part in this too. It’s vital to stay current, take on challenging ideas, achieve new things, remain fluent with technology/social media, mix with younger people—and not give anyone a reason to put you in a corner. You’ve got to work harder to prove yourself in a new field as you get older, but it can be done. And we should all question our assumptions and where we’re prepared to plant our flag, especially if we’re making decisions about who we will represent or publish. If the individual deserves to succeed, then let’s be their champion, whatever their age. However, if the writing doesn’t have what it takes, then age can’t be a smoke-screen for that fact.

I’m happy to say I’m seeing far more submissions these days from minorities (and some from those with disabilities of various kinds). There’s been a sea-change in how the industry is investing in lesser-heard voices and while there’s always further to go, it’s great to see the difference in receptivity in the past couple of years. There’s a real groundswell of desire to publish books by hitherto under-represented voices.

Uwe Stender: As to the question of women and age discrimination in publishing, I haven’t found that to be a problem with the projects that I pitch. Sadly, I do believe that minorities and the disabled are marginalized, not just in publishing, but beyond. It shamefully is a reflection of our society. Here at Triada, we have actually seen an uptick of interest in writers whose projects and voices were formerly underrepresented. Do more strides need to be made? Absolutely! But, at least there is some movement in the right direction in the industry.

What can we as an industry do to better support those who begin their writing careers later in life? It’s reassuring to see “5 Over 50” round-ups and profiles of writers over 50 in journals like Poets & Writers and Writer’s Digest. Writer’s Digest also offers workshops specifically for this audience , and the website Bloom focuses exclusively on those who first published “in their own sweet time.” Do we also need more awards for older writers in the vein of SCBWI’s Late Bloomer Award ? Grants, mentorships, and other incentives?

Sarah Davies: I’m really ambivalent about this. While I’m always happy to see special listings or grants that highlight authors and books, I can’t personally imagine ever wanting to be selected for special attention because of my age. “Best literary agents over 50”? Please, no! I expect to compete on my professional merits and track record. Do writers feel differently about this? I’d be interested to know.

I’d mainly just like to encourage aspiring authors to start writing and keep growing, whatever their age. Aging can bring a loss of confidence. Don’t let that hold you back. What’s the worst that can happen if you try and don’t get very far? Give it your best shot and you might be amazed at what happens. Also, don’t use age as an “excuse” for inaction (unless there’s a question of poor health, etc.) or to blame people if you don’t get the desired result. It’s easy to do that, but we’ve got to be realistic: this is a very tough business, whatever your age.

As you get older there are situations where you need to square your shoulders and hold your head up, especially when walking into new environments where everyone is a lot younger. One day I want to go back to university, which will be exactly like that, and it may take a bit of courage. Don’t spend time agonizing—just do it and remember all you have to offer!

Uwe Stender: That is a hard question for me to answer, as I am open to writers in every stage of their writing career. I think that the most honest and insightful answers to that question can be answered by those who have begun (or are thinking about beginning) their writing careers later in life. And since I believe that older writers have the same opportunities as younger writers, and in many cases more financial security, I can only say that from a personal point of view.

It is always good to hear about support in the form of awards, grants, etc. for writers. I have been on panels about this topic at many conferences, and have had many in-depth conversations with mature writers. While some do ask where they may find additional support outside of the event, I have not talked to anyone who felt that there were not enough awards, grants, and mentor programs for them. As an industry, the most important thing that we can do for those who are beginning their writing career later in life is approach every query with an open mind, not an age limit or requirement.  

Should writers at the query stage mention their age in their query letters, whether they’re on the younger side or on the older side? Do you have any other advice for writers looking to secure representation, regardless of their age? 

Sarah Davies: I’m only interested in knowing someone’s age if there’s some out-of-the-ordinary reason for that. I do prefer to know if writers are still in high school, because representing a child or teen would bring some issues. Other than that, I’d rather authors just gave me their short bio (which we require from everyone who queries) and let their writing speak for itself. I don’t want to be thinking about age; I want to assess what story you’re trying to tell and whether you are succeeding.

In terms of securing representation, always focus on your writing. The two most important words are “concept” and “craft.” In other words, you need a great idea, and the mastery of writing to carry that onto the page. Everything else (social media, education, background, age) is an optional extra. So read widely, write madly, stay vibrantly engaged with the world around you, and go for it!

Uwe Stender: Again, talent piques my interest, not one’s age. I have never rejected a writer because of their age. I personally don’t care if you are 17 or 71. If you write a great book, I will want to represent you. Publishing is a tough and extremely competitive industry. My advice is to work hard to hone your craft and be open to advice and guidance. Understand that rejection is not personal—I get rejections too; it just comes with the territory.

If you do receive a rejection from an agent, move on to the next one, and if that strategy does not get you an agent, then write a better book, and try again. Attend conferences where you can meet agents and other industry professionals and ask them what they are looking for. Be smart and think about what you want to know and learn. Lastly, do take full advantage of all of the resources online and in stores available to writers, there are a lot out there. The publishing world is always on the hunt for next New York Times bestseller. Get to work on it!

Sarah Davies (@SarahGreenhouse) was a London publisher for 25 years before moving to the USA and launching Greenhouse Literary, a transatlantic agency, in 2008. While she mainly represents fiction for children and teens (from young chapter-book series through middle grade to YA), she represents authors’ careers in their entirety, so also sells picture books, nonfiction and even adult fiction by existing clients and has helped many debut authors into careers as writers. Among Greenhouse’s clients are NYT bestsellers Megan Miranda and Brenna Yovanoff, and Morris Award winner Blythe Woolston. Sarah is open to all genres within MG and YA, so long as a unique premise is complemented by fresh, compelling writing with a voice. Sarah now divides her time between London and New York. She is a member of AAR and has addressed writers’ events all over the USA and Europe.

Literary agent and Triada US founder Dr. Uwe Stender (‪@UweStenderPhD) is a full member of the AAR. He is interested in all kinds of nonfiction and fiction. In nonfiction, he is completely open to any project, from memoir, pop culture, and health to how-to, gardening, history and everything in between, including nonfiction for children. In children’s fiction, he is looking for YA and MG. In adult fiction, his tastes trend towards women’s fiction, psychological suspense, and mysteries. As an immigrant to the US, he is always eager to bring projects from underrepresented voices into the world. His favorite five novels right now are: Caraval, The Underground Railroad, Der Nasse Fisch, Kafka On The Shore, The Young Elites, and Wonder.

6 Reasons to Relaunch Your Book

Today’s guest post is by Penny Sansevieri (@bookgal) and is excerpted from How to Revise and Re-Release Your Book: Simple and Smart Strategies to Sell More Books.

Will and Grace, The Gilmore Girls, X-Files, and the upcoming Murphy Brown: Reboots are popular, and we need or enjoy a reboot from time to time. Books are no different.

Book relaunches can take a variety of forms. If done right, they enhance your overall brand, as well as your book sales. Their first and foremost benefit is the new publication date. Having a new book opens up access to bloggers and media who might not have been available to you with an older book. Unless you’ve already been getting some interest in the book, books six months or older are harder to work with. You need to have a new book, or newer book, to capture more blogger and media attention.

Let’s look at some of the reasons you may want to republish your book, because having specific goals is key. Wanting to sell more books is understandable, but it can’t be the only driver—it’s too broad.

1. Revise and Re-release

Last year I met an author at a writers’ conference who published a science fiction book about five years ago. The book was long, 400 pages, and he said nothing really happened with it. He told me, “If I had known then what I know now, my book could have done so much better.” And I said, “Why not re-release it?”

If your book needs another round of edits, your reviewers will likely tell you if it does! Editing may also involve adding content, changing some of the content to suit industry changes, or even updating pop culture references.

2. You Have Your Rights Back

In another instance, an author told me she’d just gotten the rights back to several of her books. The publisher didn’t seem to think they had legs anymore, but she did. So I suggested that she republish them. She’ll need a new cover, and will probably redo the interior design (because the publisher may own both of these), but it can be inexpensive to do.

3. Your Book Needs a New Cover

It’s not always easy to get covers exactly right the first time. A cover redo, even without a content redo, is a great reason to re-launch a book.

The biggest problem is that covers often don’t match the genre, meaning that covers don’t have the “look” of the genre. This is very, very important. Step back and take a hard look at how your cover compares with successful books in your genre or category.

Covers with lots of photographs or the wrong photographs are ideal candidates for a redo. Too many photographs don’t give the buyer something to focus on. And the wrong photograph can be anything from an image too detailed for online viewing to a big picture of you as the author when you’re not a household name or sales leader in your category. Hand-drawn covers and paintings are another no-no. I once had an author who was a child therapist contact me wanting to use one of his patients’ paintings on the cover. The book was about dealing with difficult children. The problem with the painting was that it wasn’t clear what it was. He had a connection with it, but why would anyone else?

4. Relaunch a Brand

I worked with an author who published a fiction series six years ago. When she first published, she planned to do one only book. But readers kept asking for more. The branding of the book evolved, and by books four and five she had a real mishmash of cover designs and storylines. Now she’s redoing the books and re-launching the entire series with fresh covers and enhanced story lines.

Sometimes brands grow faster and in unexpected ways; if you hit the reboot button, you can create a look that better gets the attention of your target audience.

5. Poor or No Promotion the First Time

Not having time to promote your book when it was first published is another good reason to reissue. Sometimes life happens—a family member or close friend gets sick and you need to help out, or some other personal emergency comes up—and your wonderful new book just sits there, neglected, and gathering dust. This happens more often than you might think. In such instances, you’ll need to re-release it, and start fresh with a new publication date and even a new cover to help it stand out.

6. Take Advantage of Current Events

What if you released a book years ago, and suddenly the topic is becoming “new” again? A refresh of the book can make it more interesting to newly aware buyers. Plus it can open doors to media coverage, which you won’t get with a publication date that’s more than 12 months old.

How to Upload Everything Again to Amazon

The biggest decision you’ll have to make when it comes to re-releasing your book is whether to put up an entirely new book or link the new book to the old, thereby keeping the reviews intact.

While the second idea is largely the most preferred, it’s sometimes out of our hands what Amazon will decide to do. In conversations I’ve had with them, Amazon staffers indicated that if the book has extensive updates, they won’t link the books, because the updated one is essentially a new book.

One Amazon rep said if the tables of contents are identical, they won’t even worry about the content and will automatically connect the editions on Amazon. This part can be a bit tricky, though, because Amazon says they want to create the “best possible experience for the consumer,” thereby making sure they have the most current book at the forefront. But even if your updates are extensive, Amazon likely won’t remove the old version.

If your book title is different, regardless of the table of contents, Amazon will consider it a new book. If the book is over half updated, Amazon will consider it a new book. I recommend getting in touch with an Amazon Author Central representative to ask about your particular situation.

If you found this post helpful, check out How to Revise and Re-Release Your Book: Simple and Smart Strategies to Sell More Books.

Where to Begin: The Search for the Inciting Incident

Today’s post is by regular contributor Peter Selgin, the award-winning author of Your First Page. He offers first-page critiques to show just how much useful critical commentary and helpful feedback can be extracted from a single page—the first page—of a work-in-progress. Learn more about getting a first-page critique.

First Page

Megan’s life was set to reboot in ten days. She glanced again at the two tickets to New York lying on the nightstand. How would she make it through final exams, packing, saying goodbye to friends, when all she wanted to do was grab Luke’s hand, hop a cab to the airport, and launch their grand adventure? Her mind still whirling, she crawled into bed and turned out the light.

At dawn her cell phone chirped five times, waking her from a dead sleep. When she answered, no one was there. She cursed the damn thing, then checked the call log. Luke. She dialed him back but he didn’t pick up.

They sent two policemen to tell her. He’d swerved to avoid a young boy who’d wandered into the street and his car slammed into a lamppost. By the time help arrived, he was gone. Hers was the last number he’d dialed. They needed her to come down to the station.

The police sergeant led her through hallway after hallway, down stairs into a sparse room with a large curtain covering one wall, and asked if she was ready. Of course I’m not ready, you ass. This is the man I loved, the man I wanted to spend my life with. But she didn’t say that. What she did was nod, then nod again when she saw the body, then throw up in her hands.

She caught a bus to his apartment and let herself in. She packed up the things she’d left there—a change of clothes, her toothbrush, a ratty pair of slippers. She took the picture of the two of them on the beach in Sausalito, his favorite Miles Davis album, and his unfinished screenplay. His mother and step-father, who’d never even met her, could take care of the rest when they flew in.

The plan had been to move right after graduation. He’d found a studio apartment and put down a deposit. He’d work at Huffington Post, she’d revise her novel and look for an agent. They’d eat Ramen noodles, drink cheap wine, bike through Central Park on Sundays. Turned out that wasn’t going to be her life after all.

Instead she boarded American Flight 6023 and flew to Chicago. To her childhood home. To her mother Helen. To the last place on earth she wanted to be.

First-Page Critique

“Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now.” —Goethe

Alas, Johann Wolfgang doesn’t tell us where to begin, or how.

Where to begin? Of all the questions that harass novelists and others with a story to tell, it has to be the peskiest. The question comes down to structure. Not what happened, i.e. the series of events that make a story, but the order in which those events are conveyed. Should we start with the beginning, or at the end? Or should we cherry-pick a dramatic scene from somewhere in the middle, and backtrack from there, filling in all the things that lead up to that dramatic moment, then continue to the end?

Assuming we’ve chosen to tell a story from the beginning, what beginning do we start with? Writing guides often use the term inciting incident, meaning the event or incident that propels a character or characters out of their status quo existence, igniting the plot.

But locating that inciting incident isn’t always that simple, since often there’s more than one. In fact there’s always more than one, with an inciting incident lurking behind every inciting incident, a breadcrumb trail of inciting incidents leading back to the birth of the protagonist and beyond, to her conception, and the birth of her parents, and the birth of their parents, and, finally, ultimately, by logical extension, the Creation of the Universe.

One famous story that doesn’t have another inciting incident lurking behind its inciting incident begins, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and Earth.” No back-story to that story.

But unless you’re writing the Bible (or a James Michener novel), you probably want to begin your story as close as possible to the event that sends your protagonist off on her dramatic journey—a journey of exceptional struggles and fresh opportunities.

This first page of a novel about a woman whose dreams are shattered by her boyfriend’s sudden death confronts us with a plethora of beginnings. It’s as if the author, unwilling to decide between several opening strategies, has left them all on the table.

The trouble with that strategy is that, rather than enhancing and building on each other, the multiple openings compete with and weaken each other, resulting in an indecisive, jerky opening.

The first paragraph gives us Beginning #1: As Megan, the protagonist, prepares for bed, she contemplates her upcoming trip with boyfriend Luke to New York City, and the new life they plan to lead there.

The problem with this beginning is it’s static, with the action, such as it is, consisting of Megan envisioning (the strongest verb applicable) her future with Luke, an “event,” if it can be called that, that has doubtlessly happened in the past and will as doubtlessly occur again over the course of the ten days that remain before the actual journey is to take place: a routine event, in other words.

And as I’ve pointed our here before, routine is of interest to readers only insofar as we expect it to be disrupted or upset. So why not begin with the thing that upsets it?

Which brings us to Beginning #2: Luke’s unanswered phone call. Arguably this, too, is routine. Presumably it’s not the first time Luke has called Megan, or the first time that, having missed his call, Megan phones back and gets no answer. So as an inciting event, something that clearly disrupts routine, this beginning likewise leaves something to be desired.

The same can hardly be said of Beginning #3, in which Megan opens her front door to two policemen who have come bearing the news that her boyfriend has died. That this qualifies as an inciting incident, a moment or event that shatters routine, can hardly be denied: making it, if not the obvious choice for a beginning, a strong contender.

The next paragraph/beginning, in which Megan identifies Luke’s corpse at the morgue (Beginning #4), implies Beginning #3 while taking it one step further, to a moment no less dramatic. This scene, too, would make a strong beginning.

But then so would Beginning #5 (next paragraph), which finds us with Megan in Luke’s apartment, gathering her belongings a day or so after his death. Though less intrinsically shocking than #3 and #4, unlike those scenes this one allows for memories and other reflections aroused by the objects in that apartment, providing the author with an opportunity (unexploited here) to convey to us through those memories the dreams that have been shattered by Luke’s death (which this scene, too, leaves to implication).

Finally we come to Beginning #6, which puts us aboard a passenger plane with Megan, bound for Chicago and her childhood home, “the last place she wants to be.” Though it lacks the drama and urgency of the previous four openings, it’s also nearest and dearest to the presumptive plot, which isn’t about a woman whose boyfriend has died, but about the journey which that event sends her on, a journey that (also probably) begins literally with this plane trip to her childhood home. So why not start there?

In starting decisively with any one of these possible beginnings rather than rushing us through all of them, the author might slow things down and take more time, exploiting their dramas—whether those dramas are external and dynamic (police officers at front door; identifying corpse) or internal and reflective (sorting through objects, memories, imagining what might have been; ditto aboard childhood home-bound plane).

Given the attention it deserves, each of these possible beginnings could easily fill a first page.

Your turn: How would you assess this opening? (Be constructive.)

What It Really Takes to Break Through with Your First Book Deal

Today’s post is by Susan DeFreitas (@manzanitafire), freelance editor, book coach, and author of Hot Season. Her online class for LitReactor, Final Draft, begins May 22.

Publishing a book is a lifelong dream for many. And while the majority of those who share that dream haven’t dedicated all that much time or attention to the actual craft of writing, there are plenty who have.

In many ways, it’s never been harder to get a traditional book deal. At the same time, there have never been more ways to establish a career as an author.

In developing the curriculum for Final Draft, my online class for LitReactor, I talked with a wide range of authors about the path to publication with their first book. Some commonalities emerged, in terms of grit, perseverance, and industry smarts—but beyond that, no two pathways were alike.

Author #1: By the Book

During the course of this author’s MFA program, she wrote a novel that was good enough to get the attention of an agent. But when that agent called for extensive revisions, this author was honest enough with herself to realize that she didn’t have the heart to overhaul this manuscript, which she had already put through the ringer in grad school.

Instead, she sent the agent a chunk of a memoir she was working on, even though the manuscript was unfinished (not to mention brand new—a scary prospect for her, after having revised so extensively during grad school). The agent expressed interest, so the author went full speed ahead in completing a draft.

When she did, though, this author did not take it for granted that the agent would accept her first draft and help her smooth out any rough spots. Instead, she sought feedback from both her grad school peers and a well-known author at a conference she had the opportunity to attend, and she revised based on their notes.

By putting her manuscript through this kind of revision before sending it on to the agent, this author gave herself the best possible chance of actually landing that agent—and she did. Nevertheless, when that agent asked for further revisions, she did not hesitate to dig back in and do the work.

The agent sent the book out to the big commercial presses, and some editors came close to accepting it, but their marketing departments ultimately said they couldn’t guarantee they’d sell enough copies. The author was disappointed, but she regrouped and provided her agent with a list of small publishers to pitch. The agent eventually sold the memoir to an academic press, and when the book was published, it had blurbs from many of the mentors the author had studied with over the years, both in grad school and at conferences.

In the end, though the author didn’t achieve her dream of a debut with the Big Five, she did land a deal with a reputable press, and she was able to leverage the investments she’d made in her creative writing education in the form of endorsements that aided her in launching her career.

Takeaways

When you have an opportunity, don’t be afraid to take it (even if it means taking a chance with new work).
If you don’t get the New York deal, don’t despair; the small-press landscape is thriving—and willing to take risks that the Big Five won’t.
If you’re out of school and in search of feedback on a manuscript, a conference offering personal attention from a high-profile author might not be a bad investment.

Author #2: The Literary Citizen

This author wrote a novel in the mid-aughts that had two different agents vying for it, but that manuscript ultimately did not sell. When faced with the prospect of writing another novel and trying to sell that one, the author realized that short fiction was really where her heart was. And while she understood that the path to publication with a collection would be more difficult, she committed herself to it.

This author focused on building a reputation for her short stories, which wound up being published in small but reputable literary journals. Each of these stories went through multiple rounds of revision before she sent it out, and between submissions cycles, she revised again. Now and then she also found an editor who accepted a story and then worked with her to make it even better.

This process—of writing, revising, and submitting—took many years. In the meantime, this author made a lot of connections in her local community, boosted the signals of a lot of other authors, and drew upon her growing reputation with short fiction by editing a short story collection for a small press. That collection furthered her reputation as a literary professional, establishing new connections for her in the process.

Just as she had with each one of her short stories, this author submitted her collection with dogged determination. Eventually, she received an offer from a small press with a reputation for fine literary fiction.

And when her collection was published, guess who helped her make that small-press debut a success? All of the connections she’d made over nearly a decade of literary citizenship.

Takeaways

Publishing credits are crucial for short story collections, and not just because they get the attention of publishers but because the process itself tends to put a high level of polish on each piece.
A serious, consistent submissions strategy is key to getting short fiction published.
You don’t have to beat the odds at the biggest journals to establish a career as a short story writer; there are many established publications where the odds of getting published are far better, and sometimes they’re even staffed by editors who will work with you to make a good story great.

Author #3: The Ambitious Outsider

This author was a tattoo artist who was also an aspiring author. Though he’d completed a number of manuscripts (five in all), he knew he had serious literary ambitions, so he waited until he felt he had a manuscript that was highly marketable (an illustrated collection of stories from his experiences in tattoo shops). He worked hard on his query letter, essentially envisioning it as the back-cover copy of his book, and then—with the help of a friend who was an established author, who made the introduction—pitched an agent.

The author landed both the agent and a book deal, with a Big Five imprint focused on art books. The agent used much of the copy from the author’s initial query, which the publisher then used to sell the book (which should tell you how savvy it was, in terms of selling and positioning it). The author, being an artist, also worked closely with the publisher on the cover, and he wound up making a big splash with this debut.

As soon as he’d landed the deal for this first book, the author began working on his next one; this second book was a novel, and he realized the agent he already had probably wasn’t going to be the best fit. So he took a gamble and moved to New York for a year, with the goal of making connections in the publishing industry. After a while, instead of chasing after agents, he found they were chasing after him.

The author took the voice and attitude and gritty street cred he’d established in his first book and parlayed it into a series of successful crime novels, as well as a supernatural noir. For different types of projects, he worked with different types of agents to secure the best deals.

At this point, the author decided to pivot again, this time into screenwriting, so he moved to L.A. Presently, in addition to writing novels, he’s writing for television.

Takeaways

If you’re serious about establishing a literary career as quickly as possible, be honest with yourself about which project might have the biggest potential market, and lead with that.
A personal connection is often the quickest route to landing an agent.
If you’re aiming high, consider making connections in New York (especially with some success already under your belt).

These are just a few of the case studies I’ll be sharing in my online class, Final Draft, which is aimed at helping emerging writers beat the odds and break through with their first book deal.

Now it’s your turn. If you’ve published your first book in recent years—or know someone who has—I’d love to hear from you in the comments. What strategies and factors proved critical?