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How Two Authors Collaborated on a Biography

Today’s Q&A is by author Isidra Mencos (@isidramencos).

The recently published Listen, World!, co-authored by Julia Scheeres and Allison Gilbert, is a page turning biography of Elsie Robinson, the most read woman journalist of the twentieth century, until now unjustly forgotten.

Julia Scheeres, New York Times bestselling author of the memoir Jesus Land, wrote the book in her hallmark cinematic, vivid style, providing fascinating insight on the life of this trailblazer who defied conventions and relentlessly pursued a writing career until she reached the top. Allison Gilbert provided thorough research on both Elsie’s writings—over 9,000 columns published in papers like The Oakland Tribune and the San Francisco Call and Post and a memoir—and the historical context that brings the Victorian and post-Victorian eras to life in the book.

I talked with Julia Scheeres about the nuts and bolts of their collaboration, the craft choices that made this book such an engrossing read, and the lessons she gleaned from Elsie Robinson’s life and career.

Isidra Mencos: I loved your book, Julia. I understand Allison started this project, and she researched Elsie for a total of eleven years. At what point did she contact you and ask you to help with the writing process?

Julia Scheeres: Allison had failed to sell a book proposal on Elsie Robinson, so she contacted me to help her craft a compelling narrative. We were able to combine her research skills—she’s a former CNN producer—with my ability to create a narrative arc and tell a story scenically. When I started writing and I needed a very specific data point to illustrate a very specific story, I would tell Allison. For example, I could ask her, “Allison, can you find out what the divorce rate was in Vermont in 1912?” and she would find out. It’s great having a co-author because you can divvy up the job and cover the same amount of ground twice as fast.

How did you start your collaboration? Did you read the research Allison had accumulated before you started to write, or did you start by reading Elsie’s memoir and columns?

The research Allison did prior to the writing was mainly of Elsie’s works. She had Elsie’s memoir converted into an electronic format, and she also had someone help her create a database with all of Elsie’s columns, but it wasn’t specific to the book that we ultimately worked on.

One of the first steps I took was to read Elsie Robinson’s memoir. Then we spent a lot of time talking about the scope of the book: where it would start, where it would end, what each chapter would be focused on.

I am a big believer in outlines, so I outlined every chapter: this is what the chapter is about, this is the time period, these are the scenes that I want, this is the research that I need, this is the main tension in this chapter, these are the beats.

For example, the chapter on Hornitos. What was the big drama in this chapter? Well, this is when Christie, Elsie’s husband, finds out she’s living in Hornitos with Robert Wallace, and he cuts her off financially, so Elsie is forced to work as a miner to make ends meet, and at the same time she’s trying to send out freelance articles. This is my favorite chapter, because Elsie is so amazing and hardworking: she gets up in the morning, feeds her kid breakfast, walks four miles to a mine, works all day—backbreaking labor in the hot sun of Hornitos—walks home for four miles, makes supper, helps her son with his lesson plans, and then, when she is exhausted, she types up these short stories and sends them off.

Aside from the main outline with the beats of the story, each chapter had its own folder in our shared Google Drive. For example, chapter 5, “Marriage,” had many folders: a folder with a picture of Elsie’s wedding announcement; a folder with information about the house she moved into, the mansion her in-laws had; a folder with the newspaper her in-laws published; a folder on the church she went to; a folder on her son; and then there were stand-alone documents about women’s sphere, sex in marriage, academic papers about Victorian weddings and expectations; then we would go to her poems and columns to see if she had new reflections on marriage. It was pretty detailed.

How did you decide where to start and end Elsie’s story? Because the last thirty years of her life are summarized in an epilogue.

It made sense to start Elsie’s story in Benicia [where Elsie grew up] because it was so formative in forging her independent character. Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood goes deep into Holcomb, the small town in Kansas where the murders happened. He talks about how it fostered this sense of trust among the town’s people, so when this horrific killing happened, they couldn’t believe it. Our towns form who we are. You were lucky enough to be born in Barcelona, one of the most beautiful cities in the world, cosmopolitan; I was born in a very rural, small Midwestern town which is very cloistered and close-minded; Elsie was born in Benicia when it was the Wild West, and she had a very free childhood. She wandered around, asked questions, talked to anybody she wanted to, the prostitute, the priest, and everyone in between.

And we knew that we wanted to end the book before Elsie became famous, because after someone becomes famous, who cares? A good story in any medium is all about somebody wanting something and then trying to attain that goal, having obstacles thrown up in their way, and getting over them or around them. The interesting part is the struggle, the tension on the page. In life, tension sucks, but in storytelling is absolutely necessary, it’s what makes us want to keep reading, keep following the story.

The introduction finds Elsie at the peak of her career, when she writes a letter to William Randolph Hearst making demands that she wouldn’t have dared make before. Did you know from the beginning that you wanted to open the book with that letter or was it something that you decided later?

It came later. It was a very shrewd decision on Allison’s part to have that intro when Elsie tells William Randolph Hearst, “You haven’t given me a raise in nine years. Why not? And don’t you dare tell me that I should be grateful because I’m a woman.” It immediately shows the reader Elsie’s stature.

Reading the acknowledgments it looks like you used hundreds of sources, from historians, librarians, and others that you interviewed, to books, magazines, newspapers, and of course, Elsie’s enormous production. How did you organize this material?

We worked in Google Docs, because Allison is in New York and I’m in California. We had a huge directory in Google, everything from photographs to primary content, to research, to these obscure academic papers that we came across, that all helped us form the story. I kept having to buy more space from Google because I was running out.

Elsie’s writing is interspersed throughout the book with your own narrative. It’s wonderful because she’s a very engaging writer. I was wondering if you decided consciously how to differentiate your voice, so it wouldn’t be taken over by Elsie’s voice. And how did you go about choosing those fragments? Did you read thousands of columns or mostly the memoir?

When there was a big scene, we always deferred to Elsie to tell the story. That was one occasion where we would let her voice stand on the page. Another occasion would be her descriptions. Some of her descriptions of Benicia in the early days, and what it was like to live there when the sun went down and all the prostitutes marched up the street in their sheer dresses, and all the men would be watching this parade are amazing. Elsie was not only a journalist, she was a poet, she was a fiction writer, she was an illustrator…she had skills in so many different art forms, I was in awe. So I thought, “I’m going to step back and let her tell this.” And it worked great because she has such a distinctive voice.

And how about your voice? Did you feel like you had to choose a different narrative voice than what you used for your previous books?

Obviously we couldn’t use the same flair that you would use in a memoir, so it was a bit more muffled compared to Elsie’s, but there are ways that you can jazz up your sentences or make them sound more interesting. It was a balance of letting Elsie have her space—and she was very ebullient, she could be very effusive and wordy—and having my space, so I tried to almost go in the opposite direction and be very succinct. There were so many cases in this book when truth was stranger than fiction, that I didn’t have to work hard at it. You read the pieces about what it was like for brides in this country when they got married with no information on what to expect on your wedding night. Just finding those pieces of women’s history was fascinating and using them was enough to make the narrative engaging.

I love how you incorporate the context of the era, the place of women in Victorian times, and after the two World Wars, the history of Hornitos, the history of Benicia. You could have gone in a different direction. Say, let’s find a publisher and bring Elsie’s memoir back and write an introductory study. Instead, you decided to write a nonfiction book about Elsie, using pieces of her memoir and her columns. I wonder why you chose to do that and if it was precisely to incorporate all this context.

That’s a great point. Sure, we could have just republished her memoir, but she’d been long forgotten, so that wouldn’t have had any impact. And we wanted to incorporate her context. She overcame tremendous odds to become this renowned journalist, and that was what was interesting, everything she faced and overcame.

And another thing is that she didn’t tell the whole truth in her memoir, there were parts she didn’t include, like her love affair with Robert Wallace. She never admitted to being his lover, but all of the lawsuits [from her husband, who was suing Elsie for divorce and custody of their child on the grounds of adultery] state they were lovers. Robert and Elsie were living together in Hornitos. He was a womanizer, very sensual, and she was starved for attention. How could they not be? That’s why it was more interesting to do a biography because, as you know, having written a memoir, you choose to leave things out, you present one side of yourself to the world and if you become famous, and somebody pokes at your life, they could notice, “Oh, she didn’t write about this affair.” So, in a way it makes the story more objective. It’s a journalistic piece, it’s not hagiography. Yes, she was amazing, but she also did not disclose some facts about herself, which are fascinating.

How long did it take you to write the book?

We asked for a two-year contract because I was working on other things at the same time, but once I started writing, I wrote a chapter a month.

Were you sending a draft of each chapter to Allison?

I would upload every chapter to Google at the end of the month. She would read it and give me feedback, and we would talk about it.

How many of those 9,000 pieces that Elsie wrote did you read?

Allison had an assistant who catalogued all of her columns according to theme, so we could do a word search in this database and find, for example, wherever she mentions her son.

Do you have any plans to produce an anthology of Elsie’s best columns now that you have digitized them, or do you want to leave this for someone else?

There are no plans to do that. It would be interesting, but I’m already moving on to my next project. It feels like all this should be made available somewhere so people could benefit if they are doing research on the era or on women.

The precision of the details in the book is outstanding. It could be a movie, it’s so vividly described. Are you paraphrasing Elsie’s words or are the descriptions based on your own research?

It was a mix. Sometimes we used Elsie’s facts, sometimes it’d be reported facts from going to a place like Hornitos, Benicia, San Francisco, other times we went through old newspapers. The Library of Congress has newspapers dating back to the 1700s that you can search, like the Brattleboro Reformer. We could go through and search for the Crowells, her in-laws, and pull out all this information about their mansion. The same thing about Hornitos, Benicia. There is so much information at your fingertips, and it was during Covid, when many archives were closed, but we were able to access a lot of information online.

What was Elsie’s most inspiring trait for you that perhaps changed you as a writer or as a woman?

Her drive. I feel like I’m pretty organized and driven, I’m able to focus really well, but I’ve been improving working on my focus just because her drive was so outsized. Elsie wanted one thing, and she made it happen. She wanted more than being married to a rich guy and being set for life, which is what success meant for most Victorian women—to be a mother and the wife of a wealthy man. Elsie was bored, and she wanted more; she wanted to be a writer, she wanted to be an artist, and she pursued that goal relentlessly. She fell on her face a couple of times, like when she moved back to California, and couldn’t find enough work and then had to go work in a gold mine in Hornitos. This idea of pursuing what’s important in life, pursuing your dream no matter what, was one thing that I really admired. And another thing (spoiler alert), when her son dies, she suffered greatly but she says at one point, “You know what? Grief is a universal issue. You’re not special because you go through the death of someone close to you. Dust yourself up and get up. You can’t stop living.”

What was the most surprising thing as you were writing this book?

I didn’t know a lot of the context about women’s history. The biggest surprise was learning about Ida Craddock, the activist who tried to offer information on sexuality to women, so on their wedding night they wouldn’t be terrified and surprised about what was going on. She wrote educational tracts for men about how to respect a woman, everything that today is health education class in sixth grade or sex education class in high school. She was arrested for it, and she killed herself rather than going back to prison a second time. Hearing and seeing these stories time after time of women trying to help other women—because we’ve been a second class category of citizenship for so long—was an interesting thread. There wasn’t enough information on women’s health, and gynecology was considered a lesser kind of medicine, so women turned to other women for help, and I wasn’t aware of the extent that this had happened. A sisterhood sprung up.

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Would you recommend co-authoring to other writers or would you do it again yourself?

To collaborate can be hard. When it’s going well, it’s great, because you’re sharing the excitement and discoveries with someone else, but it can be problematic when you start thinking, “Who’s doing more work than the other?” I didn’t have this issue with Allison because she’s a very hard worker, she’s a reporter, and knows how to make deadlines, so we were a good match. But I know of other collaborations where there’s always someone who’s doing more work than the other person and resentments can happen.

What’s next for you, Julia?

I can’t really say, but I’m working on something related to my Jonestown book that I’m very excited about.

What Is Upmarket Fiction?

Today’s post is by literary agent and podcast host Carly Watters (@carlywatters).

Ask five different industry members and you’ll get five different answers. But what really is “upmarket” fiction?

I’ve spent the last thirteen years helping writers get book deals and the last two years on our podcast The Shit No One Tells You About Writing helping unpublished writers learn how to categorize their work and I have an answer to this. Upmarket fiction is a blend of commercial fiction and literary fiction, but how it gets blended is where writers and industry members can’t always agree.

The nuances of upmarket fiction are confusing because the lines are blurry to those who don’t see it every day, but I have a method to share with you to better understand the category. Here’s a definitive guide to upmarket fiction.

It has universal themes everyone can connect to, with a hyper-focused plot.

Universal does not mean meandering and expansive. Universal means ideas that travel. Love, loss, grief, trauma, family secrets, and identity show up in upmarket fiction because these are the books that start hyper-specific, like a dust bowl fiction called The Four Winds, and ends up traveling around the country and the world (selling translation rights as they go).

Like Mika in Real Life, we get into them for the plot and end up being swept away by how it makes us feel and then we want to go tell everyone else about it!

Like The People We Hate at the Wedding, we all love the drama of a messy wedding, especially one that includes international travel.

Foreign rights agents never truly know what will sell, but emotionally gripping, universal themes are the books they always want to share with their foreign contacts because they’re not geographically bound. Upmarket novels have potential to sell well in translation because we’re all human.

The aim is thoughtful discussion of real world application.

Ripped-from-the-headlines books often fall into this category. Books where the topic is already being discussed in pop culture or the news and captured in fiction like Girls with Bright Futures (social satire of the 1%), We Are Not Like Them and Such a Fun Age (both hold a mirror up to society’s social justice conversations) are great examples. Books that make readers think about “What would I do in that situation?” or “What if that happened to me/my sister/my family?” are ways that readers are pulled into the book in a nuanced way that inspire deep thought about how the reader feels about the subject matter or character conflict and their own personal relationship to it.

It’s a blend of literary and commercial: quality writing with a high-concept hook or unique structure

So here’s where the blend comes in. The literary part is that the quality of writing is high (doesn’t need to be capital L literary, though, and actually shouldn’t be), and the commercial part is the hook. You immediately get why you need to read it and read it now, but you’re going to keep reading because the writing is really strong.

What is a high-concept hook you might ask? The Guncle, One Day, The Midnight Library and This Time Tomorrow come to mind. A high-concept hook is a premise or hook that you can immediately wrap your head around and see how it can drive a novel: a “what if” hook, a hook that might be about an existential question but is captured in a brilliant single line.

Common characteristics of literary fictionCommon characteristics of commercial fictionIt’s a character-driven novel.

If commercial fiction is plot-driven and literary fiction is quality-of-language driven, then upmarket fiction is character-driven. I think of The Most Fun We Ever Had, Fleishman Is in Trouble, White Ivy or Recipe for a Perfect Wife when I think about characters who propel the book forward. It can be multi-point of view or single point of view. The book often hinges on the growth and/or secrets of this main character or more than one character if it’s multi-point of view. See my case study of Lessons in Chemistry below to learn more.

It’s appropriate for book club discussion.

Do people actually want to talk about and debate matters in this book? A lot of writers think their book would be good for a book club, but what does that mean? You want to tour around to book clubs across the country? Or your book has enough material and fodder to get people discussing opposing views and alternate opinions with their closest friends and neighbors?

Luckily, we also have Reese Witherspoon, Read With Jenna and Good Morning America helping us lead the way with national book club choices (and generating lots of sales for the industry!) and I would argue 90% of their monthly book club choices are categorized as upmarket. We have The Last Story of Mina Lee, L.A. Weather, The Fortunes of Jaded Women, Someday, Maybe, and many more national book club picks to choose from.

It’s genre blending and adding mystery.

I love a little genre blending in upmarket fiction and Nine Perfect Strangers, The Other Black Girl, Where the Forest Meets the Stars, and Where the Crawdads Sing deliver on this. What mystery are we trying to solve in both a thoughtful and page turning way? Readers are both immersed in solving the puzzle but allowing themselves to be shepherded slowly through the suspense because they want to savor each page. They never want the book to end because then they’d be done! But they also want to know what happens. These types of books get recommended to all the readers’ friends and family, and get high library request rates.

Case study: Lessons in Chemistry

Tone and marketability come to play in this case study. Lessons in Chemistry is an example I want to discuss because the way a book is packaged or marketed and the writing itself can sometimes be at odds. Many readers said the Lessons in Chemistry cover (of the U.S. edition) made it appear more lighthearted than it actually was—the cover wasn’t interpreted to be as “serious” as the subject matter. I believe Lessons in Chemistry to be upmarket but it was packaged more commercially. It didn’t affect sales at all. This book sold very well, so perhaps the cover did the job!

We could contend that this main character wasn’t especially likable, and some might argue that upmarket fiction has to have at least one likable character but I don’t know if I agree. Unlikable characters can certainly get book clubs talking; however, the goal is for readers to finish the book—not just buy it—and likability and entertainment value go far in this category. I chose this for my book club and we had a very intense discussion. I loved it.

Lessons in Chemistry is very character-driven. We spend all of our time with Elizabeth Zott but there’s a high-concept element where she talks to her dog, who is named Six-Thirty, and we also get interiority from her dog’s POV. This allows us to feel incredibly close to Elizabeth while also seeing her from another angle even if it isn’t another person, but Six-Thirty.

The book is historical, but simultaneously feels urgent and contemporary. This is common in upmarket fiction. Lessons in Chemistry is tackling sexism in a historical context, but so much of it still feels relevant today, which gives book clubs the opportunity to talk about what’s changed and what’s still the same. It’s a safe space for discussion because it feels distant and close at the same time.

It was a GMA pick and a 2022 Goodreads Choice winner for best debut novel. The Guardian review said Lessons in Chemistry is “a polished, funny, thought-provoking story, wearing its research lightly but confidently, and with sentences so stylishly turned it’s hard to believe it’s a debut.”

Do you see how each word in that review checks the upmarket boxes?

How do I know if something’s upmarket at first glance?

At the time of this writing, the covers tend to have bright elements, large title text, hidden images or icons if you look closely.

Upmarket fiction can published as trade paperback original or hardcover; it depends on the publisher. Some want to capture the trade paperback market and move a lot of units and some want that sturdy hardcover appeal that libraries love and capture a higher price point. These are larger discussions within each imprint.

Finally …

The most important thing to remember is that upmarket fiction operates on a spectrum. Some upmarket books will lean more commercial, and some will lean more literary—all authors tackle these issues in a unique way. In my examples above, some are more commercial/upmarket like Nine Perfect Strangers and some are more literary/upmarket like Fleishman Is in Trouble. These are guidelines, not rules, and I love when I’m proven wrong, but I’ve been doing this thirteen years, sold over one hundred books, and I’m generally pretty right!

I know what I’m going to hear from everyone: “I’m pretty sure all good fiction falls into this upmarket category!” And you know what, they might. I’m very willing to discuss these nuances any time, any place, because that’s what makes good books relevant and keeps us talking about writing, marketing, and packaging. However, as an agent it’s my job to recognize these subtle differences and help place these books with the right editors so they can find readers.

5 Reasons to Write Your “Taboo” Stories

Photo by Anna Shvets

Today’s post is by writer and editor Katie Bannon (@katiedbannon). Join her on Thursday, March 30 for the online class Writing the Taboo in Memoir.

Writing memoir is always a vulnerable experience, but some stories are especially difficult to tell. Topics like mental illness, sex, and violence are often branded “taboo” and can be among the most challenging material to write about. In many cultures, we’re taught to avoid these topics, and that sharing them is TMI (“too much information”).

But at their best, these narratives speak to our darkest truths and teach us what it means to be human. Despite the challenges of writing about stigmatized topics, sharing our vulnerable, deeply personal stories can be incredibly healing. And not only that, but these stories can make for the most compelling writing for readers.

1. Writing about taboos can give our stories heat and urgency.

Emotionally charged, vulnerable experiences lend themselves to high-stakes storytelling. In memoir, we are challenged to answer the question of: “So what?” Why would a disinterested reader, who doesn’t know us from Adam, care about our lives? Taboo topics tend to be rife with conflict and dramatic tension, among our best tools for engaging readers in our stories. What’s more, when we lean into stigmatized topics, we invite readers to wrestle with the same complexities we’re examining in ourselves—this gives our storytelling urgency and nuance, which keeps the reader turning the pages.

2. Vulnerability can make us more trustworthy narrators.

In memoir, readers want us to tell the truest, most candid versions of our stories. If they sense that we are holding back, being evasive, or trying to present our lives and ourselves as rosier than the reality, we risk losing their trust. Not shying away from the thorny, messy truths of our lives sends a powerful message to the reader. It shows them we are willing to lay bare our most difficult truths—even when, and perhaps especially when, these are unflattering. Readers respect writers who come across as honest and authentic—facing challenging material head-on, without sugar-coating it, shows our ability to grapple with complicated memories. This kind of honesty can help build our credibility as narrators, while establishing a more intimate connection between the writer and reader.

3. Writing the “unspeakable” allows us to reclaim power.

Often, what is categorized as “taboo” or “unspeakable” has a lot to do with power dynamics. For instance, topics like sexual assault and racism have long been stigmatized; this is a way of silencing voices of dissent, those that might disrupt the established social order. Writing about taboos helps jumpstart conversations about some of the most important topics of our day. We can break through the forces that attempt to silence us, instead using our stories as a way of speaking truth to power. This is especially the case in marginalized communities, where voices have been systematically shut out—writing the hard truths can be empowering for the writer, and illuminating for readers.

4. We can reduce shame in ourselves and others.

Writing about vulnerable topics has the potential to promote significant healing. When we give voice to the rawest parts of ourselves, we take control of our stories rather than them taking control of us. Writing in this way forces us to investigate the complicated web of our thoughts and feelings, increasing self-acceptance and reducing shame. Additionally, when we are vulnerable on the page, we invite readers to do the same—to face their own difficult truths and find more gentleness and healing. In addressing stigmatized topics, we have the opportunity to cast light on stories that are too often shrouded in shame and secrecy. When a reader sees themselves in our stories, it sends them the message that they are not alone. In a time when isolation and division is on the rise, there is enormous power in helping our readers feel heard, seen, and understood.

5. Taboos speak to our darkest truths as humans.

Vulnerability is integral to the human experience. All of us have experienced the shame, guilt, grief, and pain that comes from having difficult experiences. When we write deeply personal stories, we can tap into universal truths that will resonate with any reader. The pain of feeling all alone. Of being otherized. Of not feeling good enough. No matter what the specifics of our “taboo” stories are, we have the capacity to elevate our experiences beyond the personal, digging into the messiest and most essential parts of what it means to be human. This is what distinguishes good memoir writing from great memoir writing—when we can use our own vulnerability as a stepping stone for mining the intricacies of the human experience.

Memoir is all about complexity and vulnerability—leaning into messy truths, rather than the tidy, “prettied up” versions of our lives. While the journey of writing taboo stories has its challenges, the rewards are vast—both for the writer, and for the reader.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, join us on Thursday, March 30 for the online class Writing the Taboo in Memoir.

What Memoirists Can Learn from Historical Novelists

Photo by Mr Cup / Fabien Barral on Unsplash

Today’s post is by author and book coach Susanne Dunlap (@susanne_dunlap).

At first glimpse, memoir and historical fiction may seem worlds apart. But many of the decisions historical novelists have to make to create a compelling narrative overlap with memoir more than you’d think—especially for writers of biographical historical fiction.

Both genres deal with events that really happened and people who actually existed. And writers of both genres have to make decisions that somehow mold reality into a story with a shape, an arc, and meaning.

It all starts with the question of time.

Timelines and story arcs

Time is at the foundation of the entire experience of reading a book. A novel or a memoir is consumed by the reader over a span of time that sometimes expands, sometimes contracts depending on the balance of scene and summary. A reader invests time in the reading of the book, and it has to be worthwhile for them.

It’s your responsibility as a writer to control that passage of time, and it starts with identifying your story’s timeline, finding the optimal beginning and end that will create the satisfying arc that doesn’t exist in history or in life.

To do that involves not just deciding what to include, but what to exclude.

But how do you decide that? How do you know what timespan is going to work best for your memoir?

Before asking that, ask yourself this: Why are you writing this book? What are you trying to say? What is your point? Writers of both fiction and memoir use the particular to illuminate the universal. Underlying your experience is a message you want to convey, sometimes overt, sometimes subtle.

An example: You’re a cancer survivor. You could choose to focus on the period that led up to diagnosis and the choices you made, if you want to make the point that patients have autonomy over those decisions. Or you could choose to cover the treatment, and share your journey and the ways you found to manage the physical and emotional effects, to convey a message of hope and solidarity with other cancer patients.

A memoir that tries to cover the entire experience risks being unfocused and failing to make a point, which could leave a reader wondering why they spent all that time reading your book.

A historical novelist, similarly, might choose not to focus on the most well-known part of the historical figure’s life, instead opting to illuminate that person’s early journey, to show how circuitous and full of obstacles such a route to fame can be, or to foreground the contribution of a spouse, a parent, or a sibling.

Once you have a general idea of your timeline, you then have to decide on the exact moment your memoir begins and ends. The precise scene that gets the story underway for the reader, and the moment at which you have reached the end of that arc in a way that feels satisfying and connects back to the beginning.

I’ll use an example from my own work, The Portraitist: A Novel of Adelaïde Labille-Guiard. I chose as the starting moment the day my 18th-century artist first exhibits her work—and discovers her better-connected, more beautiful, and younger arch rival. The book ends at the only documented meeting between the two women at a dinner party in 1802. They have both changed by then, been tested by the events of the French Revolution and responded to them in different ways.

The plot thickens

The word “plot” comes freighted with associations for readers and writers. At its simplest, it’s what happens. Not just what happens, though, but why it happens. While there are plot-heavy narratives such as thrillers, mysteries, and romance, even the most literary of novels, or the most introspective of memoirs, has a plot on some level. Its inner logic is the same as any story, where scenes are linked by action > reaction > decision > consequence.

That means you have to excavate the choices you made and the actions you took, how you reacted to events and people, and the consequences you had to live with—and do it all in a way that has inner logic. Just narrating a chunk of your life can end up creating a memoir that feels episodic and static. You want your reader to keep asking, “What happens next?” to be compelled to keep reading.

Making that logic clear drives a reader through your story. As soon as you inject something arbitrary, something that is outside the logic that is heading toward your ultimate point, you risk losing the reader. It’s what happens in historical fiction when a writer falls in love with some fascinating tidbit from their research and puts it in even if it doesn’t serve the story.

The sticky thing in both cases is that you’re dealing with reality, with things that actually happened. While a historical novelist can take advantage of a gap in what’s known to invent something that will help their story work, that’s not possible for a memoirist. So what must you do?

It’s up to you to find the thread of the point as you sift through your memories, go back to journals from the time, perhaps talk to other people involved. It’s a process of selection, of editing out those events and experiences that, however interesting and important they are to you, are outside of the cause-effect trajectory of your plot.

You as protagonist

Your story—and that of a historical novel—derives its momentum not only from the balance of scene and summary, but from the underlying emotions of the protagonist—and in memoir, that’s you. Your reader has to care about you, be on your side, just as they would any protagonist. And the only way to ensure that happens is to dig deep, to lay yourself open in all your emotional complexity, warts and all.

Here is where the historical novelist has a much easier task. We are digging for clues in our research, in letters and archives. What we don’t find we have license to create—as long as what we create fits with the story and character that exists.

For you, that digging can be uncomfortable and scary. But if you gloss over the deep emotions, your memoir risks not having the impact it could if you allow a reader to know your deepest feelings, the good and the bad.

Your memoir is a story

In narrative memoir as in fiction, the principles that govern great storytelling apply. I have touched on only a few here. Your memoir requires world building, manipulation of point of view, compelling scenes, descriptions imbued with meaning, structure, and more. And it’s all wrapped up in revealing something not only about yourself, but about something bigger, something universal.

It’s a very tall order. But thinking like a novelist is one way to help you conquer the craft challenges of writing a great memoir.

Ask the Editor: How Can I Avoid Lawsuits When Writing Memoir?

Photo by EKATERINA BOLOVTSOVA

Ask the Editor is a column for your questions about the editing process and editors themselves. It also features first-page critiques. Want to be considered? Submit your question or submit your pages.

This month’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by Book Pipeline. The Book Pipeline Workshop—editors reviewing manuscripts, queries, and synopses. Fiction and nonfiction accepted. All material is considered for circulation to lit agents—multiple Book Pipeline authors have signed with reps and gotten published since 2020! Submit now.

Question

After more editing of my manuscript, I hope to self-publish my book based on my journey with bipolar II disorder. I have included people who came into and out of my life prior to my diagnosis and treatment for this mental illness. Short of changing the names, what actions should I apply to ensure that my truth, as written, will not bring about lawsuits against me?

—Legal Eagle Needed

Answer

Dear Needing a Legal Eagle,

I’m so glad you asked this question! If the 2022 Johnny Depp and Amber Heard defamation trial taught us anything, it’s that you don’t have to name names to find yourself in legal trouble.

While getting sued for something in your memoir is exceptionally rare, it can happen. The risks are highest for authors with big platforms, especially if they’re writing about well-known public figures or powerful institutions. But even lesser-known authors can experience legal issues if they don’t perform their due diligence while writing and revising their books.

Of the things you can get sued for, libel is often the biggest potential problem for writers. Libel consists of false written statements, presented as fact, that do damage to the reputation of the person you’re writing about. If what you write is objectively true, the person who is suing is unlikely to win their case—but that doesn’t mean they won’t sue. Also, if you reveal embarrassing but true information about an individual who is not a public figure, you may get in trouble for invading privacy. (What defines a public versus private figure is complicated and may require legal consultation.)

Your question suggests you have some niggling concerns about how the people in your memoir might receive your story. In the land of storytelling, truth is far more malleable than you might realize—especially when writing early drafts. The goal of memoir isn’t to capture the capital T “Truth” of what happened; it’s to mine your experience for meaning that serves your readers and the story. To accomplish this goal, and have the best chance of staving off legal entanglements, there are two areas you’ll want to focus on: (1) researching your facts and (2) understanding your motives.

Researching the facts is about keeping your side of the street clean. You may need to interview witnesses, search through primary source material, read legal documents or medical records, and Google everything you can. Don’t assume your memory is correct; entertain the possibility that your memory may be faulty or incomplete. Look for evidence to support that things happened the way you remember them. If you can’t find evidence, or your memory is hazy, it’s best to admit this right in the story itself. E.g., “I don’t remember exactly how events unfolded that day, but…”

After you’ve checked your facts, consider how you’re portraying your characters. Dig deep and ask yourself if revenge fantasies or vendettas have impacted the way you’ve written about the people populating your book. Only angels are exempt from vendetta fantasies. Mere mortals are bound to our human experiences, which at times are filled with anger. Beta readers and writing group members can help you check for unfairness or imbalances in your character development. You can also do some perspective shifting by writing the same scene from your antagonist’s point of view. I know that’s a tall order, but it will help you better understand what happened, and write with compassion.

If someone has behaved so badly this feels impossible, and you’re certain they belong in your book, double check your research, then work with beta readers to ensure what you’ve written is accurate, balanced, and serves your story.

After you’ve completed your research and have a nearly final, polished draft, then you can think about whether to change names or descriptions. Changing names and identifying details, or creating composite characters, can be helpful if a situation belongs in your story but outing someone isn’t essential. Two memoirs that handle badly behaving characters with grace include Stephanie Foo’s What My Bones Know and Everything Is Perfect by Kate Nason. In Stephanie’s book, her insensitive boss is never identified, while Kate renamed a well-known public figure in her memoir. Yet we can make some educated guesses as to who they’re referring to, which means changing names isn’t a fool-proof shield you can rely on. If someone is in fact easily identified in your memoir, they can still sue successfully for libel or invasion of privacy even if you’ve changed their name and a few details.

If your characters aren’t public figures or affiliated with powerful institutions—and they’re not litigious—revising well and changing identifying features might be all you need to do to stave off a lawsuit. But, if chances for litigation are high, legal vetting might be in order. To legally vet a manuscript, you’ll hire a lawyer who will review your book, and to keep costs in line, it’s best to only submit chapters or passages of concern. A lawyer might suggest items for removal or help you rephrase things in ways that lower your overall risk. Costs vary from the hundreds to thousands of dollars. The Authors Guild has great resources around legal vetting, including this free webinar on vetting legal risk.

Checking all these boxes will certainly lower your risk, but there’s no guarantee you won’t be sued. That’s because we can’t always predict who will be upset. For example, Mary Karr feared her mother would have a meltdown when she read The Liar’s Club, but she loved it. Yet others have told me stories about characters they’d written glowingly about who were miffed by a single word used to describe them.

This might seem like a lot to consider, especially if your plan is to self-publish, but our stories are worth getting right. These suggestions will not only help you create the very best version of your memoir, they’ll help you promote your book with greater confidence, because you’ll know that everything belongs, has been written with care, and keeps your side of the street clean as you create your art.

I wish you the absolute best on your writing journey.

Warmly,

Lisa Cooper Ellison

This month’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by Book Pipeline. The Book Pipeline Workshop—editors reviewing manuscripts, queries, and synopses. Fiction and nonfiction accepted. All material is considered for circulation to lit agents—multiple Book Pipeline authors have signed with reps and gotten published since 2020! Submit now.

Writing About Native Americans: 7 Questions Answered

Photo by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash

Today’s post is by author Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer.

Many authors want to write about Native Americans in their fiction and nonfiction, but they have questions about doing so—and don’t know who to ask. As a tribal member of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, I’ve written and published 15 historical fiction books with Native main characters, and over 275 nonfiction articles on Native artists and organizations. In 2012, I was honored as a Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of the American Indian Artist in Leadership fellow, and a First Peoples Fund Artist in Business Leadership fellow in 2015.

Helping authors of all genres write authentic stories with Native characters is one of my passions. Once authors invest in the skills they need, they’re able to stand behind every word they write. So I’ll answer frequently asked questions I hear from writers.

1. What is the correct way to refer to Native Americans?

There are really long, complex answers to this, but I will give a short version here.

Many Natives in Indian Country still prefer the term “Indian,” but because it’s been used derogatorily for so long, you need to take great care if you use it.

“American Indians” is still commonly used, as in the National Museum of the American Indian.

“Native American” is fine as well, though technically anyone born in America is Native American.

My favorite term is “First Americans” and it’s gaining popularity. The Chickasaw Nation has adopted this as their term, and there is the First Americans Museum in Oklahoma City.

The most accurate and correct way is to refer to someone is by their tribal affiliation. For me, that’s Choctaw. So rather than I say, “I’m Indian,” I say, “Chahta sia hoke,” meaning, “I am Choctaw!”

2. Is it okay for authors who aren’t Native American to write about them?

It depends on who you ask. For me, the idea that one can only write about their own race is odd. I have characters of multiple nationalities that fit into the historical and contemporary times I write in.

The catch is Natives in mainstream media have been so grossly stereotyped it’s extremely easy for a writer to perpetuate those stereotypes without even realizing it. Writing First American characters should be done with care, research, and a strong knowledge base.

In the end, I believe writers should be judged on the quality of our writing, not on our race.

3. Are there still organized tribal nations in North America?

Yes! According to the Bureau of Indian Affairs in 2020, there are 574 federally recognized tribes in the United States.

Many have their own officials, councils, law enforcement, health care systems, and more. Some of the tribal governments are located on reservations; others have boundaries based on county lines.

Each tribe has a distinct history and heritage, so it’s important to know which one you are writing about in your story.

4. Can authors approach a tribal community for help when researching their story?

I encourage authors to work with the tribe they are writing about if they can. Make friends in that culture. However, you may find people more guarded if you jump right into, “Hey, I’m writing a novel, can I ask all about your people?” So much has been stolen from Native communities, and it takes deep awareness to build relationships.

5. What can authors do to make sure they don’t get Native culture “wrong” and create a firestorm of controversy?

Connection. Make connections with Native people at events, through tribal historians, and at cultural centers.

If you build trusting relationships, you may eventually ask your connection(s) to read your manuscript for fact-checking. If they offer positive feedback, consider asking for an endorsement. Put those in your marketing copy or on your back cover.

Keep in mind that getting everything right isn’t a simple task. It’s doable in most cases, but you may run into roadblocks. Lean hard into your research and have a discerning eye to distinguish between stereotypes and true history and culture.

6. What are some stereotypes surrounding Native Americans?

The list of stereotypes is a long one, but I’ll cover two of them for you here.

First, “The Noble Savage.” While some people showed real prejudice against Native peoples (such as “no dogs or Indians allowed” signage), others romanticized the idea of Native Americans. This happens still today. While there is much to admire in Native culture, it’s important to guard against the starry-eyed view of Indigenous people. Though not directly negative, that view doesn’t always empathize with Natives as human beings.

Read through historical documents and keep a close eye on verbiage that romanticizes the culture and people of the tribe you’re researching. Often, you’ll find that newspaper accounts, time-period books, and speeches were from the point of view at one end of the spectrum or the other.

These perspectives come from two extremes. The truth lands somewhere in the middle, and your job as an author is to draw balanced conclusions.

“Historical-Only View.” One of the stereotypes rarely talked about is what I call a “historical-only view.” It’s the underlying perspective that American Indians have all but disappeared from the face of the earth. Though not directly stated, descriptions and attitudes assume that Native peoples are in the past. There is no future for them.

The solution? Get to know Native people by attending events like Indian powwows. Feel the beat of the big drum, watch the wildly beautiful flash of colors at the climax of the fancy dancers, and taste Indian fry bread. While there is etiquette to learn for powwows and other Native events, you can do it. Meet new people. Build trusting relationships. Show the respect that’s in your heart for Natives today, and remember … we Natives are still here. 🙂

If you want more, I cover five stereotypes to avoid that you can download for free.

7. What about marketing my books with Native American characters?

Many people I meet are fascinated by Native American history and culture. That’s a positive thing as long as you approach any marketing about and to Native cultures genuinely and respectfully, which goes back to doing your research. If you write YA, middle grade, or children’s books and plan to visit schools, some may not be receptive if you’re non-Native. You could consider partnering with a Native author or illustrator if your goal is to market in schools.

Contemporary, fantasy, historical, romance, or any genre should take into consideration who they are casting in their story and why, then create the most authentic, accurate, non-stereotype characters they can. If you’ve done your research and can show it (in your author bio, website, author notes, endorsements, etc), that can build trust and credibility no matter what audience you’re marketing to.

If you have more questions, ask them in the comments below. And if you’re ready to get into writing Native American characters in your story, I can help guide you through the minefield in my Fiction Writing: American Indians online course.

Chi pisa la chike, my fellow author. I will see you again soon.

Picking a Point of View for Your Story

Photo by Kabir Sharma

Today’s post is by editor Tiffany Yates Martin (@FoxPrintEd). Join her on Wednesday, March 22, for the online class Master POV.

Choosing the most effective perspective from which to tell your story is a combination of both the technical and the creative. It’s useful to consider the benefits and limitations of each POV, the feel that each POV might lend, and how well it fits the tone and tenor of your story— as well as its genre. Let’s look the most common POVs today and what each offers you.

Third-person omniscient POV

In clarifying the conventions of each point of view, I find it useful to imagine the author’s perspective as that of a fly.

In third-person omniscient, the fly is untethered, able to flit anywhere in time and space, privy to all knowledge and information that ever existed in the world, and even able to eavesdrop on characters’ thoughts. The fly is all-seeing and knows things the characters may not.

This gives the author enormous leeway in presenting information. Nothing is off-limits, including how every character in the room thinks and feels. But only from an external point of view. The omniscient fly is still separate from the characters. It may be a witness to what’s going on inside of them, but only as if overhearing it, not experiencing it firsthand.

Omniscient can be a difficult POV to work with because it can feel formal or distant or dry. It’s more common in certain genres than others—like fantasy, science fiction, and literary novels—and can work well if handled skillfully to offer readers almost a panoramic view of the world of the story and its characters.

But it is also one of the easiest points of view to go careening off the rails if misused, resulting in head-hopping that may leave readers feeling disoriented or confused.

Third-person limited POV

With third-person limited, the fly is on a leash attached to a single POV character. The fly can report on anything within its purview, including things the character may or may not notice, like someone sneaking up behind her.

It’s also privy to the character’s thoughts and feelings and reactions in the same way that omniscient POV is, as if eavesdropping on what’s going on inside a character, but it’s still a separate entity and not directly enmeshed with the character’s firsthand thoughts or feelings.

This limits what you as the author are able to report on, so to speak, but it also offers a somewhat more intimate perspective than omniscient in that it sticks with the perspective of a single character at a time (per scene or separate section).

This is also a very common voice in the current market. This point of view is easily adaptable to various genres and tones, from highbrow literary to more accessible popular fiction.

“Deep” third-person limited POV and first-person POV

Even more popular lately, it seems, is a version of third-person point of view often called deep or close third-person. This follows all the conventions of regular third-person limited, with the addition that the fly actually is, for all intents and purposes, the character. They are as one. The fly thinks the character’s thoughts, feels his feelings, reacts directly as if it were the character. The fly—meaning you as the author—is essentially a window into the character’s soul.

In this regard it’s very similar to first-person point of view: Basically there is no fly. As in deep third, the fly lives inside the character’s heart and head and behind her eyes (also, ew, sorry for the visual). And every single thing the character experiences, feels, knows, etc., is filtered through the fly.

First-person is increasingly popular, especially in genre fiction, but it also has a fine strong legacy even in literary fiction—authors ranging from Dickens to Fitzgerald and Hemingway, Kazuo Ishiguro and Margaret Atwood, E. L. James and Stephanie Meyer have written novels in first-person POV.

It is the most intimate of all voices, having a confidential, come-sit-next-to-me feel that brings the reader directly into the world of the characters and story. It can allow for the deepest direct view into a character’s perspective, and carries a sense of informality.

First-person (and deep third) still allows the author to withhold information for “reveals” and suspense, or make ambiguous certain information that can call the character’s authority and translucency into question, as with the “unreliable narrator” device. Just because we’re directly privy to the character’s inner life doesn’t necessarily mean we’re allowed into every shadowed corner.

This point of view can be limiting, though, as with deep third and limited third, because the author is able to report only on the point-of-view character’s direct purview. And it can slip into a common trap of “reporting”—as if the character is retelling a story from a remove, rather than as if readers are living it with them directly.

Choosing POV: the intangibles

Deciding which point of view you want to use is also a factor of personal preference and comfort level. Many authors have a natural voice that they often write in that feels most organic to them, and most if not all their stories will adopt that point of view. Many also change it up from story to story depending on their intentions for it, and the desired “feel” and tone.

If you aren’t sure which point of view feels right to you or a particular story, I often suggest a simple exercise: Take a pivotal scene or two and try writing it from several different points of view—not necessarily different characters, but different voices: omniscient, limited third, etc.

Often one will immediately feel like the right choice to you, or will allow you to bring the story most fully and impactfully to life in the way you imagined.

If you’ve already chosen a POV and are rewriting a scene in a different point of view as an exercise, you may find a different POV feels more comfortable or lends itself better to the story’s tone and feel, or opens up a perspective that adds depth or impact to the story.

Or you may confirm that your original choice was the best one.

The main thing to remember? There is no right choice or most correct point of view. Like everything in writing, it’s subjective.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, join us on Wednesday, March 22 for the online class Master POV.

How to Write a Hybrid Memoir

Today’s post is by author Adriana Barton (@AdrianaBarton).

I didn’t plan on writing a science memoir.

My first outline of Wired for Music (published in October 2022) focused on the neurology, anthropology and health benefits of music. In my mind, these elements held more than enough fascination to carry a book. But before my agent inked the deal, my publisher had one major request: “Can you put more of yourself in the book?”

“Sure,” I said, envisioning extra scenes from my childhood music lessons sprinkled in the first chapter or two. I sent a revised outline … and got the same feedback. “More of you.”

Readers of early drafts echoed the publisher’s words: “Your stories are so compelling. Can you add more of them?”

This more-of-you refrain was the last thing I wanted to hear.

As a science journalist, I was mainly interested in the geeky side of music—its effects on our brainwaves, neurochemicals, mental and physical health. I didn’t want to write about my sad-sack story as a failed cellist who no longer played the instrument I had studied for 17 years. Decades had passed since those painful days, and I had no desire to relive them.

Yet my tormented story with music was the one people wanted most. The injuries, the self-doubt. The high points, including a performance at Carnegie Hall, and the rigid training that had turned me away from classical music for good.

Maybe mining the past, I told myself, was the best way to draw readers to a book in the increasingly saturated music-on-the-brain vein.

Even as I assured my publisher I was up to the task, inwardly, I balked. Wired for Music would be my first attempt to write anything longer than a 4,000-word magazine feature. How was I supposed to graft a memoir onto chapters of popular science?

I found little in the way of useful instruction online, and no one I asked could offer a clear roadmap. Months, nay years, of frustration lay ahead.

And so, I offer my trial-and-error tale in hopes it will shorten the learning curve for other hybrid memoirists (reluctant or not).

To be clear, there is still an appetite for straight-up science books. Recent bestsellers include An Immense World, The Song of the Cell, Stolen Focus, The Insect Crisis. The list goes on.

More and more, though, we’re seeing hybrid memoirs such as Lab Girl (botany blended with the author’s coming-of-age as a scientist), The Invisible Kingdom (a fusion of memoir and reportage on chronic illness), The Soul of an Octopus (in which a naturalist ponders the nature of consciousness through communion with cephalopods) and the recent Heartbreak (a divorced journalist’s science-based exploration of heartache and grief).

All are great books, and in many cases, the personal angle might have been the author’s choice.

But nonfiction authors are under increasing pressure to permeate their books with their own experiences and emotions. Publishers seem convinced it’s not enough to distill research into well-written prose. Readers want an intimate story, too.

Like it or not, publishers may be right.

As the author-anthropologist Barbara J. King admitted on NPR, “I write science, but I read memoir.” Combining the two can turbo-charge the message, she wrote: “What may strike a reader as somewhat abstract in science writing may become more real when encountered in a searing narrative of a person’s own highly specific experience.”

Much as we are wired for music, humans are wired for story. (This wiring helps explain why even highly intelligent people get sucked in by conspiracy theories.) As conduits for informing, convincing and entertaining us, stories trump facts every time.

Unfortunately for authors, the hybrid memoir is tough to pull off. In my case, the structural demands of blending science with memoir became the defining challenge of my book—one I did not overcome until the final edit.

From the start, I knew my personal story didn’t have enough drama to sustain a narrative arc. I was never a child prodigy, nor did I quit classical music only to later catapult to fame as a rockstar. So, I decided a progression of science topics should be the backbone of the book.

I modeled my new outline after Abraham Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs.” Maslow (likely inspired by Blackfoot teachings) proposed that psychological growth depended on fulfilling a series of needs, starting with the necessities of survival and culminating in self-actualization. Using this framework, I started with a chapter on the evolutionary roots of music and ended with one on music’s role in the universal search for meaning.

So far, so good. But where did my story fit in?

I kept hoping to find the perfect hybrid structure and then fill in the blanks. But creative writing doesn’t work that way. A control-freak approach to structure can drain writing of its spark, leaving it as lifeless as the dully competent books churned out by ChatGPT. On the flip side, too little attention to structure makes for a hot mess.

During my second year of full-time work on the book, I followed an author friend’s advice: “Write first thing in the morning, stream of consciousness, and see what kinds of connections your mind comes up with.”

I gave myself several months to sink in to old memories, even when it felt like wallowing. At one point, I spent two weeks reading old news reports and weeping about a tragic loss, jotting down words for a passage that ended up occupying just two pages of my book. I didn’t always enjoy the process (I was already past deadline and needed to get cracking) but this suspended-animation phase was a crucial step in allowing my book to find its rhythm.

In between bursts of writing, I spoke with authors who had tackled the hybrid genre. Inevitably, they warned, some readers will complain about too much science while others will grouse about too much memoir. “You will never please everyone.”

But I could try to please myself.

For more than a year, I read hybrid memoirs including Nerve: Adventures in the Science of Fear; Hello I Want to Die Please Fix Me: Depression in the First Person; First, We Make the Beast Beautiful: A New Journey Through Anxiety; and Feasting Wild: In Search of the Last Tamed Food. 

I noticed three things about hybrid memoirs that I liked most:

The memoir elements were tightly integrated with the science passages, without dragging the reader through superfluous details and unrelated periods in the author’s life.While the book’s main topic (science, mental health, etc.) took center stage, the informational passages never droned on for more than four or five pages without a story break.Even if the memoir element was subservient to the science, the author experienced some kind of epiphany or personal transformation by the end.

In contrast, many of the less successful books did a bait-and-switch, hooking the reader with a compelling personal story at the start of the book and then hammering them with chapter after chapter of non-stop science.

With these points in mind, I began to plot my memoir passages in a loose progression, independent of the science sections. Then, using the index-card feature in Scrivener, I looked at the different ways the science and memoir passages could intersect. This process was often maddening, since the same anecdote could dovetail with any number of science concepts, depending on how the anecdote was framed. Gradually, though, the weighting of science and story became more balanced. Or so I thought.

When I delivered my manuscript (after two years of full-time writing and many more of research), none of the passages was boring or long-winded. My book was well on its way to publication, right?

Not quite.

My editor wrote back describing my narrative as choppy and emotionally unsatisfying. I’d welded the science passages together with personal stories without paying enough attention to chronology. The timeline was confusing, my editor said, and major scenes lacked the scaffolding needed to reach emotional heights.

Back to the drawing board—this time under intense stress. I had eight weeks to overhaul the manuscript.

Fortunately, my editor offered a structural solution: start and end each chapter with a personal passage, giving readers a touchstone to orient themselves in my story. I could still zip back and forth in time within each chapter, my editor said, but at least one thread of the book needed to be chronological.

At first, I resisted this plan. How could I summon meaningful anecdotes to illustrate the science concepts while ensuring these memories were in the right timeline for each chapter? This dilemma reminded me of the structural challenges Rebecca Skloot detailed about her bestselling book The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. After years of tearing her hair out, she too decided that one of the narrative threads had to be chronological.

At the same time, my book needed a more emotionally satisfying conclusion. I reread notes from a webinar on memoir structure taught by Allison K Williams via Jane Friedman’s website (worth every penny). Williams emphasized that a memoir needs to build towards a personal transformation or resolution. If you don’t have a resolution to the fundamental problem or pain point presented at the start of the book, she said, you need to figure it out (or live the experiences you need to figure it out) before the writing is complete. Hybrid memoirs were no exception.

Brainstorming, I tried mapping my experiences onto the archetypical hero’s journey plot found in movies ranging from Star Wars to The Wizard of Oz. (Time was tight, so why try to reinvent the wheel?)

In this age-old story template, the “hero” (or average person like me) faces an untenable situation (in my case, an unresolved relationship to music). After a period of struggle, the hero learns a lesson, wins a victory with that knowledge and then returns to the starting point, transformed.

While my book is mostly chronological, Wired for Music starts in medias res, with me in my thirties haunted by the cello hiding in a battered case behind the couch. My hero’s journey involves a burning need to confront the forces that severed my relationship to music, understand where music comes from in our species, along with its therapeutic effects, and then grapple with my inner barriers to creating a healthier relationship with music—and myself.

After frantic weeks of rearranging chunks of narrative and writing new passages to bookend each chapter, I managed to meet my deadline. This time, my editor gave Wired for Music the green light.

Months later, the blend of science and memoir became my book’s calling card. “Thoroughly researched and tenderly written,” wrote The Globe and Mail. “Witty and soulful,” Publishers Weekly declared. Wired for Music has been featured in The Boston Globe, a BBC science podcast, CTV’s daytime talk show “The Social” and many other media outlets.

I would never recommend writing a hybrid memoir as a first book. But now that the heavy lifting is done, I can confirm that bridging the gap between research and personal experience can become a book’s greatest strength—as long as the author is prepared for a Herculean endeavor.

Amazon • Bookshop

P.S. I highly recommend the following resources:

Jane Friedman’s site and classes (naturally! I’ve signed up for webinars on marketing, writing, self-editing, etc)Pandemic University (a “pop-up” writing school; I learned a lot from a webinar on the role of tension in writing by Ayelet Tsabari) Meander, Spiral, Explode: Design and Pattern in Narrative  (a liberating argument against sticking to predictable story progressions) The Situation and the Story: The Art of Personal Narrative  (in which Vivian Gornick explains the difference between a chronicle of personal facts and an insightful narrative with a strong angle and voice)Book coaches (I worked with the lovely and astute writer-editor Marial Shea)

Wattpad for Authors: It’s Not Just for the Young Folks

For years now, I’ve been following the fortunes of Wattpad, an online reading and writing community that has roughly 90 million users; about 90 percent of its audience is Gen Z or Millennial. Most stories on Wattpad are free to read and written in-progress, installment by installment, for an eager audience. Unlike some other corners of the Internet, it is largely seen as an encouraging and optimistic place for its creators/contributors, who are compelled to keep writing their stories partly due to reader support.

However, when I mention Wattpad to a roomful of writers of a certain age, it is often dismissed or overlooked because of its association with younger readers and writers. I think that’s a shame. So I asked the folks at Wattpad if they’d be willing to point me to some of their successful writers who are outside of that key demographic, so I could ask them why they contribute to Wattpad and how it’s worked out for them.

These are the writers they brought forward to answer my questions.

Rebecca Phelps originally started her career in LA as an actress and screenwriter. Rebecca’s debut YA book, Down World, is the recipient of a Watty Award for Best Young Adult Novel in 2019 and has been published by Wattpad Books.Sondi Warner got her start as a songwriter—Beyoncé once requested she write a hook for one of her songs! On Wattpad, Sondi writes stories about LGBTQ+ polyamorous romance. Her hit novel Lead Me Astray has been published by Wattpad WEBTOON Book Group.Tamara Lush is a Rita Award finalist and former Associated Press journalist who started writing fiction at the age of 43. Her hit stories Drive and Crash have been published by Wattpad Books and received more than 4.5 million views on Wattpad.

Jane Friedman: When I speak with writers who didn’t grow up with platforms like Wattpad—which includes myself!—sometimes they believe they’re simply “too old” to do well there. Maybe they don’t feel very tech capable, or they think it’s just for teenagers, or they wonder why they’d post their work for free (some worry about theft). But you decided to jump onboard. Did you “get” Wattpad right away and have lots of comfort with it?

Rebecca: I definitely found the site daunting at first, and for all the reasons you’ve mentioned. When I first started on Wattpad, I didn’t realize that the goal was to post chapters serially in order to gain a readership, so I just uploaded the whole book at once. (I also didn’t realize short chapters = more “reads,” which would have been good to know!)

I took the leap anyway because I knew it was the most direct way to get my book in front of teen readers. I made a simple cover for Down World on Canva, put the book up, and waited…because I honestly didn’t know what I was supposed to do next! Luckily, the editors at Wattpad discovered my book, which led to a Watty Award and, eventually, a three-book publishing deal. After years of trying to break in traditionally, it turned out that taking a chance on something new was the best decision I could have made.

Sondi: As someone pushing forty, I can relate to feeling insecure about being older, putting myself out there amongst a very bright cohort of Gen-Z writers. Sometimes women, femmes, and nonbinary people experience a reduced fit within society as they age because they’re judged as being past their prime. Society seems to have a more positive impression of maturity and the increased social capital that comes with age for masculine-presenting individuals.

I think this might be the generation to change that, however. Gen-Z is notoriously difficult to corral into neat social constructs like class distinction, race norms, or gender. They invariably gravitate toward what they like, regardless of the status quo. That wasn’t the case before the internet became ubiquitous. What drove popular trends in literature, music, and fashion for Millennials and Gen X were celebrities and the limited cultural offerings on cable television.

Today there is a smorgasbord of niche interests churned up by really shrewd social media algorithms that allow people of all ages to enjoy things that are unique to them. This is irrespective of whether they think the creator is cool or hip or en vogue. So, even if you’re a writer who believes Wattpad is just for teenagers, this is a generation with a complex, uninhibited cultural palate, and they may be the readers for you.

As for me, when I hopped onto Wattpad, it was at the urging of my then 14-year-old daughter. I didn’t worry about not being tech savvy enough. I quickly saw that the platform is easy to use, inclusive, community-based, and full of diverse readers and writers who motivate each other. I didn’t worry about being plagiarized because Wattpad has security features to help writers feel safe and confident that their work won’t be stolen for profit. Not only did I get comfortable with the platform right away, but taking that leap of faith to put a story out for free rewarded me with a global readership.

Tamara: I did! I started experimenting with the Wattpad platform early in my fiction writing journey, but got serious about it a few years later! Wattpad is actually far easier to use than most publishing platforms, or social media networks. It’s very intuitive, and quite simple to use. I was comfortable from the beginning, even though I am much older than many of the readers. It’s easy to have a dialogue with readers on the platform, and I enjoy that the most.

What do you think writers, especially those who you would consider your peers, get wrong or misunderstand about Wattpad?

Rebecca: I think a lot of people think it’s just for amateurs. Sure, there’s a lot of that, but there are also a lot of really quality books on the site, written by people who have been working at their craft for years.

Wattpad is a great resource to workshop new ideas; to write the rough draft of a book and iron out the kinks before diving into draft two. I think the key is to shift your thinking from “I’m giving my book away for free” to “I’m getting invaluable feedback directly from my target audience, and I don’t even have to pay for it!”

Sondi: Misunderstandings I’ve encountered center around a lack of awareness that the site is free to use and gives you the chance to share your story with the world. Some writers rush to the platform, expecting instant fame and recognition, but they’re missing what I think is the best-kept-secret perk of joining a community like Wattpad: reader feedback.

We can get so trapped in the old model of the writing circle that we overlook tools like Wattpad as the roundtable we’ve always wanted. Early in my career, when considering indie publishing, I sought a book coach to give me pointers on my first draft. I had no luck finding one within my budget. As soon as I got on Wattpad, I started reaching out to community critique readers, official Wattpad reading lists, and my friends and family to put Lead Me Astray in front of lots of other eyes and ask for as much feedback as possible.

Doing so allowed me to get instant critiques each time I updated a chapter, like having beta readers on standby. I was able to incorporate that feedback into my final draft to give my readers exactly the story they wanted, which shows the incredible give-and-take relationship of our community.

Developing a relationship with your readers is the cheat code to building a readership, whether you’re traditionally published, indie published, or using a story-sharing platform. In my honest opinion, nobody facilitates that relationship better than Wattpad and Webtoon. Writers who share remarkable stories, edit and polish those stories, promote them, engage with their readership, and apply that driving ambition to standing out will see the best results.

Tamara: Some believe Wattpad is for fan fiction only, and many are surprised when I say that I write original fiction on Wattpad, and that I’ve never read fan fiction. It’s a place where people can be as creative as they want, with their own fiction. The breadth of stories on Wattpad is quite impressive. I don’t believe there is a place with more diversity in publishing, or in readership. I have readers from literally every corner of the globe, and that’s so gratifying to me.

I’m also surprised when people in publishing haven’t heard of Wattpad. Older people need to understand what the younger generations are reading, and where they’re reading—and that place is Wattpad.

How has Wattpad changed how or what you write, if at all?

Rebecca: Well, in the most literal sense, I wouldn’t have written the two sequels to Down World if I hadn’t gotten the publishing deal on book one. And I’m grateful I did, because now the whole trilogy is being published!

But the biggest thing I’ve learned in terms of craft is that what really drives readers to be invested in a book is the interpersonal relationships of the characters. It’s not that they don’t care about the plot—they absolutely do!—but most of the comments are always about the love stories, the family dynamics, and the characters’ motivations. For me, writing YA sci-fi, where the plots can get pretty complex, was an important reminder to never neglect the characters’ emotional stakes.

Sondi: My writing has evolved by leaps and bounds here. I think it’s because I shifted gears from seeing writing as a job to having a blast with it. Wattpad is my sandbox. I trial-and-error my wildest ideas and anchor my flights of fancy with the technical expertise I developed as a ghostwriter and freelancer for over a decade.

The other day while working on the sequel to Lead Me Astray, I noticed the ease of my drafting and the richness of the descriptions, the intricate dance of well-timed plot points, even the particular language I used. It stopped me in my tracks. I thought to myself, “Wait a second, I think I’ve developed my voice!”

How did that happen? I’ve been reading The Spark and the Grind, and bestselling author Erik Wahl believes that when creativity marries the grind, or the effort it takes to manifest an idea into reality, magic happens.

During my stint as a ghostwriter, it was important to stick to the rules and conventions in order to stay hired. That was the grind. Yet, I suppressed a revolutionary streak. Switching to writing on Wattpad taught me how to marry the two sides. To unite the fun and freedom of wild ideas—my own revolutionary brand of creativity—and the cliché formulas and techniques of writing romance.

Wattpad lets me showcase this relationship between my skillful mechanics of writing, my vivid creative spark, and my instinctive grind in the name of art, which essentially helped unlock my voice. I’m profoundly interested in learning more about myself and my writing simply by being a part of this visionary story-sharing platform. I would be unsurprised if future historians point to the advent of Wattpad as a groundbreaking move in the right direction for diversity in literature.

Tamara: It’s really taught me how to write books that make people keep turning the pages. Learning to write an excellent serial fiction novel has helped my work in general. When I write my traditional cozy mysteries for an older audience, I use cliffhangers and end some chapters in the middle of the action. It’s inspired me to take risks. It’s also taught me that readers, and reader feedback, isn’t a scary thing. I’ve grown to love comments from readers on Wattpad, and wish I had that for my traditionally published books. I adore the immediacy of releasing a chapter and getting near instantaneous feedback.

One thing that’s certain in both life and publishing is that things change—frequently. So aside from writing and publishing on Wattpad, what has helped you consistently advance your career or protect it from the ups and downs of the overall market?

Rebecca: For writers, there’s no getting around the fact that most of the business end of our job is completely out of our control. Even now, my agent is out to editors with my first adult contemporary book, but my previous success is no guarantee that it will sell. That’s a hard pill to swallow, but it’s true for everyone, even people who have sold a dozen books.

I wrote screenplays for years before attempting a novel, and I watched as script after script did well in a contest, or even got optioned, and then died on the vine. When I posted Down World on Wattpad, I honestly was just hoping that the book would find a few readers, and maybe it would help some young people dealing with grief. After years of struggling as a writer, I wasn’t expecting any more than that. And then life surprised me.

All we can do is write. We write the best books we can. We learn from our mistakes, and we try again. That’s true for life, and it’s true for art. And I don’t know how to do anything else.

Sondi: To be a brilliant writer is to be like water. Life is a wave, which is why we talk about the “ups and downs,” but it oscillates more like a sine wave than an ocean wave. There are intervals of a scaling upwards of the amount of work available, the margin of profit that can be made, and the opportunities given for whatever demographic of author is in-demand, but once critical mass is reached, what seems like an unexpected crash and sudden loss of gains can usually be traced back to tiny signs of a tipping point revealed along the way.

Understanding cycles helps me prepare for these rolling changes, and I don’t mean by predicting booms and busts, but by anticipating that they will come.

It helped me make sense, when there was a dearth of creative writing opportunities and the terrain of the publishing industry seemed frozen to me, that it wasn’t personal. I lost my biggest ghostwriting client in what felt like one fell blow and had to pause writing for a living, but I learned to channel my energy during that time into resting and exploring new ideas.

Industries always heat up. By not getting discouraged, by playing around with a radical new story just for fun, I didn’t lose my edge as an author, which put me in position for when the atmosphere changed. Now I can hardly keep up with the work gathering in my career sector, and it’s a thrilling challenge. I can’t even tell you all the amazing ways I’m slated to share my creative spirit with you this year, and fresh opportunities are on the horizon.

I know from experience that there will come a time when all these blessings rain themselves out, returning me to that quiet period, that resting and exploring period. However, it won’t be the great fall from glory that many people imagine it to be when they don’t understand cycles. It’s in keeping with the laws of the universe that what goes up must come down. How else do you dream up something new without the calling to rest?

Of course, some of us don’t realize that we can either stop and take a break or let nature take its course. I used to be one of those people. I had to be placed on the sidelines by life events in order to remember that I’m only human. As a result, how I’ve advanced my career while grappling with the ups and downs of the market is by learning to recognize what angle of the arc of the cycle I’m in at a given moment and by letting myself go with the flow.

Tamara: Don’t take anything personally. This is the media—things are always changing. (I worked for 30 years as a reporter, including for The Associated Press.) If a publisher passes on a book, if a reviewer doesn’t like my book, if someone makes a less-than-stellar TikTok video about my book, it doesn’t bother me. It’s not an indictment of me as a human being. It’s someone’s opinion, which they’re entitled to. Not everyone will like my work, and that’s okay! In the words of the late, great Jerry Garcia, “We’re like licorice. Not everybody likes licorice, but the people who like licorice really like licorice.”

How to Survive Editing

Today’s post is by writer and writing coach Daphne Gray-Grant (@pubcoach).

When I opened the just-edited manuscript of my first book, some 12 years ago, I gasped.

My editor had covered it in so many red marks, it looked as though she might have accidentally stabbed herself with an X-Acto knife.

Worse, I was totally unprepared. I’d spent my entire working life as an editor—first at a community weekly newspaper, then at a large metropolitan daily, then a brief stint as a book editor, finally as a freelance writer and editor. I thought I knew how to edit. Even myself.

Perhaps more persuasively, I’d also had a dozen beta readers—many of them professional writers—comb through the manuscript to critique, question, and eviscerate my words. My manuscript was definitely in the best possible shape it could have been.

How was it possible that this editor found so many fresh problems? Did she really know what she was doing?

Turns out, of course, that she did. As soon as I’d calmed down and gone through her comments, one by one, I could see they made sense. And, besides, I knew her to be not just a superb editor, but a wise and well-informed person.

But having a strong, gut-punch reaction to being edited is part of the cost of doing business when writing. You’ve poured your heart into your words. In fact, you’ve anguished over every damn one of them. It’s hard to hear that your manuscript, your child, has an ugly nose.

If you are going to be facing an editor’s red pen, here is my advice on how to survive the process:

If you can choose your own editor, choose carefully.

Approach the job as if you were hiring a contractor for your much-loved house. Find someone who specializes in your genre. Talk to at least three different editors who might suit. Make sure you actually like them, as well as trust their abilities. Get three references from each and don’t think holding the references in your hands is enough—check them all, thoroughly. Ask questions not just about the quality of these editors’ work but also ask about what they were like to work with. If the editor sounds promising, request a test edit (of about 750 to 1,000 words of text), even if you have to pay for it, so you can see what you think of the editor’s work. If you like it, then agree upon cost and a deadline and sign a contract.

Don’t rush your hiring process or make it slapdash. Take your time and do it right.

Be prepared for a lot of red ink.

Somehow, anticipating lots of red ink—rather than the blissfully color-free pages I had expected—will make the inevitable result easier to bear. And if you find red ink offensive (as many people do), ask your editor to use green, blue or purple for their comments instead. And if they resist, which I would consider a terrible sign, hire someone else.

Take it slow.

Give yourself at least a full day to do nothing more than glance at the volume of comments and steel yourself. There is no need for you to respond to edits at the speed of light. Take your time and get your feelings in the right place first. Do some deep breathing.

Remind yourself the editor is there to help you. Understandably, it’s going to feel as though the editor is doing nothing but criticizing you. But in fact, any editor is really in loco lectorem—Latin for “in the position of a reader.” Consider your editor to be your partner, there to help protect your published work from mistakes and misunderstandings. What can be worse than an editor who points out too many mistakes? Easy! A published work with mistakes.

Do the simple edits first and fast.

If you’ve ever written an SAT, you’ll know that you should answer multiple choice quizzes fast and skip questions you can’t answer easily, returning to them at the end. Regard your manuscript as the biggest SAT in your life. Go through the edits with speed and deal with the ones that won’t cause you to sweat. Misspelled word? Spell it right. Unclear antecedent? Make it clear. Sentence fragment? Add the part of speech that’s missing.

Do the harder, more challenging edits, next.

Always, for every writer—including famous ones like Neil Gaiman and Margaret Atwood—there will be some edits that seem unbearably difficult. You may even agree with the editor’s concern, but you don’t have a clue how to fix the problem. Here is where you need to think—deeply—about what to do. I suggest getting away from your desk to do this because our brains operate better when we’re moving. Take a walk or go for a run (or do some gardening or house-cleaning) and ponder the question. And if that doesn’t give you an answer, then talk about the issue with someone else. Consider chatting with a writing buddy. Or pick up the phone and speak with your editor. The editor is not God. She or he is a human being who probably has some useful thoughts about your conundrum.

Don’t feel you have to accept every edit.

Sometimes, you won’t agree with the editor’s concern and you’ll feel it impinges on what you want to accomplish. If the editor is someone you’ve hired yourself for, say, a self-publishing project, take her or his advice carefully, but know that you have every right to refuse certain pieces of it. (If the editor is with a traditional publishing house, you’ll have a harder time ignoring their advice, but at least have a conversation with them so you can understand why they’ve suggested what they have.)

Bonus tip

If your editor has used “track changes” and if they are someone whose judgment you trust implicitly, consider hitting the “accept all” key, then reading through only the corrected manuscript to ensure all is okay with you. In this manner, the edits won’t traumatize you, but you can still accept the benefit of the editor’s knowledge. Just remember that this maneuver won’t delete their comments, so you will still need to deal with those.

And whatever else you do, remember that your writing project, no matter how important, is rarely a life-and-death endeavor. Be sure to laugh at yourself from time to time. As T.S. Eliot said, “Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.”